DEATHWORLD

It was all really suspicious. Jason didn’t know anyone on this planet. Yet the card sent by the service tube from the hotel desk read: Kerk Pyrrus would like to see Jason dinAlt. Straightforward and to the point. He signaled the desk to send the guy up, then lowered his fingers a bit until they brushed the gun butt. The door slid open and his visitor walked in.

A retired wrestler. That was Jason's first thought. Kerk Pyrrus was a gray-haired, solid man. His body looked like it was made from thick slabs of muscle. Then Jason noticed the gun strapped to the inside of the other man's forearm, and he let his fingers slide casually behind the pillow.

"I'd appreciate it," Jason said, "if you could take off your gun while you’re in here." The other man paused and glared at the gun as if he was looking at it for the first time.

"No, I never take it off." He seemed a bit annoyed by the suggestion.

Jason had his fingers on his own gun when he said, "I'm afraid I have to insist. I always feel a bit uneasy around people who carry guns." He kept talking to shift the focus while he pulled out his gun. Fast and smooth.

He might as well have been moving in slow motion for all the difference it made. Kerk Pyrrus stood completely still while the gun came out and swung in his direction. It wasn't until the very last moment that he took action. When he did, the movement was barely noticeable. First, his gun was in the arm holster—then it was aimed between Jason's eyes. It was an ugly, heavy weapon with a worn-out muzzle that showed a lot of use.

And Jason knew that if he raised his weapon even a little bit more, he would be dead. He lowered his arm carefully, and Kerk effortlessly flipped his gun back into the holster, just as smoothly as he had drawn it.

"Now," the stranger said, "if we're done playing around, let’s get to the point. I have a deal for you."

Jason took a big gulp from the mug and controlled his anger. He was quick with a gun—his life had depended on it more than once—and this was the first time he had been outdrawn. It was the casual, seemingly insignificant way it had happened that annoyed him.

"I'm not ready to do business," he said sharply. "I came to Cassylia for a vacation, to escape from work."

"Let's not kid ourselves, dinAlt," Kerk said with irritation. "You’ve never held an honest job a day in your life. You're a pro gambler, and that’s why I came to see you."

Jason pushed down his anger and tossed the gun to the far end of the couch so he wouldn't be tempted to take his own life. He had hoped no one recognized him on Cassylia and was looking forward to a big score at the Casino. He would deal with that later. This muscle-bound guy seemed to have all the answers. Let him figure things out for a while and see where it went.

"Alright, what do you want?"

Kerk sank into a chair that creaked ominously under him and pulled an envelope out of one pocket. He rifled through it quickly and tossed a handful of shiny Galactic Exchange notes onto the table. Jason glanced at them—then sat up abruptly.

"What are they—fake?" he asked, holding one up to the light.

"They're definitely real," Kerk said to him, "I got them from the bank. Exactly twenty-seven bills—or twenty-seven million credits. I want you to use them as your bankroll when you head to the Casino tonight. Gamble with them and win."

They looked real enough—and they could be verified. Jason traced them with his fingers thoughtfully as he assessed the other man.

"I don't know what you're thinking," he said. "But you know I can't promise anything. I take risks—but I don't always come out on top..."

"You gamble—and you win whenever you want," Kerk said seriously. "We looked into that pretty thoroughly before I came to you."

"If you're implying that I cheat—" Jason took a moment to control his temper again and kept it in check. Getting upset wouldn't lead to anything good.

Kerk kept his voice steady, ignoring Jason's increasing anger. "Maybe you don’t see it as cheating; honestly, I don’t care. To me, you could have your suit loaded with aces and electromagnets in your boots. As long as you won. I'm not here to debate morals with you. I said I had a proposition.

"We've worked hard for that money—but it still isn't enough. To be exact, we need three billion credits. The only way to get that amount is by gambling—with this twenty-seven million as our bankroll."

"And what do I get out of it?" Jason asked the question casually, as if any part of the incredible offer made sense.

"Keep everything over three billion; that should be fair enough. You're not putting your own money on the line, but if you win, you could make enough to set you up for life."

"And if I lose?"

Kerk paused for a moment, not liking the sound of that idea. "Yeah—there's a chance you could lose, I didn't think of that."

He made up his mind. "If you lose—well, I guess that's just a risk we have to take. But I think I would have to kill you then. The ones who died for the twenty-seven million deserve at least that." He said it softly, without any anger, and it felt more like a promise than a threat.

Stamping to his feet, Jason refilled his mug and offered one to Kerk, who took it with a nod of thanks. He paced back and forth, unable to sit still. The whole idea made him angry—yet at the same time, it had a deadly allure. He was a gambler, and this discussion was like the rush of drugs to an addict.

Stopping suddenly, he realized that his mind had been made up for a while. Win or lose—live or die—how could he say no to the chance to gamble with money like that? He turned abruptly and pointed his finger at the big man in the chair.

"I'll do it—you probably expected that as soon as you walked in here. But I have a few conditions. I want to know who you are and who they are that you keep mentioning. And where did the money come from? Is it stolen?"

Kerk finished his drink and set the stein aside.

"Stolen money? No, not at all. It took two years of hard work to mine and refine the ore to get it. It was mined on Pyrrus and sold here on Cassylia. You can verify that quite easily. I sold it. I'm the Pyrric ambassador to this planet." He smiled at the thought. "Not that it means much; I'm also the ambassador to at least six other planets. It definitely helps when you want to do business."

Jason looked at the muscular guy with gray hair and his worn, military-style clothes, and chose not to laugh. You hear about weird things on the frontier planets, and every word could be true. He had never heard of Pyrrus either, but that didn't mean much. There were over thirty thousand known planets in the inhabited universe.

"I'll look into what you've told me," Jason said. "If it's true, we can work together. Call me tomorrow—"

"No," Kerk said. "The money has to be won tonight. I’ve already written a check for this twenty-seven million; it'll bounce as high as the Pleiades unless we deposit the money in the morning, so that's our deadline."

With each passing moment, the whole situation became more unbelievable—and more interesting for Jason. He checked his watch. There was still enough time to see if Kerk was telling the truth or not.

"Okay, we’ll do it tonight," he said. "But I’ll need one of those bills to verify."

Kerk stood up to leave. "Take all of them. I won't see you again until after you've won. I'll be at the Casino, of course, but don't let them recognize me. It'd be much better if they didn't know where your money was coming from or how much you had."

Then he was gone, after a bone-crushing handshake that felt like a vise on Jason's hand. Jason was left alone with the money. Spreading the bills out like a deck of cards, he stared at their faded and shiny faces, trying to wrap his head around the reality of it. Twenty-seven million credits. What was stopping him from just walking out the door with them and disappearing? Nothing, really, except his own sense of honor.

Kerk Pyrrus, the guy with the same last name as the planet he came from, was the biggest fool in the universe. Or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing. Based on how the interview had gone, the latter seemed more likely.

"He knows I’d much rather gamble with the money than steal it," he said with a smirk.

Slipping a small gun into his waistband holster and putting the money in his pocket, he stepped outside.

The robot teller at the bank just buzzed with an electronic shock when he handed over one of the bills and displayed a panel that instructed him to see Vice President Wain. Wain was a slick guy who widened his eyes and faded a bit in color when he spotted the stack of bills.

"You ... want to leave these with us?" he asked, his fingers absently brushing over them.

"Not today," Jason said. "I was given these as repayment. Could you please verify that they are genuine and exchange them? I'd like five hundred thousand credit notes."

Both of his inner chest pockets were stuffed full when he left the bank. The cash was solid, and he felt like a walking ATM. This was the first time in his life that having a lot of money on him made him uneasy. After hailing a passing helicopter taxi, he headed straight to the casino, where he knew he would be safe—for a bit.

Cassylia Casino was the go-to spot for the nearby cluster of star systems. This was Jason's first time seeing it, even though he was familiar with this type of place. He had spent most of his adult life in similar casinos on other worlds. The decor varied, but they were always the same. Gambling and socializing out in the open—and behind the scenes, all the private vices you could afford. Theoretically, there were no-limit games, but that was only true up to a certain point. When the house took a big hit, the honest games stopped being fair, and the big winner had to be very careful. These were the odds Jason dinAlt had faced countless times before. He was cautious but not overly worried.

The dining room was almost empty, and the headwaiter quickly rushed to the side of the relaxed stranger in the finely tailored clothes. Jason was lean and dark, looking more like the bored heir of some wealthy family than a professional gambler. This appearance was important, and he worked hard to maintain it. The food looked good, and the wine cellar turned out to be fantastic. He had an in-depth chat with the sommelier while waiting for the soup, then settled in to enjoy his meal.

He ate at a relaxed pace, and the big dining room was packed before he finished. Enjoying the entertainment while puffing on a long cigar passed some more time. When he finally headed to the gaming rooms, they were crowded and lively.

Moving slowly around the room, he dropped a few thousand credits. He hardly paid attention to how he played, focusing more on the vibe of the games. Everything felt fair, and none of the equipment seemed rigged. He realized that could change quickly. Usually, it wasn’t needed; the house percentage was enough to guarantee a profit.

Once he saw Kerk in his peripheral vision, but he didn’t pay him any mind. The ambassador was consistently losing small amounts at seven-and-silver and looked a bit restless. He was probably waiting for Jason to start playing for real. He smiled and continued walking slowly.

Jason sat down at the dice table like he always did. It was the best way to make some small profits. And if I’m feeling lucky tonight, I might totally clean this casino out! That was his secret, the skill that helped him win consistently—and every now and then it let him score big and get away fast before the hired goons showed up to take the money back.

The dice got to him and he rolled an eight the hard way. The betting was low and he didn’t overdo it, just avoided the sevens. He hit the point and rolled a natural. Then he crapped out and the dice continued on.

Sitting there, placing small automatic bets while the dice rolled around the table, he thought about the power. It's funny, after all these years of work we still don't know much about psi. They can train people a little and enhance skills a bit—but that's about it.

He felt strong tonight; he knew the cash in his pocket gave him that extra boost that sometimes helped him push through. With his eyes half closed, he picked up the dice and let his mind gently trace the pattern of the indented dots. Then he tossed them from his hand and stared at a seven.

It was right there.

Stronger than he had felt in years. The heavy burden of those million-credit notes had achieved that. The world around him was vividly clear, and he was completely in control of the game. He knew exactly how much the other players had in their wallets and was aware of the cards held by the players behind him.

Slowly and carefully, he raised the stakes.

The dice rolled effortlessly, almost like they were trained pets. Jason took his time and focused on the players and the stick man. It took nearly two hours for him to build his stack to seven hundred thousand credits. Then he noticed the stick man signaling that they had a big winner. He waited for the tough-looking guy to come over and watch the game, then he smiled widely, bet all his chips—and lost everything on a single roll of the dice. The house man grinned, the stick man relaxed—and out of the corner of his eye, Jason saw Kerk turning a dark purple.

Sweating, pale, his hand shaking just a little, Jason opened the front of his jacket and pulled out one of the envelopes of new bills. Breaking the seal with his finger, he dropped two of them on the table.

"Can we play a no-limit game?" he asked. "I'd like to win back some of my money."

The stick man was struggling to keep his smile in check as he looked over at the house man, who gave a quick nod of approval. They had a sucker, and they were determined to clean him out. He had been betting from his wallet all night, and now he was about to break into a sealed envelope to try to recover his losses. It was a thick envelope, and it was probably not his money anyway. Not that the house was worried at all. To them, money had no loyalty. The game continued with the casino in a very laid-back atmosphere.

Which was just how Jason wanted it. He needed to get as deep into them as he could before anyone realized they might be on the losing side. The tough stuff would start, and he wanted to delay it for as long as possible. It would be hard to win easily then—and his psi power might disappear just as quickly as it had appeared. That had happened before.

He was now playing against the house, and the two other players were clearly shills, while a crowd had packed in closely to watch. After some wins and losses, he hit a run of naturals, and his stack of gold chips kept rising higher and higher. He estimated there was almost a billion there. The dice were still rolling in his favor, even though he was drenched in sweat from the effort. Betting his entire stack of chips, he reached for the dice. The stick man quickly reached over and pulled them away.

"House calls for new dice," he said flatly.

Jason stood up and wiped his hands, feeling a moment of relief. This was the third time the house had switched dice to try to break his winning streak; it was their right. The hard-eyed casino dealer opened his wallet as he had before and pulled out a pair at random. Removing their plastic cover, he tossed them across the table to Jason. They rolled a natural seven, and Jason smiled.

When he picked them up, the smile slowly disappeared. The dice were clear, well-crafted, evenly balanced on all sides—and crooked.

The color on the dots of each die's five sides was some heavy metal compound, probably lead. The sixth side was made of a ferrous compound. They would roll accurately unless they encountered a magnetic field—which meant the whole surface of the table could be magnetized. He would never have noticed the difference if he hadn't thought about the dice. But what could he do about it?

Shaking them gently, he quickly glanced around the table. There it was—an ashtray with a magnet in its base to keep it attached to the metal edge of the table. Jason stopped shaking the dice and looked at them curiously, then reached over and grabbed the ashtray. He smacked the base against his hand.

As he lifted the ashtray, everyone gasped in unison. The dice were stuck there, face up, with double sixes showing.

"Are these what you call fair dice?" he asked.

The guy who had rolled the dice quickly reached for his back pocket. Jason was the only one who saw what happened next. He was keeping a close eye on that hand, his own fingers hovering by his gun. As the guy dove into his pocket, a hand shot out from the crowd behind him. From its square size, it could only belong to one person. The thick thumb and index finger clamped down fast around the house man's wrist, and then they were gone. The man screamed loudly and raised his arm, his hand hanging limp like a glove from the broken wrist bones.

With his side well protected, Jason could continue with the game. "The old dice if you don't mind," he said softly.

Dazed, the stick man pushed them over. Jason shook quickly and rolled. Before they hit the table, he realized he couldn't control them—the temporary psi power was gone.

End over end, they flipped. And faced up seven.

Counting the chips as they were pushed over to him, he tallied just under two billion credits. They'd be winning that much if he walked away from the game now—but it wasn't the three billion that Kerk needed. Well, it would have to do. As he reached for the chips, he caught Kerk's eye across the table, and the other man shook his head in a steady no.

"Let it ride," Jason said tiredly, "one more roll."

He blew on the dice, wiped them on his sleeve, and thought about how he had ended up in this situation. Billions were riding on a pair of dice. That was as much as the yearly income of some planets. The only reason there could be stakes like that was because the planetary government had an interest in the Casino. He shook them for as long as he could, trying to find control that wasn’t there—then let them go.

Everything else had come to a halt in the Casino, and people were standing on tables and chairs to watch. There wasn’t a sound coming from that large crowd. The dice bounced off the board with a loud clatter in the silence and rolled over the cloth.

A five and a one. Six. He still had to make his point. Scooping up the dice, Jason talked to them, mumbled the old oaths that brought luck, and threw again.

It took five tries before he got the six.

The crowd echoed his sigh and their voices quickly rose. He wanted to pause, take a deep breath, but he knew he couldn't. Winning the money was just part of the job—they now had to get away with it. It had to seem casual. A waiter was passing by with a tray of drinks. Jason stopped him and slipped a hundred-credit note into his pocket.

"Drinks are on me!" he shouted as he took the tray from the waiter's hands. Well-wishers quickly cleared the filled glasses away, and Jason stacked the chips onto the tray. They more than filled it up, but Kerk showed up at that moment with a second tray.

"I'll be happy to help you, sir, if you let me," he said.

Jason looked at him and laughed with approval. It was the first time he had a clear view of Kerk in the Casino. He was wearing loose, purple evening pajamas over what had to be a fake stomach. The sleeves were long and baggy, making him look fat instead of muscular. It was a straightforward but effective disguise.

Carefully carrying the loaded trays, surrounded by a crowd of excited patrons, they made their way to the cashier's window. The manager himself was there, wearing a weak grin. Even the grin faded when he counted the chips.

"Could you come back in the morning?" he said. "I'm afraid we don't have that kind of money right now."

"What's up," Kerk shouted, "trying to avoid paying him? You took my money without hesitation when I lost—it goes both ways!"

The spectators, always pleased to see the house lose, voiced their discontent. Jason wrapped things up loudly.

"I'll be fair; just give me the cash you have, and I'll take a check for the rest."

There was no way out. Under the watchful gaze of the excited crowd, the manager stuffed an envelope with cash and wrote a check. Jason took a quick look at it, then shoved it into an inside pocket. With the envelope tucked under one arm, he followed Kerk toward the door.

Because of the crowd, there was no issue in the main room, but just as they got to the side entrance, two men stepped in, blocking the path.

"Hold on a sec—" one said. He never finished the sentence. Kerk walked right into them without slowing down and they bounced away like bowling pins. Then Kerk and Jason were out of the building and walking quickly.

"Into the parking lot," Kerk said. "I have a car over there."

When they turned the corner, a car was speeding toward them. Before Jason could draw his gun from the holster, Kerk was in front of him. He raised his arm and his large, ugly gun broke through the fabric of his sleeve and landed in his hand. A single shot hit the driver, causing the car to swerve and crash. The two other men in the car were killed as they tried to exit, their guns falling from their hands.

After that, they had no issues. Kerk sped away from the Casino, the ripped sleeve of his pajamas flapping in the wind, revealing the large gun in the holster.

"When you get a chance," Jason said, "you'll have to show me how that trick holster works."

"When we get the chance," Kerk replied as he drove the car into the city access tunnel.

The building they stopped at was one of the nicer homes in Cassylia. As they drove, Jason counted the money and split his share. Almost sixteen million credits. It still didn't feel quite real. When they got out in front of the building, he handed Kerk the rest.

"Here’s your three billion, don’t think it was easy," he said.

"It could have been worse," was his only reply.

The recorded voice crackled in the speaker above the door.

"Sire Ellus has gone to bed for the night. Could you please call again in the morning? All appointments are scheduled in advance—"

The voice stopped as Kerk pushed the door open. He did it almost effortlessly with the palm of his hand. As they walked in, Jason glanced at the scraps of twisted metal that were stuck in the lock and wondered once more about his companion.

His strength—more than just physical strength—feels like a natural force. I get the impression that nothing can hold him back.

It made him angry—and at the same time, it fascinated him. He didn't want out of the deal until he learned more about Kerk and his planet. And about "them" who had died for the money he gambled.

Sire Ellus was old, balding, and irritable, not at all accustomed to having his peace interrupted. His complaints abruptly ceased when Kerk tossed the money onto the table.

"Is the ship loaded yet, Ellus? Here's the balance due." Ellus only fumbled with the bills for a moment before he could answer Kerk's question.

"The ship—but, of course. We started loading as soon as you gave us the deposit. You'll have to forgive my confusion; this is a bit unusual. We never deal with transactions this large in cash."

"That's how I prefer to do business," Kerk replied, "I've canceled the deposit; this is the total amount. Now, can I get a receipt?"

Ellus had filled out the receipt before he fully regained his senses. He clutched it tightly as he glanced uneasily at the three billion laid out in front of him.

"Wait—I can't do this right now, you'll have to come back in the morning, to the bank. In a normal business way," Ellus decided firmly.

Kerk reached over and carefully took the paper from Ellus' hand.

"Thanks for the receipt," he said. "I won't be here in the morning, so this will work for me. And if you're worried about the money, I suggest you reach out to some of your security guards or private police. You'll feel much safer."

When they walked out through the broken door, Ellus was desperately tapping numbers on his screen. Kerk answered Jason's next question before he even had the chance to ask it.

"I figure you’d want to live to spend that cash in your pocket, so I've reserved two seats on an interplanetary ship," he glanced at the car clock. "It leaves in about two hours, so we have plenty of time. I'm hungry; let’s find a restaurant. I hope you don’t have anything at the hotel that's worth going back for. That would be a bit tricky."

"Nothing worth dying for," Jason said. "Now where should we go to eat—there are a few questions I want to ask you."

They carefully made their way down to the transport levels, making sure they weren't being followed. Kerk guided the car into a dimly lit loading dock where they left it behind.

"We can always get another car," he said, "and they probably have this one flagged. Let's walk back to the freightway; I saw a restaurant there when we passed by."

Dark and shadowy shapes of freight trucks filled the parking lot. They navigated around the towering wheels and into the hot, noisy restaurant. The drivers and early morning workers didn’t pay attention to them as they found a booth in the back and ordered a meal.

Kerk cut a piece of meat off the slab in front of him and happily popped it into his mouth. "Go ahead and ask your questions," he said. "I'm feeling a lot better already."

"What's in this ship you set up for tonight—what kind of cargo was I putting my life on the line for?"

"I thought you were putting yourself in danger for cash," Kerk said flatly. "But just know it was for a good reason. That shipment is crucial for the survival of a world. Guns, ammo, mines, explosives, and things like that."

Jason choked on a mouthful of food. "Gun-running! What are you doing, funding a private war? And how can you talk about survival with a deadly cargo like that? Don’t even try to tell me they have a peaceful use. Who are you killing?"

Most of the big guy's humor had disappeared; he had that serious expression Jason recognized all too well.

"Yes, 'peaceful' would be the right word. Because that’s basically all we want. Just to live in peace. And it’s not who we’re killing—it’s what we’re killing."

Jason pushed his plate away with an annoyed gesture. "You're talking in circles," he said. "What you're saying makes no sense."

"It has enough meaning," Kerk said to him, "but only on one planet in the universe. Just how much do you know about Pyrrus?"

"Nothing at all."

For a moment, Kerk sat lost in thought, frowning into the distance. Then he continued.

"Mankind doesn't belong on Pyrrus—yet has been there for almost three hundred years now. The life expectancy of my people is sixteen years. Of course, most adults live beyond that, but the high child mortality rate brings the average down."

"It’s everything a humanoid world should not be. The gravity is almost twice that of Earth. The temperature can change from arctic to tropical daily. The climate—well, you really have to experience it to believe it. It’s unlike anything you’ve seen anywhere else in the galaxy."

"I'm scared," Jason said flatly. "What do you have—methane or chlorine reactions? I've been on planets like that—"

Kerk slammed his hand down hard on the table. The dishes bounced and the table legs creaked. "Lab reactions!" he growled. "They look impressive on a bench—but what happens when you have a world filled with those compounds? In the blink of an eye in galactic time, all the violence is trapped in nice, stable compounds. The atmosphere may be toxic for someone who breathes oxygen, but taken by itself, it's as harmless as weak beer."

"There is only one setup that is pure poison for a planetary atmosphere. Lots of H₂O, the most universal solvent you can find, plus free oxygen to react with—"

"Water and oxygen!" Jason interrupted. "You mean Earth—or a planet like Cassylia here? That's ridiculous."

"Not at all. Because you were born in this kind of environment, you see it as normal and natural. You take for granted that metals rust, coastlines shift, and storms disrupt communication. These are typical events on oxygen-water worlds. On Pyrrus, these conditions are taken to the extreme."

"The planet has an axial tilt of almost forty-two degrees, so there’s a huge change in temperature from season to season. This is one of the main reasons for a continually shifting icecap. The weather that results from this is spectacular, to say the least."

"If that's all," Jason said, "I don’t see why—"

"That's not all—it's barely the beginning. The open seas serve a double destructive role by providing water vapor that fuels the weather, while also creating massive tides. Pyrrus' two moons, Samas and Bessos, sometimes work together to raise the oceans into thirty-meter tides. And until you've witnessed one of these tides spilling over into an active volcano, you haven't seen anything."

"Heavy elements are what brought us to Pyrrus—and these same elements keep the planet in a constant state of volcanic activity. There have been at least thirteen supernovas in the nearby stellar neighborhood. Heavy elements can be found on most of their planets, of course, along with completely unbreathable atmospheres. Long-term mining and exploitation can only be done by a self-sustaining colony. That’s why we ended up on Pyrrus, where the radioactive elements are locked in the planet's core, surrounded by a shell of lighter elements. While this setup creates an atmosphere suitable for humans, it also results in nonstop volcanic activity as the molten plasma pushes its way to the surface."

For the first time, Jason was quiet. He tried to picture what life might be like on a planet that was always fighting with itself.

"I've saved the best for last," Kerk said with a dark sense of humor. "Now that you have an idea of what the environment is like—think about the kinds of life forms that would live in it. I doubt there's a single off-world species that could survive for a minute. Plants and animals on Pyrrus are tough. They fight the elements and they fight each other. Hundreds of thousands of years of natural selection have created beings that would give even a computer brain nightmares. They're armored, poisonous, clawed, and have toothy mouths. That describes everything that walks, flies, or just sits and grows. Ever seen a plant with teeth that bites? I don’t think you want to. You’d have to be on Pyrrus, and that means you’d be dead within seconds of stepping off the ship. Even I’ll need to take a refresher course before I can go outside the landing buildings. The constant battle for survival keeps the life forms competing and evolving. Death is straightforward, but the ways to meet it are too many to count."

Unhappiness felt like a heavy burden on Kerk's broad shoulders. After a while of deep thinking, he made a noticeable effort to shake it off. He redirected his focus to his food and wiped the gravy from his plate, expressing part of how he felt.

"I guess there’s no real reason for us to stick around and fight this never-ending war. Except that Pyrrus is our home." The last bit of gravy-soaked bread disappeared, and he waved the empty fork at Jason.

"Be glad you're from another world and will never have to witness it."

"That's where you're wrong," Jason said as calmly as he could. "You see, I'm coming back with you."

"Stop talking nonsense," Kerk said as he requested a duplicate order of steak. "There are much easier ways to end your life. Don't you get that you're a millionaire now? With what you have in your pocket, you could enjoy the rest of your life on the pleasure planets. Pyrrus is a death world, not a vacation spot for bored tourists. I can't let you come back with me."

Gamblers who lose their cool don't last long. Jason was angry now. Yet it only showed in a negative way. In the blank expression on his face and the calmness of his voice.

"Don't tell me what I can or can't do, Kerk Pyrrus. You're a strong guy with a quick draw—but that doesn't mean you're in charge of me. All you can do is keep me from getting back on your ship. But I can definitely find another way there. And don’t think for a second that I want to go to Pyrrus just for sightseeing when you don't even know my real reasons."

Jason didn't even try to explain his reasons; they were only partially understood and too personal. The more he traveled, the more everything started to look the same to him. The old, civilized planets faded into a dull uniformity. Frontier worlds all had the rough sameness of temporary camps in a forest. It wasn’t that the galactic worlds bored him; it was just that he had recognized their limitations—yet had never identified his own. Until he met Kerk, he hadn’t acknowledged any man as his superior or even his equal. This wasn’t just egotism; it was facing reality. Now he had to confront the truth that there was a whole world of people who might be better than him. Jason could never be satisfied until he had been there and seen it for himself, even if it meant dying in the process.

None of this could be told to Kerk. There were other reasons he would understand better.

"You're not looking ahead when you stop me from going to Pyrrus," Jason said. "I won't even bring up the moral debt you owe me for winning that money you needed. But what about next time? If you needed that much dangerous stuff once, you'll likely need it again someday. Wouldn't it be smarter to have me around—someone you can count on—rather than trying to come up with some new and possibly unreliable plan?"

Kerk chewed thoughtfully on the second serving of steak. "That makes sense. I have to admit, I hadn't considered it before. One problem we Pyrrans have is that we're often not interested in the future. Just getting through each day is challenging enough. So we usually deal with emergencies as they come and let the uncertain future worry about itself. You’re welcome to come. I hope you’ll still be around when we need you. As the Pyrran ambassador to many places, I officially invite you to our planet. All expenses covered, on the condition that you follow all our instructions about your safety completely."

"Conditions accepted," Jason said. And he wondered why he felt so happy about signing his own death warrant.

Kerk was digging into his third dessert when his alarm watch gave a faint buzz. He dropped his fork immediately and stood up. "Time to go," he said. "We're right on schedule." While Jason hurried to his feet, he stuffed coins into the meter until the paid light lit up. Then they were out the door and walking quickly.

Jason wasn't surprised when they came up on a public escalator right behind the restaurant. He was starting to realize that ever since leaving the Casino, every move they made had been carefully planned and timed. No doubt the alarm was triggered and the entire world was searching for them. Yet so far, they hadn't seen the slightest sign of pursuit. This wasn't the first time Jason had to stay one step ahead of the authorities—but it was the first time he had let someone else guide him while doing it. He couldn't help but smile at his own automatic compliance. He had been a loner for so many years that he found a certain unexpected pleasure in following someone else.

"Hurry up," Kerk grumbled after glancing at his watch. He kept a brisk, relentless pace up the escalator steps. They went up five levels that way—without seeing anyone else—before Kerk finally gave in and let the escalator do the work.

Jason took pride in staying fit. But the sudden climb, after a sleepless night, had him panting heavily and drenched in sweat. Kerk, calm and collected, breathed normally and showed no sign that he had been running.

They were on the second level of the motor when Kerk stepped off the slowly rising stairs and waved for Jason to follow him. As they exited onto the street, a car pulled up to the curb in front of them. Jason knew better than to reach for his gun. Just as they reached the car, the driver opened the door and got out. Kerk handed him a piece of paper without saying anything and slipped into the driver's seat. Jason barely had time to jump in before the car sped away. The whole exchange had taken less than three seconds.

There had been only a glimpse of the driver in the dim light, but Jason had recognized him. Of course, he had never seen the man before, but after knowing Kerk, he couldn't mistake the solid build of a native Pyrran.

"That was the receipt from Ellus you gave him," Jason said.

"Of course. That handles the ship and the cargo. They'll be off-planet and out of reach before the casino check is linked back to Ellus. So now, let's focus on ourselves. I'll go over the plan in detail to make sure there are no mistakes on your part. I'll explain everything once, and if you have any questions, you can ask them when I'm done."

The commands were so automatic that Jason found himself listening in quiet obedience. Though one part of his mind wanted him to smile at the quick assumption of his incompetence.

Kerk turned the car into the steady stream of traffic leaving the city for the spaceport. He drove smoothly as he chatted.

"There’s a search going on in the city, but we’re already ahead of that. I doubt the Cassylians want to show off their bad sportsmanship, so there won’t be anything as obvious as a roadblock. But the port will be filled with all their agents. They know that once the money leaves the planet, it’s gone for good. When we make our move, they’ll make sure we still have the goods. So there shouldn’t be any issues with the munitions ship getting out."

Jason sounded a bit surprised. "Wait, you mean you're using us as decoys to cover the launch of the ship?"

"You could say it like that. But since we have to leave the planet anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to use our escape as a cover. Now be quiet until I’m done, like I told you. One more interruption and I’ll drop you by the roadside."

Jason was confident he would. He listened closely—and silently—as Kerk repeated exactly what he had said before, then went on.

"The official car gate will likely be wide open with traffic passing through. Many of the agents will be in plain clothes. We might even get onto the field without being recognized, but I doubt it. It doesn’t really matter. We’ll drive through the gate and head to the take-off pad. The Pride of Darkhan, for which we have tickets, will be sounding its two-minute siren and lowering the gangway. By the time we reach our seats, the ship will be taking off."

"That's all well and good," Jason said. "But what will the guards be doing the whole time?"

"Shooting at us and each other. We will use the chaos to get on board."

This answer didn’t ease Jason’s mind, but he decided to let it go for now. “Okay—let’s say we do get on board. Why don’t they just stop the take-off until we’re dragged out and standing against a wall?”

