This Mortal Coil Excerpt 01

By “Amaranth Rose”

Copyright 2003 all rights reserved

This Mortal Coil

                        By “Amaranth Rose”

                        Copyright 2003

The shuttle came into the atmosphere of Raznack at a bad angle; it bounced sharply at least a dozen times as it skittered and yawed through the upper atmosphere.  There were only two passengers, and they clung together and to their seats as their transportation rattled them like seeds in a gourd. 

“Jerk,” the older passenger muttered to himself, glaring in the general direction of the cockpit as his daughter hastily grabbed for and used a barf bag.  Dr. Konstantin Duvarnos, Stan to his friends, seldom used such language.  Ordinarily he reserved name-calling for those situations in which no other course of action was fruitful.  The turbulent transportation didn’t matter to him, personally; he had a pretty strong stomach ordinarily.  His annoyance at the moment was due directly to his daughter Deborah’s misery.

At the moment Stan Duvarnos was inordinately annoyed.  He’d been shuttled to many planets, and he knew that there were only two reasons for such a rough ride:  incompetence on the part of the pilot, or deliberate intent.  Since the pilot had appeared to be a well-seasoned veteran, he doubted very much that it was due to incompetence.  That left intent, and he was rather apprehensive.   He was becoming concerned about the political climate on Raznack, in light of the pilot’s attitude and actions. 

He’d had some doubts about coming to this hot, brilliantly illuminated planet from the outset; it was a planet hostile to human life in many ways.  Raznack revolved around a binary star pair, a small red star and a large blue one that the humans who'd colonized the harsh little planet had dubbed Tintor and Vigel.  It had a small moon, a captured asteroid about a tenth the size of the planet, which they'd named Bane.  It was a pale satellite, not often seen or noticed, excepting when it happened to be in the sky during the occasional periods of darkness that occurred predictably when Raznack managed to be in part of its eccentric orbit where both suns were distant and it cast a shadowy night upon one side of itself for the space of a few hours during each rotation.  Bane served to help stir the oceans a bit, along with Tintor and Vigel, generating tides that periodically swept ashore the carcasses of deep-sea creatures. 

For the most part the seas were useless to the Raznackai; they were a thick mineral soup, poisonous to humans, inhabited abundantly by creatures that were also poisonous to humans.  A thick crust of mineral salts rimed its shores, occasionally forming fantastic lumpy forms that somewhat resembled weird sculptures interrupting the hot, scorching shores. The beaches were covered, at least above the tide lines, with a hardened mixture of sand and mineral salts that covered the shoreline like a layer of dirty snow, hard and crusty, squelching underfoot with a sound somewhat like deep, powdery snow.  This layer thinned substantially during the extremely rainy season, and thickened again during the opposing dry season.  Every disturbance, every footfall, sent up clouds of fine, dry, choking dust laden with toxic metallic salts; ingesting relatively small quantities was reliably lethal to humans.  If the arsenic, copper and bismuth didn’t kill them, the lead, antimony and other metals would. 

From time to time, marine creatures came ashore to mate, give birth or lay eggs.  Occasionally carcasses of deep sea creatures would wash ashore, their mangled remains only a hint of their living form and structures.  Indeed, practically the only use the Raznackai had for their seas, which covered over half the planet, was as a source of vital minerals for their animals, plants and themselves, of which the soils were all but devoid, having been leached away eons ago by the massive amounts of rainfall. 

The weather was somewhat unpredictable and extreme; there was a great deal of precipitation everywhere, though the suns soon baked exposed ground dry and cracked after a storm.  With its twin suns emitting most of their radiation in the ultraviolet and infrared ranges, the native plants and animals had adapted to life in high radiation in a variety of ways.  The planet’s biology was unique in many ways, especially when it came to reproduction. 

Raznack was lush with verdant growth, a veritable Eden until one realized that ninety-nine percent of the native vegetation was violently poisonous to humans.  The native vegetation had adapted to the oddly split spectra of the two suns, using pigments that functioned in the ultraviolet and infrared ranges of the spectrum for their photosynthetic processes.  To human eyes, it appeared grayish or brown, rather drab and dull in hue, though to those whose eyesight was attuned to the IR and UV spectra they were quite colorful, if one can apply the concept of color to varying wavelengths of those spectra. 

Much of the plant life was dioecious and showed extreme sexual dimorphism.  In many species the male plant was found only as a small, spindly, pale specimen growing near or on the female plants, in some cases resembling a parasite like mistletoe, carried high in the branches to stave off grazers and help spread pollen by wind or rain.  All faced the never-ending problem of acquiring the minerals essential to life. 

Some plants encouraged animal visitors by producing dense canopies that resisted water, providing shelter for the animals during torrential downpours or while giving birth or seeking respite from the fierce light of the twin suns.  Others produced large fruits or edible masses of fibrous tissues that enticed grazing animals, in exchange for the minerals to be gleaned from the droppings they left behind.  Lovely to look at, they were deadly to humans in the smallest quantities, though they could be used for their timber or fibers or as a source of chemicals for Raznack’s industrial processes.  A very few yielded useful medicines and dyestuffs.  Most native vegetation was simply too dangerous to warrant its disturbance.

Some plants even had elaborate adaptations to prey upon the grazers and their predators, actively securing minerals and nutrients.  They made no distinction between native fauna and the humans and their stock; for example, if a snare-vine needed calcium or iron, it did not care what species it came from.  If it detected a source of motion with its flat green sensory tendrils that projected from the ground like blades of grass, it produced a sharp-pointed probe that was heat sensitive.  The lancet-like tip jabbed at anything warm; if it found a rich source of a mineral it needed, the snare vine burst forth explosively, and could entangle, trap and drag beneath the roiled ground an entire cow, horse or human in a matter of minutes.  It preyed indiscriminately on anything that crushed or broke its sensory tendrils, alerting the snare-vine, provoking its sensory probes.  It spread rapidly underground in the direction of any concentration of resources it detected.

Conquering the snare vine had proven to be one of humankind’s greatest challenges in the course of settling on Raznack, close to conquering the fierce radiation.  In the end, they achieved an uneasy truce, the snare vines driven back from the edges of human habitation and appeased with regular sprinklings of mineral salts from the ocean’s shore.

In sharp contrast, many of the native animals were true hermaphrodites, both male and female in the same individual, although self-sterile.  From the aptly named bright green wart horses in its swamps and the buffalo-like girtslangers on its plains through the many denizens of rock and rill to the swamp lions and rock tigers that preyed on them and the wyverns that inhabited its highest crags, Nature had shaped this world to make each individual both male and female.  It was a fascinating planet for its biology alone.