Kerk shot him a scornful look before turning his gaze back to the road. "I said the ship was the Pride of Darkhan. If you had bothered to learn anything about this system, you would know what that means. Cassylia and Darkhan are sister planets and competitors in every way. It's been less than two centuries since they fought a war that nearly wiped out both of them. Now they maintain a heavily armed neutrality that neither side dares to breach. The moment we step onto that ship, we’re on Darkhan territory. There’s no extradition agreement between the planets. Cassylia might want us—but not enough to start another war."

That was all the explanation they had time for. Kerk turned the car away from the busy traffic and onto a bridge marked Official Cars Only. Jason felt exposed as they drove under the bright port lights toward the guarded gate ahead.

It’s closed.

Another car came up to the gate from the inside, and Kerk slowed their car to a crawl. One of the guards spoke to the driver of the car inside the port, then waved to the gate attendant. The barrier gate started to swing inward, and Kerk slammed down on the accelerator.

Everything happened at once. The turbine howled, the tires screeched against the road, and the car smashed through the gate. Jason caught a quick glimpse of the guards with their mouths open, then they were drifting around the corner of a building. A few shots fired after them, but none hit their mark.

Driving with one hand, Kerk reached under the dash and pulled out a gun that looked just like the massive one strapped to his arm. "Use this instead of your own," he said. "Rocket-propelled explosive rounds. They'll make a huge bang. Don’t waste your shots on anyone—I’ll handle that. Just create some chaos and make sure they stay back. Like this."

He took a quick shot out of the side window and handed the gun to Jason almost instantly after the bullet fired. An empty truck exploded with a deafening noise, showering debris on the surrounding cars and sending their drivers running in a panic.

After that, it was a terrifying ride through a crazy scene. Kerk drove as if he had total disregard for violent death. Other cars trailed behind, getting caught up in wild turns. They sped almost the entire length of the field, leaving a path of smoking destruction.

Then the chase was all behind them, and the only thing ahead was the slim spire of the Pride of Darkhan.

The Pride was enclosed by a strong wire fence that matched the unwanted status of her home planet. The gate was closed and watched by soldiers with their guns drawn, ready to fire at the approaching car. Kerk did not try to get close to them. Instead, he used the last of the car's power and drove toward the fence. "Cover your face," he yelled.

Jason raised his arms in front of his head just as they collided.

Torn metal shrieked, the fence buckled and wrapped itself around the car but didn’t give way. Jason flew off the seat and slammed into the padded dashboard. By the time Kerk got the mangled door open, he knew the ride was done. Kerk must have seen the spin of Jason's eyes because he didn’t say anything, just pulled him out and tossed him onto the hood of the wrecked car.

"Climb over the bent wire and make a dash for the ship," he shouted.

If there was any doubt about what he meant, he showed Jason an example of great roadwork. It was hard to believe that someone his size could run so fast, but he did. He moved more like a charging tank than a person. Jason shook off the fog in his mind and picked up some speed himself. Still, he was only halfway to the ship when Kerk hit the gangway. It was already unhooked from the ship, but the stunned attendants paused in rolling it away as the big man bounded up the steps.

At the top, he turned and shot at the soldiers charging through the open gate. They went down, crawled, and shot back. Very few aimed at Jason as he ran.

The scene in front of Jason played out in slow motion. Kerk stood at the top of the ramp, calmly returning fire that flew around him. He could have found safety in an instant through the open port behind him. The only reason he stayed there was to protect Jason.

"Thanks—" Jason managed to gasp as he took the last few steps up the gangway, jumped the gap, and collapsed inside the ship.

"You're totally welcome," Kerk said as he joined him, waving his gun to cool it off.

A stern-looking ship officer stepped back to avoid getting hit and examined both of them. "What's happening here?" he asked gruffly.

Kerk checked the barrel with a wet thumb, then let the gun slide back into its holster. "We are law-abiding citizens from a different system who haven't committed any crimes. The savages of Cassylia are too uncivilized for decent company. So we are heading to Darkhan—here are our tickets—where I believe we currently are," he added for the benefit of the Cassylian officer who had just stumbled to the top of the gangway and was raising his gun.

The soldier couldn't be blamed. He saw these wanted criminals getting away. On a Darkhan ship, too. Anger took over, and he raised his gun.

"Get out of there, you jerk. You're not getting away that easily. Come out slowly with your hands up or I'll shoot you—"

It was a frozen moment in time that stretched on and on without breaking. The gun was aimed at Kerk and Jason. Neither of them made a move to grab their own weapons.

The gun shifted slightly as the ship's officer moved, then steadied back on the two men. The Darkhan spaceman hadn't gone far, just a step across the airlock. That was enough to bring him next to a red box that was flush with the wall. With a quick motion, he flipped up the cover and positioned his thumb over the button inside. When he smiled, his lips pulled back to reveal all his teeth. He had made his decision, and it was the arrogance of the Cassylian officer that had influenced him the most.

"Fire a single shot into Darkhan territory and I'll press this button," he shouted. "And you know what this button does—every one of your ships has one too. Do something hostile to this ship and someone will press a button. Every control rod will be blown out of the ship's reactor in that moment, and half your filthy city will explode." His smile was carved into his face, and there was no doubt he would follow through on his threat. "Go ahead—fire. I think I'd enjoy pressing this."

The take-off siren was blasting now, the close lock light flashing an angry signal from the bridge. Like four actors in a serious play, they faced each other for one more moment.

Then the Cassylian officer, filled with silent, frustrated rage, spun around and jumped back to the steps.

"All passengers board the ship. Forty-five seconds to take-off. Clear the port." The ship's officer slammed the box shut and locked it as he spoke. There was barely time to make it to the acceleration couches before the Pride of Darkhan lifted off the ground.

Once the ship was in orbit, the captain called for Jason and Kerk. Kerk took charge and was completely honest about what happened the night before. The only important detail he left out was Jason's background as a professional gambler. He painted a vivid picture of two lucky strangers who the evil forces of Cassylia wanted to rob of their winnings. This perfectly matched the captain's existing beliefs about Cassylia. In the end, he congratulated his officer for his wise decisions and began preparing a lengthy report for his government. He extended his best wishes to the two men and granted them freedom on the ship.

It was a quick trip. Jason hardly had time to catch up on his sleep before they landed in Darkhan. Since they didn’t have any luggage, they were the first ones through customs. They exited the shed just in time to see another ship landing in a distant pit. Kerk paused to watch it, and Jason followed his gaze. It was a gray, battered ship. It had the short lines of a freighter but was armed with as many guns as a cruiser.

"Yours, for sure," Jason said.

Kerk nodded and headed toward the ship. One of the locks opened as they approached, but no one showed up. Instead, a remote-release folding ladder clattered down to the ground. Kerk climbed up it quickly, and Jason followed reluctantly. Somehow, he felt this was taking the no-frills-and-nonsense attitude too far.

Jason was starting to understand Pyrran customs, though. The welcome for the ambassador aboard the ship was exactly what he anticipated. Nothing. Kerk sealed the lock himself, and they found couches as the take-off horn blared. The main jets roared to life, and the acceleration slammed down on Jason.

It didn't stop. Instead, it intensified, squeezing the air out of his lungs and dimming his vision. He screamed but couldn't hear his own voice over the deafening roar in his ears. Thankfully, he passed out.

When Jason regained consciousness, the ship was in zero gravity. He kept his eyes closed and allowed the pain to drain away from his body. Kerk spoke up unexpectedly; he was standing next to the couch.

"My bad, Meta, I should have mentioned we had a 1-G passenger with us. You could have taken it a little easier on your usual bone-crushing take-off."

"It doesn’t look like it hurt him too much—but what’s he doing here?"

Jason was a bit surprised that the second voice was a girl’s. But he didn’t care enough to bother opening his aching eyes.

"Going to Pyrrus. I tried to talk him out of it, of course, but I couldn't change his mind. It's a shame, too; I would have liked to do more for him. He's the one who got the money for us."

"Oh, that's terrible," the girl said. Jason wondered why it was terrible. It didn’t make sense to his groggy mind. "It would have been much better if he had stayed on Darkhan," the girl continued. "He's really good-looking. I think it's a shame he has to die."

That was overwhelming for Jason. He opened one eye, then the other. The voice came from a girl who looked about twenty-one, standing next to the bed and looking down at Jason. She was gorgeous.

Jason's eyes widened as he realized she was very beautiful—with a kind of beauty that just isn’t found in the civilized galaxy. The women he had known had always been pale-skinned, with skinny shoulders and gray faces covered in makeup. They were the result of centuries of breeding weaknesses back into the population, as advances in medicine allowed more and more non-survival types to live on.

This girl was completely different in every way. She was a product of surviving on Pyrrus. The heavy gravity that caused men to have bulging muscles also gave women strong, athletic bodies. She had the figure of a goddess, with tanned skin and a perfectly shaped face. Her hair, cut short, framed her head like a golden crown. The only non-feminine thing about her was the gun she carried in a large forearm holster. When she saw Jason's eyes open, she smiled at him. Her teeth were as straight and as white as he had imagined.

"I'm Meta, the pilot of this ship. And you must be—"

"Jason dinAlt. That was a terrible take-off, Meta."

"I'm really sorry," she laughed. "But being born on a two-G planet does make you a bit immune to acceleration. I also save fuel with the synergy curve—"

Kerk let out a noncommittal grunt. "Come on, Meta, let's check out the cargo. Some of the new items will fill in the gaps in the perimeter."

"Oh yes," she said, almost clapping her hands with joy. "I read the specs; they're just amazing."

Like a schoolgirl with a new dress. Or a box of candy. That's a great attitude to have towards bombs and flamethrowers. Jason smiled wryly at the thought as he groaned off the couch. The two Pyrrans had left, and he pulled himself painfully through the door after them.

It took him a while to find his way to the hold. The ship was large and seemed to be empty of crew. Jason eventually found a man sleeping in one of the brightly lit cabins. He recognized him as the driver who had handed over the car to them on Cassylia. The man, who had been sleeping peacefully just moments before, opened his eyes as soon as Jason walked into the room. He was fully awake.

"How do I get to the cargo hold?" Jason asked.

The other guy told him, closed his eyes, and fell right back asleep before Jason could even say thanks.

In the hold, Kerk and Meta had opened some of the crates and were laughing with excitement over their deadly contents. Meta, holding a pressure canister in her arms, turned to Jason as he walked through the door.

"Just look at this," she said. "This powder in here—you could eat it like dirt, and it would be less harmful. Yet it's instantly deadly to all forms of plant life..." She suddenly stopped when she realized Jason didn't share her excitement. "I'm sorry. I forgot for a moment that you're not a Pyrran. So you don't really get it, do you?"

Before he could respond, the PA speaker announced her name.

"Jump time," she said. "Come with me to the bridge while I work on the equations. We can talk there. I don’t know much about anywhere except Pyrrus, so I have a million questions to ask."

Jason followed her to the bridge where she took over from the duty officer and started taking readings for the jump-setting. She seemed out of place among the machines, a strong yet flexible figure in a basic, one-piece shipsuit. Still, there was no denying how efficiently she handled her job.

"Meta, aren’t you a bit too young to be the pilot of a spaceship?"

"Am I?" She paused for a moment. "I honestly have no idea how old pilots are meant to be. I've been flying for about three years now, and I'm almost twenty. Is that younger than normal?"

Jason opened his mouth—then laughed. "I guess that all depends on what planet you're from. In some places, you would have a hard time getting licensed. But I bet things are different on Pyrrus. By their standards, you must be considered an old lady."

"Now you're joking," Meta said calmly as she typed a number into the calculator. "I've seen old ladies on some planets. They have wrinkles and gray hair. I don't know how old they are; I asked one, but she wouldn't tell me her age. But I'm sure they must be older than anyone on Pyrrus; no one looks like that there."

"I don't mean old like that," Jason struggled to find the right word. "Not old—just grown-up, mature. An adult."

"Everyone is an adult," she replied. "At least shortly after they leave the hospital. They do that when they’re six. My first child is an adult, and the second one would be too, if he hadn’t died. So I must be."

That seemed to resolve the issue for her, even though Jason's mind raced with the unfamiliar ideas and context underlying her words.

Meta entered the last setting, and the course tape started to roll out of the case. She focused back on Jason. "I'm really glad you're on this trip, even though I'm sorry you're going to Pyrrus. But we’ll have plenty of time to chat. There are so many things I want to learn about other planets and why people act the way they do. Not at all like home, where you know why people do things all the time." She frowned at the tape for a moment, then turned her attention back to Jason. "What’s your home planet like?"

One after another, the usual lies he told people came to mind, but he pushed them away. Why lie to a girl who honestly didn't care whether you were a serf or noble? To her, there were only two types of people in the galaxy—Pyrrans and everyone else. For the first time since he had escaped from Porgorstorsa, he found himself sharing the truth about his origins with someone.

"My home planet? It's basically the most boring, stuffy dead-end in the universe. You wouldn't believe how decayed a planet can get when it's mostly agricultural, caught up in caste systems, and perfectly happy with its dull life. There’s not just no change—no one even wants it. My dad was a farmer, so I was supposed to be a farmer too—if I had followed the advice of those above me. It was unthinkable and also against the rules for me to do anything else. Everything I wanted to do was illegal. I didn’t learn to read until I was fifteen—thanks to a book I stole from a prestigious school. After that, there was no going back. By the time I snuck onto an off-world freighter at nineteen, I must have broken every law on the planet. And I was glad to do it. Leaving home felt just like escaping from prison."

Meta shook her head at the thought. "I just can't picture a place like that. But I'm sure I wouldn't enjoy it there."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," Jason laughed. "So once I was in space, with no skills or talents for following the rules, I just wandered from one thing to another. In this tech-driven age, I was totally out of my element. I mean, I could have probably done fine in some army, but I'm not great at taking orders. Whenever I gambled, I did well, so bit by bit, I just fell into it. People are pretty much the same everywhere, so I manage to get by no matter where I find myself."

"I get what you're saying about people being similar—but they are so different," she said. "I'm not being clear at all, am I? What I mean is that at home, I know what people will do and why they do it at the same time. People on all the other planets do act similarly, like you mentioned, but I really have a hard time understanding why. For example, I like to try the local food when we land on a planet, and if there's time, I always do. There are bars and restaurants near every spaceport, so I go there. And I always have trouble with the guys. They want to buy me drinks, hold my hand—"

"Well, a single girl in those bars has to expect a certain level of attention from men."

"Oh, I get that," she said. "What I don't get is why they don't listen when I say I'm not interested and to leave me alone. They just laugh and usually pull up a chair. But I've found that one thing works no matter where I am. I tell them if they don’t stop bothering me, I’ll break their arm."

"Does that stop them?" Jason asked.

"No, definitely not. But after I break their arm, they leave. And the others don’t bother me either. It's a hassle to deal with, and the food is usually terrible."

Jason didn’t laugh. Especially when he realized that this girl could break the arm of any spaceport thug in the galaxy. She was a weird mix of innocence and strength, unlike anyone he had ever met before. Once again he understood that he had to visit the planet that produced people like her and Kerk.

"Tell me about Pyrrus," he asked. "Why do you and Kerk automatically assume that I’ll drop dead as soon as I arrive? What’s the planet like?"

All the warmth was gone from her face now. "I can't tell you. You'll have to see for yourself. I know that much after visiting some of the other worlds. Pyrrus is nothing like what you galaxy folks have ever experienced. You won't fully believe it until it's too late. Will you promise me something?"

"No," he replied. "At least not until I find out what it is and decide."

"Don't get off the ship when we land. You should be safe enough on board, and I'll be flying out a cargo in a few weeks."

"I won’t promise anything like that. I’ll go when I want to go." Jason knew there was some truth to what she said, but her automatic sense of superiority rubbed him the wrong way.

Meta finished the jump settings without saying anything more. There was a tension in the room that stopped them both from speaking.

It was the next ship day before he saw her again, and it happened completely by chance. She was in the astrogation dome when he walked in, gazing up at the sparkling vastness of the jump sky. For the first time, he saw her off duty, wearing something other than a shipsuit. She had on a loose, soft robe that highlighted her beauty.

She smiled at him. "The stars are amazing," she said. "Come take a look." Jason stepped closer to her and, almost instinctively, put his arm around her. She didn’t mind; instead, she put her hand over his. Then they kissed, and it was exactly how he had imagined it would be.

After that, they were together all the time. When Meta was on duty, he brought her meals to the bridge and they chatted. Jason didn't learn much more about her world since, by mutual agreement, they avoided discussing it. He talked about the many planets he had visited and the people he had met. She was a great listener and the time passed quickly. They enjoyed each other's company and it was an amazing trip.

Then it was over.

There were fourteen people on the ship, but Jason had only ever seen two or three at a time. They followed a set schedule for their duties while operating the ship. When they weren't on duty, the Pyrrans kept to themselves in a focused and self-sufficient way. It was only when the ship came out of jump and the PA shouted assembly that they all gathered together.

Kerk was giving orders for the landing, and questions were going back and forth quickly. It was all technical, and Jason didn’t bother to keep up with it. What caught his attention was the attitude of the Pyrrans. Their conversations were faster now, as were their movements. They were like soldiers getting ready for battle.

Their similarity hit Jason for the first time. Not that they looked alike or did the same things. It was the way they moved and reacted that created the striking resemblance. They were like powerful, stalking cats. Walking quickly, tense and ready to pounce at any moment, their eyes never settled for an instant.

Jason tried to talk to Meta after the meeting, but she felt almost like a stranger. She responded with one-word answers, and her eyes never met his; they just skimmed over him and moved on. There was nothing he could really say, so she turned to leave. He started to reach out to stop her—then thought better of it. There would be other chances to talk.

Kerk was the only one who paid any attention to him—and even then, it was just to send him to an acceleration couch.

Meta's landings were way worse than her take-offs. At least when she landed on Pyrrus. There were sudden bursts of acceleration in every direction. At one point, there was a free fall that felt like it would never end. There were loud thumps against the hull that rattled the ship's structure. It felt more like a fight than a landing, and Jason couldn't help but wonder how much truth there was to that.

When the ship finally landed, Jason didn’t even realize it. The constant 2 G's felt like slowing down. Only the descending roar of the ship’s engines made him aware they had touched down. Unbuckling the straps and sitting up took some effort.

Two G's don't seem that bad—at first. Walking took the same effort as carrying a man of his own weight on his shoulders. When Jason lifted his arm to unlock the door, it felt as heavy as two arms. He shuffled slowly toward the main lock.

They were all there before him, two of the guys rolling clear cylinders from a nearby room. From their obvious weight and the way they clanked together, Jason realized they were made of clear metal. He couldn't think of any possible use for them. Empty cylinders a meter wide, longer than a man. One end solid, the other hinged and sealed. It wasn't until Kerk spun the sealing wheel and opened one of them that their purpose became clear.

"Get in," Kerk said. "Once you're inside, you'll be taken out of the ship."

"Thanks, but no," Jason said to him. "I really don’t want to make a dramatic landing on your planet all wrapped up like a packaged sausage."

"Don't be an idiot," Kerk shot back. "We're all going out in these tubes. We've been away too long to take the risk of the surface without getting reoriented."

Jason felt a bit silly as he watched the others getting into their tubes. He chose the closest one, slid in feet first, and closed the lid. When he tightened the wheel in the center, it pressed down against a flexible seal. Within a minute, the CO₂ levels in the sealed cylinder increased and an air regenerator at the bottom buzzed to life.

Kerk was the last one to enter. He checked the seals on all the other tubes first, then pressed the air-lock override release. As it began to cycle, he quickly sealed himself inside the remaining cylinder. Both the inner and outer locks slowly opened, and dim light filtered in through sheets of falling rain.

For Jason, it all felt like an anticlimax. After all this preparation for absolutely nothing. Long, restless minutes went by before a lift truck showed up, driven by a Pyrran. He loaded the cylinders onto his truck like useless cargo. Jason was unlucky enough to be buried at the bottom of the pile, so he couldn’t see anything when they drove outside.

It wasn't until the man-carrying cylinders were dropped in a metal-walled room that Jason saw his first native Pyrran life.

The forklift driver was swinging a heavy outer door shut when something flew in through the entrance and hit the far wall. Jason noticed the movement and turned to see what it was just as it dropped straight down toward his face.

Forgetful of the metal cylinder wall, he recoiled. The creature hit the transparent metal and held on to it. Jason had the perfect chance to study it closely.

It was almost too terrible to believe. As if it were a harbinger of death reduced to its core elements. A mouth that split the head in two, with rows of serrated, pointed teeth. Leathery, claw-tipped wings, and longer claws on the limbs that ripped at the metal wall.

Terror surged through Jason as he watched the claws ripping into the clear metal. Wherever the creature's saliva made contact, the metal became cloudy and chipped from the attack of the teeth.

Logic said these were just scratches on the thick tube. They didn't matter. But blind, unreasoning fear made Jason curl away as far as he could. He shrank inside himself, looking for a way out.

Only when the flying creature started to dissolve did he understand the nature of the room outside. Jets of steaming liquid sprayed from all sides, pouring down until the cylinders were drenched. After one final clash of its jaws, the Pyrran animal was washed away and taken off. The liquid drained through the floor, followed by a second and third shower.

While the solutions were being pumped away, Jason struggled to control his emotions. He was surprised at himself. No matter how terrifying the creature had been, he couldn’t understand the fear it could create through the sealed wall of the tube. His reaction seemed completely exaggerated for what had happened. Even with the creature gone and out of sight, it took all his willpower to calm his nerves and get his breathing back to normal.

Meta walked by outside, and he realized the sterilization process was done. He opened his tube and climbed out wearily. By this time, Meta and the others had left, and only a hawk-faced stranger remained, waiting for him.

"I'm Brucco, the head of the adaptation clinic. Kerk filled me in on who you are. I’m sorry you have to be here. Now, let’s go; I need some blood samples."

"Now I feel right at home," Jason said. "The old Pyrran hospitality." Brucco just grunted and stomped out. Jason followed him down a plain hallway into a sterile lab.

The double gravity was exhausting, a constant strain on his aching muscles. While Brucco ran tests on the blood sample, Jason took a break. He had nearly fallen into a painful sleep when Brucco came back with a tray of bottles and hypodermic needles.

"Amazing," he said. "Not a single antibody in your serum that would be useful on this planet. I've got a batch of antigens here that will make you feel terrible for at least a day. Take off your shirt."

"Have you done this a lot?" Jason asked. "I mean, made an outsider experience the pleasures of your world?"

Brucco pushed in a needle that felt like it was scraping against the bone. "Not very often. The last time was years ago. A handful of researchers from some institute, ready to pay top dollar for the chance to study the local life forms. We didn’t turn it down. We always need more galactic credits."

Jason was starting to feel light-headed from the drinks. "How many of them survived?" he mumbled vaguely.

"One. We got him out on time. Made them pay upfront, of course."

At first, Jason thought the Pyrran was joking. Then he remembered they had very little interest in humor of any kind. If half of what Meta and Kerk had told him was true, six to one odds weren't bad at all.

There was a bed in the next room, and Brucco helped him to it. Jason felt drugged, and he probably was. He fell into a deep sleep and into the dream.

Fear and hatred blended together and overwhelmed him like a wave of heat. If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up. If it wasn't a dream, he wished for death. He tried to fight back, but only sank deeper. There was no start and no finish to the fear, and no way out.

When Jason regained consciousness, he couldn't recall any details of the nightmare. All that was left was the fear. He was drenched in sweat and his muscles ached everywhere. He finally concluded that it must have been the huge amount of alcohol he had consumed, along with the oppressive weight of reality. But that didn’t erase the taste of fear from his mouth.

Brucco poked his head in the door and sized Jason up. "I thought you were dead," he said. "I just slept all day. Don't move, I'll grab something to wake you up."

The pickup was another needle and a glass full of something that looked really bad. It quenched his thirst, but made him acutely aware of his persistent hunger.

"Want to eat?" Brucco asked. "I bet you do. I've boosted your metabolism so you'll build muscle faster. It's the only way you'll ever overcome gravity. It's going to give you a pretty big appetite for a while, though."

Brucco ate at the same time, and Jason had a chance to ask some questions. "When do I get to explore your fascinating planet? So far, this trip has been about as exciting as a prison sentence."

"Take it easy and enjoy your meal. It might be months before you can go outside. If ever."

Jason felt his jaw drop and quickly closed it with a snap. "Can you tell me why?"

"Of course. You'll need to go through the same training program that our kids do. It takes them six years. And since it's their first six years of life, you might assume that, as an adult, you could pick it up quicker. But they have the benefit of genetics. All I can say is that you'll be allowed outside these sealed buildings when you're ready."

Brucco had finished eating while he talked and sat there staring at Jason's bare arms with increasing disgust. "The first thing we need to get you is a gun," he said. "It makes me feel sick to see someone without one."

Of course, Brucco always carried his own gun, even inside the sealed buildings.

"Every gun is tailored to its owner and would be useless in anyone else's hands," Brucco said. "I'll show you why." He guided Jason to an armory packed with lethal weapons. "Slide your arm in this while I make the adjustments."

It was a boxy machine with a pistol grip on the side. Jason held the grip and rested his elbow on a metal loop. Brucco attached pointers that touched his arm, then recorded the results from the meters. Looking at the numbers on his list, he picked various components from bins and quickly assembled a power holster and gun. With the holster strapped to his forearm and the gun in his hand, Jason saw for the first time that they were connected by a flexible cable. The gun fit his hand perfectly.

"This is the secret of the power holster," Brucco said, tapping the flexible cable. "It's completely loose while you're using the weapon. But when you want it back in the holster—" Brucco made an adjustment, and the cable turned into a rigid rod that yanked the gun from Jason's hand and held it in midair.

"Then the return." The rod-cable whirred and snapped the gun back into the holster. "The drawing action is the opposite of this, of course."

"A cool gadget," Jason said, "but how do I draw? Do I whistle or something for the gun to come out?"

"No, it’s not about sonic control," Brucco said with a serious expression. "It’s much more precise than that. Here, take your left hand and pretend to hold a gun. Tense your trigger finger. Do you see the tendon pattern in your wrist? Sensitive actuators touch the tendons in your right wrist. They disregard all patterns except the one that indicates hand ready to receive gun. After a while, the mechanism becomes completely automatic. When you want the gun—it’s in your hand. When you don’t—it’s in the holster."

Jason reached out with his right hand, bending his index finger. Suddenly, a sharp, intense pain shot through his hand, accompanied by a loud roar. He realized he was holding a gun—his fingers were partly numb—and smoke was rising from the barrel.

"Of course, the gun only has blank charges until you learn how to control it. Guns are always loaded. There’s no safety. Notice that there’s no trigger guard. This lets you bend your trigger finger just a little more when you draw, so the gun will fire the moment it touches your hand."

It was definitely the deadliest weapon Jason had ever used, and also the hardest to handle. Battling the exhausting strain of high gravity, he struggled to control the wicked device. It had a frustrating way of slipping into the holster just as he was about to pull the trigger. Even worse was its tendency to jump out before he was fully ready. The gun always went to where his hand should be. If his fingers weren’t positioned correctly, they would get shoved aside. Jason only stopped practicing when his whole hand was one big, painful bruise.

Complete mastery would come with time, but he could already see why the Pyrrans never took their guns off. It would be like removing a part of your own body. The movement of the gun from holster to hand was too quick for him to notice. It was definitely faster than the neural signals that shaped the hand into the gun-holding position. For all intents and purposes, it was like having a lightning bolt in your fingertip. Point your finger and blamm, there's the explosion.

Brucco had left Jason to practice by himself. When his sore hand could handle no more, he stopped and made his way back to his room. As he turned a corner, he caught a quick glimpse of a familiar figure walking away from him.

"Meta! Hold on for a minute—I want to chat with you."

She turned impatiently as he shuffled up, moving as fast as he could in the increased gravity. Everything about her seemed different from the girl he had known on the ship. Heavy boots rose to her knees, and her figure was obscured by bulky coveralls made of some metallic fabric. The fitted waist was pushed out by a belt of canisters. Her expression was cold and distant.

"I've missed you," he said. "I didn't know you were in this building." He reached for her hand, but she pulled it out of his reach.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"What do I want?" he repeated with barely hidden anger. "This is Jason, remember? We're friends. Friends are allowed to talk without 'wanting' anything."

"What happened on the ship has nothing to do with what goes on in Pyrrus." She moved ahead impatiently while she spoke. "I've completed my reconditioning and need to get back to work. You'll be staying here in the sealed buildings, so I won't be seeing you."

"Why don't you say 'with the other kids'—that's what your tone suggests? And don't try to leave; we need to settle a few things first—"

Jason made the mistake of reaching out to stop her. He didn't really know what happened next. One moment he was standing—the next he was suddenly sprawled on the floor. His shoulder was badly bruised, and Meta had disappeared down the hallway.

Limping back to his room, he cursed women in general and Meta in particular. He dropped onto his rock-hard bed and tried to remember the reasons that had brought him here in the first place. He weighed them against the constant torture of gravity, the fear-filled dreams it caused, and the automatic contempt these people had for any outsider. He quickly checked his growing tendency to feel sorry for himself. By Pyrran standards, he was soft and helpless. If he wanted them to think any better of him, he would have to change a lot.

He fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, which was only interrupted by the terrifying screams from his dreams.

In the morning, Jason woke up with a terrible headache and the sense that he had never actually slept. As he took some of the carefully measured stimulants that Brucco had given him, he once again questioned the mix of factors that filled his sleep with such dread.

"Eat fast," Brucco told him when they met in the dining room. "I can't afford to spend time on personal instruction anymore. You'll join the regular classes and take the required courses. Only come to me if there's a specific issue that the instructors or trainers can't solve."

The classes—as Jason should have expected—were made up of stern-faced little kids. With their small frames and serious attitudes, they were definitely Pyrran. But they were still young enough to find it really funny to have an adult in their classes. Cramped behind one of the tiny desks, the red-faced Jason didn’t think it was much of a joke.

All resemblance to a typical school ended with the physical layout of the classroom. For one thing, every child—no matter how young—carried a gun. The subjects were all focused on survival. The only possible grade in a curriculum like this was one hundred percent, and students continued a lesson until they mastered it completely. There were no courses in standard academic subjects. It was assumed these would be studied after the child graduated from survival school and could face the world on their own. This was a practical and unfeeling way of viewing things. In fact, practical and unfeeling could describe any activity in Pyrran life.

Most of the morning was spent using one of the medikits that strapped around the waist. This was a poison analyzer that was pressed over a puncture wound. If any toxins were present, the antidote was automatically injected on the spot. It was simple to use but incredibly complex in design. Since all Pyrrans serviced their own equipment—you could only blame yourself if it failed—they had to learn how to build and repair all the devices. Jason performed much better than the younger students, although the effort drained him.

In the afternoon, he had his first experience with a training machine. His instructor was a twelve-year-old boy, whose cold voice didn't hide his contempt for the weak off-worlder.

"All the training machines are physical replicas of the actual surface of the planet, constantly updated as the life forms evolve. The only difference between them is the different levels of danger. The first machine you will use is, of course, the one that infants are placed into—"

"You're too nice," Jason murmured. "Your compliments are too much for me." The instructor kept going, ignoring the interruption.

"... Infants are placed into as soon as they can crawl. It is real in substance, though completely inactive."

Training machine was the wrong term, Jason realized as they walked through the heavy door. This was a piece of the outside world recreated in a massive room. It didn’t take much for him to set aside reality and picture himself finally outside. The scene looked pretty calm. However, the clouds piling up on the horizon hinted at a fierce Pyrran storm.

"You need to explore and take a look at things," the instructor told Jason. "Whenever you touch something with your hand, you'll get information about it. Like this—"

The boy leaned down and pressed his finger against a blade of the soft grass that covered the ground. Suddenly, a voice shouted from hidden speakers.

"Poisonous plants. Wear boots at all times."

Jason knelt and looked closely at the grass. Each blade had a hard, shiny hook at the tip. He suddenly realized that every single blade of grass was the same. The soft green lawn was like a carpet of death. As he stood back up, he spotted something under a broad-leafed plant. It was a crouching, scale-covered animal, its tapered head ending in a long spike.

"What's that at the bottom of my garden?" he asked. "You really give the babies nice playmates." Jason turned and realized he was talking to thin air; the instructor had disappeared. He shrugged and petted the scaly creature.

"Horndevil," the neutral voice said from the air. "Clothing and shoes offer no protection. Eliminate it."

A loud crack broke the silence as Jason's gun fired. The horndevil collapsed onto its side, primed to respond to the blank shot.

"Well ... I am learning," Jason said, and that thought made him happy. The phrase kill it had been used by Brucco while teaching him how to use the gun. Their impact had sunk in without him realizing it. He only became aware of his desire to shoot after he heard the shot. His admiration for Pyrran training methods increased.

Jason had a completely miserable afternoon wandering through the kid's garden of horrors. Death was all around him. Meanwhile, a disembodied voice kept giving him strict advice in plain language. So he could take action instead of being taken down. He had never understood that violent death could take so many disgusting forms. Everything here was lethal to humans—from the tiniest insect to the biggest plant.

Such a single-minded focus felt completely unnatural. Why was this planet so unwelcoming to human existence? He mentally noted to ask Brucco about it. In the meantime, he tried to find a life form that wasn’t out to kill him. He didn’t have any luck. After a long search, he found the one thing that, when touched, didn’t bring on lethal consequences. It was a chunk of rock protruding from a field of poisonous grass. Jason sat on it, feeling friendly, and pulled his feet up. An oasis of peace. Minutes went by as he rested his weary body.

"ROTFUNGUS—DON'T TOUCH!"

The voice blared at double its usual volume, and Jason jumped like he’d been shot. The gun was in his hand, searching for a target. It was only when he leaned over and examined the rock where he had been sitting that he realized. There were flaky gray patches that hadn’t been there when he settled down.

"Oh, you sneaky machines!" he yelled at the device. "How many kids have you scared away from that rock after they thought they had found a little peace!" He didn't like the sarcastic conditioning, but he admired it at the same time. Pyrrans figured out early on that there was no safety on this planet—only what they created for themselves.

While he was learning about Pyrrhus, he was also gaining new insights into the Pyrrhans.

Days turned into weeks in the school, cut off from the world outside. Jason almost felt proud of his ability to deal death. He recognized all the animals and plants in the nursery room and had been promoted to a trainer, where the beasts made sluggish charges at him. His gun took out the attackers with dull regularity. The constant, daily classes were starting to bore him as well.

Though the weight still pulled at him, his muscles were working hard to adapt. After the daily classes, he no longer crashed straight into bed. Only the nightmares got worse. He finally talked about them with Brucco, who made a sleeping potion that reduced most of their impact. The dreams were still there, but Jason was only vaguely aware of them when he woke up.

By the time Jason had learned all the technology that kept the Pyrrans alive, he had moved on to a highly realistic simulator that was just a breath away from the real thing. The only difference was the quality. The insect toxins caused swelling and pain instead of instant death. Animals could leave bruises and tear skin but would stop short of severing limbs. You couldn't actually die in this simulator, but you could definitely come very close.

Jason wandered through the large and sprawling jungle with the other five-year-olds. There was something a bit funny, yet sad, about their serious expressions. While they might still laugh in private, they understood that there was no laughter allowed outside. For them, survival was tied to social acceptance and desirability. In this way, Pyrrus was a straightforward black-and-white society. To prove your worth to yourself and your community, all you had to do was stay alive. This was crucial for racial survival, but it had very limiting effects on individual personalities. Children became identical killers, always on the lookout to deal out death.

Some of the kids moved on to the outside world while others filled their spots. Jason observed this transition for a bit before he noticed that all the original group he had joined were gone. That same day, he sought out the head of the adaptation center.

"Brucco," Jason asked, "how long do you plan to keep me in this kindergarten shooting range?"

"You're not being 'kept' here," Brucco said to him in his usual annoyed tone. "You’ll stay here until you qualify for the outside."

"Which I have a funny feeling will never happen. I can now take apart and put back together all of your annoying gadgets in the dark. I'm an expert marksman with this weapon. Right now, if I needed to, I could write a book on the Complete Flora and Fauna of Pyrrus, and How to Kill It. Maybe I don't do as well as my six-year-old friends, but I have a feeling I do as good a job now as I ever will. Is that true?"

Brucco squirmed in his attempt to avoid answering, but it didn’t work. "I mean, you know you weren't born here, and—"

"Come on," Jason said happily, "a serious old Pyrran like you shouldn't try to fool someone from the weaker races who are good at that sort of thing. It's obvious that I'll always be slow in this gravity, plus I have other natural disadvantages. I acknowledge that. We're not getting into that right now. The question is—will I get better with more training, or have I hit my peak in my own development now?"

Brucco was sweating. "Over time, things will definitely get better—"

"Sneaky devil!" Jason waggled a finger at him. "Yes or no, now. Will I get better now by training now?"

"No," Brucco said, still looking troubled. Jason sized him up like a poker hand.

"Now let's consider that. I won’t get any better—yet I’m still stuck here. That’s no coincidence. So, you must have been told to keep me here. And from what I’ve seen of this planet, which is admittedly very little, I’d say that Kerk told you to keep me here. Is that true?"

"He was just doing it for your own good," Brucco explained, "trying to keep you safe."

"The truth is out," Jason said, "so let’s just move on. I didn’t come here to take out robots with your kids. So please show me the street door. Or do we have to do a graduation ceremony first? Speeches, handing out school pins, sabers in the air—"

"Nothing like that," Brucco snapped. "I don't understand how a grown man like you can keep talking such nonsense. Of course, there’s none of that. It’s just some final work in the partial survival chamber. That’s a structure that connects to the outside—it's actually part of the outside—except the most dangerous life forms are kept out. And even some of those find a way in from time to time."

"When do I go?" Jason asked.

"Tomorrow morning. Make sure to get a good night's sleep first. You'll need it."

There was one formal moment during the graduation. When Jason entered his office in the morning, Brucco pushed a heavy gun magazine across the table.

"These are real bullets," he said. "I'm sure you'll need them. After this, your gun will always be loaded."

They approached a heavy airlock, the only locked door Jason had seen in the middle. While Brucco unlocked it and released the bolts, a serious-looking eight-year-old with a bandaged leg limped over.

"This is Grif," Brucco said. "He'll stay with you, no matter where you go, from now on."

"My personal bodyguard?" Jason asked, looking down at the short kid who barely reached his waist.

"You could say that." Brucco swung the door open. "Grif got into a fight with a sawbird, so he won't be able to do much work for a while. You yourself said you could never match a Pyrran, so you should be thankful for a bit of protection."

"Always a nice thing to say, that's you, Brucco," Jason said. He leaned down and shook hands with the boy. Even the eight-year-olds had a grip that could crush bones.

The two of them walked into the lock, and Brucco shut the inner door behind them. As soon as it was sealed, the outer door opened on its own. It was only halfway open when Grif's gun went off twice. Then they stepped out onto the surface of Pyrrus, over the smoking body of one of its creatures.

Very symbolic, Jason thought. He was also troubled by the fact that he hadn't remembered to look for something approaching. Plus, he couldn't even recognize the creature from its burnt remains. He looked around, hoping he would be able to shoot first himself next time.

This was a hope that never came true. The few animals that showed up were always spotted first by the boy. After an hour of this, Jason was so annoyed that he destroyed a creepy-looking thorn plant. He wished Grif wouldn’t examine it too closely. But of course, the boy did.

"That plant wasn't nearby. It's ridiculous to waste good ammo on a plant," Grif said.

There was no real trouble during the day. Jason ended up being bored, even though he was soaked from the frequent rainstorms. If Grif could carry on a conversation, he didn't show it. All of Jason's attempts failed. The next day went the same way. On the third day, Brucco showed up and looked Jason up and down carefully.

"I don’t want to say it, but I guess you’re as ready to leave now as you’ll ever be. Change the virus filter noseplugs every day. Always check your boots for tears and your metal cloth suit for rips. Restock the medikit supplies once a week."

"And wipe my nose and put on my galoshes. Anything else?" Jason asked.

Brucco began to say something, then decided against it. "Nothing you don't already know. Stay sharp. And... good luck." He finished with a surprisingly strong handshake. Once the numbness faded from Jason's hand, he and Grif left through the large entrance.

Real as they were, the training rooms hadn’t prepared him for the surface of Pyrrus. There was some basic similarity, of course. The sensation of the poisonous grass underfoot and the erratic movement of a stingwing in the split second before Grif shot it. But these details were barely noticeable amid the chaos of the elements surrounding him.

A heavy rain was pouring down, more like a solid sheet of water than individual drops. Strong gusts of wind whipped through it, throwing the downpour into his face. He wiped his eyes clear and could barely make out the cone-shaped silhouettes of two volcanoes in the distance, spewing out clouds of smoke and fire. The glow from this inferno cast a dull red light on the clouds that raced overhead in thick layers.

There was a clatter on his hard hat and something bounced off to splash to the ground. He bent down and picked up a hailstone as thick as his thumb. A sudden burst of hail pounded painfully against his back and neck, so he straightened up quickly.

As suddenly as it began, the storm was over. The sun blazed down, melting the hailstones and sending wisps of steam up from the wet street. Jason sweated inside his protective gear. But before they had gone a block, it was raining again, and he shivered with cold.

Grif walked steadily along, unconcerned about the weather or the volcanoes rumbling in the distance that shook the ground beneath them. Jason tried to push aside his discomfort and keep up with the boy's pace.

The walk was a depressing one. The heavy, squat buildings loomed grayly through the rain, with more than half of them in ruins. They walked on a pedestrian path in the middle of the street. Occasional armored trucks passed by on both sides of them. The midstreet sidewalk confused Jason until Grif shot something that came hurtling out of a ruined building toward them. The central location gave them a bit of a chance to see what was coming. Suddenly, Jason felt really tired.

"Grif, this city of yours is really run down. I hope the other ones are in better condition."

"I’m not sure what you’re saying about heels. But there are no other cities. Just some mining camps that can’t be found within the perimeter. But no other cities."

This surprised Jason. He had always pictured the planet with more than one city. There were a lot of things he didn't know about Pyrrus, he suddenly realized. All of his efforts since landing had been focused on survival studies. There were several questions he wanted to ask. But he wanted to ask someone other than his grumpy eight-year-old bodyguard. There was one person who would be best suited to tell him what he wanted to know.

"Do you know Kerk?" he asked the boy. "Apparently, he’s your ambassador to a lot of places, but his last name—"

"Sure, everyone knows Kerk. But he's busy, you shouldn't try to see him."

Jason shook a finger at him. "You might be in charge of my body. But you don't get to control my soul. How about I make the decisions and you help me deal with the monsters? Sound good?"

They took cover from a sudden storm of fist-sized hail. Then, reluctantly, Grif led the way to one of the larger, central buildings. There were more people here, and some of them even looked at Jason for a moment before going back to what they were doing. Jason dragged himself up two flights of stairs until they reached a door marked CO-ORDINATION AND SUPPLY.

"Is Kerk in here?" Jason asked.

"Sure," the boy said. "He’s in charge."

"Okay. Now go grab yourself a nice cold drink, or your lunch, or whatever, and meet me back here in a couple of hours. I bet Kerk can take care of me just as well as you can."

The boy stood uncertainly for a few seconds, then turned away. Jason wiped off more sweat and pushed through the door.

There were a few people in the office beyond. None of them looked up at Jason or asked what he was doing there. Everything has a purpose on Pyrrus. If he was there — he must have had a good reason. No one would think to ask him what he needed. Jason, accustomed to the small-minded bureaucracy of a thousand worlds, waited for a moment before he grasped the situation. There was only one other door. He shuffled over and opened it.

Kerk looked up from a desk covered in papers and ledgers. "I was wondering when you would get here," he said.

"A lot sooner if you hadn't stopped it," Jason told him as he wearily dropped into a chair. "I finally realized that I could end up spending the rest of my life in your bloodthirsty preschool if I didn't do something about it. So here I am."

"Are you ready to go back to the 'civilized' worlds now that you've seen enough of Pyrrus?"

"I’m not," Jason said. "And I’m really getting tired of everyone telling me to leave. I’m starting to think that you and the rest of the Pyrrans are trying to hide something."

Kerk smiled at the thought. "What do we even have to hide? I seriously doubt any planet has an existence as straightforward and uncomplicated as ours."

"If that's true, then you definitely wouldn’t mind answering a few straightforward questions about Pyrrus?"

Kerk began to protest but then chuckled. "Nice job. I should really know better by now than to argue with you. What do you want to ask?"

Jason struggled to get settled in the hard chair but eventually surrendered. "What's the population of your planet?" he asked.

For a moment, Kerk paused, then said, "About thirty thousand. That's not a lot for a planet that has been colonized for this long, but the reason for that is clear."

"Okay, with a population of thirty thousand," Jason said. "So what about surface control of your planet? I was surprised to learn that this city within its protective wall—the perimeter—is the only one on the planet. Let's not count the mining camps, since they’re clearly just extensions of the city. Would you say that your people control more or less of the planet's surface than you did before?"

Kerk grabbed a steel pipe from the desk that he used as a paperweight and fiddled with it while he thought. The thick steel bent like rubber under his touch as he focused on his response.

"That's tough to say right away. There has to be records of that kind of thing, but I wouldn't know where to look. It depends on so many factors—"

"Let's put that aside for now," Jason said. "I have another question that's actually more important. Wouldn't you agree that the population of Pyrrus is steadily declining year after year?"

There was a sharp twang as the steel broke in Kerk's fingers, the pieces falling to the floor. He stood over Jason, his hands reaching out towards the smaller man, his face red and furious.

"Don't ever say that," he shouted. "Don't let me hear you say that again!"

Jason sat as quietly as possible, speaking slowly and choosing each word carefully. His life was at stake.

"Don’t get mad, Kerk. I didn’t mean any harm. I’m on your side, remember? I can talk to you because you’ve seen way more of the universe than the Pyrrans who have never left the planet. You’re used to discussing things. You know that words are just symbols. We can talk and you don’t have to freak out over just words—"

Kerk slowly lowered his arms and stepped away. Then he turned and poured himself a glass of water from a bottle on the desk. He kept his back turned to Jason while he drank.

Very little of the sweat that Jason wiped from his drenched face was due to the heat in the room.

"I'm... sorry I lost my temper," Kerk said, sinking heavily into his chair. "That doesn't usually happen. I've been working hard lately; it must have put me on edge." He didn't bring up what Jason had said.

"Happens to everyone," Jason said to him. "I won't even start to describe how messed up my nerves were when I arrived on this planet. I’m finally ready to admit that everything you said about Pyrrus is true. It's the most dangerous place in the system. Only people born here, the native Pyrrans, could possibly survive. I can manage to get by a bit after my training, but I know I wouldn't stand a chance on my own. You probably know I have an eight-year-old as a bodyguard. That gives you a good idea of my real status here."

Anger held back, Kerk was in control again. His eyes narrowed in thought. "I'm surprised to hear you say that. I never thought I'd hear you admit that anyone could be better than you at anything. Isn't that why you came here? To prove that you were as good as any native-born Pyrran?"

"Score one for you," Jason admitted. "I didn't think it was that obvious. And I'm glad to see your brain isn't as locked up as your body. Yes, I'll admit that was probably my main reason for coming, along with my curiosity."

Kerk was lost in his own thoughts, trying to figure out where they were taking him. "You came here to prove you were as good as any native-born Pyrran. But now you admit that any eight-year-old can outdraw you. That doesn't add up based on what I know about you. If you give with one hand, you must be taking back with the other. How do you still believe in your natural superiority?"

Jason took a long time before responding.

"I'll tell you," he finally said. "But don’t lose it on me for this. I’m betting that your civilized mind can manage your instincts. Because I need to discuss things that are completely off-limits on Pyrrus."

"In your people's eyes, I'm seen as weak because I'm from off-world. But understand, this is also my strength. I can see things that are hidden from you due to long familiarity. You know, the classic issue of not being able to see the forest for the trees." Kerk nodded in agreement, and Jason continued.

"To keep the analogy going, I came down from an airship, and at first all I could see was the forest. Certain facts seem obvious to me. I believe you all know them too, but you keep your thoughts tightly under wraps. They’re hidden thoughts that are totally off-limits. I’m going to say one of them out loud now and hope you can keep it together enough not to kill me."

Kerk's large hands gripped the arms of his chair, the only indication that he had listened. Jason spoke softly, as smoothly and effortlessly as a scalpel probing into a brain.

"Humans are losing the battle against Pyrrus. There's no way they can come out on top. They could move to another planet, but that wouldn't be a true victory. Still, if they stick around and keep fighting this war, they just drag out a brutal kind of self-destruction. With every generation, the population decreases. Eventually, the planet will come out on top."

One arm of Kerk's plastic and steel chair broke off under the tight grip of his fingers. He didn't notice it. The rest of his body was completely still, and his eyes were locked on Jason.

Looking away from the broken chair, Jason searched for the right words.

"This isn't a real war; it’s just a terrible way of treating the symptoms. It's like amputating cancerous fingers one by one. The only outcome can be total death. None of you seem to understand that. All you see are the trees. It’s never crossed your minds that you could tackle the causes of this war and put an end to it for good."

Kerk let go of the chair's arm, which fell to the floor with a clatter. He sat up, shocked. "What the heck do you mean? You sound like a loser."

Jason didn't ask what a grubber was—but he made a note of the name.

"Call me a Pyrran by adoption. I want this planet to survive as much as you do. I believe this war can be ended by identifying the causes—and changing them, no matter what they are."

"You're talking nonsense," Kerk said. "This is just an alien world that we have to fight against. The reasons are clear facts of existence."

"No, they're not," Jason insisted. "Think about it for a second. When you're away from this planet for a while, you need a refresher course to see how things have deteriorated while you were gone. That's a straightforward progression. If things get worse as you move into the future, then they must have gotten better if you look into the past. It’s also a solid theory—though I'm not sure the facts will back me up—that if you go far enough back in time, you’ll find a point when mankind and Pyrrhus weren't at war with each other."

Kerk was speechless now, only able to sit and listen while Jason hammered home the blows of undeniable logic.

"There’s evidence to back this theory. You have to admit that, while I might not be a match for Pyrran life, I definitely know a lot about it. All the Pyrran plants and animals I’ve come across have one thing in common: they’re not functional. None of their vast arsenal of weapons is used against each other. Their toxins don’t seem to affect Pyrran life. They’re only effective at causing harm to Homo sapiens. And that is a physical impossibility. In the three hundred years that humans have been on this planet, these life forms couldn’t have adapted in this way naturally."

"But they have done it!" Kerk bellowed.

"You’re absolutely right," Jason said calmly. "And if they’ve done it, there has to be some force behind it. How it’s operating—I have no clue. But something has led the life on Pyrrus to go to war, and I want to find out what that something is. What was the main life form here when your ancestors arrived?"

"I'm pretty sure I wouldn't know," Kerk said. "You're not implying, are you, that there are intelligent beings on Pyrrus besides humans? Beings that are getting the planet ready to fight us?"

"I'm not suggesting it—you are. That means you're getting the idea. I have no clue what caused this change, but I’d really like to figure it out. Then see if we can reverse it. No promises, of course. You’ll agree, though, that it’s worth looking into."

Fist hitting his palm, his heavy footsteps trembling the building, Kerk walked back and forth across the room. He was in conflict with himself. New ideas clashed with old beliefs. It was all so sudden—and so difficult not to believe.

Without asking for permission, Jason grabbed some chilled water from the bottle and slumped back into the chair, worn out. Something zipped through the open window, ripping a hole in the protective screen. Kerk shot it down without breaking his stride, not even realizing he had done it.

The decision didn’t take long. Focused on quick action, the big Pyrran found it impossible not to decide fast. The pacing stopped and a finger pointed at Jason.

"I’m not saying you’ve convinced me, but I can’t seem to come up with a solid response to your arguments. So until I do, we’ll have to act like they’re true. Now, what do you plan to do, and what can you do?"

Jason counted off the points on his fingers. "First, I need a safe place to live and work. That way, instead of just focusing on staying alive, I can devote some time to studying this project. Second, I want someone to help me—and also act as a bodyguard. And I’d prefer someone with a bit more interests than my current watchdog. I’d suggest Meta for the job."

"Meta?" Kerk was surprised. "She's a space pilot and defense-screen operator. What could she possibly contribute to a project like this?"

"The best possible. She’s had experience on other worlds and can change her perspective—at least a little. She must know as much about this planet as any other educated adult and can answer any questions I have." Jason smiled. "On top of that, she’s an attractive girl whose company I enjoy."

Kerk grunted. "I was wondering if you were going to bring up that last reason. The others make sense, so I’m not going to argue. I’ll find someone to replace her and have Meta sent here. There are plenty of sealed buildings you can use."

After chatting with one of the assistants from the outer office, Kerk made some calls on the screen. The right orders were quickly sent out. Jason watched everything with interest.

"Pardon me for asking," he finally said. "But are you the dictator of this planet? You just snap your fingers and everyone jumps."

"I guess it seems that way," Kerk admitted. "But that's just an illusion. No one is fully in control on Pyrrus, and there's also no real democratic system. After all, our total population is roughly the size of a military division. Everyone does the job they’re best suited for. Different activities are sorted into departments, each led by the most qualified person. I run Coordination and Supply, which is about the most flexible category. We bridge the gaps between departments and manage procurement from off-planet."

Meta came in then and talked to Kerk. She completely ignored Jason. "I was relieved and sent here," she said. "What's going on? Is there a change in the flight schedule?"

"You might call it that," Kerk said. "From now on, you’re dismissed from all your old assignments and assigned to a new department: Investigation and Research. That tired-looking guy over there is your department head."

"A sense of humor," Jason said. "The only native-born one on Pyrrus. Congrats, there’s still hope for the planet."

Meta looked back and forth between them. "I don't get it. I can't believe it. A new department—why?"

"I'm sorry," Kerk said. "I didn't mean to be harsh. I thought you might feel more comfortable. What I said was true. Jason has a way—or might have a way—of being really valuable to Pyrrus. Will you help him?"

Meta had her composure back. And a bit of anger. "Do I have to? Is that an order? You know I have work to do. I'm sure you'll see that it's more important than something someone from off-planet could imagine. He can't really understand—"

"Yes. It's an order." The sharp snap returned to Kerk's voice. Meta felt her cheeks flush at the tone.

"Maybe I can clarify," Jason interrupted. "This whole thing was my idea. But first, I need your help. Can you take the clip out of your gun and hand it to Kerk?"

Meta looked scared, but Kerk nodded seriously. "Just for a few minutes, Meta. I have my gun, so you’ll be safe here. I think I know what Jason is planning, and from personal experience, I'm afraid he’s right."

Reluctantly, Meta ejected the clip and cleared the chamber of the gun. Only after that did Jason explain.

"I have a theory about life on Pyrrus, and I’m afraid I’ll have to break some illusions when I explain. To start with, we have to admit that your people are slowly losing the war here and will eventually be wiped out—"

Before he was halfway through the sentence, Meta's gun was pointed between his eyes, and she was frantically pulling the trigger. Her face was filled with nothing but hatred and disgust. Kerk grabbed her by the shoulders and sat her in his chair before things got any worse. It took her some time to calm down enough to hear Jason's words. It’s not easy to have the carefully constructed lies of a lifetime come crashing down. Only the fact that she had glimpsed other worlds allowed her to listen at all.

The look of madness was still in her eyes when he finished telling her what he and Kerk had talked about. She sat tense, leaning against Kerk's hands, as if they were the only thing keeping her from jumping at Jason.

"Maybe that’s too much to take in all at once," Jason said. "So let’s simplify it. I think we can figure out why there’s this ongoing hatred of humans. Maybe we don't smell right. Perhaps I'll find a mix of crushed Pyrran bugs that will make us immune when we apply it. I’m not sure yet. But no matter the outcome, we have to investigate. Kerk is on the same page with me about that."

Meta glanced at Kerk, and he nodded in agreement. Her shoulders sagged in a sudden sense of defeat. She whispered the words.

"I ... can't say I agree or even understand everything you said. But I’ll help you. If Kerk thinks it’s the right thing."

"I do," he said. "So, do you want the clip back for your gun? Not planning to take any more shots at Jason?"

"That was stupid of me," she said coldly as she reloaded the gun. "I don't need a gun. If I had to kill him, I could do it with my bare hands."

"I love you, too," Jason smiled at her. "Are you ready to go now?"

"Of course." She tucked a fluffy curl of hair into place. "First, we'll find a place for you to stay. I’ll handle that. After that, the work of the new department is on you."

There were empty rooms in one of the computer buildings. These were completely sealed to keep stray animals away from the delicate machinery. While Meta checked out a bedroll from storage, Jason slowly dragged a desk, table, and chairs in from a nearby empty office. When she came back with a pneumatic bed, he immediately dropped onto it with a grateful sigh. Her lip curled slightly at his obvious weakness.

"Get used to the view," he said. "I plan to do as much of my work as I can while lying down. You’ll be my strong right hand. And right now, Right Hand, I wish you could find me something to eat. I also intend to do most of my eating while in that same lying position."

Snorting in disgust, Meta stormed out. While she was gone, Jason thoughtfully chewed on the end of a stylus and made some careful notes.

After they finished the nearly tasteless meal, he started the search.

"Meta, where can I find historical records about Pyrrhus?"

"I've never heard of anything like that... I honestly have no idea."

"But there has to be something—somewhere," he insisted. "Even if your current culture focuses entirely on survival, you can bet it wasn't always like that. Throughout its development, people were keeping records and taking notes. So where do we look? Do you have a library here?"

"Of course," she said. "We have an awesome technical library. But I'm sure there wouldn't be anything like that there."

Trying not to complain, Jason stood up. "I'll be the judge of that. Just show me the way."

Operation of the library was fully automated. A projected index provided the call number for any text that needed to be consulted. The tape was delivered to the checkout desk thirty seconds after the number was entered. Returned tapes were dropped through a hopper and automatically refilled. The system ran seamlessly.

"Great," Jason said, pushing away from the index. "A tribute to technological creativity. Too bad it has nothing useful for us. Just piles of textbooks."

"What else should be in a library?" Meta sounded genuinely confused.

Jason started to explain, then changed his mind. "We'll go into that later," he said. "Much later. Right now, we need to find a lead. Is there any chance that there are tapes—or even printed books—that aren't logged through this machine?"

"It might seem unlikely, but we could ask Poli. He lives around here somewhere and takes care of the library—organizing new books and managing the equipment."

The single door at the back of the building was locked, and no amount of banging could wake up the caretaker.

"If he's alive, this should work," Jason said. He pressed the out-of-order button on the control panel. It had the desired effect. Within five minutes, the door opened and Poli dragged himself through it.

Death usually arrived quickly on Pyrrus. If injuries slowed someone down, the always-present forces of destruction swiftly finished the job. Poli was the exception to this rule. Whatever had attacked him initially had done a thorough job. Most of the lower part of his face was missing. His left arm was bent and useless. The damage to his body and legs had left him barely able to stumble from one place to another.

Yet he still had one good arm and his eyesight. He could work in the library and take the place of a fully fit man. No one knew how long he had been dragging the useless shell of a body around the building. Despite the pain that filled his red-rimmed, teary eyes, he had managed to stay alive. He was aging, older than any other Pyrran Jason had seen. He wobbled forward and turned off the alarm that had summoned him.

When Jason started to explain, the old man ignored him. Only after the librarian pulled a hearing aid out of his clothes did Jason realize he was also deaf. Jason explained again what he was looking for. Poli nodded and wrote his answer on a tablet.

there are many old books in the storerooms below

Most of the building was occupied by the robot filing and sorting system. They moved slowly through the rows of machinery, following the injured librarian to a barred door at the back. He pointed to it. While Jason and Meta struggled to open the rusted bars, he wrote another note on his tablet.

not opened in many years, rats

Jason and Meta instinctively drew their guns as they read the message. Jason finished opening the door on his own. The two native Pyrrans stood facing the gap. It was a good thing they did. Jason would never have been able to deal with what came through that door.

He didn't even open it for himself. Their noise at the door must have attracted all the pests in the lower part of the building. Jason had thrown the last bolt and started to pull on the handle—when the door was pushed open from the other side.

Open the gateway to hell and see what comes out. Meta and Poli stood side by side, shooting into the mass of disgusting creatures that poured through the door. Jason jumped to the side and took down the occasional beast that crossed his path. The chaos felt like it would never end.

Long minutes went by before the last clawed beast made its final charge. Meta and Poli waited eagerly for more; they were thrilled by the opportunity to wreak havoc. Jason felt a bit nauseous after the silent, fierce attack, a fierce intensity that the Pyrrans mirrored. He noticed a scratch on Meta's face where one of the beasts had gotten her. She seemed completely unaware of it.

Pulling out his medikit, Jason moved around the stack of bodies. Something shifted in the middle, and a loud shot rang out, hitting it. Then he reached the girl and pressed the analyzer probes against her scratch. The machine beeped, and Meta flinched as the antitoxin needle went in. It was the first time she understood what Jason was doing.

"Thanks," she said.

Poli had a strong battery-powered flashlight and, without saying a word, Jason carried it. Even though he was disabled, the old man was still skilled when it came to handling a gun. They carefully made their way down the stairs that were cluttered with debris.

"That's awful," Jason grimaced.

At the bottom of the stairs, they looked around. There used to be books and records there. They had been systematically chewed up, eaten, and destroyed for decades.

"I like how you take care of your old books," Jason said with disgust.

"They might not be important," Meta said flatly, "or they would be properly filed in the library upstairs."

Jason walked sadly through the rooms. Nothing of value was left. Just bits and pieces of writing and printing. Never enough in one place to be worth collecting. With the toe of his armored boot, he angrily kicked at a pile of rubble, ready to abandon the search. Then he spotted a glint of rusty metal beneath the dirt.

"Hold this!" He handed the light to Meta and started digging through the rubble. He uncovered a flat metal box with a dial lock on it.

"Wow, that's a log box!" Meta said, surprised.

"That's what I thought," Jason said.

reselling the cellar, they brought the box back to Jason's new office. Only after spraying it with disinfectant, did they take a closer look. Meta noticed the engraved letters on the lid.

"S. T. POLLUX VICTORY—that has to be the name of the spaceship this log came from. But I don’t recognize the class, or whatever the initials S. T. represent."

"Stellar Transport," Jason said as he fiddled with the lock mechanism. "I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen one. They were made during the last wave of galactic expansion. They’re really just huge metal containers that were assembled in space. After they were filled with people, equipment, and supplies, they'd be towed to whatever planetary system was chosen. Those same tugs and one-time rockets would slow the S.T.s down for a landing. Then they’d be left there. The hull was a quick source of metal, so the colonists could jump right in and start building their new world. And they were huge. Each one held at least fifty thousand people ..."

Only after he said it did he realize the significance of his words. Meta's deadly glare made it clear. There were now fewer people on Pyrrus than there had been in the original settlement.

And the human population, without strict birth controls, typically grew exponentially. Jason dinAlt suddenly remembered Meta's itchy trigger finger.