However, Stan’s interest was in what lay beneath its alternately scorched and flooded crust. Raznack was a world desperately in need of metals to further its economic development.  Stan had made his name famous on many planets as a Metallurgist.  What Konstantin Duvarnos did not know about extracting and purifying metals from their ores, blending them into alloys, and working the resulting metallic substances into useful objects, whether it was a delicately fluted wine goblet or a ball bearing hard enough to penetrate a starship’s hull, was probably of very little interest to anyone.  He’d become a Consultant widely sought after for both his enormous knowledge in his field and his skill in handling difficult people and situations.  In his field of expertise, his services were usually very much in demand, and his clients generally accorded him a level of courtesy befitting that of at least minor nobility.  Still on the shy side of fifty, he lived very comfortably, picking and choosing as he liked among the many contracts constantly being offered to him.  He was beginning to wonder if he’d been wise to agree to come here for a year, if the pilot’s actions were any portent of things to come.  He’d hoped for a relatively calm, settled environment for himself and his daughter for a while; especially for Deborah, considering her current mental state.  The rough shuttle ride did not bode well.  He clenched his hand tightly on the tired upholstery of the seat back before him, his knuckles white as he sought to steady himself and the young woman he clung tightly to in the seat beside him.

He patted her on the back gently as she heaved once more.  He was coming near to losing it himself.  At last the spaceport hove into view; the end was in sight.  A rough, bouncing landing, and the shuttle was tractored into the depths of the huge concrete bunker-like structure.   Blast doors closed behind them, entombing them in total darkness.  As the ceiling lights came on in the hangar and shuttle, dim by comparison to the outside atmosphere, the pilot's sarcastic voice came over the intercom.

“Welcome to Raznack, Dr. Duvarnos.  I hope you enjoy your brief stay.  I’ll be very happy to take you off when you decide to leave.”

“Stay?  This is beginning to look more like a sentence,” Stan muttered.  “Come on, Debbie, let’s get off this rust bucket before they decide to take off and land again.”  He shot a long-suffering look toward the cockpit.  “I hope he didn’t break any of the equipment.”  He took the bag from her and sealed it, placing it where he expected the crew would find it, but none too soon.  Stan believed in fair repayment of just debts.  Debbie stood up unsteadily, wavering slightly, and he put his arm around her. 

“Here, dear, take it easy.”  Stan shouldered their carry-on bags and helped her toward the exit door, which opened abruptly while they were still some distance away.  A tall, tanned, well-built young man, dressed from head to foot in black, stepped in and looked around.  His elegant, patrician features topped a tanned, lean, body that would have served well as a model for some ancient Greek God.  Hard, strong muscles rippled beneath the material of his black shirt as he turned around slowly, searching the passenger hold.  For looks, he surpassed “very attractive” at a dead run, Stan thought; “breathtakingly beautiful” came to mind.  He was approximately Stan’s height; at somewhat more than six feet, he was nearly a foot taller than Debbie.  He’d have made a good spokesman for “Fitness R Us”, Stan thought as he studied him.

“Doctor Duvarnos?” he asked when he spotted them.  His voice was rich and deep, with a warm, melodious quality to it.  “Konstantin Duvarnos?  The Metallurgist?” 

The older man nodded.  They shook hands.

“Most people call me Stan,” he said.  “Meet my daughter, Deborah.  She’s a Polymer Chemist.  She’s also Dr. Duvarnos.  Most folks call her Debbie.” 

The handsome young man looked at her for a long moment, surveying her pert, trim figure, emerald green eyes, and vivid red hair that hung luxuriously to her waist in waves and ringlets.  In the dim light her skin had a pale, almost translucent appearance, reminiscent of rare porcelain.   Her navy blue skirt hung demurely mid-calf, and her snowy white long-sleeved blouse hinted at her narrow waist and slender arms as it contrasted with her pale, almost luminous complexion.

“I’d call her stunning,” he said admiringly at last.  They shook hands, and then he took her hand in his and kissed the back of it gently, bowing slightly as he did so.

“May I welcome you to Raznack, My Lady?  I hope you enjoy your stay very much.  I shall personally endeavor to see that you do.”  His deep cornflower blue eyes gazed into hers. 

“We seldom see such beauty and grace upon our sun-drenched world.”  He released her hand gently; his eyes still grazed appreciatively over her, taking in her beauty and grace. 

“I’m Nick.  I’ll be your driver today.  We’d best get going, we have a long way to go, and since Raznack has very little in the way of automated transportation, we’ll be traveling by horse-drawn coach.  With any luck we’ll get to Castle Royal before it rains.  Do you have any other baggage?” he asked, surveying their hand luggage.

“Two cases and two trunks of instruments in the cargo hold, if they haven’t been bounced to pieces,” Stan replied.

“Had a rough shuttle trip, did you?”  His eyes strayed to Deborah, noting her tense stature.

Stan nodded sharply. 

"A dozen bounces on the way in and a lot of man-made 'turbulence'," he noted grimly, "on a beautiful clear day.  Not my idea of a graceful landing.  It was quite a contrast after the trip on the Avis Nobilis.  Captain Moiner runs a very tight ship.  He and his crew couldn’t have treated us better.  I’ve never had a better trip on a quantum ship, and that’s saying a lot."

Nick looked apologetic.

“There’s a certain amount of divisiveness about your presence here, Doctor.  Some people wear their politics pretty close to their skin.  I’ll fill you in on the way.  We'll have plenty of time.”  Nick retrieved their luggage from the hold. 

Stan nodded.  It was a situation he’d encountered before.  He was beginning to regret bringing Deborah on this trip.  The last thing she needed right now was to be constantly upset. 

Stan checked the contents of the cases carefully.  Luckily, they had been well secured and the precious contents seemed undamaged.  Nick piled their belongings on a handsomely made wooden cart that he pulled along as he led them through the cavernous depths of the spaceport.  Even the wheels were made of the same dark wood, with a rubber rim to let it run smoothly, Debbie noted as she followed along behind Nick.  Finally they approached the end of a corridor.  Its glassed-in façade glowed like a brilliant beacon. 

“Oh, I almost forgot.”  He pulled out two pairs of wide sun visors.  They were very deeply tinted.  “These are for you.  Don’t go outside without them.  The twin suns together are very bright; separately each is still formidable.  Either Tintor or Vigel can give you a bad case of sun-blindness, and if you are out without protection long enough it can be permanent.” 

“I see you don’t have any shades, Nick.  Why is that?”  He looked at her and smiled somewhat self-consciously.

“I’m a native Raznackai, Dr. Duvarnos.  My people were engineered for this planet.  We have two sets of irises, one sensitive to the spectrum from Tintor, the other to Vigel.  They contract and expand accordingly.” 