"But we can't be sure how many people were on this one," he said quickly. "Or if this is even the log of the ship that colonized Pyrrus. Can you find something to pry this open? The lock is completely rusted."

Meta vented her frustration on the box. Her fingers created a gap between the lid and the bottom. She yanked at it. Rusty metal screeched and ripped. The lid came off in her hands, and a heavy book thudded onto the table.

The cover legend cleared up any remaining doubt.

Meta couldn't argue now. She stood behind Jason with her fists tightly clenched and read over his shoulder as he turned the brittle, yellowed pages. He quickly skimmed through the beginning part that covered the sailing preparations and trip out. Only when he reached the actual landing did he start reading slowly. The impact of the ancient words jumped out at him.

"Here it is," Jason shouted. "Proof that we're on the right track. Even you have to admit that. Read it, right here."

"I don't believe a word of it," Meta interrupted. "That can't be Pyrrus he's writing about..." Her words trailed off as Jason silently pointed to the title on the cover.

He kept flipping through the pages quickly. A sentence caught his eye, so he paused. Pressing his finger against that spot, he read it out loud.

"'... And problems just keep piling up. First, Har Palo with his theory that the volcanic activity is so close to the surface that the ground stays warm and the crops grow really well. Even if he's right—what can we do? We need to be self-reliant if we want to survive. And now there's this other issue. It seems that the forest fire has brought in a lot of new species. Animals, insects, and even birds have been attacking people. (Note for Har: check if possible seasonal migration might explain these attacks.) There have been fourteen deaths from injuries and poisoning. We'll have to enforce the rules for using insect repellent at all times. And I guess we'll need to build some sort of perimeter defense to keep the larger animals out of the camp.'"

"This is just the start," Jason said. "At least now we know the true nature of the battle we're fighting. It doesn’t make dealing with Pyrrus any easier, or make the life forms less dangerous, to understand that they were once more friendly towards humanity. All this does is show us the path. Something took those peaceful life forms, messed them up, and turned this planet into a huge deathtrap for humans. That something is what I want to find out."

Further reading of the log produced no new evidence. There was a lot more information about the early animal and plant life and how deadly they were, along with the first defenses against them. It was interesting historically, but completely useless in facing the threat. The captain apparently never considered that life forms were changing on Pyrrus, believing instead that dangerous creatures were just being discovered. He never lived to reconsider. The last entry in the log, written less than two months after the first attack, was very brief. And it was in a different handwriting.

The reason behind the planet's disgust had not been figured out yet.

"Kerk needs to see this book," Jason said. "He should know about the progress we're making. Can we get a ride, or do we walk to city hall?"

"Walk, obviously," Meta said.

"Then you bring the book. At two G's, I really struggle to be a gentleman and carry the packages."

They had just stepped into Kerk's outer office when a loud, high-pitched noise erupted from the phone screen. It took Jason a moment to understand that it was a mechanical sound, not a human voice.

"What is it?" he asked.

Kerk burst through the door and headed for the street entrance. Everyone else in the office was following the same path. Meta looked puzzled, leaning toward the door and then glancing back at Jason.

"What does it mean? Can’t you tell me?" He shook her arm.

"Sector alarm. A significant breakthrough of some sort at the perimeter. Everyone except the other perimeter guards has to respond."

"Well, go ahead," he said. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

His words acted like a trigger. Meta had the gun in her hand, and she was gone before he finished speaking. Jason sat down tiredly in the empty office.

The eerie quiet in the building was starting to annoy him. He moved his chair closer to the phone screen and turned it on to receive. The screen burst to life with color and sound. At first, Jason couldn’t make sense of anything. It was just a chaotic mix of faces and voices. It was a multi-channel setup made for military use. Multiple images were displayed on the screen simultaneously, with rows of heads or blurry backgrounds where the user had stepped out of view. Many of the faces were talking at the same time, and the jumble of their voices made no sense at all.

After checking out the controls and doing a few tests, Jason started to grasp how it all worked. Even though all the stations were visible on the screen at all times, their audio channels could be adjusted. This way, two, three, or more stations could be connected in a link-up. They would communicate with each other in a round-robin manner while still staying in touch with the other stations.

Identification between voice and sound was automatic. Whenever one of the images being displayed spoke, the image would light up red. Through trial and error, Jason brought in the audio for the stations he wanted and tried to track the course of the attack.

Very quickly, he realized this was something unusual. For some reason, which no one explained, a part of the perimeter had been breached and emergency defenses had to be set up to contain it. Kerk seemed to be in charge; at least, he was the only one with an override transmitter. He used it for general commands. The many tiny images faded, and his face appeared on top of them, taking up the entire screen.

"All perimeter stations send twenty-five percent of your team to Area Twelve."

The small images came back, and the chatter got louder, red lights flashing from one face to another.

"... Leave the first floor; acid bombs can't reach it."

"If we stay here, we'll be cut off, but the salient is behind us on the west side. We need support."

"Don't waste your time ... it's useless!"

"... And the napalm tanks are almost empty. What's the plan?"

"The truck is still there. Take it to the supply warehouse; you’ll find replacements..."

Out of all the chatter, only the last two pieces made any sense. Jason had seen the signs below when he walked in. The first two floors of the building beneath him were packed with military supplies. This was his chance to get involved.

Just sitting and watching was annoying. Especially during a desperate emergency. He didn't think too highly of himself, but he was certain that there was always space for one more gun.

By the time he dragged himself down to the street level, a turbo-truck had screeched to a halt in front of the loading platform. Two Pyrrans were rolling out drums of napalm without a care for their own safety. Jason didn’t dare step into that chaotic scene of moving metal. He realized he could help by pulling the heavy drums into place on the truck while the others rolled them up. They took his help without acknowledging him.

It was tiring, sweaty work, moving the heavy drums into place against the weight of gravity. After a minute, Jason worked by feel through a red haze of pounding adrenaline. He only realized the job was done when the truck suddenly shot forward and he was thrown to the floor. He lay there, his chest rising and falling rapidly. As the driver sped the heavy vehicle along, all Jason could do was bounce around in the back. He could see well enough, but was still gasping for air when they stopped at the combat zone.

To Jason, it was a chaotic scene. Guns were firing, flames were everywhere, and people were running in every direction. The napalm drums were unloaded without his help, and the truck disappeared to get more. Jason leaned against the wall of a half-destroyed building and tried to regain his focus. It was hopeless. There seemed to be a lot of small animals; he killed two that attacked him. Other than that, he couldn’t figure out what the battle was really about.

A Pyrran, his tan face pale from pain and effort, staggered up. His right arm, exposed with raw flesh and oozing blood, hung uselessly at his side. It was coated with newly applied surgical foam. He gripped his gun in his left hand, a piece of control cable hanging from it. Jason thought the man was searching for medical help. He couldn't have been more mistaken.

Clenching the gun between his teeth, the Pyrran grabbed a barrel of napalm with his good hand and tipped it over on its side. Then, with the gun back in his hand, he started to roll the drum along the ground with his feet. It was slow and awkward, but he was still in the fight.

Jason pushed through the rushing crowd and leaned over the drum. "Let me handle it," he said. "You can cover us both with your gun."

The man wiped the sweat from his eyes with his arm and blinked at Jason. He seemed to recognize him. When he smiled, it was a painful grimace, lacking any humor. "Go ahead. I can still shoot. Two half men—maybe we make one whole." Jason was working so hard that he didn't even notice the insult.

An explosion had created a huge hole in the street ahead. Two people were at the bottom, digging even deeper with shovels. The whole thing felt pointless. Just as Jason and the injured man rolled up the drum, the diggers jumped out of the hole and started shooting down into it. One of them turned, a young girl, hardly in her teens.

"Praise Perimeter!" she gasped. "They found the napalm. One of the new horrors is breaking through towards Thirteen; we just discovered it." As she spoke, she turned the drum around, kicked off the easy-off plug, and started pouring the icy contents into the hole. Once half of it had gurgled down, she kicked the drum in as well. Her partner took a flare from his belt, lit it, and tossed it after the drum.

"Come back quickly. They can't handle the heat," he said.

This was an understatement. The napalm ignited, and flames along with thick, greasy smoke rose up into the sky. The ground shifted and trembled beneath Jason's feet. Something dark and elongated writhed in the core of the flames, then arched up into the sky over them. Despite the intense heat, it moved in strange, jerky motions. It was massive, at least two meters wide, with no visible end. The flames didn't hinder it at all; they merely irritated it.

Jason had some idea of the creature's length as the street cracked and buckled for fifty meters on either side of the pit. Huge loops of the creature started to tower out of the ground. He shot his gun, and so did the others. It didn’t seem to make any difference. More and more people showed up, armed with different weapons. Flamethrowers and grenades appeared to be the most effective.

"Clear the area ... we're going to saturate it. Fall back."

The voice was so loud it shocked Jason's ears. He turned and recognized Kerk, who had shown up with loads of equipment. He had a power speaker strapped to his back, and the microphone dangled in front of his mouth. His amplified voice instantly reacted with the crowd. They started to move.

There was still uncertainty in Jason's mind about what to do. Clear the area? But which area? He began walking towards Kerk, only to realize that the rest of the Pyrrans were heading in the opposite direction. Even under two gravities, they moved.

Jason felt completely alone on the stage. He was in the middle of the street, and everyone else had disappeared. No one was left. Except for the injured man Jason had helped. He staggered toward Jason, waving his good arm. Jason couldn’t understand what he was saying. Kerk was shouting orders again from one of the trucks. They had started to move, too. The urgency hit him hard, and Jason began to run.

It was too late. All around, the ground was buckling and cracking as more loops of the underground thing pushed into the light. Safety was ahead. Only in front of it was an arch of dirt-covered gray.

There are seconds that feel like they last forever. A moment that is captured and stretched to an endless span. This was one of those moments. Jason stood there, frozen. Even the smoke in the sky was still. The towering loop of alien life was right in front of him, every detail sharply defined.

Thick like a person, ribbed and gray like old bark. Tendrils jutted out from all sides, pale and twisting lengths that moved slowly with a snakelike vitality. It looked like a plant but moved like an animal. And it was cracking and splitting. This was the worst.

Seams and openings appeared. Splintering, gaping mouths that vomited out a horde of pale animals. Jason heard their screams, shrill yet distant. He saw the needlelike teeth that lined their jaws.

The fear of the unknown kept him frozen in place. He should have been dead. Kerk was shouting at him through the loudspeaker, and others were shooting at the attacking creature. Jason was completely in the dark.

Then he was shot forward, pushed by a tough shoulder. The injured man was still there, trying to get Jason out of the way. Gun clenched in his teeth, he pulled Jason along with his strong arm. Towards the creature. The others stopped shooting. They understood his plan, and it was a solid one.

A loop of the thing arched into the air, leaving a gap between its body and the ground. The injured Pyrran planted his feet and tensed his muscles. With one hand and a single thrust, he lifted Jason off the ground and sent him flying under the living arch. Moving tendrils grazed his face with heat, and then he was through, tumbling over and over on the ground. The injured Pyrran jumped after him.

It was too late. There had been a chance for one person to escape. The Pyrran could have done it easily—but instead, he pushed Jason first. The creature noticed movement when Jason brushed against its tendrils. It dropped down and pinned the injured man beneath its weight. He disappeared from view as the tendrils coiled around him and the animals rushed in. His trigger must have pulled back to full automatic because the gun kept firing long after he should have been dead.

Jason crawled. Some of the fanged animals rushed towards him, but they were shot. He had no idea what was happening. Then some rough hands grabbed him and pulled him forward. He slammed into the side of a truck, and Kerk's face was right in front of his, flushed and furious. One of Kerk’s giant fists grasped the front of Jason's clothes, lifting him off his feet and shaking him like a useless bag of rags. He didn't protest and couldn't have even if Kerk had killed him.

When he was pushed down to the ground, someone lifted him up and tossed him into the back of the truck. He didn’t black out as the truck drove off, but he couldn’t move. Soon, the exhaustion would fade away, and he’d sit up. That’s all he felt—just a bit tired. Yet, even as he thought this, he lost consciousness.

"Just like old times," Jason said when Brucco came into the room with a tray of food. Without a word, Brucco served Jason and the injured men in the other beds, then left. "Thanks," Jason called after his retreating back.

A joke, a smirk, just like always. Sure. But even as he grinned and formed a joke with his lips, Jason sensed it was just a mask on the outside. Something stuck on with a life of its own. Inside, he felt numb and stuck. His body was rigid while his eyes continued to watch that curve of strange flesh fall and suffocate the one-armed Pyrran with its million burning fingers.

He could feel himself under the arch. After all, hadn't the injured man taken his spot? He finished the meal without even noticing he was eating.

Ever since that morning when he woke up, it had been like this. He knew he should have died out there on that war-torn street. His life should have been taken because he made the mistake of thinking he could actually help the fighting Pyrrans instead of just being a burden. If it hadn't been for Jason, the guy with the injured arm would have been brought here to the safety of the reorientation buildings. He knew he was lying in the bed that belonged to that guy.

The man who sacrificed his life for Jason's.

The man whose name he didn’t even know.

There were drugs in the food, and they made him sleep. The medicated pads absorbed the pain and soreness from the burns where the tentacles had seared his face. When he woke up for the second time, his connection to reality had returned.

A man died so that he could live. Jason confronted the reality. He couldn't bring that life back, no matter how much he wished he could. What he could do was make the man's death meaningful. If you can say that any death was meaningful... He pushed his thoughts away from that direction.

Jason knew what he needed to do. His work was even more crucial now. If he could figure out the puzzle of this dangerous world, he could partially repay the debt he owed.

Sitting up made his head spin, and he grabbed the edge of the bed until it calmed down. The others in the room ignored him as he slowly and painfully put on his clothes. Brucco walked in, saw what he was doing, and left without saying a word.

Dressing took a while, but it was finally done. When Jason left the room, he found Kerk waiting for him.

"Kerk ... I want to tell you ..."

"Tell me nothing!" The roar of Kerk's voice echoed off the ceiling and walls. "I'm serious. I'll say this once, and that will be the end of it. You're not welcome on Pyrrus, Jason dinAlt. Neither you nor your precious off-world plans belong here. I let you talk me into it once with your twisted words. I helped you at the cost of more important work. I should have realized what the outcome of your 'logic' would be. Now I've seen it. Welf died so you could live. He was twice the man you'll ever be."

"Welf? Was that his name?" Jason asked awkwardly. "I didn't know—"

"You didn't even know." Kerk's lips curled back from his teeth in a grimace of disgust. "You didn't even know his name—yet he died so you could keep living your miserable life." Kerk spat, as if the words had a nasty taste, and strode toward the exit lock. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back to Jason.

"You'll stay here in the sealed buildings until the ship returns in two weeks. Then you will leave this planet and never come back. If you do, I'll kill you instantly. With pleasure." He started through the lock.

"Wait," Jason shouted. "You can't just make that decision. You haven't even looked at the evidence I've found. Ask Meta—" The lock thumped shut and Kerk was gone.

The whole thing was just too dumb. Anger started to take over the pointless despair from a moment ago. He was being treated like an immature kid, and the significance of his discovery of the log was totally overlooked.

Jason turned and saw for the first time that Brucco was standing there. "Did you hear that?" Jason asked him.

"Yes. I totally agree. You should consider yourself lucky."

"Lucky!" Jason was the angry one now. "Lucky to be treated like a stupid child, with disdain for everything I do—"

"I said lucky," Brucco snapped. "Welf was Kerk's only surviving son. Kerk had high hopes for him and was training him to take his place eventually." He turned to leave, but Jason called after him.

"Wait. I'm really sorry about Welf. I can't be more sorry knowing that he was Kerk's son. But at least it explains why Kerk is so quick to kick me out, along with the evidence I've found. The log of the ship—"

"I know, I've seen it," Brucco said. "Meta brought it in. It's a very interesting historical document."

"That's all you see it as—just a historical document? You don't get the importance of the planetary change?"

"It doesn’t escape me," Brucco replied shortly, "but I don’t see how it matters today. The past can’t be changed, and we need to focus on the present. That’s enough to take all our energy."

Jason felt too drained to argue about it any longer. He kept hitting the same dead end with all the Pyrrans. Their thinking was all about the present. The past and future were seen as unchangeable, unknowable—and unexciting. "How's the perimeter battle going?" he asked, hoping to shift the topic.

"Done. Or at least in the final stages," Brucco was almost excited as he showed Jason some pictures of the attackers. He didn't notice Jason's suppressed shiver.

"This was one of the most significant breakthroughs in years, but we caught it in time. I dread to think what would have happened if they hadn't been detected for a few more weeks."

"What are those things?" Jason asked. "Are they giant snakes or something?"

"Stop being ridiculous," Brucco scoffed. He tapped the stereo with his thumbnail. "Roots. That's all it is. They've been greatly altered, but they’re still roots. They came in under the perimeter barrier, much deeper than anything we've dealt with before. They’re not a real threat on their own since they have very little mobility and die shortly after being cut. The real danger comes from them being used as access tunnels. They’re filled with animal pathways, and two or three species of animals live in a kind of symbiosis inside."

"Now that we know what they are, we can keep an eye out for them. The risk was that they could have totally compromised the perimeter and attacked from all directions simultaneously. There wouldn't have been much we could have done about it."

The brink of disaster. Living on the edge of a volcano. The Pyrrans felt a sense of relief on any day that went by without complete destruction. It seemed impossible to change their mindset. Jason let the conversation end there. He picked up the log of the Pollux Victory from Brucco's quarters and brought it back to his room. The injured Pyrrans there paid him no attention as he flopped onto the bed and opened the book to the first page.

For two days he stayed in his room. The injured men left quickly, and he had the space to himself. He methodically went through the log, learning every detail about the settlement of Pyrrus. His notes and cross-references stacked up. He created a precise map of the original settlement layered over a modern one. They didn't align at all.

It was a dead end. With one map overlaid on the other, what he suspected was painfully clear. The descriptions of the terrain and physical features in the log were accurate enough. The city had clearly been relocated since the first landing. Any records that had been kept would be in the library—and he had gone through that source. Anything else would have been abandoned and long since destroyed.

Rain pounded against the thick window above him, suddenly illuminated by a flash of lightning. The hidden volcanoes were active again, shaking the floor with their deep rumbles from within the earth.

The weight of defeat hung heavily over Jason. He slumped his shoulders, making the already gloomy day feel even darker.

Jason spent one miserable day lying on his bunk counting rivets, trying to come to terms with his defeat. Kerk's order that he couldn't leave the sealed building left him completely powerless. He felt like he was close to the answer—but he was never going to get it.

One day of defeat was all he could handle. Kerk's attitude was totally emotional, showing no sign of logic whatsoever. This truth kept hitting Jason until he could no longer overlook it. He had learned to distrust emotional reasoning early on. He couldn't agree with Kerk at all—which meant he had to use the next ten days to fix the problem. If it meant going against Kerk, so be it.

He picked up his notepad with a fresh sense of excitement. His initial sources of information were exhausted, but there had to be more out there. Thinking hard and pushing his mind, he gradually created a list of other possibilities. Any idea, no matter how outlandish, was jotted down. Once the notepad was full, he crossed out the long shots and unlikely options—like checking historical records from other planets. This was a Pyrran problem, and it needed to be resolved here or not at all.

The list narrowed down to two likely options. Either old records, notebooks, or diaries that individual Pyrrans might have, or verbal histories that had been handed down through the generations. The first option seemed the most plausible, so he decided to pursue it right away. After checking his medikit and gun carefully, he went to see Brucco.

"What's new and dangerous in the world since I left?" he asked.

Brucco glared at him. "You can't go out; Kerk has banned it."

"Did he assign you to watch over me to see if I followed the rules?" Jason's voice was soft and icy.

Brucco rubbed his jaw and frowned in thought. Finally, he just shrugged. "No, I’m not guarding you—nor do I want that job. As far as I know, this is between you and Kerk, and it can stay that way. Leave whenever you want. And go get yourself killed somewhere quiet so there will be an end to the trouble you cause once and for all."

"I love you, too," Jason said. "Now fill me in on the wildlife."

The only new mutation that regular precautions couldn't handle was a slate-colored lizard that spat a quick nerve poison with deadly precision. Death occurred in seconds if the saliva made contact with any bare skin. The lizards needed to be spotted and shot before they got within range. An hour of lizard-shooting in a training chamber made him skilled in the exact procedure.

Jason slipped out of the sealed buildings quietly, and no one noticed him leave. He followed the map to the nearest barracks, trudging wearily through the dusty streets. It was a hot, quiet afternoon, interrupted only by distant rumbles and the occasional crack of his gun.

It was cool inside the thick-walled barracks, and he collapsed onto a bench until the sweat dried and his heart stopped racing. Then he headed to the nearest recreation room to begin his search.

Before it started, it was already over. None of the Pyrrans kept old artifacts of any kind and found the whole idea quite amusing. After the twentieth negative response, Jason was ready to concede defeat in this line of inquiry. There was as much chance of encountering a Pyrran with old documents as finding a bundle of grandpa's letters in a soldier's backpack.

This left only one option—talking to people about the past. Once again, Jason asked questions but got nowhere. The excitement had faded for the Pyrrans, and they were starting to get annoyed. Jason decided to stop while things were still manageable. The cafeteria served him a meal that tasted like plastic and paper. He ate it quickly, then sat there staring at the empty tray, frustrated to face yet another dead end. Who could actually provide him with answers? Everyone he’d spoken to was so young. They had no interest or patience for storytelling. That was something for older folks—and there weren’t any elders on Pyrrus.

With one exception that he knew of, the librarian, Poli. It was a possibility. A man who worked with records and books might be interested in some of the older ones. He might even recall reading volumes that are now destroyed. A very slim lead indeed, but one that had to be followed up on.

Walking to the library almost killed Jason. The heavy rain made the ground slippery, and in the low light, it was hard to see what was ahead. A snapper got close enough to take a bite out of him before he could shoot it. The antitoxin made him feel lightheaded, and he lost some blood before he could bandage the wound. By the time he reached the library, he was exhausted and angry.

Poli was working on the inner parts of one of the catalog machines. He didn't stop until Jason tapped him on the shoulder. Turning on his hearing aid, the Pyrran stood silently, disabled and hunched, waiting for Jason to speak.

"Do you have any old papers or letters that you've kept for your personal use?"

A shake of the head, no.

"What about stories—you know, about amazing things that have happened in the past, that someone might have shared with you when you were young?" No way.

Results negative. Every question was met with a shake of Poli's head, and before long, the old man became annoyed and gestured to the work he hadn't completed.

"Yeah, I know you have stuff to do," Jason said. "But this is really important." Poli shook his head, frustrated, and tried to turn off his hearing aid. Jason searched for a question that might get a better response. There was something nagging at him, a word he had heard and meant to look into later. Something Kerk had mentioned...

"That's it!" It was right there—on the tip of his tongue. "Hold on, Poli, just one more question. What’s a 'grubber'? Have you ever seen one or know what they do, or where they can be found—"

The words were cut off as Poli spun around and slammed his good arm into Jason's face. Even though the man was old and disabled, the hit nearly broke Jason's jaw, sending him sliding across the floor. In a daze, he saw Poli limping toward him, making thick, gurgling noises from his damaged throat; what was left of his face contorted and twisted with rage.

This wasn't a moment for negotiation. Moving as quickly as possible, with the heavy-footed shuffle, Jason rushed towards the sealed door. He stood no chance against any Pyrran in a fight, whether they were young and small or old and disabled. The door thudded open as he passed through and nearly shut in Poli's face.

Outside, the rain had turned into snow, and Jason trudged wearily through the slush, rubbing his sore jaw and considering the only fact he had. Grubber was a key—but to what? And who could he ask for more information? Kerk had been the best person to talk to, but not anymore. That left only Meta as a possible source. He wanted to see her right away, but a sudden exhaustion washed over him. It took all his strength to stumble back to the school buildings.

In the morning, he ate and left early. There was only a week left. It was impossible to rush, and he swore as he dragged his heavy body to the assignment center. Meta was on night perimeter duty and should be back to her quarters soon. He shuffled over there and was lying on her bunk when she walked in.

"Get out," she said in a flat tone. "Or should I just throw you out?"

"Can you please be patient?" he said as he sat up. "I was just resting here until you returned. I have one question, and if you answer it for me, I'll go and stop bothering you."

"What is it?" she asked, tapping her foot in impatience. But there was also a hint of curiosity in her voice. Jason thought carefully before he spoke.

"Now please, don't shoot me. You know I'm an outsider with a big mouth, and you’ve heard me say some terrible things without taking a shot at me. Now I have another one. Will you please prove your superiority over the other people in the galaxy by keeping your cool and not turning me into dust?"

His only response was a tap of his foot, so he took a deep breath and jumped in.

"What's a 'grubber'?"

For a long moment, she was silent, not moving. Then she curled her lips back in disgust. "You choose the most repulsive topics."

"That might be true," he said, "but it still doesn't answer my question."

"It's ... well, the kind of thing people just don't discuss."

"I do," he confirmed.

"Well, I don't! It's the grossest thing ever, and that's all I’m going to say. Talk to Krannon, but don't talk to me." She had him by the arm as she spoke, and he was half dragged to the hall. The door slammed behind him, and he muttered "lady wrestler" under his breath. His anger faded as he realized she had actually given him a hint without meaning to. Next step, figure out who or what Krannon was.

Assignment center listed a guy named Krannon and provided his shift number and work location. It was nearby, so Jason walked over. It was a large, cubical building without windows, with the word food next to each of the sealed entrances. The small entrance he used led him through a series of automatic chambers that cycled him through ultrasonics, ultraviolet light, antibacterial spray, rotating brushes, and three final rinses. He was finally allowed in, a bit damp but much cleaner, to the main area. Men and robots were stacking crates, and he asked one of the men about Krannon. The man looked him up and down coldly and spat on his shoes before responding.

Krannon worked alone in a big storage area. He was a solidly built guy in worn coveralls, and his face showed nothing but deep sadness. When Jason walked in, he paused from moving bales and sat down on the closest one. The lines of unhappiness on his face seemed to deepen as Jason described what he needed. All the talk about ancient history on Pyrrus bored him too, and he yawned widely. When Jason wrapped up, Krannon yawned again and didn’t even try to respond.

Jason waited a moment, then asked again. "I asked if you have any old books, papers, records, or anything like that?"

"You definitely chose the wrong guy to mess with, off-worlder," was his only reply. "After talking to me, you're just going to get yourself into trouble."

"Why is that?" Jason asked.

"Why?" For the first time, he was filled with something other than sadness. "I'll tell you why! I made one mistake, just one, and I get a life sentence. For life—how would you feel about that? Just me, all alone, all the time. Even taking orders from the losers."

Jason restrained himself, keeping the excitement out of his voice. "Grubbers? What are grubbers?"

The weight of the question made Krannon pause; it seemed unbelievable that there could be a man alive who had never heard of grubbers. Happiness lifted some of the gloom from his face as he realized he had a captive audience who would listen to his troubles.

"Grubbers are traitors—that's what they are. Traitors to humanity, and they should be eliminated. Living in the jungle. The things they do with the animals—"

"You mean they're people... Pyrrans like you?" Jason interrupted.

"Not like me, mister. Don't make that mistake again if you want to keep living. Maybe I dozed off on guard once, so I ended up with this job. That doesn't mean I like it or them. They smell, really smell, and if it wasn't for the food we get from them, they'd all be dead tomorrow. That's the kind of killing job I could really get into."

"If they give you food, you have to give them something back?"

"Trade goods, beads, knives, the usual stuff. Supply ships them over in boxes and I handle the delivery."

"How?" Jason inquired.

"By armored truck to the delivery site. Then I go back later to pick up the food they've left in exchange."

"Can I join you on the next delivery?"

Krannon frowned at the thought for a minute. "Yeah, I guess it’s fine if you’re dumb enough to come. You can help me load. They’re between harvests right now, so the next trip won’t be for eight days—"

"But that’s after the ship leaves—it’ll be too late. Can’t you go earlier?"

"Don't share your problems with me, mister," Krannon grumbled, getting up to his feet. "That's when I leave, and the date isn't changing for you."

Jason realized he had gotten everything he could from the man in just one session. He headed toward the door, then turned around.

"One thing," he asked. "What do these savages—the grubbers—actually look like?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Krannon shot back. "I deal with them; I don't get intimate with them. If I ever saw one, I would take him out right away." He flexed his fingers, and the gun moved in and out of his hand as he spoke. Jason quietly slipped out.

Lying on his bunk, resting his tired body, he looked for a way to get Krannon to change the delivery date. His millions of credits meant nothing in this place without real currency. If he couldn't convince the guy, he'd need to bribe him. But with what? Jason's gaze fell on the locker where his off-world clothes were still hanging, and he had a thought.

It was morning before he could return to the food warehouse—and one day closer to his deadline. Krannon didn't look up from his work when Jason walked in.

"Do you want this?" Jason asked, handing the outcast a flat gold case inlaid with a single large diamond. Krannon grunted and turned it over in his hands.

"A toy," he said. "What’s it for?"

"Well, when you press this button, you get a light." A flame appeared through a hole in the top. Krannon started to hand it back.

"What do I need a little fire for? Here, take it."

"Hold on a second," Jason said, "that’s not everything it can do. When you press the jewel in the center, one of these pops out." A black pellet the size of his fingernail dropped into his palm. "It’s a grenade, made of solid ulranite. Just squeeze it tightly and toss it. Three seconds later, it explodes with enough power to blow this building wide open."

This time Krannon nearly smiled as he reached for the case. Destructive and deadly weapons are like candy to a Pyrran. While he stared at it, Jason made his offer.

"The case and bombs are yours if you move your next delivery date up to tomorrow—and let me come with you."

"Be here at 5:00 AM," Krannon said. "We leave early."

The truck rolled up to the perimeter gate and came to a stop. Krannon waved to the guards through the front window, then lowered a metal shield over it. When the gates opened, the truck—actually a massive armored tank—moved slowly forward. There was a second gate beyond the first, which didn’t open until the inner one was closed. Jason looked through the second driver's periscope as the outer gate lifted. Automatic flamethrowers fired through the opening, turning off only when the truck reached them. A burned area surrounded the gate, and beyond that, the jungle began. Unconsciously, Jason shrank back in his seat.

All the plants and animals he had only seen as specimens were here in abundance. Thorny branches and vines intertwined to create a thick mat, through which the wildlife thrived. A cacophony of sounds bombarded them, thuds and scratches echoed against the armor. Krannon laughed and flipped the switch that electrified the outer grid. The scratching faded as the animals completed the circuit to the grounded hull.

It was a slow, tough slog through the jungle. Krannon had his face pressed against the periscope mask, silently struggling with the controls. With every mile, it seemed to get a little better, until he finally lifted the periscope and opened the window armor. The jungle was still dense and dangerous, but nothing compared to the area right around the perimeter. It looked like most of the deadly forces of Pyrrus were concentrated in that one spot near the settlement. Why? Jason wondered. Why this extreme and planet-wide hatred?

The engines stopped, and Krannon got up, stretching. "We’re here," he said. "Let’s unload."

There was bare rock around the truck, a rounded hill that jutted out from the jungle, too smooth and steep for any plants to take root. Krannon opened the cargo hatches and they pushed out the boxes and crates. When they were done, Jason collapsed onto the pile, worn out.

"Get back in, we're leaving," Krannon said.

"You are, I'm staying right here."

Krannon stared at him coldly. "Get in the truck or I'll kill you. No one stays out here. For one thing, you couldn't survive an hour on your own. But even worse, the grubbers would get you. They'd kill you right away, of course, but that's not the main issue. You have equipment that we can't let them get. You really want to see a grubber with a gun?"

While the Pyrran talked, Jason's thoughts raced ahead. He hoped that Krannon was as slow-witted as he was quick to react.

Jason looked at the trees, letting his gaze move up through the thick branches. Even though Krannon was still talking, he could sense Jason's focus. When Jason's eyes widened and his gun jumped into his hand, Krannon's own gun came out, and he turned in the same direction.

"There—in the treetops!" Jason shouted and fired into the cluster of branches. Krannon shot, too. As soon as he did, Jason threw himself backwards, curled into a ball, and rolled down the sloped rock. The gunfire concealed the sounds of his movements, and before Krannon could look back, gravity had pulled him down the rock into the dense underbrush. Crashing branches hit him, but helped slow his fall. When he finally stopped, he was tangled up in the mess. Krannon's shots came too late to catch him.

Lying there, exhausted and hurt, Jason heard the Pyrran cursing at him. He stomped around on the rock, fired a few shots, but knew better than to head into the trees. Eventually, he gave up and went back to the truck. The engine roared to life, and the treads rattled and scraped down the rock and back into the jungle. There were muffled rumblings and crashes that gradually faded away.

Then Jason was by himself.

Up until that moment, he hadn't fully grasped how alone he would be. Surrounded by nothing but death, the truck had already disappeared from view. He had to suppress a strong urge to chase after it. What was done was done.

This was a big gamble, but it was the only way to reach the grubbers. They were wild, but they still came from human roots. And they hadn't stooped so low as to cut off trade with the civilized Pyrrans. He had to get in touch with them, befriend them. Figure out how they had managed to survive in this crazy world.

If there had been another way to solve the problem, he would have taken it; he didn't enjoy being the martyred hero. But Kerk and his deadline had left him no choice. The contact had to be made quickly, and this was the only option.

There was no way to know where the savages were or how soon they would show up. If the woods weren't too deadly, he could hide there and wait for the right moment to approach them. If they caught him among the supplies, they might stab him on the spot with a typical Pyrran instinct.

Walking cautiously, he approached the line of trees. Something shifted on a branch but disappeared as he got closer. None of the plants near the thick-trunked tree seemed poisonous, so he slipped behind it. There was nothing harmful in sight, which surprised him. He let his body relax a little, leaning against the rough bark.

Something soft and suffocating fell over his head, and his body was caught in a vice-like grip. The harder he fought, the tighter it held him until the blood roared in his ears and his lungs begged for air.

Only when he became weak did the pressure ease. His initial panic eased a bit when he realized it wasn't an animal that had attacked him. He knew nothing about the grubbers, but they were human, so he still had a chance.

His arms and legs were tied, the power holster yanked off his arm. He felt oddly exposed without it. Strong hands grabbed him again, and he was thrown into the air, landing face down on something warm and soft. Fear surged back; it was some kind of large animal. And all Pyrran animals were dangerous.

When the animal moved away, carrying him, panic turned into a growing sense of excitement. The grubbers had somehow managed to reach a truce with at least one kind of animal. He needed to find out how. If he could uncover that secret—and bring it back to the city—it would make all his effort and suffering worthwhile. It might even justify Welf's death if they could slow down or stop the ancient war.

Jason's tightly bound limbs hurt a lot at first, but then grew numb when the circulation was cut off. The bumpy ride seemed to go on forever; he had no way to keep track of the time. Rain soaked him, then he felt his clothes steaming as the sun came out.

The ride was finally over. He was pulled off the animal's back and dumped onto the ground. His arms dropped free as someone untied the bindings. The returning blood flow hit him with pain as he lay there, trying to move. When his hands finally obeyed him, he lifted them to his face and removed the covering, a bag of thick fur. Light blinded him as he gasped for clean air.

Blinking against the bright light, he looked around. He was lying on a rough wooden floor, the setting sun shining into his eyes through the open doorway of the building. Outside, there was a plowed field stretching down the curve of the hill to the edge of the jungle. It was too dark to see much inside the hut.

Something blocked the light from the doorway, a tall, animal-like figure. Upon closer inspection, Jason realized it was a man with long hair and a thick beard. He was dressed in furs, with even his legs wrapped in fur leggings. His eyes were locked on his captive, while one hand toyed with an ax that hung from his waist.

"Who are you? What do you want?" the bearded man asked suddenly.

Jason chose his words carefully, wondering if this wild person had the same quick temper as the city folks.

"My name is Jason. I come in peace. I want to be your friend..."

"Lies!" the man grunted, pulling the ax from his belt. "Junkman tricks. I saw you hide. You were waiting to kill me. I'll kill you first." He tested the blade's edge with a rough thumb, then raised it.

"Wait!" Jason said urgently. "You don't get it."

The axe swung down.

"I'm from another planet and—"

A solid thunk jolted him as the ax struck the wood next to his head. At the last second, the man had moved it aside. He grabbed the front of Jason's shirt and yanked him up until their faces were inches apart.

"S'true?" he shouted. "You from off-world?" His hand opened and Jason fell back before he could respond. The savage jumped over him, heading towards the dark back of the hut.

"Rhes has to know about this," he said while struggling with something on the wall. Light burst forth.

All Jason could do was stare. The hairy, fur-covered savage was using a communicator. The calloused, dirt-encrusted fingers skillfully opened the circuits and dialed a number.

It didn't make any sense. Jason tried to make sense of the modern device alongside the primitive one and failed. Who was he reaching out to? The presence of one communicator indicated there was at least another. Was Rhes a person or just an object?

With a mental effort, he pulled his thoughts together and brought them to a stop. There was something new here—factors he hadn’t anticipated. He kept telling himself there was an explanation for everything, as long as you had your facts straight.

Jason closed his eyes, blocking out the harsh sunlight filtering through the treetops, and reevaluated his observations. They divided neatly into two categories: those he had seen for himself and those he had picked up from the city folk. He would keep this second category of "facts" in mind to see if they matched what he discovered. There was a good chance that most, if not all, of them would turn out to be untrue.

"Get up," the voice snapped him back to reality. "We're leaving."

His legs were still numb and barely functional. The bearded man scoffed in disgust and pulled him to his feet, leaning him against the outer wall. Jason gripped the rough bark of the logs when he was left alone. He looked around, taking in the surroundings.

It was the first time he had been on a farm since he ran away from home. A different world with a different environment, but the similarities were clear to him. A newly plowed field stretched down the hill in front of the shack, worked by a good farmer. Even, well-cast furrows followed the shape of the slope. Next to this one was another, larger log building, probably a barn.

There was a snuffling sound behind him, and Jason turned quickly—and froze. His hand reached for the missing gun, and his finger tightened down on a trigger that wasn't there.

It had emerged from the jungle and crept up quietly behind him. It had six thick legs with clawed feet that dug into the ground. Its two-meter-long body was covered in matted yellow and black fur, except for the skull and shoulders. Those were covered with overlapping, tough plates. Jason could see all of this because the beast was that close.

He waited to pass away.

The mouth opened, a froglike split in the hairless skull, showing off double rows of jagged teeth.

"Here, Fido," the bearded man said, approaching Jason and snapping his fingers at the same time. The dog jumped forward, brushing past the dazed Jason, and rubbed its head against the man's leg. "Nice doggy," the man said, his fingers scratching under the edge of the shell where it met the skin.

The bearded man had brought two of the horses out of the barn, saddled and ready to go. Jason hardly paid attention to the smooth coats and long legs as he climbed onto one. His feet were quickly strapped into the stirrups. As they set off, the skull-headed creature followed them.

"Nice dog!" Jason said, and for no reason started to laugh. The bearded man turned and glared at him until he was silent.

By the time they got into the jungle, it was dark. It was hard to see beneath the thick leaves, and they didn’t use any lights. The animals seemed to know where to go. There were scratching sounds and loud calls from the jungle around them, but it didn’t bother Jason too much. Maybe it was the way the other man moved through the jungle that made him feel reassured. Or maybe it was the presence of the “dog” he sensed more than saw. The journey was long, but not too uncomfortable.

The steady movement of the animal and his exhaustion made Jason doze off, waking up with a jolt every time he leaned forward. Eventually, he ended up sleeping upright in the saddle. Hours went by like this, until he opened his eyes and noticed a square of light ahead of them. The journey was over.

His legs were stiff and sore from the saddle. After his feet were untied, getting down was a struggle, and he nearly fell. A door opened, and Jason went inside. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the light before he could see the shape of a man on the bed in front of him.

"Come over here and sit down." The voice was deep and commanding. The body was that of a person with a disability. A blanket covered him to the waist; above that, his flesh was pale, speckled with red bumps, and hung loosely over his bones. It seemed like there was nothing left of the man except skin and bones.

"Not great," the man on the bed said, "but I've gotten used to it." His tone shifted suddenly. "Naxa said you were from off-world. Is that true?"

Jason nodded yes, and his answer brought the living skeleton to life. The head lifted from the pillow, and the bloodshot eyes searched for his with a desperate intensity.

"My name is Rhes and I'm a ... grubber. Will you help me?"

Jason was surprised by how intense Rhes' question was, considering how simple it was. Still, he felt there was no reason to give anything other than the straightforward answer that came to mind.

"Of course I'll help you in any way I can, as long as it doesn’t harm anyone else. What do you need?"

The sick man's head was slumped back, tired, as Jason spoke. But there was still a fire in his eyes.

"Please be assured ... I want to hurt no one," Rhes said. "In fact, it's quite the opposite. As you can see, I am suffering from an illness that our treatments can't stop. In just a few more days, I will be dead. Now I have seen ... the city folks ... using a device that they press over a wound or an animal bite. Do you have one of these machines?"

"That sounds like a description of the medikit." Jason pressed the button on his waist, and the medikit dropped into his hand. "I have mine here. It analyzes and treats most ..."

"Would you use it on me?" Rhes interrupted, his voice suddenly urgent.

"I'm sorry," Jason said. "I should have realized." He stepped forward and pressed the machine against one of the inflamed areas on Rhes' chest. The operation light turned on, and the thin shaft of the analyzer probe slid down. When it pulled back, the device hummed, then clicked three times as three separate hypodermic needles punctured the skin. Then the light turned off.

"Is that everything?" Rhes asked, as he watched Jason put the medikit back in his belt.

Jason nodded, then looked up and saw the wet marks of tears on the sick man's face. Rhes noticed at the same time and angrily brushed them away.

"When a man is sick," he muttered, "his body and all his senses become traitors. I don't think I've cried since I was a child—but you need to understand that I'm not crying for myself. I'm crying for the untold thousands of my people who have died because they didn't have that little device you take so lightly."

"Surely you have your own medicine and doctors?"

"Herb doctors and witch doctors," Rhes said, dismissing them all with a wave of his hand. "The few dedicated and honest people are held back by the reality that faith healers often cure better than their most powerful potion."

The talking had worn Rhes out. He suddenly stopped and closed his eyes. The inflamed spots on his chest were already losing their redness as the injections began to work. Jason looked around the room, searching for clues to the mystery of these people.

The floor and walls were made from wooden planks fitted together, without any paint or decoration. They looked simple and rough, suited only for the savages he had expected to meet. Or were they rough? The wood had a smooth, flame-like grain. When he looked closely, he saw that wax had been applied to the wood to highlight this pattern. Was this the work of savages, or of creative individuals trying to make the most of basic materials? The overall effect was far better than the dull paint and riveted steel rooms of the city-dwelling Pyrrans. Wasn't it true that both ends of the artistic spectrum were characterized by simplicity? The untrained aborigine created a straightforward expression of a clear idea and crafted beauty. At the opposite end, the cultured critic dismissed excessive elaboration and decoration, seeking the honest clarity of straightforward art. Which end of the spectrum was he observing now?

These men were wild, he had been told that. They wore furs and spoke a garbled, broken language, at least Naxa did. Rhes admitted he preferred faith healers to doctors. But if all this was true, where did the communicator fit in? Or the glowing ceiling that lit up the room with a soft light?

Rhes opened his eyes and looked at Jason, as if he was seeing him for the first time. "Who are you?" he asked. "And what are you doing here?"

There was a chill threat in his words, and Jason understood why. The people of Pyrrans despised the "grubbers," and the feeling was definitely mutual. Naxa's ax had shown that. Naxa had slipped in quietly while they were talking, standing there with his fingers resting on the handle of that same ax. Jason knew his life was still at risk until he gave an answer that satisfied these guys.

He couldn't reveal the truth. If they ever suspected he was spying on them to help the people from the city, it would be over for him. Still, he needed to be free to discuss the survival issue.

The answer came to him right after he stated the problem. It all took just a moment to think over as he turned back to look at the invalid, and he responded immediately, trying to keep his voice steady and casual.

"I'm Jason dinAlt, an ecologist, so you see I have the best reasons in the universe for visiting this planet—"

"What is an ecologist?" Rhes interrupted. There was nothing in his tone to show if he was asking seriously or trying to set a trap. All the casualness from their earlier conversation had vanished; his voice was as lethal as a stingwing’s venom. Jason picked his words with caution.

"Basically, it's the part of biology that looks at the relationships between living organisms and their environment. It examines how climate and other factors impact life forms and how those life forms influence each other and the environment." That much Jason knew was true—but he really didn't know much more about the topic, so he moved on quickly.

"I heard stories about this planet, and finally came here to see it for myself. I did what work I could in the safety of the city, but it wasn't enough. The people there think I'm insane, but they eventually agreed to let me take a trip out here."

"What plans have been made for your return?" Naxa snapped.

"None," Jason said. "They were really convinced that I would be killed right away and had no hope of me coming back. In fact, they wouldn’t let me go, and I had to break free."

This answer seemed to satisfy Rhes, and his face broke into a bitter smile. "They’d think that, those scrap dealers. They can’t go a meter outside their own walls without an armored vehicle as big as a barn. What did they say about us?"

Again, Jason knew a lot hinged on his answer. This time, he thought carefully before replying.

"Well ... maybe I’ll get that ax in the back of my neck for saying this ... but I have to be real. You need to know what they think. They told me you were dirty and uneducated savages who smelled bad. And you ... well, had strange customs you practiced with the animals. In exchange for food, they gave you beads and knives ..."

Both Pyrrans burst into laughter at this. Rhes stopped quickly, feeling weak, but Naxa laughed so hard he ended up in a coughing fit and had to splash water over his head from a gourd jug.

"Yeah, I get that," Rhes said. "It sounds like the kind of nonsense they'd say. Those people don’t know anything about the world they live in. I hope everything else you said is true, but even if it’s not, you’re welcome here. I know you're from off-world. No junkman would have bothered to save my life. You’re the first off-worlder my people have ever met, and for that, you’re even more welcome. We’ll help you in any way we can. My arm is your arm."

These last words had a ceremonial ring to them, and when Jason said them again, Naxa nodded in agreement. At the same time, Jason felt that they were more than just empty tradition. Interdependence was crucial for survival on Pyrrus, and he recognized that these people stood united, ready to fight to the death against the deadly threats surrounding them. He hoped the ceremony would welcome him into that circle of protection.

"That's enough for tonight," Rhes said. "The spotted sickness has drained me, and your medicine has turned me to mush. You’re staying here, Jason. There’s a blanket, but no bed, at least not for now."

Enthusiasm had carried Jason this far, making him forget the two-gee exertions of the long day. Now fatigue hit him like a physical blow. He had vague memories of refusing food and rolling up in the blanket on the floor. After that, it was just blank.

Every inch of his body ached where the added gravity had pressed his skin against the hard wood floor. His eyes felt sticky, and his mouth had an awful taste that came up in chunks. Sitting up was a struggle, and he had to hold back a groan as his joints popped.

"Good day, Jason," Rhes called from the bed. "If I didn't believe in medicine so strongly, I would be tempted to say there's a miracle in your machine that has cured me overnight."

There was no doubt that he was getting better. The inflamed patches had disappeared, and the fiery look was gone from his eyes. He sat, supported by the bed, watching the morning sun turn the night’s hailstorm into puddles in the fields.

"There's meat in the cabinet there," he said, "and either water or whiskey to drink."

The visk turned out to be a super strong drink that immediately cleared the haze from Jason's mind, although it did leave a slight ringing in his ears. The meat was a perfectly smoked cut, the best food he had enjoyed since leaving Darkhan. Together, they renewed his hope in life and the future. He set down his glass with a contented sigh and looked around.

With the stress of immediate survival and exhaustion gone, his thoughts turned back to his problem. What were these people really like—and how had they managed to survive in the dangerous wilderness? In the city, he had been told they were savages. Yet there was a well-maintained and fixed communicator on the wall. And by the door, a crossbow—that fired machine-made metal bolts; he could see the tool marks still visible on their shafts. The one thing he needed was more information. He could start by clearing up some of his misconceptions.

"Rhes, you laughed when I told you what the city people said about trading you little gadgets for food. What do they actually trade you?"

"Anything within certain limits," Rhes said. "Small manufactured items, like electronic components for our communicators. Rust-free alloys we can’t make in our forges, cutting tools, atomic electric converters that generate power from any radioactive element. Things like that. Reasonably, they’ll trade us anything we ask for that isn’t on the forbidden list. They really need the food."

"And what about the items on the forbidden list—?"

"Weapons, obviously, or anything that could be turned into a powerful weapon. They know we produce gunpowder, so we can't get large castings or seamless tubing that we could use to make heavy gun barrels. We drill our own rifle barrels by hand, but the crossbow is quieter and quicker in the jungle. Plus, they don't want us to know too much, so the only reading material we have access to are tech maintenance manuals, which lack basic theory."

"The last banned category you know about—medicine. This is the one thing I can’t wrap my head around, and it fills me with rage with every death they could have prevented."

"I know their reasons," Jason said.

"Then tell me, because I can't think of any."

"Survival—it’s that straightforward. I doubt you realize it, but their population is decreasing. It’s only a matter of years before they disappear. Meanwhile, your people at least need to have a stable—if not slightly growing—population to have survived without their mechanical protections. So in the city, they both resent and envy you. If they offered you medicine and you thrived, you would be succeeding where they have failed. I can only guess they put up with you as a necessary evil, to provide them with food; otherwise, they probably wish you were all gone."

"It makes sense," Rhes growled, slamming his fist against the bed. "It's the kind of twisted logic you expect from junkmen. They use us to keep themselves going, give us the bare minimum in return, and at the same time cut us off from the knowledge that could help us escape this hand-to-mouth existence. Worse, way worse, they shut us out from the stars and the rest of humanity." The hatred on his face was so intense that Jason instinctively recoiled.

"Do you think we’re savages here, Jason? We act and look like animals because we have to fight for survival in a savage way. Yet we know about the stars. In that chest over there, sealed in metal, are over thirty books, all we have. Most of them are fiction, with some history and general science mixed in. It’s enough to keep alive the stories of our settlement here and the rest of the universe outside. We see the ships land in the city and we know that up there are worlds we can only dream about and never see. Can you blame us for hating these so-called men, and wanting to destroy them in a heartbeat if we could? They’re right to keep weapons away from us—just like the sun rises in the morning, we would kill every last one of them if we could, and take over the things they’ve kept from us."

It was a tough criticism, but it was pretty accurate. At least from the outsiders' perspective. Jason didn’t try to explain to the angry man that the city of Pyrrans saw their attitude as the only logical option. "How did the conflict between your two groups start?" he asked.

"I don't know," Rhes said, "I've thought about it a lot, but there are no records from that time. We do know that we're all descendants of colonists who arrived together. At some point, the two groups split up. Maybe it was because of a war; I've read about those in books. I have a partial theory, though I can't prove it, that it had to do with where the city was located."

"Location—I don’t get it."

"Well, you know the junkmen, and you've seen where their city is. They managed to put it right in the middle of the most dangerous place on this planet. You know they don’t care about anything living except themselves; shooting and killing is their only logic. So they wouldn’t think twice about where to build their city and ended up placing it in the dumbest spot imaginable. I’m sure my ancestors recognized how foolish this was and tried to warn them. That would be enough reason for a war, wouldn’t it?"

"It could have been—if that's really what happened," Jason said. "But I think you have the problem reversed. It's a conflict between the native Pyrran life and humans, with each side trying to eliminate the other. The life forms keep evolving, aiming for the complete destruction of the invader."

"Your theory is even crazier than mine," Rhes said. "That’s not true at all. I get that life isn’t easy on this planet ... if what I’ve read in the books about other planets is accurate ... but it doesn’t change. You have to be quick and stay alert for anything bigger than you, but you can survive. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter why. The junkmen are always looking for trouble, and I'm glad to see that they have plenty."

Jason didn't push the issue. Trying to force Rhes to change his core beliefs wasn't worth it—if it was even possible. He hadn’t been able to convince anyone in the city about the deadly mutations, even when they could see all the evidence. Rhes could still provide information, though.

"I guess it doesn't really matter who started the fight," Jason said for the other guy's sake, not meaning any of it, "but you have to admit that the city folks are always at odds with all the local wildlife. Still, your people have managed to befriend at least two species that I've seen. Do you know how that happened?"

"Naxa will be here any minute," Rhes said, pointing to the door, "as soon as he finishes up with the animals. Just ask him. He's the best conversationalist we have."

"Talker?" Jason asked. "I thought it was the opposite. He didn't say much, and when he did, it was, well ... a bit hard to follow sometimes."

"Not that kind of talking," Rhes interrupted impatiently. "The talkers take care of the animals. They train the dogs and doryms, and the better ones like Naxa are always looking to work with other creatures. They dress simply, but they have to. I've heard them say that the animals don’t like chemicals, metal, or tanned leather, so they mostly wear untanned furs. But don’t let the dirt deceive you; it has nothing to do with their intelligence."

"Doryms? Are those your pack animals—the ones we rode to get here?"

Rhes nodded. "Doryms are more than just pack animals; they're actually a little bit of everything. The big males pull the plows and other equipment, while the younger ones are used for meat. If you want to know more, ask Naxa; you can find him in the barn."

"I'd like to do that," Jason said, standing up. "I just feel naked without my gun—"

"Go ahead, it's in that chest by the door. Just be careful what you shoot around here."

Naxa was at the back of the barn, sanding down one of the spadelike toenails of a dorym. It was an odd sight. The fur-clad man with the massive creature—and the contrast of a beryllium-copper file and glowing electroluminescent panels illuminating the task.

The dorym opened its nostrils and stepped back when Jason came in; Naxa patted its neck and spoke softly until it calmed down and stood still, shivering a little.

Something stirred in Jason's mind, like a long-unused muscle being worked out. A hauntingly familiar feeling.

"Good morning," Jason said. Naxa grunted something and went back to his filing. Watching him for a few minutes, Jason tried to figure out this new feeling. It itched and slipped away when he reached for it, evading him. Whatever it was, it had started when Naxa had talked to the dorym.

"Can you bring one of the dogs in here, Naxa? I want to get a closer look."

Without lifting his head from his work, Naxa let out a soft whistle. Jason was sure it couldn't be heard outside the barn. Yet, within a minute, one of the Pyrran dogs quietly came in. The talker petted the dog's head, murmuring to it, while the animal stared intently into his eyes.

The dog got restless when Naxa went back to working on the dorym. It wandered around the barn, sniffing, then quickly ran toward the open door. Jason called it back.

At least he intended to call it. At the last moment, he said nothing. Nothing out loud. On a sudden impulse, he kept his mouth shut—only he called the dog with his mind. Thinking the words come here, directing the impulse at the animal with all the focus and intention he had ever used to control dice. As he did this, he realized it had been a long time since he had even thought about using his psi powers.

The dog stopped and turned back toward him.

It paused, glancing at Naxa, then walked over to Jason.

Seen up close, the beast was a nightmare hound. The hairless protective plates, tiny red-rimmed eyes, and countless saliva-dripping teeth did little to inspire confidence. Yet Jason felt no fear. There was a connection between man and animal that was understood. Without thinking, he reached out and scratched the dog along the back, where he knew it would itch.

"Didn’t know you were a talker," Naxa said. As he watched them, there was friendship in his voice for the first time.

"I didn't know either—until just now," Jason said. He stared into the eyes of the creature in front of him, scratched the rough and awkward back, and started to comprehend.

The talkers must have well-developed psi abilities, that was obvious now. There’s no barrier of race or alien form when two beings share each other’s emotions. Empathy first, so there’s no hatred or fear. After that, direct communication. The talkers might have been the ones who first broke through the barrier of hatred on Pyrrus and learned to coexist with the native life. Others could have followed their example—this might explain how the community of "grubbers" was formed.

Now that he was focused on it, Jason noticed the gentle stream of thoughts around him. The awareness of the dorym was accompanied by similar patterns from the back of the barn. He realized without stepping outside that more of the large creatures were in the field back there.

"This is all new to me," Jason said. "Have you ever thought about it, Naxa? What does it feel like to be a talker? I mean, do you know why you can get the animals to obey you while other people have no luck at all?"

Thinking about this really bothered Naxa. He ran his fingers through his thick hair and frowned as he responded. "Never thought about it. Just do it. Just get to know the beast really well, then you can guess what they’re going to do. That’s all."

It was clear that Naxa had never considered where his ability to control the animals came from. And if he hadn't—likely no one else had either. They had no reason to. They just accepted the powers of talkers as a normal part of life.

Ideas drifted toward each other in his mind, like pieces of a puzzle coming together. He had told Kerk that the native life of Pyrrus had fought against humanity, but he didn’t know why. Well—he still didn’t know why, but he was starting to understand the "how."

"How far are we from the city?" Jason asked. "Do you know how long it'll take us to get there by dorym?"

"Half a day there—half back. Why? You want to go?"

"I don’t want to head into the city, not just yet. But I’d like to get close to it," Jason told him.

"Check out what Rhes says," was Naxa's response.

Rhes gave them immediate permission without any questions. They saddled up and left right away to finish the round trip before dark.

They had been traveling for less than an hour when Jason realized they were headed toward the city. With every passing minute, that feeling intensified. Naxa noticed it too, shifting in the saddle with unspoken emotions. They had to keep patting and reassuring their horses, which were becoming nervous and uneasy.

"This is far enough," Jason said. Naxa gratefully came to a stop.

The unspoken thought pulsed through Jason's mind, overwhelming him. He sensed it all around him—especially stronger ahead in the direction of the hidden city. Naxa and the doryms were similarly affected, feeling restless and uneasy, unsure of the reason.

One thing was clear now. The Pyrran animals were sensitive to psi radiation—likely the plants and lower life forms were too. Maybe they communicated through it, since they responded to the men who had strong control over it. And in this area, there was an overwhelming presence of psi radiation like he had never felt before. Although his personal abilities focused on psychokinesis—the mental manipulation of inanimate objects—he was still sensitive to most mental phenomena. While watching a sports event, he had often felt the collective agreement of many minds sharing the same thought. What he felt now was similar to that.

Only really different. A crowd cheered at a win on the field or groaned at a loss. The emotions shifted and changed as the game went on. Here, the flow of thoughts was constant, intense, and daunting. It didn't come out in words very clearly. It was part hatred, part fear—and entirely destructive.

"KILL THE ENEMY" was as close as Jason could put it. But it was more than that. An endless flow of mental fury and death.

"Let's go back now," he said, suddenly exhausted and overwhelmed by the emotions he had allowed to wash over him. As they started the return trip, he began to understand a lot of things.

His sudden, overwhelming fear when the Pyrran creature attacked him that first day on the planet. And his persistent nightmares that never fully went away, even with medication. Both of these were his response to the animosity aimed at the city. Although for some reason he hadn't felt it directly until now, enough of it had come through to provoke a strong emotional reaction in him.

Rhes was asleep when they got back, and Jason couldn’t talk to him until morning. Despite being tired from the trip, he stayed awake late into the night, replaying the discoveries of the day in his mind. Could he tell Rhes what he had found out? Not really. If he did, he would have to explain the significance of his discovery and how he intended to use it. Nothing that benefited the city dwellers would interest Rhes at all. It was better to say nothing until the whole situation was resolved.

After breakfast, he told Rhes that he wanted to go back to the city.

"Then you’ve seen enough of our savage world and want to go back to your friends. Are you planning to help them wipe us out, maybe?" Rhes said it casually, but there was a hint of cold malice in his words.

"I hope you don't actually believe that," Jason said to him. "You have to understand that it's the other way around. I want to see this civil war come to an end and your people gain access to all the science and medical advancements they've been denied. I'll do everything I can to make that happen."

"They'll never change," Rhes said sadly, "so don’t waste your time. But there’s one thing you need to do for your safety and ours. Don’t admit, or even suggest, that you’ve talked to any grubbers!"

"Why not?"

"Why not! Suffering death are you that simple! They’ll do anything to make sure we don’t rise too high, and they would much rather see us all dead. Do you think they would hesitate to kill you if they even suspected you had reached out to us? They understand—even if you don’t—that you alone can change the entire power structure on this planet. The average junkman might see us as just a step above animals, but the leaders don't. They know what we need and what we want. They could probably predict exactly what I’m going to ask you."

"Help us, Jason dinAlt. Go back among those human pigs and lie. Say you never talked to us, that you hid in the forest and we attacked you, and you had to shoot to defend yourself. We’ll provide some recent bodies to make that part of your story sound convincing. Make them believe you, and even after you think you have them fooled, keep acting the part because they will be watching you. Then tell them you’re done with your job and ready to leave. Get safely off Pyrrus to another planet, and I promise you anything in the universe. Whatever you want, you shall have. Power, money—anything.

"This is a wealthy planet. The scrap dealers extract and sell the metal, but we could do it much better. Bring a spaceship here and land anywhere on this continent. We don’t have cities, but our people have farms all over, and they will find you. Then we will have commerce, trade—on our own. This is what we all want, and we will work hard for it. And you will have made it happen. Whatever you want, we will provide. That is a promise, and we keep our promises."

The intensity and scale of what he described shook Jason. He knew that Rhes was telling the truth, and all the resources of the planet would be his if he did as asked. For a brief moment, he was tempted, imagining what it would be like. Then it hit him that it would only be a partial solution, and a bad one at that. If these people got the power they wanted, their first move would be to try to take down the city dwellers. The outcome would be a bloody civil war that would likely destroy them both. Rhes' answer was solid—but just a partial answer.

Jason needed to find a better solution. One that would end all the fighting on this planet and let the two groups of humans coexist in peace.

"I won’t do anything to harm your people, Rhes—and I’ll do everything I can to help them," Jason said.

This partial answer satisfied Rhes, who could only see one way to interpret it. He spent the rest of the morning on the communicator, organizing the food supplies that were being brought to the trading site.

"The supplies are ready and we’ve sent the signal," he said. "The truck will be there tomorrow, and you’ll be waiting for it. Everything is set up just like I told you. You need to leave now with Naxa. You have to get to the meeting spot before the trucks."

"Truck's almost here. You know what to do?" Naxa asked.

Jason nodded and looked again at the dead man. Some creature had torn his arm off, and he had bled to death. The severed arm had been tucked into the shirt sleeve, so from a distance, it looked normal. Up close, this limp arm, along with the pale skin and shocked expression on the face, gave Jason an uneasy feeling. He preferred to see his corpses properly buried. However, he understood its significance today.

"Here they are. Wait until his back is turned," Naxa whispered.

The armored truck was towing three powered trailers this time. The train climbed up the rocky slope and came to a stop with a whine. Krannon got out of the cab and checked his surroundings before opening the trailers. He had a lift robot with him to assist with the loading.

"Now!" Naxa whispered.