They were approaching the exit doors and she noticed his eyes were now a deep violet color.

“Interesting,” she remarked. 

He caught her eyes on him and smiled at her, making him look even more handsome, if that were possible.  Her heart gave a funny little skip, and she stumbled slightly.  He caught her elbow gently, steadying her.  She flinched away from his touch slightly and blushed faintly.

“You two had better put on your shades,” Nick warned them.  “The shuttle windows are deeply tinted, and the spaceport is designed to give your eyes time to adjust before you go outside.  One thing we have in great abundance on Raznack is solar energy.  We don’t have much of anything else, really, but that’s where we’re hoping you can help us.”  He looked at Stan.

“I’m a Metallurgist, not a miracle worker,” he said slowly. 

Debbie harrumphed.

“Daddy, I’ve seen you make metal out of seawater.  Knock off the excess modesty.” 

Nick looked at him with increased interest. 

“We’ve got lots of seawater on Raznack.  And we sure could use more metal.”  He pointed to the handsome wooden luggage cart he was pulling.  “We make almost everything from natural materials.  It’s hard to justify using a huge mass of metal for an internal combustion engine.  We have a few motorized vehicles, fire equipment, aircraft and the like, but they are kept for emergencies.  We use animal power for the most part.”  He led them outside.  In the clear blue sky the suns, Vigel, large and blue, and Tintor, small and fiery red, blazed down fiercely.  An open carriage was waiting, drawn by six cream colored horses, their faces marked with a white blaze.  A man in the uniform of a spaceport employee was standing in front of them, holding the reins.  In the short walk to the carriage Stan and Debbie found themselves covered in sweat.  As Nick stowed their luggage in the baggage compartment of the carriage, Debbie looked at the horses.  She stepped closer for a better look.

“Don’t get too close,” Nick warned.  “They’re curious about strangers, and they’re likely to take a taste-test.  They like the taste of the salt on your skin.”  As if on cue, the horse nearest her reached out and licked her hand.  He seemed to like what he got, as he tried again.  She drew back out of his reach.

“Shadow,” Nick called reproachfully.  “Don’t taste the wares.”  The horse snorted softly and bent his head as if ashamed.  Nick smiled indulgently.

“Can’t say as I blame you, Shadow.  I think she looks good enough to eat, too.”  He finished stowing their gear and came around to the horses’ heads.

“Allow me to introduce you to your transportation today,” he said somewhat ostentatiously.  He pointed to each horse as he called its name. 

“Silver, Mist, Shadow, Steam, Storm, and Winter.  And there are two spares, Snow and Fog, at home.” 

Stan admired them. 

“You must have gone through a whole herd to get a team of six so well matched.” 

 “They’re not just well matched, Dr. Duvarnos,” Nick said, smiling.  “They’re perfectly matched.  They’re all identical.” 

Stan looked at him, his eyes widening at the implications. 

“Yes, Dr. Duvarnos.  They’re clones.”

“I thought cloning was, er, frowned upon,” Stan said slowly.

“On every other planet in the universe, it is.  On Raznack it’s a way of survival.  When my ancestors landed on Raznack and discovered the planet they’d been exiled to, they did the thing that seemed most logical to them:  they carved homes deep in native stone and beat their starships into Trebla cylinders, vowing to survive in spite of the radiation.  It was an uphill battle, but they overcame in the end.  Raznack is the only planet known where star-faring people did not lose their technology and descend into barbarism before rediscovering space travel.  Our technology was essential to our survival.  After all these thousands of years the population has finally reached a critical point.  Things must change.  Raznack is at a crossroads.  We must decide upon a direction, and move toward it.”  He sighed deeply, the sound of a man with many cares in his heart. 

“It’s a difficult decision.  There are some who think we should do away with cloning altogether.  I don’t think that will ever be possible, in reality, because of the radiation.  Cloning is pretty much essential to life on Raznack.  It’s strictly regulated, though.  We don’t clone animals often.  But we do keep a perfectly matched team or two, to impress visiting dignitaries.”  He smiled.  “Shall we be going?” 

Debbie turned her face away and swayed slightly.  She moaned softly.  Stan put his arm around her comfortingly.

“What’s wrong?” Nick asked.

“I think I’m going to be sick again,” she said quietly.  Nick took her by the arm and led her to the grass just off the sidewalk where she was indeed sick.  He handed her a kerchief.

“Shuttle ride was that rough, was it?” he asked gently.  He touched her shoulder gently, intending to comfort her.  He felt her stiffen and draw away; he frowned slightly.  He was aware that where she came from people did not comfort one another freely, as they did on Raznack.  Yet somehow, something about her just cried out to be comforted.  Just beneath the prim, demure surface he sensed a need for comfort and reassurance that touched his sensitive heart.

She nodded, wiping at her sweat-drenched face. 

“I’m sorry about that."  He put an arm around her shoulder, feeling her stiffen and withdraw like a skittish colt.  Perhaps a little gentling might not hurt.  He held on just a moment before releasing her.  She drew back hastily, putting a step between them.

"Hugo is one of the group that thinks we shouldn’t change Raznack, we should keep it the way it is and not modernize or bring in innovation and progress.  That ride was his way of expressing his opinion.  I must apologize for him.”  He reached in his chest pocket and pulled out a small paper packet and shook out two small pills into his hand.  He held them out to her.

“What are they?” she asked hesitantly.

“Motion sickness pills.  I thought you might need them.  The coach can rock and sway a bit too.”  He opened a cabinet and produced a bottle of water and a cup.  They would probably make her drowsy, but it wasn’t as if they had anything pressing that would require her alertness.

She took the pills.

“Thank you, Nick.”  She settled on the bench seat in the back, which was roughly horseshoe shaped, with a high back that came above their heads when they were seated.  It was padded with thick, luxuriously soft cushions.

“Oh, Daddy, look!  Genuine leather upholstery.  This is heaven after that awful shuttle!” 

“Nothing but the best!” Nick quipped, grinning.

Stan got in beside her, and Nick took the driver’s seat at the front.  He nodded to the man holding the horses, and he stepped out of the way.  Nick shook out the reins.

“Come, boys, step out.  Time to show your stuff.”  The horses stepped forward as one, and soon they were entering one of the major traffic streams of Raznack City.  From time to time, people would greet Nick familiarly.  He returned their greetings cheerily.

“Since you’re here, I may as well take you on a bargain basement tour of the city,” Nick said.  “You might not get the chance, later, you never know.”  He took them on a grand tour instead, pointing out various sites of interest, statuary, parks, and some of the more important businesses.  His eyes strayed to Debbie frequently.  When something seemed to take her interest he would stop the coach nearby to let her have a better look.  On occasion they left the horses in the care of a handler and went inside some of the museums and shops.  There was a row of food vendors on one street, and he stopped and bought them all something to eat.  He drove to a park where they sat and ate in the shade of a thick-walled concrete shelter.

They shared the roads with an interesting variety of conveyances drawn by horses, cattle, sheep, goats and even a few dogs.  At every intersection, vehicles would move aside and let them pass.  Stan asked Nick about this.

“That’s our form of diplomatic courtesy,” he said.  Another coach drew alongside, pulled by six sturdy chestnuts.

“Hey, Nick!  Nick the Black!” the driver hailed.  “How about a race?  I bet I can beat you!”

“You must be feeling awfully lucky, Chan,” Nick said, shaking his head.  “Anyway, I’m on business today.  Paying customers.” He motioned to Stan and Debbie.  The man looked in, surveying them critically.

“Woo hoo!  Lucky you, Nicky boy!” Chan replied.  “If you get tired of her keep me in mind.  I could take good care of her for you.  I promise I’ll bring her back just a little used.  I’ll only nibble a little.”  His ribald gaze and gesture gave no doubt as to how he intended to use her. 

Stan gave the man a look that should have been fatal as Debbie winced and shrank into the cushions.  Nick glanced at her; she was white as a sheet, and he thought she was trembling.  He felt a spurt of annoyance at the younger man’s rudeness.

“You’d have to kill me first, Chan.  They’re under my protection.  Besides, she belongs to the old man.  Leave her alone.”  This last he said very forcefully.

“Aw, Nick, c’mon, man.  Can’t you share?  I gotta have just one little kiss!” Chan pouted playfully.  He reached toward the coach Nick was driving.  Suddenly Nick reached inside his shirt and in an instant a very lethal looking weapon was pointing straight at Chan’s chest.

“I said no, Chan,” he said quietly, in a cold tone.  “Is it a good day to die, my friend?” 

Chan immediately backed off, his hands at his shoulders, palms outwards in a gesture of surrender.

“Hey, hey, Black Nick, take it easy.  I was only kidding, I’m sorry.  I didn’t know it was like that.”

“It’s not ‘like that’, Chan,” Nick said harshly.  “Now move along, or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”  The traffic light changed, and Nick held back his horses until Chan was some ways down the street.  Stan began to breathe a little easier; Raznack’s men had a reputation for using women badly.  At least Nick didn’t seem inclined to allow anyone to bother Debbie in that way.  The thought that Nick might have had his own designs on her did not occur to him.

They left the city at last, heading northward along a broad divided avenue. 

“We’ll have to stop regularly to rest and water the horses,” Nick explained.  “With any luck we’ll make it to Castle Royal before the storm comes.  Otherwise we’ll have to stop and put up the top.”

As soon as they were free of city traffic Nick gave the horses their heads, and they galloped along for a few miles.  Then he reined them in a bit to a steady distance-devouring pace.  The horses knew their way home; he just kept scanning the horizons for any sign of traffic or outriders.  He turned to look at his passengers at last.  Debbie had fallen asleep, her head on her father’s shoulder, her hair streaming away from her face like liquid fire.  He saw signs of strain on her face.

“Rough trip?” 

Stan nodded.

“Rough past year and a half or more.”  He sounded weary, depressed, to Nick’s sensitive mind. 

“Something bad happen?” Nick asked gently. 

The Metallurgist nodded, sighing deeply. 

“Broken heart?” Nick hazarded a guess.  He winced at the look of suffering that crossed Stan’s face.  “I’m sorry, Sir, I had no right to pry.”

“It’s all right, Nick.”  Stan sighed deeply.  For a moment Nick reminded him of a sympathetic cab driver.  It was a sharp contrast to the shuttle pilot.  “She was engaged to a young man, until there was an unfortunate encounter with a particularly nasty person, a real psychopath.  It turns out he’d already murdered a number of women.  Debbie was lucky to escape with her life.”  He fell silent for a time, staring unseeingly at the verdant landscape, remembering Debbie as she’d looked in the hospital, bandaged and sedated.

“What happened to him?” Nick asked softly after a while, his voice a soothing caress, calm and encouraging.

“Her testimony put him in prison where he can’t assault anyone else, but her fiancé left her.  Claimed he couldn’t stand the thought of her being “damaged goods”, as he put it, which shows his quality.  I thought my son Fred was going to kill him.  She still has nightmares at times.  I thought bringing her along would be a nice break for her, help her work through it and get her mind straightened out.”

Quite a tale, Nick thought to himself.  That might explain some of the skittishness he’d seen in her.  Definitely a need there for some gentle treatment.  If there was one thing Nick enjoyed, it was a challenge.

“I understand.  I expect the medicine made her sleepy.  I’m sorry about that.” 

Stan shook his head.

“Not to worry.  It’s the best thing for her right now.  She needs the rest.” 

Nick nodded.

“So, what’s the political situation on Raznack?” Stan asked at last. 

Nick had turned back to scan the horizon again.

“Well, there are a number of splinter groups that have various agendas. The group that Hugo’s involved with is my main concern right now.  They think we shouldn’t change Raznack, we should keep it the way it is, preserve its natural beauty and charm and leave our society to continue to stagnate and rot.  They were very opposed to your coming, hence your unpleasant welcome.  You and your daughter are the first visitors to Raznack in fifty years, other than the galactic census people that come every twenty years.” 

He scanned again. 

“Hugo is not the pilot that was supposed to shuttle you in.  He offered to ‘fill in’ on short notice when the pilot that was originally assigned to the job turned up missing today.  Hugo’s going to be in for some questions before the week is out.  The original pilot turned up in the hospital very ill.” 

He surveyed the road ahead carefully.  It was some time before he spoke again.

“Then there is the group that feels we should exploit Raznack’s resources as much as possible to benefit our society and strip mine every ore deposit we can find.”  He looked around again.  “They’re the ones that brought you here.” 

He was quiet for a time.

“Which side are you on, Nick?” Stan inquired. 

Nick gave him a long, searching look.  He turned back to the road again, scanning the horizon for a long moment.

“Neither one.”  He looked at Stan then.  “I happen to think there is a third way.  I think there’s a way we can have our metal and our world.” 

“I see,” Stan said slowly.  “Do you have some kind of plan as to how to go about that?”  There was always at least one person on every planet he visited who had their own plan for remedying whatever situation he’d been called in to consult about.  It usually paid to listen to them and at least hear them out; then when he had to burst their balloon he could do it diplomatically.