Jason rushed into the clearing, running and shouting Krannon's name. There was a snapping sound behind him as two of the concealed men threw the corpse through the bushes after him. He spun around and shot without slowing down, igniting the thing in midair.

There was another gunshot as Krannon fired, his shot jolted the twice-dead body before it hit the ground. Then he was lying flat, shooting into the trees behind the fleeing Jason.

Just as Jason got to the truck, he heard a whirring sound and a sharp pain shot through his back, knocking him down. As Krannon pulled him through the door, he looked around and noticed a metal crossbow bolt jabbing out of his shoulder.

"Lucky," the Pyrran said. "An inch lower would have hit your heart. I warned you about those grubbers. You're lucky to only walk away with this." He lay next to the door and took shots into the now quiet wood.

Taking out the bolt hurt a lot more than it did going in. Jason cursed the pain while Krannon put on a dressing, and he admired the single-minded determination of the people who shot him. They had put his life on the line to make his escape believable. They also took the risk that he might turn on them after being shot. They did their job completely and thoroughly, and he cursed them for being so efficient.

Krannon climbed cautiously out of the truck after Jason was bandaged up. He quickly finished loading and started the train of trailers back towards the city. Jason got an anti-pain shot and fell asleep as soon as they took off.

While he slept, Krannon must have called ahead, because Kerk was waiting when they got there. As soon as the truck crossed the perimeter, he swung open the door and yanked Jason out. The bandage pulled, and Jason felt the wound reopen. He gritted his teeth; Kerk wouldn’t get the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

"I told you to stay inside the buildings until the ship left. Why did you leave? Why did you go outside? You talked to the grubbers—didn't you?" With each question, he shook Jason again.

"I didn't talk to—anyone." Jason managed to get the words out. "They tried to take me, I shot two—hid out until the trucks came back."

"Got another one then," Krannon said. "I saw it. Nice shooting. I think I got a few as well. Let him go, Kerk; they shot him in the back before he could make it to the truck."

That's enough explanations, Jason thought to himself. Don't go overboard. Let him decide later. Now's the time to shift the topic. There's one thing that will get his mind off the grubbers.

"I've been fighting your war for you, Kerk, while you stayed safely inside the perimeter." Jason leaned back against the side of the truck as the other relaxed his grip. "I've figured out what your conflict with this planet is really about—and how you can win it. Now let me sit down and I'll explain."

More Pyrrans had gathered while they talked. None of them moved now. Like Kerk, they stood still, staring at Jason. When Kerk spoke, he spoke for all of them.

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. Pyrrus is fighting you—actively and deliberately. If you get far enough away from this city, you can feel the waves of hatred aimed at it. No, that’s not right—you can’t because you’ve grown up with it. But I can, and so could anyone else with some psi sensitivity. There’s a constant message of war being sent against you. The life forms on this planet are psi-sensitive and respond to that call. They attack, adapt, and mutate to bring about your destruction. And they’ll keep doing so until you’re all dead. Unless you can stop the war."

"How?" Kerk snapped, and every face echoed the question.

"By figuring out who's sending that message. The creatures attacking you don’t think for themselves. They’re being commanded to do it. I believe I have a way to track down the source of these commands. After that, it will just be about getting a message through, asking for a truce and eventually ending all hostilities."

A complete silence followed his words as the Pyrrans tried to grasp the ideas. Kerk was the first to move, waving them all off.

"Get back to your work. This is my responsibility, and I’ll handle it. As soon as I figure out what the truth is here—if there is any—I’ll give a full report." The people walked away quietly, glancing back as they left.

From the beginning now," Kerk said. "And don't leave anything out."

"There isn't much more I can say about the physical facts. I saw the animals and got the message. I even tried some experiments with them, and they responded to my mental commands. What I need to do now is find out where the orders that keep this war going are coming from."

"I'll share something I've never told anyone before. I'm not just lucky at gambling. I have enough psychic ability to shift the odds in my favor. It's an unpredictable skill that I've tried to refine for obvious reasons. Over the past ten years, I've studied at all the centers focused on psi research. It's surprising how little they know compared to other areas of knowledge. Basic psychic skills can be improved with practice, and there are devices designed to enhance psionic abilities. One of these, when used properly, is an excellent directional indicator."

"You want to build this machine?" Kerk asked.

"Exactly. Build it and take it outside the city in the ship. Any signal strong enough to keep this centuries-old battle going should be strong enough to track. I'll follow it, contact the beings sending it, and try to find out why they're doing this. I assume you'll agree to any reasonable plan that will end this war?"

"Anything reasonable," Kerk said coldly. "How long will it take you to build this machine?"

"Just a few days if you have all the parts here," Jason told him.

"Then do it. I'm canceling the flight that's leaving now and I'll keep the ship here, ready to go. When the machine is built I want you to track the signal and report back to me."

"Agreed," Jason said, standing up. "As soon as I get this hole in my back checked out, I'll make a list of things we need."

A grim, unsmiling man named Skop was assigned to Jason as a combination guide and guard. He took his job very seriously, and it didn't take Jason long to realize that he was a prisoner on the loose. Kerk had accepted his story, but that didn't mean he believed it. With just a word from him, the guard could become an executioner.

The chilling realization struck Jason that this was definitely what would happen. Whether Kerk believed the story or not—he couldn't risk it. As long as there was even the slightest chance Jason had reached out to the grubbers, he couldn't be allowed to leave the planet alive. The woods people were being naive if they thought such an obvious plan could actually work. Or had they just taken a long shot, hoping it might succeed? They clearly had nothing to lose by trying.

Only half of Jason's mind was focused on the task as he created a list of materials he needed for the psionic direction finder. His thoughts were stuck in a loop, trying to find an escape that wasn’t there. He was too entrenched now to simply walk away. Kerk would make sure of that. Unless he could figure out a way to end the war and resolve the grubber issue, he was trapped on Pyrrus for life. A very short life.

When the list was done, he called Supply. With a few changes, everything he might need was in stock and would be sent over. Skop seemed to doze off in his chair, while Jason, his head leaning on one arm, started a rough sketch of his machine.

Jason suddenly looked up, realizing it was quiet. He could hear machines in the building and voices in the hallway outside. What kind of silence was this—?

Mental silence. He had been so focused since getting back to the city that he hadn't noticed the total absence of any kind of psi sensation. The usual flow of animal reactions was gone, as was the faint sense of his PK. With a sudden realization, he remembered that it was always like this inside the city.

He tried to listen with his mind—and gave up almost immediately. There was a constant influx of thoughts around him that he noticed when he reached out. It felt like being in a ship deep under the ocean, with your hand on the door holding back the terrifying pressure. By touching the door, without opening it, you could sense the stress, the force pushing in, ready to crush you. It was the same with the psi pressure on the city. The unspoken, hate-filled screams of Pyrrus would instantly obliterate any mind that received them. Some part of his brain functioned like a psi-circuit breaker, cutting off awareness before his mind could be overwhelmed. There was just enough leakage to keep him aware of the pressure—and to provide the raw material for his constant nightmares.

There was only one perk. The absence of mental pressure helped him focus better. Despite his tiredness, the diagram came together quickly.

Meta arrived late that afternoon, bringing the parts he had ordered. She slid the long box onto the workbench, started to speak, but changed her mind and said nothing. Jason looked up at her and smiled.

"Are you confused?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, "I'm not confused. I'm just frustrated. The usual trip has been canceled and our supply schedule is going to be messed up for months. Instead of flying or doing perimeter duty, all I can do is stand around and wait for you. Then take some pointless flight following your instructions. Can you blame me for being annoyed?"

Jason carefully laid out the parts on the chassis before he spoke. "Like I said, you're mixed up. I can explain how you're mixed up—which will only make you even more confused. It's a temptation that I honestly find hard to resist."

She looked at him across the bench, frowning. One finger was absentmindedly curling and uncurling a short lock of hair. Jason liked her like this. When she was operating at full speed as a Pyrran, she had about as much personality as a gear in a machine. But once she broke out of that routine, she reminded him more of the girl he had known on that first flight to Pyrrus. He wondered if he could really get his point across to her.

"I'm not trying to be rude when I say 'confused,' Meta. With your background, you couldn't be anything else. You have a closed-off personality. Sure, Pyrrus is a unique island with a lot of complex issues that you're really good at handling. That doesn’t change the fact that it's still an island. When you encounter a more global issue, you get confused. Or even worse, when your island problems are viewed in a broader context. It's like playing your own game but having the rules change on you all the time."

"You're just talking nonsense," she snapped at him. "Pyrrus isn't an island, and fighting to survive is definitely not a game."

"I'm sorry," he smiled. "I was using a figure of speech, and a poorly chosen one at that. Let's put the problem in clearer terms. Here’s an example. Suppose I told you that over there, hanging from the doorframe, was a stingwing—"

Meta's gun was aimed at the door before he even finished the last word. There was a crash as the guard's chair tipped over. He had gone from dozing off to fully alert in an instant, his gun also scanning the doorframe.

"That was just an example," Jason said. "There's really nothing there." The guard's gun disappeared, and he shot Jason a look of disdain as he straightened the chair and sat down.

"You both have shown that you can deal with a Pyrran problem." Jason went on. "But what if I told you there’s something hanging from the doorframe that looks like a stingwing, but is actually a type of large insect that produces fine silk used for weaving clothes?"

The guard glared from beneath his thick eyebrows at the empty doorframe, his gun partially out, then snapped back into the holster. He muttered something inaudible at Jason, then stomped into the outer room, slamming the door behind him. Meta frowned in concentration and looked confused.

"It couldn't be anything other than a stingwing," she finally said. "Nothing else could possibly look like that. And even if it didn’t spin silk, it would bite if you got too close, so you'd have to kill it." She smiled in satisfaction at the undeniable logic of her answer.

"Wrong again," Jason said. "I just described the mimic-spinner that lives on Stover's Planet. It copies the most aggressive forms of life there, does such a great job that it doesn’t need any other defenses. It will just sit calmly on your hand and spin for you by the yard. If I dropped a shipload of them here on Pyrrus, you'd never know when to shoot, would you?"

"But they aren't here right now," Meta insisted.

"Yet they could be pretty easily. And if they were, all the rules of your game would change. Do you get the idea now? There are some fixed laws and rules in the galaxy—but they're not the ones you follow. Your rule is a never-ending war with the local life. I want to step outside your rule book and put an end to that war. Wouldn't you want that? Wouldn't you want a life that was more than just an endless struggle for survival? A life with a chance for happiness, love, music, art—all the enjoyable things you've never had time for."

All the seriousness was gone from her face as she listened to what he said, allowing herself to embrace these unfamiliar ideas. He had automatically reached out his hand while speaking and had taken hers. It was warm, and her pulse quickened at his touch.

Meta suddenly noticed her hand and quickly pulled it back, standing up at the same time. As she started to move towards the door without looking, Jason's voice called out after her.

"The guard, Skop, rushed out because he didn't want to lose his valuable two-value logic. It's all he has. But you've experienced other parts of the galaxy, Meta; you know there's so much more to life than just kill-or-be-killed on Pyrrus. Deep down, you believe it's true, even if you won't say it."

She spun around and dashed out the door.

Jason watched her, his hand running over the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "Meta, I have a small hope that the woman is winning over the Pyrran. I think I saw—maybe for the first time in the history of this war-torn city—a tear in one of its citizen's eyes."

"Drop that gear and Kerk will definitely rip both your arms off," Jason said. "He's over there right now, looking as miserable as he can that I ever convinced him to do this."

Skop grumbled as he struggled with the heavy psi detector, handing it up to Meta, who was waiting in the open hatch of the spaceship. Jason oversaw the loading and shot at any local wildlife that came to check things out. There were a lot of horndevils around this morning, and he took down four of them. He was the last one on board and sealed the hatch behind him.

"Where are you planning to install it?" Meta asked.

"You tell me," Jason said. "I need a place for the antenna where there's no heavy metal blocking the bowl to mess with the signal. Thin plastic will work, or if it really comes down to it, I can mount it outside the hull with a remote drive."

"You might have to," she said. "The hull is one solid piece, and we do all our viewing through screens and instruments. I don’t think ... wait ... there’s one place that might work."

She took the lead towards a bump in the hull that indicated where one of the lifeboats was. They went in through the lock that was always open, with Skop struggling behind them, carrying the equipment.

"These lifeboats are partly buried in the ship," Meta explained. "They have clear front windows protected by friction shields that pull back automatically when the boat is launched."

"Can we lower the shields now?"

"I think so," she said. She followed the launching circuits to a junction box and opened the lid. When she manually closed the shield relay, the heavy plates slid back into the hull. There was a clear view, since most of the viewport extended beyond the main ship.

"Perfect," Jason said. "I'll set up here. So how do I talk to you on the ship?"

"Right here," she said. "There's a pre-set option on this communicator. Don't touch anything else—and especially not this switch." She pointed to a big pull-handle in the center of the control panel. "Emergency launch. Two seconds after that is pulled, the lifeboat is released. And it turns out this boat has no fuel."

"Definitely hands off," Jason said. "Now have Husky run a line for me with the ship's power and I'll get this stuff set up."

The detector was straightforward, but the tuning had to be exact. A dish-shaped antenna captured the signal for the finely balanced detector. There was a sharp drop-off on both sides of the input, allowing for precise direction determination. The resulting signal was sent to an amplifier stage. Unlike the electronic components of the first stage, this one was illustrated in symbols on white paper. Carefully glued input and output leads connected to it.

When everything was set up and secured, Jason nodded at Meta's image on the screen. "Lift her up—and take it easy. No crazy nine-G maneuvers. Fly in a slow circle around the edge, until I say otherwise."

Under steady power, the ship took off and climbed for altitude, then settled into its circular path. They made five passes over the city before Jason shook his head.

"The thing seems to be working fine, but we're getting too much noise from all the local life. Get thirty kilometers out from the city and start a new circuit."

The results were better this time. A strong signal came from the direction of the city, limited to less than a degree of arc. With the antenna pointed at a right angle to the ship's flight path, the signal remained pretty steady. Meta rotated the ship on its main axis until Jason's lifeboat was directly underneath.

"Everything's good now," he said. "Just keep your controls steady and make sure the nose doesn't drift."

After making a precise mark on the setting circle, Jason rotated the receiving antenna 180 degrees. As the ship continued its circular path, he slowly gathered any signals directed at the city. They were halfway around before he picked up a new signal.

It was definitely there, narrow but strong. Just to be sure, he had the ship make two more passes, and he recorded the direction on the gyro-compass each time. They matched. The third time around, he called to Meta.

"Get ready for a complete right turn, or whatever you want to call it. I think I know where we are. Get ready—now."

It was a slow turn, and Jason never lost the signal. A few times it wavered, but he restored it. When the compass stabilized, Meta pushed the power up.

They directed their path towards the native Pyrrans.

An hour’s flight at near top speed brought no change. Meta complained, but Jason kept her on track. The signal never wavered and was slowly getting stronger. They crossed the chain of volcanoes that marked the edge of the continent, the ship jolting in the strong thermals. Once the shore was behind them and they were over water, Skop joined Meta in grumbling. He kept his turret spinning, but there was hardly anything to shoot at this far from land.

When the islands appeared on the horizon, the signal started to drop.

"Slow down," Jason shouted. "Those islands up ahead look like the place we’re looking for!"

A continent had once existed here, floating on Pyrrus' liquid core. Changes in pressure caused land masses to shift, and the continent sank beneath the ocean. All that remains now of the vibrant life that once thrived there is confined to a chain of islands, which were once the mountain peaks of the tallest mountain range. These islands, with their steep sides rising straight from the water, are home to the last inhabitants of the lost continent. The descendants who survived countless violent struggles. Here lived the oldest native Pyrrans.

"Come in lower," Jason signaled. "Head toward that big peak. The signals seem to be coming from there."

They flew low over the mountain, but all that could be seen were the trees and sun-bleached rocks.

The pain nearly knocked Jason out. It was a wave of hatred that crashed through the amplifier and into his head. He ripped off the headphones and held his skull in his hands. Through his watery eyes, he saw a black cloud of flying creatures shoot up from the trees below. He caught a quick look at the hillside beyond, just before Meta powered up the engines and the ship took off.

"We found them!" Her intense excitement faded as she saw Jason on the communicator. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Feel ... burned out ... I've felt a psi blast before, but nothing like that! I caught a glimpse of an opening that looked like the mouth of a cave, just before the blast hit. It seemed to come from there."

"Lie down," Meta said. "I'll get you back as quickly as I can. I'm calling Kerk; he needs to know what happened."

A group of men were waiting at the landing station when they arrived. They rushed out as soon as the ship landed, covering their faces from the still-hot exhaust. Kerk rushed in as soon as the port opened, looking around until he saw Jason lying on an acceleration couch.

"Is it true?" he shouted. "You've tracked down the alien criminals who started this war?"

"Take it easy, man," Jason said. "I've tracked down where the psi message that's keeping your war going is coming from. I haven't found any proof of who started this war, and I definitely wouldn't go as far as to label them criminals—"

"I'm tired of your word games," Kerk interrupted. "You've discovered these creatures, and their location has been marked."

"On the chart," Meta said, "I could get there with my eyes closed."

"Okay, okay," Kerk said, rubbing his hands together so vigorously that they could hear the rough sound of his calluses. "It's hard to wrap your head around the idea that, after all these centuries, the war might finally be coming to an end. But it’s possible now. Instead of just wiping out these never-ending legions of the damned attacking us, we can go after the leaders. Find them, take the fight to them for a change—and wipe their mark off the face of this planet!"

"Absolutely not!" Jason said, sitting up with difficulty. "Not a chance! Since I arrived on this planet, I've been tossed around and put my life on the line more times than I can count. Do you really think I went through all this just to feed your violent desires? I'm looking for peace, not chaos. You promised to reach out to these beings and try to negotiate with them. Aren't you a man of your word?"

"I’ll overlook the insult—though I would have fought you for it at any other time," Kerk said. "You’ve done a lot for our people, and we’re not ashamed to recognize a genuine debt. At the same time—don’t blame me for breaking promises I never made. I remember my exact words. I promised to support any reasonable plan that would end this war. That’s exactly what I plan to do. Your plan to negotiate peace isn’t reasonable. So, we’re going to take out the enemy."

"Think first," Jason called after Kerk, who had turned to leave. "What's wrong with trying negotiation or a ceasefire? Then, if that doesn't work, you can go with your approach."

The compartment was getting crowded as other Pyrrans pushed in. Kerk, almost at the door, turned back to look at Jason.

"I'll tell you what’s wrong with an armistice," he said. "It’s a coward’s way out, plain and simple. It’s easy for you to suggest it since you’re from off-world and don’t really understand. But do you honestly think I could even consider such a defeatist idea for a second? When I talk, I’m speaking not just for myself, but for all of us here. We don’t mind fighting, and we know how to do it. We understand that if this war ended, we could build a better world here. At the same time, if we have to choose between ongoing war or a cowardly peace—we choose war. This war will only be over when the enemy is completely destroyed!"

The listening Pyrrans shouted in agreement, and when Kerk pushed through the crowd, some of them patted his shoulder as he passed by. Jason slumped back on the couch, worn out from his efforts and exhausted by trying to persuade the aggressive Pyrrans to adopt a more peaceful perspective.

When he looked up, they were gone—all except Meta. She had the same intense, eager excitement as the others, but it faded away when she glanced at him.

"What about it, Meta?" he asked bitterly. "No doubts? Do you really think that destruction is the only way to end this war?"

"I don’t know," she said. "I can't be sure. For the first time in my life, I have more than one answer to the same question."

"Congrats," he said. "It's a sign of maturing."

Jason stood to one side and watched the deadly cargo being loaded into the hold of the ship. The Pyrrans were in good spirits as they stowed away riot guns, grenades, and gas bombs. When the backpack atom bomb was loaded on, one of them broke into a marching song, and the others joined in. They seemed happy, but the looming violence only filled Jason with an intense sadness. He felt like he was betraying life in some way. Maybe the life form he had discovered needed to be destroyed—and maybe it didn’t. Without even trying to reach a compromise, destruction would just be plain murder.

Kerk walked out of the operations building, and the starter pumps were whining inside the ship. They would be leaving in a few minutes. Jason pushed himself into a reluctant hurry and met Kerk halfway to the ship.

"I'm coming with you, Kerk. You at least owe me that for finding them."

Kerk paused, disliking the idea. "This is an operational mission," he said. "There's no room for observers, and the extra weight— And it's too late to stop us, Jason, you know that."

"You Pyrrans are the worst liars in the universe," Jason said. "We both know that ship can carry ten times what it's carrying today. Now ... are you going to let me come, or are you going to stop me without any good reason?"

"Get on board," Kerk said. "But stay out of the way or you'll get trampled."

This time, with a clear destination ahead, the flight was much quicker. Meta took the ship into the stratosphere on a steep trajectory that ended at the islands. Kerk was in the co-pilot's seat, and Jason sat behind them so he could watch the screens. The landing party, consisting of twenty-five volunteers, was in the hold below with the weapons. All the screens in the ship were focused on the forward viewer. They watched the green island come into view and grow larger, then disappear behind the flames of the braking rockets. Maneuvering the ship carefully, Meta landed it on a flat area near the mouth of the cave.

Jason was prepared this time for the wave of mental hatred—but it still hurt. The gunners laughed and killed cheerfully as every animal on the island surrounded the ship. They were slaughtered by the thousands, and still more came.

"Do you have to do this?" Jason asked. "It's murder—total chaos, just slaughtering those animals like that."

"Self-defense," Kerk said. "They attack us, and they get killed. What could be easier? Now be quiet, or I’ll toss you out there with them."

It was half an hour before the gunfire eased up. Animals were still attacking them, but the massive assaults seemed to be done. Kerk spoke into the intercom.

"Landing party, let's go—and be careful. They know we’re here and will make things really tough for us. Take the bomb into that cave and check how deep it goes. We can always strike from the air, but it won’t help if they’re hiding in solid rock. Keep your screen open, drop the bomb, and pull back immediately if I give the signal. Now move."

The men rushed down the ladders and lined up in battle formation. They quickly came under attack, but the beasts were taken out before they could get too close. It didn't take long for the lead man to reach the cave. He had his pickup aimed ahead of him, and the observers in the ship followed their movement.

"Big cave," Kerk grunted. "It slopes back and down. What I was worried about. If a bomb dropped on that, it would just seal it up. There's no guarantee that anything trapped inside couldn't eventually escape. We'll need to check how deep it goes."

There was enough heat in the cave now to use the infrared filters. The rock walls appeared sharply in black and white as the advance continued.

"No signs of life since we entered the cave," the officer reported. "Gnawed bones at the entrance and some bat droppings. It looks like a natural cave—so far."

Step by step, the advance continued, slowing down as it progressed. Although the Pyrrans were insensitive to psi pressure, they were still aware of the constant wave of hatred directed at them. Back on the ship, Jason felt a headache that gradually got worse instead of better.

"Watch out!" Kerk shouted, staring at the screen in terror.

The cave was packed from wall to wall with pale, eyeless creatures. They streamed out from small side passages and appeared to rise right out of the ground. The front lines caught fire, yet more kept pushing in. On the screen, the people on the ship watched as the cave spun chaotically while the operator collapsed. Pale bodies surged forward and covered the lens.

"Close ranks—flamethrowers and gas!" Kerk shouted into the mic.

Less than half of the men were alive after that first attack. The survivors, shielded by the flame-throwers, activated the gas grenades. Their sealed battle armor safeguarded them as the cave section filled with gas. Someone dug through the bodies of their attackers and found the pickup.

"Leave the bomb there and pull back," Kerk ordered. "We've already suffered enough losses."

A different man looked out from the screen. The officer was dead. "Sorry, sir," he said, "but it’ll be just as easy to move forward as to go back as long as the gas grenades last. We're too close now to retreat."

"That's an order," Kerk shouted, but the man was already gone from the screen and the advance continued.

Jason's fingers hurt where he had them gripped on the chair arm. He loosened them and rubbed them. On the screen, the black-and-white cave flowed steadily toward them. Minute after minute went by like this. Each time the animals attacked, a few more gas grenades were used up.

"Something up ahead—looks different," the out-of-breath voice crackled from the speaker. The narrow cave gradually opened into a massive chamber, so big that the ceiling and distant walls faded into the void.

"What are those?" Kerk asked. "Get a searchlight over to the right there."

The image on the screen was fuzzy and hard to see now, dimmed by the layers of rock in between. Details couldn’t be distinguished clearly, but it was obvious this was something unusual.

"Never saw anything quite like them before," the speaker said. "They look like huge plants or something, at least ten meters tall—yet they're moving. Those branches, or tentacles or whatever they are, keep reaching towards us and I have this really unsettling feeling in my head..."

"Fire one, let’s see what happens," Kerk said.

The gun fired, and at that exact moment, a surge of intense hatred washed over the men, knocking them to the ground. They writhed in pain, lost consciousness, and were unable to think or defend themselves against the underground creatures that surged over them in a renewed assault.

In the ship, high above, Jason felt the impact on his mind and wondered how the men below had survived it. The others in the control room had been affected too. Kerk banged on the frame of the screen and yelled at the oblivious men below.

"Pull back, come back..."

It was too late. The men barely moved as the victorious Pyrran animals surged over them, clawing for the gaps in their armor. Only one man got up, fighting off the creatures with his bare hands. He stumbled a few feet and leaned over the writhing mass beneath him. With a heave of his shoulders, he lifted another man. The man was dead, but his backpack was still strapped to him. Bloodied fingers fumbled with the pack, and then both men were swept back under the wave of death.

"That was awesome!" Kerk shouted to Meta. "If he didn't change the setting, it's still on a ten-second minimum. Get out of here!"

Jason barely had time to lean back on the acceleration couch before the rockets fired up. The pressure pushed down on him, increasing with each second. His vision faded to black, but he stayed conscious. Air screamed against the hull, then everything went silent as they exited the atmosphere.

Just as Meta cut the power, a burst of bright white light exploded from the screens. They instantly went black as the hull pickups burned out. She switched the filters into place, then pressed the button that rotated new pickups into position.

Far below, in the churning sea, a rising column of mushroom-shaped flames enveloped the spot where the island had just been seconds ago. The three of them stared at it, silent and motionless. Kerk was the first to regain his composure.

"Head home, Meta, and get the operations on the screen. Twenty-five men are dead, but they did their job. They took out those beasts—whatever they were—and ended the war. I can't think of a better way for a man to die."

Meta set the orbit, then called for operations.

"Having trouble getting through," she said. "I have a robot landing beam response, but no one is picking up the call."

A man showed up on the empty screen. He was sweating and looked stressed. "Kerk," he said, "is that you? Get the ship back here right away. We need her firepower at the perimeter. All hell broke loose a minute ago, a full-on attack from all sides, worse than I've ever seen."

"What do you mean?" Kerk stammered in disbelief. "The war is over—we defeated them, wiped out their headquarters entirely."

"The war is happening like it never has before," the other snapped back. "I don't know what you did, but it stirred up a hornet's nest here. Now stop talking and get the ship back!"

Kerk slowly turned to face Jason, his face twisted into a look of pure animalistic ferocity.

"You—! You did it! I should have killed you the first time I saw you. I wanted to, and now I know I was right. You've been like a plague since you got here, spreading death everywhere. I knew you were wrong, yet I let your twisted words sway me. And look what's happened. First you killed Welf. Then you murdered those guys in the cave. Now this attack on the perimeter—all the people who die there, you will have killed!"

Kerk moved toward Jason, step by step, anger distorting his face. Jason backed away until he couldn’t retreat any further, his back pressed against the chart case. Kerk's hand swung out, not as a punch, but as an open slap. Even though Jason tried to absorb it, it still knocked him down, leaving him sprawled on the floor. His arm was against the chart case, his fingers close to the sealed tubes containing the jump matrices.

Jason grabbed one of the heavy tubes with both hands and pulled it out. He swung it with all his strength at Kerk's face. It cut the skin on his cheekbone and forehead, and blood streamed from the wounds. But it didn’t slow down or stop the big guy at all. His smile was merciless as he bent down and hoisted Jason to his feet.

"Fight back," he said, "I'll get so much more enjoyment out of killing you." He pulled back the rock-hard fist that would rip Jason's head off his shoulders.

"Go ahead," Jason said, finally stopping his struggle. "Kill me. You can do it easily. Just don't call it justice. Welf died to save me. But the men on the island died because of your foolishness. I wanted peace and you wanted war. Now you have it. Kill me to ease your conscience, because the truth is something you can't confront."

With a roar of anger, Kerk slammed his fist down like a pile driver.

Meta grabbed the arm with both hands and held on, pulling it aside before the punch could hit. The three of them tumbled together, partially pinning Jason down.

"Don't do it," she yelled. "Jason didn't want those guys to go down there. That was your idea. You can't kill him for that!"

Kerk, filled with rage, was beyond hearing. He focused on Meta, pulling her away from him. She was a woman, and her agile strength was weak compared to his powerful muscles. But she was a Pyrran woman, and she managed to do what no outsider could. She slowed him down for a moment, halting the fury of his attack until he could wrench her hands free and toss her aside. It didn't take him long to do this, but it was just enough time for Jason to reach the door.

Jason stumbled in and quickly slammed the lock shut behind him. Instantly after he secured the bolt, Kerk's weight crashed against the door. The metal shrieked and warped, giving way. One hinge was ripped off completely, and the other was only barely holding on by a thin strip of metal. It would definitely fall with the next hit.

Jason wasn't waiting for that. He hadn't stuck around to see if the door would hold back the furious Pyrran. No door on the ship could stop him. As quickly as he could, Jason rushed down the gangway. There was no safety on the ship, which meant he had to get off it. The lifeboat deck was just ahead.

Ever since he first saw them, he had thought a lot about the lifeboats. Although he hadn’t anticipated this situation, he knew there might come a time when he’d need his own transportation. The lifeboats seemed like the best option, except Meta had told him they had no fuel. She was right about one thing—the boat he had been in had empty tanks; he had checked. However, there were five other boats he hadn’t looked at. He had considered the idea of useless lifeboats and hoped he had come to the right conclusion.

This spaceship was the only one the Pyrrans had. Meta had once told him that they always planned to buy another ship, but never did. Some other necessary war expense always came up first. One ship was really enough for their needs. The only challenge was that they had to keep that ship operational, or the Pyrran city would be finished. Without supplies, they would be wiped out in a few months. Therefore, the ship's crew couldn’t imagine abandoning her. No matter what kind of trouble she got into, they couldn’t leave her. When the ship stopped working, so did their world.

With this kind of thinking, there was no need to keep the lifeboats fueled. Not all of them, at least. Though it made sense that at least one of them had fuel for short flights that would have been a waste for the parent ship. At this point, Jason's reasoning started to falter. Too many "ifs." If they used the lifeboats at all, one of them should be fueled. If they did, it would be fueled by now. And if it were fueled—which one of the six would it be? Jason had no time to search. He had to get it right the first time.

His reasoning had given him an answer, the final one in a long line of guesses. If a boat was fueled, it should be the one closest to the control cabin. The one he was diving toward now. His life depended on this chain of assumptions.

Behind him, the door slammed shut with a crash. Kerk shouted and jumped. Jason threw himself through the lifeboat port, trying to run as best as he could with the increased gravity. He grabbed the emergency launching handle with both hands and pulled down.

An alarm bell went off and the port slammed shut, almost hitting Kerk in the face. Only his quick reflexes saved him from getting crushed by it.

Solid-fuel launchers exploded and propelled the lifeboat away from the main ship. Their sudden acceleration threw Jason to the deck, and then he floated as the boat began to fall freely. The main drive rockets didn’t ignite.