“Yes, Sir, I do.  I’ve given it a great deal of thought.”  And for several miles Nick proceeded to relate to Stan his ideas on how Raznack could have industrialization and modern machinery and have very little damage to the existing environment.

“Raznack has a fantastic mineral wealth, Dr. Duvarnos.  But it’s not underground.  It’s in the seawater.  As it is, the seawater is so full of minerals it’s toxic to human life.  A walk along the shoreline will kill a person if they’re not equipped with a respirator.  If we could mine the seas, extract the metals, we could have all the metals we’d ever need,” Nick summed up.  “With fuels derived from plants, we could afford almost limitless technology.  We could afford to export metals, I think.”

Stan mulled this over.

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.  I think your plan is worth exploring to say the least.”  He looked at Nick steadily.  “For a Security Specialist you’re extremely well informed on technical matters.  Where did you go to college?”

“I didn’t,” Nick said with a smile.  “I never even graduated from high school.  I left school when I was fourteen.  I was in a lot of trouble at the time.  I’ve had a private tutor since then.  I read a lot when something interests me.  I study things on my own.”

A self-taught genius, Stan thought to himself.

“It sounds like you’ve had an exceptionally good tutor then,” Stan said admiringly.

“The very best on Raznack,” Nick said with a sly grin.  He turned to scan the horizon carefully once more.

“Have you put this proposal to anyone else, Nick?” 

“Many times.”  He sighed.  “But the bureaucrats in charge are too afraid of the unknown.  And they won’t listen to me, I’m just a Security Specialist to them.  They don’t want to take chances on technology they don’t understand.  That’s one of the reasons I insisted on meeting you at the shuttle.  To have a chance to discuss it with you, since you’re the expert.  That, and I wanted to ensure you got to Castle Royal safely.”

 This took Stan by surprise.  He studied the younger man carefully.  Nick was older than he looked, he realized.  At first Stan had taken him for a fresh-faced youth in his early twenties; now he realized he’d been deceived by Nick’s exceptional physical beauty.  He was actually probably somewhat closer to thirty-five, in his revised estimation.

“Are we in danger?” Stan asked warily.

Nick nodded soberly.

“There have been threats to kidnap you.  I take that seriously.  As the Chief of Security at Castle Royal, it’s my job to take it seriously.” 

Lord Nickolas Kelanderias was actually in charge of a great deal more than just that, but he didn’t feel that Stan Duvarnos needed to know that just yet.  There were some aspects of his job he didn’t care to talk about with all and sundry.  His exceptional skill with both weapons and hand-to-hand combat had earned him a reputation in all strata of Raznackai society; it stood him in good stead when he had to track down a criminal and bring them to justice.  It was said that he could draw a weapon and fire three lethally accurate shots before his opponent could squeeze the trigger once.  Many had sought to end his life, and the few who had lived to tell about it were strangely silent on the subject.  His enemies insisted he was not above assassination.  To these accusations Nick’s only reply was a stony silence. Nick had earned the nickname “The Black Death” honestly, and not just for his predilection for wearing black.  To his enemies he was anathema.  To his friends his loyalty was unwavering and unimpeachable.  The only man who did not stand in fear and awe of him besides his immediate superior was King Dalmar.  The only man more hated and feared, and misunderstood, on Raznack was the Royal Inquisitor, the only man besides the king to whom Nick answered.  He stiffened, suddenly alert; he’d caught sight of something on the far horizon. 

“Looks like we may have that threat materialize shortly.”  He began to rein the horses down to a fast trot, then to a walk. 

“No sense in having the horses tired or nervous when they stop us.  This way we’ll have a little horsepower to work with if we should have to try and make a run for it.”  From a dark shelf beneath his hands he pulled out a radio. 

“Stormpower, this is dragonfly.  The flies have sighted us.  Send the bumblebee to the coordinates of this signal.  I repeat, send bumblebee to these coordinates.” 

“We’re on our way, My Lord,” came a static-laden reply.

Stan studied Nick curiously.  According to his information on Raznack, the title of “Lord” was acquired, not inherited, bestowed upon individuals as a form of recognition for their accomplishments and outstanding service to the crown.  It was usually awarded to older men.  Stan wondered idly what the very handsome young man had done to earn that accolade.

Meanwhile, Nick opened a cabinet beside his knee and pulled out two weapons. He handed one carefully to Stan.  He slid the other into the dark recess of the dash so that it was hidden yet within reach.

“Ever seen one of these?”  Stan turned the weapon in his hands; it was very much like a pistol in shape, except for the extended muzzle.  It was nicely balanced, and the highly polished stock fit his hand like a glove.  He pointed it away from them and sighted down the barrel.  He scanned the indicators on the butt of the weapon.

“Nice,” he said at last.  “A model 606 talaser pistol.  Punches a six-point-oh-six millimeter hole in anything it hits.  Virtually no recoil, very little mess.  Fires at least a dozen times per charge.  Solar rechargeable option, and it’s fully charged.  On this planet, that means virtually limitless firepower.”  He looked at Nick and smiled slowly.  “The weapon of a true gentleman.”

“You’re familiar with it, I take it?” 

Stan nodded.

“I’ve qualified expert marksman with a similar weapon the past twelve years running.”  It had been a sort of therapy for him after Rebecca died.  “Though mine is not as fine as this.  And it doesn’t have the solar recharge feature.  A very sensible option, considering your two bright suns.” 

Nick gave a pleased nod.

“Excellent.”  He pointed to the weapon.  “Hide it.  Let me do all the talking.  Just play along.  Don’t act surprised at anything I say.  If worse comes to worst, protect your daughter.  These aren’t city boys.” 

Stan nodded.  He slipped the weapon beneath his shirt. 

“Just do me a favor, and don’t aim for the head.”

A dozen men, riding three abreast, hove into view coming down the opposite side of the avenue at a fast pace.  They galloped across the grassy median and rode up to block Nick’s way.  He pulled the coach to a stop in the grass beside the roadway.

“Hullo, Nick!”  A large, heavyset man on a big, iron-gray horse greeted him a bit too exuberantly. 

Nick looked around.

“Hello, Gabe, Deke, Jim, Kale.  What brings you gentlemen out on such a fine day?” 

They sat silently, the soft squeak of leather against leather betraying their uneasy fidgeting. 

“We thought Vince was collecting the professor.  We were going to escort him to the castle,” Gabe said hesitantly.

“Really?”  Nick’s raised eyebrow conveyed his doubts as to the veracity of Gabe’s statement.  “Well, I’m sorry to say that Vince had a very bad night last night.  So I thought I’d better take over for him.”

“Um, is he all right?”  Nick looked at the man on a sorrel mount.