In that moment, Jason realized what it felt like to be dead. Without fuel, the boat would plunge into the jungle below, dropping like a stone and shattering on impact. There was no escape.

Then the rockets ignited, roared, and he dropped onto the deck, injuring his nose. He sat up, rubbing it and grinning. There was fuel in the tanks—the delay in starting had just been part of the launch sequence, allowing the lifeboat to drop clear of the ship. Now to get it under control. He climbed into the pilot's seat.

The altimeter provided data to the autopilot, keeping the boat level with the ground. Like all lifeboat controls, these were really simple, meant for beginners to use in an emergency. The autopilot couldn't be turned off; it worked alongside the manual controls to soften reckless steering. Jason pulled the control wheel for a sharp turn, and the autopilot smoothed it out into a gentle curve.

Through the port, he could see the big ship making a sharp turn, blasting fire. Jason had no idea who was piloting it or what their plans were—he wasn’t taking any risks. He slammed the wheel forward into a dive and cursed as they slowly began to drop. The larger ship had no such limitations. It changed direction with a violent move and dropped toward him. The forward turret fired, and an explosion at the back of the small boat rocked it. This either disabled the autopilot or scared it into submission. The slow descent turned into a rapid dive, and the jungle rushed up toward them.

Jason yanked the steering wheel back and only had just enough time to raise his arms in front of his face before the impact.

Thundering rockets and cracking trees ended in a huge splash. Silence followed, and the smoke drifted away. High above, the spaceship circled cautiously, dropping a bit as if it wanted to go down and check things out. Then, it rose again as the urgent call for help came from the city. Loyalty won out, and it turned and shot fire toward home.

Tree branches had broken the lifeboat's fall, the bow rockets had burned out in the emergency blast, and the swamp had cushioned the landing a bit. It was still a crash. The battered cylinder sank slowly into the stagnant water and thin mud of the swamp. The bow was well under before Jason managed to kick open the emergency hatch in the waist.

There was no way to know how long it would take for the boat to sink, and Jason was in no shape to think about it. Concussed and bloody, he had just enough determination left to get himself out. Wading and stumbling, he made his way to solid ground, sitting down heavily as soon as he found something that could support him.

Behind him, the lifeboat gurgled and sank beneath the water. Bubbles of trapped air continued to rise for a bit, then ceased. The water settled, and aside from the broken branches and trees, there was no indication that a ship had ever passed through here.

Insects buzzed in the swamp, and the only noise that disturbed the quiet of the woods beyond was the harsh scream of an animal hunting its dinner. Once that faded away in small waves of sound, everything was silent.

Jason pulled himself out of the half-trance with effort. His body felt like it had been through a meat grinder, and it was almost impossible to think with the fog in his head. After minutes of thinking, he realized that the medikit was what he needed. The easy-off snap was really difficult, and the button release didn’t work. He finally twisted his arm around until it was under the opening and pressed the entire unit down. It buzzed busily; even though he couldn’t feel the needles, he guessed it had worked. His vision spun dizzily for a bit and then cleared. The painkillers kicked in, and he slowly started to emerge from the dark cloud that had engulfed his brain since the crash.

Reason came back, but loneliness came along with it. He had no food, no friends, and was surrounded by the unfriendly forces of an unfamiliar planet. A wave of panic began swelling up from deep inside him, and he had to work hard to keep it in check.

"Think, Jason, don't just feel," he said it aloud to comfort himself, but immediately regretted it because his voice sounded weak in the emptiness, with a shaky edge of panic to it. Something stuck in his throat and he coughed to clear it, spitting out blood. Looking at the red stain made him suddenly angry. He hated this deadly planet and the incredible stupidity of the people who lived on it. Cursing loudly felt better, and his voice didn’t sound as weak now. He ended up shouting and shaking his fist at nothing in particular, but it helped. The anger pushed away the fear and brought him back to reality.

Sitting on the ground felt good now. The sun was warm, and when he leaned back, he could almost forget the never-ending weight of double gravity. Anger had pushed fear away, and rest wiped out fatigue. From somewhere deep in his mind, the old saying popped up. Where there's life, there's hope. He cringed at how cliché the words were, but at the same time, he knew there was a fundamental truth in them.

Count his assets. Well worn, but still alive. None of the bruises seemed too serious, and no bones were broken. His gun was still functional, sliding in and out of the power holster as he thought about it. Pyrrans made tough gear. The medikit was working too. If he stayed alert, managed to walk in a reasonably straight line, and could survive in the wild, there was a good chance he could make it back to the city. What kind of welcome would be waiting for him there was a completely different issue. He’d find out after he got there. Getting there was the top priority.

On the downside, there was the planet Pyrrus. Its gravity was exhausting, the weather was deadly, and the wildlife was aggressive. Could he make it? Just to emphasize his worries, the sky darkened, and rain started pouring into the forest, moving toward him. Jason quickly got to his feet and looked for a direction before the rain made it impossible to see. A rough mountain range appeared faintly on the horizon; he remembered flying over it on the way there. That would be his first target. Once he reached it, he would figure out what to do next.

Leaves and dirt whipped up by the wind in rapid bursts, then the rain poured down on him. Soaked, cold, and already exhausted, he pushed his trembling legs against the overwhelming weight of despair.

When night fell, it was still raining. He couldn’t tell which way to go, and there was no point in continuing. If that wasn’t enough, Jason was completely worn out. It was going to be a soggy night. All the trees had thick trunks and were slippery; he couldn’t have climbed them even in a normal gravity environment. The sheltered spots he checked out, under fallen trees and thick bushes, were just as wet as the rest of the forest. In the end, he curled up on the sheltered side of a tree and fell asleep, shivering, with water dripping off him.

The rain stopped around midnight, and the temperature dropped sharply. Jason woke up groggy from a dream in which he was freezing to death, only to find it was almost true. Fine snow was drifting through the trees, covering the ground and piling against him. The cold bit into his skin, and when he sneezed, it hurt his chest. His aching and numb body just wanted to rest, but the remaining spark of reason pushed him to get up. If he lay down now, he would die. With one hand against the tree to keep from falling, he started to shuffle around it. Step after slow step, around and around, until the brutal cold eased a bit and he could stop shivering. Fatigue crept over him like a heavy, gray blanket. He kept walking, often with his eyes closed, only opening them when he fell and had to struggle painfully to get back on his feet again.

The sun melted the snow clouds at dawn. Jason leaned against his tree and squinted up at the sky with tired eyes. The ground was white in all directions, except for around the tree where his clumsy feet had created a circle of black mud. With his back against the smooth trunk, Jason gradually sank down to the ground, allowing the sun to warm him up.

Exhaustion made him feel dizzy, and his lips were chapped from thirst. Almost nonstop coughing clawed at his chest like burning fingers. Even though the sun was still low, it was already hot, drying out his skin. Dry and hot.

It wasn't right. This thought kept nagging at his mind until he admitted it. He turned it over and over and looked at it from all angles. What wasn't right? The way he felt.

Pneumonia. He had all the signs.

His dry lips cracked, and blood moistened them when he smiled. He had dodged all the dangers of Pyrrus, all the big carnivores and poisonous reptiles, only to be taken down by the smallest creature of them all. Well, he had the solution for this one, too. Rolling up his sleeve with shaking fingers, he pressed the mouth of the medikit to his bare arm. It clicked and began to emit a disturbing whine. That meant something, he knew, but he just couldn't recall what. Holding it up, he noticed that one of the hypodermics was protruding halfway from its socket. Of course. It was out of whatever antibiotic the analyzer had requested. It needed to be refilled.

Jason threw the thing away with a curse, and it splashed into a pool and disappeared. End of medicine, end of medikit, end of Jason dinAlt. Solo fighter against the dangers of deathworld. Brave outsider who was just as capable as the locals. It took him only one day on his own to get his death warrant signed.

A low growl echoed behind him. He turned, dropped, and fired all in one smooth motion. It was over before he even registered what had happened. Pyrran training had drilled his reflexes down to a subconscious level. Jason stared at the ugly beast that was dying less than a meter away from him and realized that his training had paid off.

His first reaction was sadness that he had killed one of the grubber dogs. When he looked closer, he realized this animal was slightly different in markings, size, and temperament. Though most of its front was blown away, blood pumping out in dying spurts, it kept trying to reach Jason. Before its eyes glazed over with death, it had struggled its way almost to his feet.

It wasn't exactly a grubby dog, though it was likely a wild relative. It was related to dogs in the same way that dogs are to wolves. He wondered if there were any other similarities between wolves and this dead creature. Did they hunt in packs, too?

As soon as the thought struck him, he looked up—just in time. The huge figures were moving through the trees, getting closer. When he shot two of them, the others snarled in anger and retreated into the forest. They didn't leave. Instead of being scared by the deaths, they became even more furious.

Jason sat with his back against the tree and waited until they got close before he took them down. With each shot and dying scream, the angry survivors howled even louder. Some of them fought when they confronted, unleashing their anger. One stood on its hind legs and tore off big strips of bark from a tree. Jason aimed at it, but he was too far away to hit.

There were some perks to having a fever, he realized. Logically, he knew he'd only make it to sunset, or until his gun ran out of ammo. But that didn't really bother him much. Nothing felt important. He slouched, completely relaxed, only lifting his arm to shoot, then letting it drop again. Every few minutes, he needed to shift to look behind the tree and take out any of them lurking in his blind spot. He vaguely wished he was leaning against a smaller tree, but it didn't seem worth the effort to move to one.

Sometime in the afternoon, he took his last shot. It hit an animal that had come too close. He realized he was missing the longer-range shots. The creature snarled and fell, while the others nearby stepped back and howled in response. One of them revealed itself, and Jason pulled the trigger.

There was just a faint click. He tried again, just in case it was a misfire, but it was still just the click. The gun was empty, and so was the spare clip pouch at his belt. He had vague memories of reloading, but he couldn't recall how many times he had done it.

This was it. They had all been correct; Pyrrus was his equal. Although they shouldn’t speak about it. It would end up destroying them all too. Pyrrans never died peacefully. Old Pyrrans never died; they just got eaten.

Now that he didn't have to force himself to stay awake and keep the gun steady, the fever kicked in. He wanted to sleep, and he knew it would be a deep sleep. His eyes were almost shut as he watched the cautious carnivores inch closer to him. The first one got close enough to pounce; he could see the muscles tightening in its leg.

It jumped. Spinning in the air and falling before it got to him. Blood flowed from its wide-open mouth and the short piece of metal stuck out from the side of his head.

The two men emerged from the bushes and looked down at him. Their very presence seemed to be enough for the carnivores, as they all disappeared.

Grubbers. He had been in such a rush to get to the city that he had forgotten about the grubbers. It was great that they were here and Jason was really happy they had shown up. He couldn't speak very well, so he smiled to express his gratitude. But this hurt his lips too much, so he fell asleep.

For a confusing stretch of time after that, Jason only had vague memories that stuck with him. He felt movement and big animals nearby. There were walls, the smell of wood smoke, and faint voices. None of it mattered much, and he was too exhausted to care. It was simpler and way better just to let it all fade away.

"About time," Rhes said. "A couple more days lying there like that and we would have buried you, even if you were still breathing."

Jason blinked up at him, trying to focus on the face hovering above. He finally recognized Rhes and wanted to respond. But speaking only triggered a fit of deep coughing. Someone held a cup to his lips, and a sweet liquid trickled down his throat. He rested for a moment, then tried again.

"How long have I been here?" The voice was weak and seemed distant. Jason struggled to recognize it as his own.

"Eight days. And why didn’t you listen when I was talking to you?" Rhes said.

"You should have stayed close to the ship after the crash. Didn't you remember what I said about landing anywhere on this continent? No matter, it's too late to worry about that now. Next time, listen to me. Our people moved quickly and reached the wreck site before dark. They found the broken trees and the spot where the ship sank, and at first they thought whoever was on board had drowned. Then one of the dogs picked up your trail but lost it again in the swamps during the night. They struggled with the mud and snow and had no luck finding the trail again. By the next afternoon, they were ready to call for more help when they heard your gunshots. Just made it, from what I hear. Lucky one of them was good at talking and could tell the wild dogs to get lost. Otherwise, they would have had to kill them all, and that's not a good situation."

"Thanks for saving my life," Jason said. "That was closer than I like to be. What happened next? I was sure I was finished; I remember that much. They diagnosed all the symptoms of pneumonia. Totally fatal in my condition without treatment. Seems like you were wrong when you said most of your remedies were useless—they worked pretty well on me."

His voice trailed off as Rhes shook his head slowly in a no, worry etched sharply into his face. Jason glanced around and saw Naxa and another man. They shared the same deeply unhappy expressions as Rhes.

"What is it?" Jason asked, sensing the trouble. "If your treatments didn't work—what did? Not my medikit. That was empty. I remember losing it or tossing it aside."

"You were dying," Rhes said slowly. "We couldn't fix you. Only a junkman medicine machine could do that. We got one from the driver of the food truck."

"But how?" Jason asked, confused. "You told me the city doesn't allow you to have medicine. He couldn't give you his own medikit. Not unless he was—"

Rhes nodded and completed the sentence. "Dead. Of course, he was dead. I killed him myself, and I really enjoyed it."

This hit Jason hard. He slumped against the pillows and thought of everyone who had died since he arrived in Pyrrus. The men who had died to save him, died so he could live, died because of his ideas. It was a weight of guilt that he couldn't bring himself to face. Would it end with Krannon—or would the city folks try to get revenge for his death?

"Don’t you see what that means!" he gasped the words out. "Krannon's death will turn the city against you. There won’t be any more supplies. They’ll attack you when they can, kill your people—"

"Of course we know that!" Rhes leaned forward, his voice rough and intense. "It wasn't an easy decision to make. We've always had a trading agreement with the junkmen. The trading trucks were off-limits. This was our last and only connection to the galaxy outside and our only hope of contacting them."

"Yet you broke that connection to save me—why?"

"Only you can truly answer that question. There was a massive attack on the city and we saw their walls collapse; they had to be pushed back in one spot. Meanwhile, the spaceship was over the ocean, dropping some kind of bombs—the flash was reported. Then the ship came back and you left it in a smaller craft. They shot at you but didn’t manage to kill you. The little ship wasn’t destroyed either; we’re starting to salvage it now. What does it all mean? We had no way of figuring that out. All we knew was it was something critically important. You were alive but would clearly die before you could talk. The small ship might be fixable to fly; maybe that was your plan, and that’s why you took it for us. We couldn’t let you die, not even if it meant full-scale war with the city. The situation was explained to everyone in our group who could be reached by screen, and they voted to save you. I killed the junkman for his medicine, then rode two doryms to death to get here in time."

"Now tell us—what does it mean? What’s your plan? How will it help us?"

Guilt weighed heavily on Jason and silenced him. A piece of an old legend crossed his mind about the guy who ruined the spaceship and caused everyone on board to die, yet he survived. Was that him? Had he destroyed a world? Could he really confess to these people that he took the lifeboat just to save himself?

The three Pyrrans leaned in, waiting for him to speak. Jason closed his eyes to avoid looking at their faces. What could he tell them? If he confessed the truth, they would definitely kill him on the spot, seeing it as justice. He wasn't afraid for his own life anymore, but if he died, all the other deaths would have been for nothing. And there was still a way to end this planetary war. All the information was now available; it was just a matter of piecing it together. If only he weren’t so tired, he could see the answer. It was right there, hiding in a corner of his mind, waiting to be brought out.

Whatever he did, he couldn't admit the truth now. If he died, all hope would die. He had to lie to buy time, then find the real solution as soon as he could. That was all he could do.

"You were right," Jason said hesitantly. "The small ship has an interstellar drive. Maybe it can still be fixed. Even if it can't, there's another way. I can't explain it now, but I'll tell you when I've had a chance to rest. Don't worry. The fight is almost over."

They laughed and patted each other on the back. When they came to shake his hand too, he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. It’s really tough to be a hypocrite if you’re not used to it.

Rhes woke him up early the next morning. "Are you feeling well enough to travel?" he asked.

"That depends on what you mean by travel," Jason said. "If you're talking about going somewhere on my own, I doubt I could even make it to that door."

"You'll be carried," Rhes interrupted. "We’ve got a litter hung between two doryms. It’s not the most comfortable, but you’ll get there. But only if you believe you're well enough to move. We called everyone within riding distance, and they’re starting to show up. By this afternoon, we’ll have enough people and doryms to pull the ship out of the swamp."

"I'll come," Jason said, pushing himself up to sit. The effort drained him, making him feel nauseous. He had to lean his full weight against the wall to avoid falling back. He stayed propped there until he heard shouts and the heavy stamping of feet outside, and then they came to carry him out.

The trip drained his limited energy, and he fell into an exhausted sleep. When he opened his eyes, the doryms were standing knee-deep in the swamp, and the salvage operation had started. Ropes disappeared out of sight in the water while lines of struggling animals and people pulled at them. The animals roared, and the men shouted swear words as they slipped and fell. Not all the Pyrrans tugging on the lines were men; women were there too. On average, they were shorter than the men, but just as strong. Their clothing was diverse and colorful, the first signs of decoration Jason had seen on this planet.

Getting the ship up was a heartbreaking task. The mud clung to it, and underwater roots snagged on the vanes. Divers dove repeatedly into the murky water to cut them loose. Progress was painfully slow, but the work never ceased. Jason's mind was working even slower. The ship would eventually be pulled up—what would he do then? He needed to come up with a new plan by that time, but thinking was an impossible struggle. His thoughts twisted around, and he had to suppress the growing sense of panic.

The sun was setting when the ship's bow finally emerged from the water. A ragged cheer erupted at the first sight of that worn-out metal cone, and they pressed on with renewed energy.

Jason was the first to spot the dorym coming towards them. The dogs noticed it, of course, and ran out to sniff it. The rider yelled at the dogs and angrily kicked the sides of his mount. Even from this distance, Jason could see the creature's heaving sides and yellow foam-covered hide. It could barely stagger now, and the man jumped down, running ahead on foot. He was shouting something as he ran that couldn’t be heard over the noise.

There was a brief moment when the sounds faded a bit and the voice of the running man could be heard. He was shouting the same word repeatedly. It sounded like wait, but Jason couldn't be certain. Others had heard him too, and the effect was immediate. They stopped, frozen in place. Many of those holding the ropes let go of them. Only the swift actions of the anchor men prevented the ship from sliding back, taking the harnessed doryms with it. A wave of silence swept over the swamp in the wake of the running man's shouts. They could be heard clearly now.

"Earthquake! An earthquake is coming! Head south— that's the only safe direction!"

One by one, the ropes fell back into the water, and the Pyrrans turned to wade toward solid ground. Before they had made much progress, Rhes' voice rang out.

"Stay at work! Get the ship ready, it's our only hope now. I'll talk to Hananas, and see how much time we have."

These isolated individuals were not used to being told what to do. They paused and wandered around, their reason battling with the strong urge to flee. One by one, they returned to the ropes as they processed Rhes' words. Once it became clear that the work would go on, he turned away.

"What is it? What's going on?" Jason shouted to him as he sprinted by.

"It's Hananas," Rhes said, pausing by the litter and waiting for the newcomer to catch up to him. "He's a quakeman. They can tell when earthquakes are coming, even before they happen."

Hananas ran up, breathing heavily and exhausted. He was a short guy, built like a barrel on short legs, with a big white beard that covered his neck and the top of his chest. At another time, Jason might have laughed at his awkward waddle, but not now. There was a tense energy in the air since the little man had shown up.

"Why didn’t you have someone near a plate? I called all over this area without getting an answer. Finally, I had to come myself—"

"How much time do we have?" Rhes interrupted. "We need to get that ship ready before we leave."

"Time! Who knows about time!" the old man shouted angrily. "Leave now or you won't make it."

"Calm down, Han," Rhes said softly, holding the old man's arms with both hands. "You know why we're here—and how much is riding on getting the ship ready. So, how does it feel? Is this going to be a quick one or a slow one?"

"Fast. Faster than anything I've felt in a long time. She's starting far away though; if you had a plate here, I bet Mach or someone else near the firelands would be reporting new eruptions. It's on the way, and if we don't get out soon, we're not getting out at all."

There was a splash of water as the ship was pulled out a bit farther. No one said a word now, and there was a strong urgency in their movements. Jason still wasn't completely sure what had happened.

"Don't shoot me for being a foreigner," he said, "but what's the problem? Are you really expecting earthquakes here?"

"Sure!" Hananas shouted. "Of course I'm sure. If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't be a quakeman. It's on the way."

"There's no doubt about that," Rhes added. "I don't know how you can tell on your planet when earthquakes or volcanic eruptions are going to start, maybe with machines. We don't have anything like that. But quake experts, like Hananas here, always know about them before they occur. If the word can be passed quickly enough, we can get away. The earthquake is definitely coming; the only thing we’re unsure of is how much time we have."

The work carried on, and there was a good chance they would die long before it was done. All for nothing. The only way Jason could get them to stop would be to admit the ship was worthless. He would be killed then, and the grubber chances would die with him. He bit his lip as the sun set and the work continued by torchlight.

Hananas paced back and forth, mumbling to himself, stopping only to look at the northern horizon. The people could sense his anxiety and it affected the animals. Dogfights erupted, and the doryms tugged hesitantly at their harnesses. With each passing second, their chances grew worse, and Jason frantically searched for a way out of the mess he had created.

"Look—" someone said, and they all turned. The sky to the north was glowing with a red light. There was a rumble in the ground that was felt more than heard. The surface of the water shimmered, then broke into patterns of tiny waves. Jason turned away from the light, looking at the water and the ship. It was higher now, the top of the stern exposed. There was a huge hole here, blasted through the metal by the spaceship's guns.

"Rhes," he shouted, his words tumbling out in a hurry. "Check out the ship, at the hole blown in her back. I landed on the rockets and had no idea how badly she was damaged. But the guns hit the star drive!"

Rhes stared at him in disbelief as he continued. He was improvising, going with the flow, trying to come up with lies that sounded true.

"I saw them install the drive—it's an extra one for the other engines. It was bolted to the hull right there. It's gone now, blown up. The boat will never leave this planet, let alone go to another star."

He couldn't look Rhes in the eyes after that. He sank back into the furs that had been propped behind him, feeling the weakness even more. Rhes was silent and Jason couldn't tell if his story had been believed. Only when the Pyrran bent down and cut the nearest rope did he realize he had won.

The word spread from person to person, and the ropes were cut quietly. Behind them, the ship they had worked so hard on sank back into the water. None of them were watching. Each was lost in their own thoughts as they got ready to leave. Once the doryms were loaded and secured, they set off, with Hananas in the lead. In just a few minutes, they were all moving in a single file that faded into the darkness.

Jason's gear had to be left behind; it would have been destroyed during the night march. Rhes pulled him up into the saddle in front of him, securing his body in place with a strong arm. The journey went on.

When they left the swamp, they took a sharp turn. A little while later, Jason understood why when the southern sky lit up. Flames brightened the scene, ashes fell, and hot chunks of rock smashed into the trees. They steamed on impact, and if it hadn't rained earlier, they would have also been dealing with a forest fire.

Something big appeared next to the line of march, and when they crossed an open area, Jason looked at it in the light reflecting from the sky.

"Rhes—" he gasped, pointing. Rhes glanced at the massive creature next to them, its thick, shaggy body and twisted horns rising to their shoulders, then turned away. He didn’t seem scared or particularly intrigued. Jason looked around and started to get it.

All the animals that were escaping were silent, which is why he hadn’t noticed them sooner. But dark shapes dashed between the trees on both sides. Some he recognized, but most he didn’t. For a few minutes, a pack of wild dogs ran close to them, even mixing in with the domesticated ones. No one paid attention. Things flew overhead. Under the looming threat of the volcanoes, all other conflicts were forgotten. Life was mindful of life. A herd of chunky, pig-like creatures with curling tusks lumbered through the area. The doryms slowed down, careful not to step on them. Smaller animals occasionally clung to the larger ones' backs, riding undisturbed for a while before jumping off.

Pounded relentlessly by the saddle, Jason fell wearily into a light sleep. It was filled with dreams of the rushing animals, moving on endlessly in silence. With his eyes open or closed, he saw the same endless stream of creatures.

It all meant something, and he frowned as he tried to figure out what. Animals were running, Pyrran animals.

He suddenly sat up straight, completely awake, staring down in understanding.

"What's that?" Rhes asked.

"Come on," Jason said. "Get us out of this, and get us out safely. I told you the lifeboat isn't the only solution. I know how your people can get what they want—end the war now. There is a way, and I know how it can be done."

There were only a few clear memories of the ride. Some moments stood out vividly, like the massive, burning rock that had fallen into a nearby lake, spraying the line with hot water. But mostly, it felt like an endless journey, with Jason still too weak to pay much attention. By dawn, they had passed the danger zone, and the pace had slowed to a walk. The animals had disappeared as the earthquake faded, each going their own way but remaining in silent truce.

The peace of shared danger was gone, Jason realized that when they stopped to rest and eat. He and Rhes sat down on the soft grass, near a fallen tree. A wild dog had gotten there first. It lay under the log, its muscles tense, the reddish morning light reflecting a red gleam from its eyes. Rhes faced it, not three meters away, without moving a muscle. He didn’t try to grab one of his weapons or call for help. Jason stayed still too, hoping the Pyrran knew what he was doing.

With no warning, the dog lunged straight at them. Jason fell backwards as Rhes shoved him aside. The Pyrran dropped at the same time—now his hand held the long knife yanked from the sheath strapped to his thigh. With incredible speed, the knife shot up, and the dog twisted in midair, trying to bite it. Instead, it plunged in behind the dog's forelegs, the creature's own weight creating a deadly gaping wound along its body. It was still alive when it hit the ground, but Rhes was straddling it, pulling back the bony-plated head to slice the soft throat underneath.

The Pyrran carefully cleaned his knife on the dead animal's fur, then put it back in the sheath. "They’re usually no trouble," he said quietly, "but it was agitated. Probably lost the rest of its pack in the quake." His actions were the complete opposite of those of the city Pyrrans. He hadn’t sought trouble or started the fight. Instead, he had avoided it for as long as possible. But when the beast charged, it had been quickly and efficiently dealt with. Now, instead of celebrating his victory, he seemed bothered by the unnecessary death.

It all clicked. Everything on Pyrrus made sense. Now he understood how the brutal planetary conflict had begun—and he knew how it could be stopped. All the deaths hadn’t been for nothing. Each one had pushed him a bit closer to the ultimate goal. There was just one last thing to take care of.

Rhes was watching him now, and he knew they were on the same wavelength. "Explain yourself," Rhes said. "What did you mean when you said we could eliminate the junkmen and gain our freedom?"

Jason didn't take the time to correct the misquote; it was better for them to think he was completely on their side.

"Gather everyone else, and I'll fill you in. I especially want to see Naxa and anyone else who likes to chat."

They came together fast when the news spread. They all understood that the junkman had been killed to protect this outsider, and that their chance for salvation depended on him. Jason scanned the crowd of faces looking at him and tried to find the right words to explain what needed to happen. It didn't make it any easier to realize that many of them would die in the process.

"The small starship can't be used," he said. "You all saw that it was wrecked beyond repair. But that was the easy way out. The hard way is still ahead. Even though some of you might not make it, in the end, it will be the best solution."

"We're going to invade the city, push through the perimeter. I know exactly how to make it happen..."

A murmur spread through the crowd. Some looked excited, pleased at the idea of taking out their long-standing enemies. Others stared at Jason as if he were crazy. A few were stunned by the enormity of the idea—bringing the fight to the heavily armed enemy's stronghold. They fell silent when Jason raised his hand.

"I know it sounds impossible," he said. "But let me explain. Something needs to be done—and now is the time to do it. The situation can only get worse from here on out. The city, Pyrr ... the junkmen can get by without your food; their concentrates taste terrible, but they keep them alive. However, they’re going to turn against you in every way they can. No more metals for your tools or replacements for your electronic gear. Their anger will likely make them hunt down your farms and destroy them from their ship. None of this will be pleasant—and worse is coming. In the city, they are losing their battle against this planet. Each year, there are fewer of them, and someday they will all be gone. Knowing how they feel, I’m sure they will destroy their ship first, and the whole planet too, if they can."

"How do we stop them?" someone shouted.

"By hitting now," Jason replied. "I know all the details of the city and how their defenses are arranged. Their perimeter is designed to protect against wildlife, but we could get through it if we were really committed."

"What good would that do?" Rhes snapped. "We break through the perimeter and they pull back—then launch a strong counter-attack. How can we stand against their weapons?"

"We won't need to. Their spaceport borders our area, and I know the exact spot where the ship is located. That's where we will make our move. There's no official guard on the ship, and only a few people around. We will take the ship. It doesn't matter whether we can fly it or not. Whoever controls the ship controls Pyrrus. Once we're there, we'll threaten to destroy it if they don't agree to our terms. They can either choose mass suicide or work with us. I hope they have enough sense to cooperate."

His words stunned them into silence for a moment, then they erupted into a wave of noise. There was no consensus, just excitement, and Rhes finally got them to settle down.

"Shh!" he yelled. "Hold on until Jason is done before you make a decision. We still don’t know how this proposed invasion is supposed to go down."

"The plan I have depends on the talkers," Jason said. "Is Naxa here?" He waited until the man in fur pushed his way to the front. "I want to know more about the talkers, Naxa. I know you can communicate with doryms and the dogs here—but what about the wild animals? Can you make them do what you want?"

"They're animals... of course we can talk to them. The more talkers, the more power. We can make them do exactly what we want."

"Then the attack will work," Jason said excitedly. "Can you get your talkers all on one side of the city—the opposite side from the spaceport—and rile the animals up? Get them to attack the perimeter?"

"Could we!" Naxa shouted, excited by the idea. "We'd bring in animals from all over and launch the biggest attack they've ever seen!"

"Then that’s it. Your talkers will start the attack on the far side of the perimeter. If you stay out of sight, the guards won’t think it’s anything more than an animal attack. I’ve seen how they operate. As the attack escalates, they call for reinforcements from inside the city and pull men away from other parts of the perimeter. At the peak of the battle, when they’ve committed all their forces across the city, I’ll lead the attack that will break through and capture the ship. That’s the plan, and it’s going to work."

Jason sat down, almost collapsing, completely exhausted. He lay there and listened as the discussion went back and forth, with Rhes directing it and keeping it alive. Challenges were brought up and resolved. No one could pinpoint a major flaw in the plan. There were many issues with it, things that could go wrong, but Jason kept quiet about them. These people wanted his idea to succeed, and they were determined to make it happen.

It finally ended, and they moved away. Rhes walked over to Jason.

"The basics are all sorted," he said. "Everyone here is on the same page. They're sending out messages to all the communicators. The communicators are key to the operation, and the more of them we have, the smoother it will go. We can’t risk using the screens to contact them; there's a good chance the junkmen could intercept our messages. It’ll take five days before we're ready to move forward."

"I'll need all that time if I'm going to be any good," Jason said. "Now let's get some rest."

"It's a weird feeling," Jason said. "I've never really seen the boundary from this side before. Ugly is pretty much the only word for it."

He was lying on his stomach next to Rhes, looking through a screen of leaves, downhill towards the edge. They were both bundled up in heavy furs despite the midday heat, wearing thick leggings and leather gloves to protect their hands. The gravity and the heat were already making Jason feel dizzy, but he pushed himself to ignore it.

Ahead, on the other side of a burnt corridor, stood the perimeter. A high wall, with different heights and textures, seemed to be made of everything in the world. It was impossible to tell what it was originally built from. Generations of attackers had bruised, broken, and undermined it. Repairs had been made quickly, with patches shoved roughly into place and fixed there. Crude masonry crumbled and gave way to a rat's nest of woven timbers. This overlapped a stretch of pitted metal, large plates riveted together. Even this metal had been eaten through, and overflowing sandbags spilled out of a jagged hole. Across the surface of the wall, detector wires and charged cables looped and hung. At odd intervals, automatic flame-throwers extended their nozzles over the wall above and cleared the base of the wall of any life that might have come close.

"Those fire things can cause us problems," Rhes said. "That one blocks the area where you want to break in."

"It'll be no problem," Jason assured him. "It may look like it's firing randomly, but it really isn't. It changes a simple sweep just enough to trick an animal, but it was never intended to keep people out. Look for yourself. It fires at regular intervals of two, four, three, and one minute."

They crawled back to the hollow where Naxa and the others were waiting for them. There were only thirty guys in the group. What they needed to do could only be accomplished with a quick, light force. Their biggest advantage was surprise. Once that was gone, their other weapons wouldn’t last even a few seconds against the city’s guns. Everyone looked uneasy in their fur and leather clothing, and some of the guys had loosened them to cool off.

"Wrap it up," Jason said. "None of you have been this close to the perimeter before, and you don’t realize how dangerous it is here. Naxa is keeping the bigger animals away, and you can all handle the smaller ones. But that’s not the real danger. Every thorn is poisoned, and even the blades of grass can have a deadly sting. Be careful of insects of any kind, and once we start moving, only breathe through the wet cloths."

"He's right," Naxa scoffed. "I've never been closer to this myself. Death, death up by that wall. Do what he says."

They could only wait, sharpening the already needle-sharp crossbow bolts and glancing up at the slowly moving sun. Only Naxa didn’t share the unease. He sat with unfocused eyes, sensing the movement of wildlife in the jungle around them.

"On the way," he said. "The biggest thing I've ever heard. There's not a creature between here and the mountains that isn't howling its lungs out, running towards the city."

Jason was aware of part of it. There was a tension in the air and a surge of intensified anger and hatred. He knew it would work if they could just keep the attack limited to a small area. The speakers had seemed confident about it. They had quietly walked out that morning, a thin line of ragged men, moving in a mental sweep that would gather the Pyrran life and send it charging toward the city.

"They scored!" Naxa said suddenly.

The men were standing now, staring towards the city. Jason had felt the shift as the attack hit hard, and he realized this was it. He heard gunshots and a deep, distant boom. Thin wisps of smoke started to rise above the treetops.

"Let's get into position," Rhes said.

Around them, the jungle screamed with a sense of hatred. The semi-sentient plants twisted, and the air was thick with tiny flying creatures. Naxa sweated and mumbled as he turned back the animals that charged toward them. By the time they reached the last screen of foliage before the burned-out area, they had lost four men. One had been stung by an insect; Jason got the medikit to him in time, but he was so sick he had to turn back. The other three had been bitten or scratched, and treatment came too late. Their swollen, twisted bodies were left behind on the trail.

"Those beasts are making my head hurt," Naxa muttered. "When are we going in?"

"Not yet," Rhes said. "We're waiting for the signal."

One of the guys carried the radio. He placed it down carefully, then threw the antenna over a branch. The device was shielded so no radiation escaped to alert anyone. It was turned on, but only a hiss of static was coming from the speaker.

"We could have timed it—" Rhes said.

"No, we couldn't," Jason said to him. "Not accurately. We need to hit that wall at the peak of the attack when our chances are the best. Even if they hear the message, it won’t matter to them inside. And a few minutes later, it won’t make a difference."

The sound from the speaker changed. A voice said a brief sentence, then stopped.

"Bring me three barrels of flour."

"Let's go," Rhes encouraged as he moved ahead.

"Wait," Jason said, grabbing him by the arm. "I'm timing the flame-thrower. It's about to happen ... there!" A burst of fire shot across the ground, then stopped. "We have four minutes until the next one—we're in the long wait!"

They ran, tripping in the soft ashes, stumbling over charred bones and rusted metal. Two men grabbed Jason under the arms and half-carried him across the ground. It hadn't been part of the plan, but it saved them valuable seconds. They dropped him against the wall, and he fumbled to get out the bombs he had made. The charges from Krannon's gun, taken when he was killed, were hooked together with a firing circuit. All the moves had been practiced carefully, and they went smoothly now.

Jason had chosen the metal wall as the best place to break in. It provided the most resistance to the local wildlife, so it probably wouldn't be reinforced with sandbags or fill like other sections of the wall were. If he was wrong, they were all done for.

The first men had smeared their clumps of thick, sticky sap against the wall. Jason pushed the charges into them, and they adhered in a roughly rectangular shape, reaching up to a man's height. As he did this, the detonating wire was extended to its full length, and the raiders moved back against the base of the wall. Jason navigated through the ashes to the detonator, collapsed onto it, and pressed the switch simultaneously.

Behind him, a loud bang shook the wall and red flames shot out. Rhes was the first to arrive, tugging at the twisted, smoking metal with his gloved hands. Others joined in and pushed the jagged pieces aside. The hole was filled with smoke, making it impossible to see through. Jason jumped into the opening, rolled over some rubble, and crashed into something solid. When he blinked the smoke out of his eyes, he looked around.

He was in the city.

The others rushed in now, lifting him up as they charged forward so he wouldn't be trampled. Someone saw the spaceship and they ran toward it.

A man dashed around the corner of a building toward them. His Pyrran instincts kicked in, and he jumped into the safety of a doorway the moment he spotted the attackers. But they were Pyrrans as well. The man gradually collapsed back onto the street, three metal bolts protruding from his body. They continued running without pausing, weaving between the low storage buildings. The ship was just ahead.

Someone had gotten there before them; they could see the outer hatch slowly closing. A barrage of bolts from the front slammed into it but had no impact.

"Keep going!" Jason shouted. "Get next to the hull before he reaches the guns."

This time, three men didn’t make it. The rest of them were underneath the ship when every gun fired at once. Most of them were aimed away from the ship, but the roar of shells and electric discharges was deafening. The three men still exposed disintegrated under the fire. Whoever was inside the ship had triggered all the guns at once, both to take out the attackers and call for help. He would be on the screen now, asking for assistance. Their time was running out.

Jason reached up and tried to open the hatch while the others watched. It was locked from the inside. One of the men pushed him aside and pulled on the inset handle. It broke off in his hand, but the hatch stayed closed.

The big guns had stopped now, and they could hear once more.

"Did anyone grab the gun from that dead guy?" he asked. "It would totally blow this wide open."

"No," Rhes said, "we didn't stop."

Before he could even finish his sentence, two men started running back toward the buildings, each moving in a different direction. The ship's guns fired again, and a series of explosions struck one of the men. By the time they tried to change direction to find the other man, he had already reached the buildings.

He rushed back, sprinting into the open to throw the gun to them. Before he could dive back to safety, the shells hit him.

Jason picked up the gun as it skidded close to his feet. They heard the sound of truck engines roaring towards them as he shot the lock. The mechanism sighed, and the hatch drooped open. They all got through the airlock before the first truck showed up. Naxa stayed back with the gun to secure the lock until they could take over the control room.

Everyone climbed faster than Jason once he showed them the way, so the battle was over by the time he arrived. The lone city Pyrran looked like a pin-cushion. One of the techs had located the gun controls and was firing wildly, the sheer volume of his shots pushing the trucks back.

"Someone get on the radio and tell the talkers to call off the attack," Jason said. He located the communications screen and turned it on. Kerk's wide-eyed face looked back at him from the screen.

"You!" Kerk said, breathing the word like it was a curse.

"Yeah, it’s me," Jason replied. He continued speaking without looking up, focused on the control panel. "Listen to me, Kerk—and don't doubt anything I say. I might not know how to pilot one of these ships, but I definitely know how to blow them up. Do you hear that sound?" He flipped a switch, and the distant whine of a pump started to hum softly. "That’s the main fuel pump. If I let it run—which I won’t right now—it could quickly fill the drive chamber with raw fuel. Pour in enough that it could spill out of the stern tubes. So, what do you think would happen to your one and only spacer if I hit the firing button? I’m not asking what would happen to me, since you don’t care—but you need this ship like you need life itself."

There was only silence in the cabin now, and the men who had taken control of the ship turned to look at him. Kerk's voice cut through the room sharply.

"What do you want, Jason—what are you trying to do? Why did you bring those animals in here..." His voice cracked and broke as anger overwhelmed him and spilled out.

"Watch your words, Kerk," Jason said with a hint of threat. "These guys you’re talking about are the only ones on Pyrrus who have a spaceship. If you want them to share it with you, you better learn to speak nicely. Now come over here right away—and bring Brucco and Meta." Jason glanced at the older man's flushed and swollen face and felt some sympathy. "Don’t look so miserable, it's not the end of the world. In fact, it might be the start of something new. And one more thing, keep this channel open when you leave. Connect it to every screen in the city so everyone can see what happens here. Make sure it's recorded too, for later viewing."

Kerk began to say something but decided against it before he could. He walked away from the screen, but the broadcast continued. The control room's scene was transmitted to the whole city.

The fight was over. It had ended so quickly that it hadn’t really sunk in yet. Rhes rubbed his hand against the shiny metal of the control console, letting the reality of touch convince him. The other men moved around, looking out through the viewscreens or taking in the mechanical oddities of the room.

Jason was completely worn out, but he couldn't let anyone see it. He opened the pilot's medbox and rummaged through it until he found the stimulants. Three of the small gold pills wiped away the fatigue from his body, and he was able to think clearly again.

"Listen to me," he yelled. "The fight’s not over yet. They’ll do anything to take this ship back, and we have to be ready. I want one of the techs to go over these boards until they find the lock controls. Make sure all the airlocks and ports are sealed. Send people to check them if necessary. Turn on all the screens to scan in every direction, so no one can get close to the ship. We'll need someone guarding the engine room; my control could be cut off if they break in there. And there better be a room-by-room search of the ship, in case someone else is locked in with us."

The guys had something to focus on now and felt a sense of relief. Rhes divided them into groups and got them started on their tasks. Jason remained at the controls, his hand near the pump switch. The fight wasn't finished yet.

"There's a truck coming," Rhes called, "moving slowly."

"Should I shoot it?" the man at the gun controls asked.

"Hold your fire," Jason said, "until we see who it is. If it's the people I called for, let them in."

As the truck approached slowly, the gunner aimed at it with his sights. There was a driver and three passengers. Jason waited until he was sure who they were.

"Those are the ones," he said. "Stop them at the lock, Rhes, and make them come in one at a time. Take their guns as they enter, then remove all their gear. We can't tell what might be a hidden weapon. Be especially careful with Brucco—he's the skinny one with a face like an ax blade—make sure you take everything from him. He's an expert in weapons and survival. And bring the driver too; we don't want him reporting back about the broken air lock or the condition of our guns."

Waiting was tough. His hand hovered by the pump switch, even though he knew he could never actually use it. As long as the others believed he might.

There were footsteps and quiet curses in the hallway; the prisoners were shoved inside. Jason caught a glimpse of their intense expressions and clenched fists before he shouted to Rhes.

"Keep them against the wall and watch them. Archers, keep your weapons ready." He looked at the people who had once been his friends but were now consumed by hatred for him. Meta, Kerk, Brucco. The driver was Skop, the guy Kerk had once chosen to protect him. He looked like he was about to explode now that the roles had switched.

"Listen up," Jason said, "because your lives depend on it. Keep your backs against the wall and don’t try to get any closer to me than you are right now. If you do, you'll be shot on the spot. If we were alone, any one of you could easily reach me before I hit this switch. But we’re not. You might have Pyrran reflexes and strength—but so do the archers. Don’t take the risk. Because it won’t be a risk; it’ll be suicide. I’m telling you this for your own safety. So we can have a calm conversation without one of you losing your cool and suddenly getting shot. There is no way out of this. You’re going to have to listen to everything I say. You can’t escape or kill me. The war is over."

"And we lost—and all because of you... you traitor!" Meta snapped.

"Wrong on both counts," Jason said flatly. "I'm not a traitor because I owe my loyalty to everyone on this planet, both inside the perimeter and out. I never claimed otherwise. As for losing—well, you haven't lost anything. In fact, you've won. Won your battle against this planet, if you just listen to me." He turned to Rhes, who was frowning in confused anger. "Of course, your people have won too, Rhes. No more fighting with the city, you'll get medicine, off-planet contact—everything you want."

"Pardon my cynicism," Rhes said, "but you're promising the best possible world for everyone. That’s going to be tough to achieve when our interests are so opposed."

"You get straight to the point," Jason said. "Thank you. We can resolve this by ensuring that everyone’s interests align. We need peace between the city and the farms, putting an end to the pointless war you’ve been waging. We also need peace between humans and the Pyrran life forms—because that conflict is the root of all your problems."

"The guy's crazy," Kerk said.

"Maybe. You'll decide that after you listen to me. I'm going to share the history of this planet, because that's where both the problems and the answers are."

"When the settlers arrived on Pyrrus three hundred years ago, they overlooked the one crucial aspect of this planet that sets it apart from all others in the galaxy. They can’t be blamed for missing it; they had plenty of other concerns. The gravity was about the only familiar thing to them; the rest of the environment was a stark contrast to the climate-controlled industrial world they had left behind. Storms, volcanic activity, floods, earthquakes—it was enough to drive them crazy, and I’m sure many of them did lose their minds. The animal and insect life was a constant source of irritation, nothing like the few harmless and protected species they were accustomed to. I’m sure they never realized that the Pyrran life was telepathic too—"

"Not this again!" Brucco snapped. "Whether it's true or not doesn't matter. I was almost willing to accept your theory about a psionic attack against us, but the disastrous mess you created showed that theory is wrong."

"I agree," Jason said. "I was totally wrong when I thought some outside group was controlling the attack on the city using psionic powers. It seemed like a logical theory at the time, and the evidence pointed that way. The expedition to the island was a complete disaster—just don't forget that the attack was the exact opposite of what I wanted to happen. If I had gone into the cave myself, none of the deaths would have been necessary. I think we would have realized that the plant creatures were just an advanced life form with some unusual psi abilities. They simply reacted strongly to the psionic attack on the city. I had it all backwards, thinking they started the fight. We'll never know the truth, though, because they're gone. But their deaths proved one thing: it helps us find the real culprits, the ones who are leading, directing, and fueling the war against the city."

"Who?" Kerk whispered the question, instead of saying it.

"Why you of course," Jason told him. "Not just you, but all of your people in the city. Maybe you don't like this war. Still, you are responsible for it and continue to support it."

Jason had to hold back a smile as he looked at their shocked expressions. He needed to prove his point fast, before even his allies started to think he was crazy.

"Here’s how it works. I mentioned Pyrran life was telepathic—and I meant all life. Every single insect, plant, and animal. At one point in this planet's turbulent history, these psionic mutations proved to be types that could survive. They thrived when other species were dying off, and in the end, I’m sure they teamed up to eliminate the last remnants of non-psi strains. Teamwork is the key term here. While they still competed with each other in normal situations, they collaborated against anything that posed a threat to them as a whole. When a natural disaster or a tidal wave endangered them, they escaped from it in unison."

"You can see a gentler version of this same behavior on any planet that faces forest fires. But here, the need for mutual survival was taken to an extreme because of the harsh conditions. Some life forms might have even developed precognition like the human quake survivors. With this advance warning, the larger animals ran away. The smaller ones created seeds, or burrs, or eggs, that could be carried to safety by the wind or stuck to the animals' fur, ensuring their species would survive. I know this is true because I witnessed it myself when we were escaping an earthquake."

"Okay, I get it—all your points are valid," Brucco shouted. "But what does it have to do with us? So all the animals run away together, what does that have to do with the war?"

"They do more than just run away together," Jason said. "They collaborate to face any natural disaster that threatens everyone. I’m sure that one day, ecologists will be amazed by the complex adaptations that happen here during blizzards, floods, fires, and other disasters. But right now, there’s only one response that matters to us. That’s the one aimed at the city folks. Don’t you see? They see you all as just another natural disaster!"

"We'll never know exactly how it happened, but there’s a clue in that diary I found from the early days on this planet. It mentioned that a forest fire seemed to have pushed new species toward the settlers. Those weren’t really new animals—just the same ones with different behaviors. Just picture how those sheltered, overly civilized settlers reacted when confronted with a forest fire. They panicked, of course. If the settlers were in the fire's path, the animals must have darted right through their camp. Their reaction would definitely have been to shoot the fleeing creatures."

"When they did that, they classified themselves as a natural disaster. Disasters can take any form. Humans with guns could easily fit into that category. The Pyrran animals attacked, were shot, and the war began. The survivors kept attacking and informed all the life forms what the fight was about. The radioactivity of this planet must cause a lot of mutations—and the beneficial survival mutation is now one that is deadly to humans. I’ll take a guess that the psi function even triggers mutations; some of the deadlier types are just too extreme to have developed naturally in a short three hundred years."

"The settlers, of course, fought back and maintained their status as a natural disaster. Over the centuries, they improved their killing methods, but it didn’t do any good, as you know. You city folks, their descendants, are the heirs to this legacy of hatred. You fight and are slowly being defeated. How could you possibly win against the biological resources of a planet that can regenerate itself to face any new threat?"

Silence followed Jason's words. Kerk and Meta stood there pale-faced as the weight of the revelation sank in. Brucco mumbled and counted off points on his fingers, looking for flaws in the logic. The fourth city Pyrran, Skop, dismissed all these foolish words that he couldn’t grasp—or wanted to—and would have killed Jason in a heartbeat if there had been the slightest chance of succeeding.

It was Rhes who broke the silence. His sharp mind had processed the situation and figured it out. "There's one thing wrong," he said. "What about us? We live on the surface of Pyrrus without barriers or weapons. Why aren't we attacked too? We're human, descended from the same people as the junkmen."

"You're not being attacked," Jason told him, "because you don't see yourself as a natural disaster. Animals can survive on the slopes of a dormant volcano, competing and dying in the natural order. But they all run away together when the volcano erupts. That eruption is what turns the mountain into a natural disaster. For humans, it's their thoughts that define them as a life form or a disaster. Mountain or volcano. In the city, everyone exudes suspicion and death. They take pleasure in killing, fantasizing about it, and making plans for it. This is natural selection, too, you know. These are the survival traits that thrive best in the city. Outside the city, people think differently. If they're personally threatened, they fight, just like any other creature. In the face of broader survival threats, they fully cooperate with the universal survival rules that city people disregard."

"How did it start—this divide, I mean, between the two groups?" Rhes asked.

"We'll probably never know," Jason said. "I think your people must have originally been farmers or psychics who weren't with the others during some natural disaster. They would, of course, act appropriately by Pyrran standards and survive. This would create a difference of opinion with the city people who saw killing as the solution. It's clear, whatever the reason, that two separate communities were formed early on and soon became isolated except for the limited trade that benefited both."

"I still can't believe it," Kerk mumbled. "It creates a really awful kind of truth, every step of the way, but I still find it hard to accept. There has to be another explanation."

Jason shook his head slowly. "None. This is the only one that works. We've ruled out the others, remember? I can’t blame you for finding it hard to believe, since it goes against everything you thought was true in the past. It's like changing a natural law. As if I showed you proof that gravity didn’t really exist, that it was some completely different force that you could bypass once you figured it out. You’d want more proof than just words. You’d probably want to see someone walking on air."

"Which isn't such a bad idea after all," he said, turning to Naxa. "Do you hear any animals around the ship now? Not the ones you're familiar with, but the mutated, aggressive ones that exist just to attack the city."

"Place's crawling with them," Naxa said, "just looking for something to kill."

"Can you catch one?" Jason asked. "Without putting yourself in danger, I mean."

Naxa scoffed as he turned to leave. "The beast isn't born yet; that won't hurt me."

They stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, while they waited for Naxa to come back. Jason had nothing more to add. He would make one last effort to convince them of the facts; after that, it would be up to each of them to come to their own conclusion.

The speaker came back quickly with a stingwing, one leg tied to a piece of leather. It flapped and shrieked as he brought it in.

"In the middle of the room, away from everyone," Jason said to him. "Can you get that animal to sit still and not fidget?"

"My hand good enough?" he asked, flipping the creature so it clung to the back of his gauntlet. "That's how I caught it."

"Does anyone question if this is a real stingwing?" Jason asked. "I want to make sure you all know there's no trickery involved."

"The thing is real," Brucco said. "I can smell the poison in the wing-claws from here." He pointed to the dark marks on the leather where the liquid had dripped. "If that eats through the gloves, he's a dead man."

"Then we agree it's real," Jason said. "Real and dangerous, and the only way to test the theory is if you city folks can handle it like Naxa here."

They automatically recoiled when he said it. Because they knew that stingwing meant death. Past, present, and future. You can't change a natural law. Meta spoke for all of them.

"We ... can't. This guy lives in the jungle, just like an animal. Somehow he's figured out how to get close to them. But you can't expect us to."

Jason spoke quickly, before the talker could respond to the insult. "Of course I expect you to. That's the whole point. If you don't hate the beast and expect it to attack you—then it won't. Think of it as a creature from another planet, something harmless."

"I can't," she said. "It's a stingwing!"

As they talked, Brucco stepped forward, his eyes focused intently on the creature resting on the glove. Jason signaled to the archers to hold their fire. Brucco stopped at a safe distance and continued to stare at the stingwing. It fidgeted its leathery wings nervously and hissed. A droplet of poison formed at the end of each large poison claw on its wings. The control room was filled with a tense silence.

Slowly, he raised his hand. Gently reaching out over the animal, his hand dropped a little, brushed against the stingwing's head once, and then fell back to his side. The animal did nothing except stir slightly from the touch.

There was a collective sigh as those who had been unknowingly holding their breath exhaled.

"How did you manage that?" Meta asked in a quiet voice.

"Hm-m-m, what?" Brucco said, seemingly coming out of a daze. "Oh, touching the thing. It’s simple, really. I just pretended it was one of the training tools I use, a realistic and harmless replica. I focused on that one thought, and it worked." He looked down at his hand, then back at the stingwing. His voice was quieter now, as if he were speaking from afar. "It's not a training tool, you know. It's real. Deadly. The off-worlder is right. He’s right about everything he said."

With Brucco's success as a model, Kerk approached the animal. He walked stiffly, like he was headed for his execution, and streams of sweat dripped down his tense face. But he focused and kept his thoughts off the stingwing, and he was able to touch it without getting hurt.

Meta tried but couldn't push down the fear that rose when she got close. "I'm trying," she said, "and I do believe you now—but I just can't do it."

Skop screamed when everyone turned to look at him, yelled that it was all a trick, and had to be knocked out when he lunged at the archers.

Pyrrus gained understanding.

"What do we do now?" Meta asked. Her voice was worried and uncertain. She expressed what everyone in the room and the thousands watching on their screens were thinking.

"What should we do?" They looked at Jason, waiting for a response. For now, their disagreements faded away. The city folks were looking at him with anticipation, just like the crossbowmen with their weapons halfway down. This stranger had disrupted and transformed the familiar world they knew, bringing them a newer, stranger one filled with unfamiliar challenges.

"Hold on," he said, raising his hand. "I’m not a social problem solver. I’m not going to try to fix this planet full of tough guys. I’ve just managed to get by so far, and by the law of averages, I should be dead ten times over."

"Even if everything you say is true, Jason," Meta said, "you're still the only one who can help us. What will the future look like?"

Suddenly exhausted, Jason sank into the pilot's chair. He looked around at the group of people. They seemed genuine. None of them even seemed to notice that he no longer had his hand on the pump switch. For now, at least, the conflict between the city and the farm was put aside.

"I'll share my conclusions," Jason said, shifting in the chair, trying to get comfortable for his sore joints. "I've been doing a lot of thinking the past couple of days, looking for the answer. The first thing I realized is that the perfect and logical solution wouldn’t work at all. I'm afraid the old idea of the lion lying down with the lamb doesn’t hold up in reality. All it really does is provide a quick meal for the lion. Ideally, now that you all know the true causes of your problems, you should break down the barriers and let the city and forest people mix in brotherly love. It creates a nice image, just like the lion and lamb. But it would likely have the same outcome. Someone would remember just how filthy the grubbers are, or how foolish junkmen can be, and there would be a fresh corpse. The conflict would spread, and the victors would be eaten by the wildlife that swarmed over the unprotected perimeter. No, the solution isn't that simple."

As the Pyrrans listened to him, they understood their location and looked around nervously. The guards lifted their crossbows again, and the prisoners backed up against the wall, looking angry.

"See what I mean?" Jason asked. "Didn't take long, did it?" They all looked a bit embarrassed by their thoughtless reactions.

"If we’re going to come up with a solid plan for the future, we need to consider inertia. Mental inertia, specifically. Just because you know something is true in theory doesn’t mean it’s true in reality. The primitive religions of earlier societies don’t hold any scientific facts, even though they claim to explain everything. Yet when one of these individuals has all the logical support for their beliefs stripped away, they don’t stop believing. Instead, they label their incorrect beliefs as 'faith' because they are convinced they are right. And they believe they are right because they have faith. This creates an unbreakable cycle of faulty logic that can’t be challenged. In truth, it’s just mental inertia—a mindset that insists 'what has always been' will continue to 'always be'—and a reluctance to break free from outdated thought patterns."

"Mental inertia alone isn't going to cause issues—there's cultural inertia as well. Some of you in this room agree with my conclusions and want to make changes. But will everyone else follow suit? The unthinking ones, the ones stuck in their habits, who know the way things are now, will always exist. They'll slow down any plans you make, any efforts you try to push forward with the new knowledge you have."

"Then it's pointless—there's no hope for our world?" Rhes asked.

"I didn't say that," Jason replied. "I just mean that your problems won't be solved by flipping a switch in your mind. I see three paths ahead, and it's likely that all three will be happening at once."

"First—and best—will be the reunion of the city and farm Pyrrans into the single human group they originally came from. Each is incomplete now and has something the other needs. In the city, you have science and contact with the rest of the galaxy. You also have a deadly war. Out there in the jungle, your close relatives live peacefully with nature, but they lack medicine and the other benefits of scientific knowledge, as well as any cultural contact with the rest of humanity. You’ll both need to come together and benefit from this exchange. At the same time, you’ll have to let go of the superstitious hatred you have for each other. This can only happen outside the city, away from the war. Every one of you who is able should go out voluntarily, bringing some of the knowledge that needs to be shared. You won’t be harmed if you approach it in good faith. And you will learn how to live with this planet, rather than against it. Eventually, you’ll have civilized communities that won’t be labeled as either 'grubber' or 'junkman.' They’ll be Pyrran."

"But what about our city here?" Kerk asked.

"It'll stay right here—and probably won't change at all. At first, you'll need your boundaries and defenses to survive while people are leaving. After that, it will continue because there will be plenty of people here who you won't be able to convince. They'll stick around and fight and eventually die. Maybe you can do a better job of educating their kids. I have no idea what will eventually happen to the city."

They were quiet as they considered the future. On the floor, Skop groaned but didn’t move. "Those are two options," Meta said. "What’s the third?"

"The third option is my own personal plan," Jason smiled. "And I hope I can find enough people to join me. I'm going to take my money and invest it all in equipping the best and most advanced spaceship, with every weapon and piece of scientific equipment I can get my hands on. Then I'm going to ask for volunteers from Pyrrha to come with me."

"What on earth for?" Meta frowned.

"Not for charity; I'm expecting to make my investment back and then some. After these past few months, I can't possibly go back to my old job. I not only have enough money now to make it pointless, but it would also be incredibly boring. One thing about Pyrrus—if you survive—is that it ruins you for quieter places. So I'd like to take this ship I mentioned and get into the business of exploring new worlds. There are thousands of planets where people want to settle, but it's too tough or rugged for the usual settlers to manage. Can you imagine a planet that a Pyrran couldn't conquer after the training you've had here? And actually enjoy doing it?"

"There would be more than just pleasure involved, though. In the city, your lives have been set up for constant deadly conflict. Now you're faced with the choice of a relatively peaceful future or staying in the city to fight a pointless and foolish war. I present a third option—one that you're most familiar with—that would allow you to achieve something constructive at the same time."

"Those are the options. What you choose is entirely up to each of you individually."

Before anyone could respond, intense pain wrapped around Jason's throat. Skop had come to and shot up from the floor. He yanked Jason out of the chair in one motion, gripping him by the neck and choking him.

"Kerk! Meta!" Skop shouted hoarsely. "Grab the guns! Unlock the doors—our people will be here, ready to take out the grubbers and their lies!"

Jason clawed at the hands that were suffocating him, but it felt like trying to pull apart bent steel bars. He couldn't speak and the blood pulsed in his ears.

Meta shot forward like a released spring, and the crossbows twanged. One bolt hit her in the leg, and the other pierced her upper arm. But she had been shot while jumping, and her momentum carried her across the room to her fellow Pyrran and the dying off-worlder.

She lifted her good arm and struck down with the edge of her hand.

It hit Skop hard on the biceps, causing his arm to jerk involuntarily, and his hand shot away from Jason's throat.

"What are you doing?" he shouted in a strange panic to the injured girl who collapsed against him. He pushed her away, still holding onto Jason with his other hand. She didn't respond. Instead, she struck again, forcefully and accurately, the edge of her hand hitting Skop in the throat, crushing it. He dropped Jason and fell to the ground, gagging and gasping.

Jason watched the end through a fog, barely aware.

Skop struggled to his feet and turned his pained eyes toward his friends.

"You're mistaken," Kerk said. "Don't do it."

The sound the wounded man made was more animal than human. When he dove toward the guns on the far side of the room, the crossbows twanged like harps of death.

When Brucco went over to help Meta, no one got involved. Jason took a deep breath, pulling air back into his lungs, breathing in life. The observing eye of the viewer broadcast the scene to everyone in the city.

"Thanks, Meta ... for understanding ... and for your help." Jason had to push the words out.

"Skop was wrong, and you were right, Jason," she said. Her voice faltered for a moment as Brucco snapped off the feathered end of the steel bolt with his fingers and pulled the shaft out of her arm. "I can't stay in the city; only people who think like Skop can manage that. And I'm afraid I can't go into the forest—you saw how unlucky I was with the stingwing. If it’s okay, I’d like to come with you. I really would."

It was painful when he spoke, so Jason could only smile, but she understood what he was trying to say.

Kerk looked down unhappily at the body of the dead man. "He was wrong—but I understand how he felt. I can't leave the city, not yet. Someone needs to manage things while the changes are happening. Your ship is a great idea, Jason; you won't have any shortage of volunteers. Although, I doubt Brucco will go with you."

"Of course not," Brucco snapped, not looking up from the compression bandage he was tying. "There's plenty to do right here on Pyrrus. The animal life is definitely worth studying; we probably have every ecologist in the galaxy visiting here."

Kerk walked slowly to the screen overlooking the city. No one tried to stop him. He gazed out at the buildings, the smoke still rising from the edges, and the endless stretch of green jungle beyond.

"You've changed everything, Jason," he said. "We can't see it right now, but Pyrrus will never be the same as it was before you showed up. For better or worse."

"Better," Jason croaked, rubbing his sore throat. "Now come together and put an end to this war so people will truly believe it."

Rhes turned and after a moment's hesitation, reached out his hand to Kerk. The gray-haired Pyrran felt the same disgust about touching a grubber.

They shook hands then because they were both tough guys.