“Your brother is as well as can be expected, Kale, after I caught him trying to dose me with a sleeping potion at dinner last night.  He and I had a nice long chat with his Lordship the Royal Inquisitor.” 

All the men looked concerned, even frightened, at this news. 

“I’m sure he’ll be well enough to walk again by the time his trial comes up.”  His tone was cold and hard.  Kale turned almost white.   “Of course, if his co-conspirators were to turn themselves in, I’m sure his Lordship the Inquisitor would be more disposed to see that he gets the medical attention he needs.” 

There was an audible gasp from a man in the rear of the entourage.

“Black Nick!  For pity’s sake!  We weren’t going to hurt the professor.  We were just going to send him off planet, no harm done.”

“And what if you succeed, Carlos?  What do you think will happen then?  Have you thought beyond that?  Professor Duvarnos is tops in his field, gentlemen.  If you succeed in getting rid of him, one way or another, the King and the High Council will just get someone else, someone less qualified, less innovative and creative.  What do you think will happen then?” 

The group was silent. 

“There’s one more thing you might not have taken into account.  I’m in charge of their security.  It’s my job to see they get to Castle Royal safely or die trying.  Which one of you wants to kill me?  And which three or more of you will I kill before I die?  I don’t think the King and Lord Griffendahl would take it too well, either.  There’d be a price on your heads for sure, and it would end any chance you have of being able to peacefully negotiate with them.  Without me, you’ve got no one to plead your case for you.  You need me.”

The men shifted uneasily on their mounts.

“Aw, c’mon, Black Nick!  I thought you were on our side!” 

Nick sighed.

“Well, surprise, surprise!  I’m not.  And I’m not on the side of the King and the Council, either, if that’s what you’re thinking.  I’m on the side of what’s best for Raznack and the Raznackai.  I think the answer lies somewhere in between.  But I have to get Professor Duvarnos to the castle soon, or they’ll be looking for us, and if they find you guys it won’t be pretty.  I suggest you ride on along, and let us get on our way.”

“What’s this guy like, anyway?”  Carlos rode to the front of the carriage, and caught sight of Debbie for the first time.  He also saw Stan sitting beside her.

“Oh, my!  No wonder you’re acting so big!  You didn’t say you had a pretty little angel with you!  Whoo wee, no wonder you’re so anxious to get home and get a piece of the action.” 

Several of the men rode up close to take a good look.  They made several suggestive comments about her.  Stan’s hand tightened on the weapon he had hidden inside his shirt. 

“I’ll tell you what, Black Nick, let us have the girl as payment for our trouble, and you and the professor can go on.  As a sort of toll fee, in exchange for safe passage.  That’s a fair trade, I think.  I’m sure we can find a use for her,” Carlos sneered derisively.

Several of the men snickered.

“Yeah, we could take turns finding a use for her,” one man jeered.  Stan struggled to remain calm as the man’s meaning was clarified by a gesture.

“She belongs to him, Carlos,” Nick said coldly.  “Leave her alone.” 

Carlos looked crestfallen.

“No, Black Nick, tell me it’s not so.  No old man like him could keep a pretty young thing like her satisfied.” 

Stan stiffened, his irritation mounting.  There was a smattering of chuckles from the other men.

“You may think you’re the biggest Romeo on Raznack, Carlos, but I’m warning you, stay away from her.  It’s not what you think.  You harm so much as one hair of her head and I’ll kill you.”  Carlos sniggered and rode around to the back of the coach.  He maneuvered his mount up close and looked at her face, tilted back as she slept.

“What harm can one little kiss do, Nick?” Carlos said as he bent down toward her.  His lips drew within a few inches of hers.  Suddenly there was the sharp report of the talaser pistol.  Carlos jerked slightly, then turned an ungainly somersault to land face up in the bottom of the carriage.  A small round hole in the center of his chest slowly reddened at the edges.  A small hole appeared in the front of Stan’s shirt, its edges smoking momentarily.  The rest of the men were shocked into immobility for a moment. 

Nick whipped out his pistol and aimed it straight at Gabe.  He snatched the talaser pistol from its hiding place in the dash and brandished it at the others.

“Hands up, everybody, or he gets it next.”  Slowly they raised their hands.  “Deke, you get his horse, and all of you get the hell out of here!” 

Deke hesitated. 

“Go on, I’ll take care of it.  Just get out of here, NOW!” 

Jim started toward the fallen man.  Stan sat silently, listening; he thought he heard a helicopter engine far off in the distance.

“Get out of here, Jim, NOW!  I’ll take care of your brother.  Just go, before someone sees you.  Go on.  Don’t make me shoot Gabe,” he threatened. 

Jim retreated at last, and they rode off, leading Carlos’ horse.  By the time they’d disappeared in the woods, Stan and Nick could distinctly hear the sound of an engine headed their way.  Nick took Stan’s weapon and returned it to the cupboard with his own.  Soon a helicopter came into view.  Nick picked up the radio.

“Dragonfly to Bumblebee, we have a casualty to transport.”

“What happened, Black Lord, you get a little trigger happy?” came a voice crackling with static.

“Never mind, just get here.  It was an accident.  My fault.  I’ll tell you about it some other time.”

Nick and Stan moved Carlos’ body out of the coach and laid it in the shade of a nearby tree.  The noise of the chopper woke Debbie at last.  She stretched and looked around.  Then she caught sight of Carlos and began to scream.

“Debbie, dear, it’s all right.” Stan called gently.  He was holding the horses; the noise of the helicopter was making them jittery.  He reached for her with one hand and missed; the sudden motion caught her attention and she shied from him.   She looked at him with unseeing eyes and bolted from the coach, running blindly.  She was headed toward the helicopter, and the blades were still turning.  Nick was watching the helicopter land; he didn’t see her.

“Debbie, no!” Stan called out, horrified.  “”Nick, Stop her!”

Nick sprinted after her.  He caught her quickly, knocking her to the ground.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said grimly, pressing her to the ground with his body.  “We don’t need two deaths here today.” 

She was staring at Carlos’s body, still screaming, struggling violently.  He felt her ribs under his hands, her heart hammering away in her chest.  She managed to get one arm loose and took a swing at Nick’s face, catching him squarely on the jaw.

“Ouch!” he exclaimed.  He grabbed her flailing arm as she went to take another swing at him, pinning it to the ground.  A medic came running over.

“What’s wrong, My Lord?”

“I’m not sure, Hal.  She was asleep when it happened, and when she woke and saw his body she freaked.” 

She was still screaming loudly, struggling fiercely as he held her pinned to the ground.

“I’ll give her a sedative,” Hal said.  He quickly drew up an injection and between them they fought to hold her arm still while he injected it into a vein.  Both men observed several ugly scars on her arm.  Their eyes met, and Nick twitched the sleeve of her blouse down to conceal them.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven…” Hal counted slowly.  By the time he’d reached one, Debbie lay still and silent on the ground, her eyes closed.  Nick sighed with relief and rubbed his ears.  He got off of her and stood up, feeling his jaw gingerly. 

Hal looked at it, noting the redness and swelling already beginning.

“She got you good, eh?” 

Nick nodded. 

“The lady packs quite a wallop.  Almost as big a punch as Lord Griffendahl.”

“Hard to believe such a pretty woman could hit a man that hard,” Hal mused, taking a closer look at her.

“Looks can be deceiving, Hal.  It feels like she broke my jaw,” Nick said, feeling his face carefully.

The medic examined it gently. 

“I don’t think it’s broken.  Let me treat it before we go, though, or you’ll have a nice bruise there.”  He reached into his kit and pulled out a spray cylinder.  “Hold still.  It’ll hurt like heck for a minute, but it’ll stop the bruising.” 

Nick flinched slightly as he applied it.

“I think it hurt just as good without it,” he muttered.  He picked up Debbie’s limp form gently and laid her on the seat of the coach. 

“You’re hardly more than skin and bones, girl,” he muttered to himself.  “You need some taking care of.”  He brushed her hair back where it had fallen across her face, feeling the fine, silken strands run though his fingers like gossamer.  “So beautiful,” he murmured, “and so fragile.”  He bent and kissed her forehead then.  He turned to the medic.

“Hal, let’s get Carlos loaded.  It’s only been a couple of minutes, so it should be just about perfect.  Make whatever arrangements are necessary.  Tell them it’s my responsibility.  I’ll see his family this evening.”

“Yes, My Lord.”  Hal set to his work.  He placed a helmet-like device over the dead man’ s head, adjusting it carefully until he was satisfied.  He pressed a lever and it tightened automatically.  Then Nick, Hal and another man lifted him onto a stretcher and bore him to the helicopter.

“See you there, Hal,” Nick called as the hatch on the helicopter closed and it was off.

Nick took up the reins, and Stan got in beside Debbie.  Nick looked at him for a moment, watching as Stan stroked her cheek lovingly, brushing the hair back from her face.  His hand came to rest lightly on her shoulder.  He sighed heavily.

“Way to go, Stan,” he muttered to himself.  “Go on a consulting contract and kill a man before you even get started.  I’ve never consulted from jail before.”

“Don’t worry about Carlos.  He’ll be as bad as new in six weeks,” Nick reassured him.  “I’d appreciate it if you would keep the details of this to yourself, Stan.  Raznack is not like other planets.  I don’t want it to get out that a visiting dignitary is a better shot than I am.”

Stan grinned.  The young man has his pride, he thought to himself.  It didn’t occur to him that he might have been in danger of reprisal from the man’s family if they knew the truth.

“As you wish, Nick.  My lips are sealed.”  He gave Nick a curious look.  “Why didn’t you just tell them she’s my daughter?” he asked.

“They would have insisted on trying to buy her from you then.”

“What?”  Stan was aghast.

“On Raznack, a man’s daughters are considered his property.  Everyone is for sale on Raznack, for the right price, according to custom.  Especially unmarried children.  It prevents a lot of feuding and civil war, believe me.  By telling them she belonged to you, I wasn’t lying, but I gave them an impression that wasn’t accurate.  I did it to protect you both.”

“I can see I’m going to have a lot to get used to,” Stan remarked.

Nick shook out the reins and called to the horses, and they continued on their way.  He kept them to a slow trot, however.  In a few minutes a troupe of uniformed soldiers could be seen galloping toward them on the broad avenue.  They crossed the median and pulled up beside the coach where Nick had brought it to a halt once more on the grassy verge.  Their clothing was sweat-streaked and their horses were lathered with sweat and spattered with mud; they’d been ridden hard a long way.

“You’re a bit late, Sergeant Peters,” Nick called out good-naturedly.  “I expected you to meet me at the outskirts of Raznack City.  The excitement is all over.”

“I know, Boss,” answered a rather corpulent middle-aged man.  He seemed rather crestfallen.  “We saw the chopper.  We got here as fast as we could.”

“I told you to get going before noon.”

“I know, My Lord, but his Majesty got wind of it and forbade us to leave.  It was noon before Kelson could dose him with a bit of ready-speed.  That distracted him somewhat and we were able to get going.  We had to sneak out the lych gate as it was, Boss.”  His plaintive note spoke volumes about injured pride. 

Nick addressed a thin, gangly looking young man.

“Well done, Kelson.  Good thinking.”

“Thank you, Sir.”  The young man saluted smartly.  “I hated to do it to the old man.  I mean, he is the King and all, and I respect that, but orders is orders.” 

Nick laughed loudly then.

“Well, just don’t make a habit of it, my boy,” he said when he sobered enough to speak.

“No, Sir,” the young man replied.  He glanced inside the coach.  “Oh, my!  Looks like you got a pretty nice extra reward for your trouble, My Lord.”

“Don’t go getting any ideas, Kelson.  She belongs to the professor.  That’s what got Carlos shot.”

“Carlos?”  The young man shot a look of awe and fear at Nick.  “You shot Carlos?”

“Let’s say I’m responsible, shall we?"  Nick looked grim.  "And I’ll shoot any man that troubles her.  She’s under my protection.”

“I can see why Carlos forgot himself,” another man spoke up.  He’d ridden up to take a look.  “She’s pretty enough to make me forget my fiancée, if I had one.”  He was a well-built man, older than Kelson by several years.

“Fiancée?”  Nick was surprised.  “I didn’t know anything about that, Simon.” 

“They just announced it last week.  Catherine Muldoon.  You know her, don’t you?” 

Nick nodded slowly.  He knew Catherine well, her sleek black hair, vivid blue eyes and fair skin.  And her fiery, violent temper and black moods.  He rather pitied Carlos, actually, if she’d finally settled on him.  She’d been in love with half the men in the valley at one time or another, only to suddenly, sometimes violently, end the relationship, to the distress and consternation of her parents.  She’d never before announced an engagement, so perhaps she was finally ready to settle down.  And now Carlos was going over.  Nick shook his head.  There was no telling what Catherine would do now.  He would have to talk to her, the sooner the better.  He was not looking forward to it.

“We’d better be going,” Nick said, scanning the skies anxiously for any sign of rain clouds.  “I dallied long enough in the city, trying to give you time to get there to meet us.  They’ll be starting to worry.  Not to mention it’d be nice to get home before the rain starts.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Sergeant Peters replied.  “Company, form up!”  For a man as large as he was, he certainly rode his horse well; they looked as if they were one.  Stan noticed he seldom appeared to rein the horse at all.  It was almost as if it did his bidding by reading his thoughts.  They deployed around the coach.  Nick shook out the reins once more, and soon they were galloping along at a mile-devouring pace.

“Nick, mind if I ask you something?”

“Sure, Stan, what is it?”

“What is ready-speed?” 

Nick laughed.

“It’s a plant native to Raznack.  The leaves yield an extract that acts as a very powerful laxative.”

“I pity the King,” Stan said at last.

“It doesn’t last long, but it’s very potent.  I expect he’ll be fine by suppertime.  He refuses to take the countermovement seriously, and I think that’s foolish.  I suspected Vince was working on their behalf, and when I caught him red-handed last night I had no choice but to turn him over to the Royal Inquisitor.”

“What happened to Vince?” 

Nick made a grimace as if something very foul-tasting had got into his mouth.

“Lord Griffendahl is nothing if not ruthless.  He’s not a cruel man at heart, do not mistake me.  But he has very few qualms when it comes to interrogating someone he suspects of having nefarious intentions towards King and kingdom.  He’s very loyal, and very thorough.  When it comes to getting information from someone on short notice, he sometimes tends to be a little forceful, but he’s very effective, I have to admit.  Vince will be all right eventually.  The Inquisitor always fixes whatever damage he does.  He’s very punctilious in that regard.”  His tone was casual.  “Vince may have somewhat of a limp, perhaps, but he’ll live.  And he still has his manhood.  Griffendahl is not without compassion.  After he gets what he wants.”

“A curious juxtaposition of kindness and cruelty, it sounds like.”

“Indeed, Professor.  Indeed.  You hit the nail right on the head.”  Nick was the one to know; he’d been on the receiving end of both from the Royal Inquisitor more times than he cared to count.

They stopped at a wayside turnout to rest and water the horses every half hour.  The second time they stopped Nick took Debbie in his arms and carried her to the shade of a nearby tree where he laid her down carefully on a blanket.  She showed no signs of waking.  He gently stroked her hair back from her face, noting the lines of strain around her mouth and eyes.

“She looks so sad.  What happened to her, Professor, if you don’t mind my asking, that is?”  He was curious; Stan had told him a little bit earlier, and he suspected there was a lot more to the tale.

Stan sighed.

“There was a man who was a bit unhinged.  He stalked young women around the University.  He would follow his chosen victim, sometimes for months.  Then he would abduct them.  He would,” Stan paused, searching for the words, “torment them for several days, before he killed them.” 

“Rape?” Nick said at last.  His jaw was tight, and he spoke between clenched teeth.

“That was part of it.  Not the worst.”  Stan spoke quietly.  “She finally managed to escape, but not without some serious injuries.  They say the scars will fade with time.” 

“Scars?” Nick asked. 

Stan gestured.

“Take a look.  She’s not going to notice it.”

Nick took her sleeves and pushed them gently up her arms, scowling harshly as he beheld the angry red scars on both of her arms.  He ran his hand across her belly.  He winced slightly.  Then he lifted the front of her blouse and undid the placket of her skirt, easing the material aside.  He shuddered at what he saw.  No wonder she’d flinched from him.  He put her clothing back and shook his head sadly.

“By the gods, it looks as if he tried to devour her alive,” he said, a pained look on his face. 

“Something like that,” Stan said tonelessly. 

Nick felt a measure of pity for Stan.  It would be hard for any loving parent to see their child mutilated thus, and Stan was obviously very fond of his daughter, judging by what Nick had seen so far.

“What happened to him?”

“He’s in prison for the rest of his life.  Criminally guilty and not sane.  There’s no chance he’ll ever get out.”

“He deserves worse.”  Nick shook his head.  “Here on Raznack he’d have been destroyed outright and his brothers and sons put under scrutiny.  We don’t mess with those types.”  It had on occasion fallen to him to do the destroying.  It was a task he intensely disliked.

“Different worlds, different customs,” Stan said in a monotone.  He looked away, a distant look in his eyes.

Nick pulled out a sack that contained sandwiches and some apples.  A thermos retrieved from the coach yielded a refreshing cold tea.  He set everything on the grass between them, along with two cups he retrieved from a cupboard in the coach.

“Care to join me, Professor?  I know it’s been a while since you’ve eaten, and supper is going to be late tonight.  I brought enough for three,” he motioned to Debbie, “but since it’s just the two of us we’ll simply have to make do in the, er, more intimate setting.”  He grinned.  The soldiers were dipping into their saddlebags for food and drinks as well.

“I don’t mind if I do,” Stan said, and joined him.  They made quick work of the food. 

After half an hour’s rest Nick carried Debbie back to the coach.  He covered her with a blanket against the cooling air and they journeyed on.

At last the ramparts of the castle came into sight through the thick trees.   The road led up to a wide gateway, barred by a pair of gates.  The opening was easily wide enough for four coaches to pass through abreast when it was fully open.  There was a tall tower between the gates they were to enter and the gates on the other side, equally wide, which exited onto the broad avenue in the other direction.  They stopped and waited for a long moment.  Then the gates silently opened, and they passed on through.  When they had entered, the gates closed silently.  A barrier ahead prevented them from passing further.  At last it too opened, and they proceeded.  Nick breathed a sigh of relief.  The soldiers, who had been keeping a very tight formation around them, spread out somewhat.

The avenue wound through the trees until at last it opened onto an open park, with the castle framed ahead of them.  A bank of dark clouds was building behind and above it.

“Welcome to Castle Royal, Dr. Duvarnos.  It’s the oldest human settlement on Raznack.”  Nick was watching him closely, studying his reaction.

Castle Royal was quite large, though its very thick stone walls were rather deceptive as to its contents.  The term “Castle” was somewhat of a misnomer; the massive structure actually housed what was a moderately good-sized city.  It had been built with very thick walls to shelter against the high levels of radiation during solar storms.  Parts of it had been carved into the mountain itself, affording further protection from the intense solar radiation.  The multi-story structure had narrow, tall windows at intervals, and the oversized front doors were a good ten feet tall.  They were set back under a wide portico at the top of a long, wide flight of steps built into the hillside. 

A very young-looking man in an elegantly cut suit was waiting there, pacing restlessly back and forth beneath the portico, a sheaf of papers rolled up in the long, slender fingers of one hand with which he periodically slapped his opposing palm.  He was short, not much over five and a half feet tall, and his body matched his fingers for slenderness.  He looked like a young man of perhaps fifteen or sixteen, though his eyes seemed much older and his step and actions were those of a mature man.  As Nick pulled up to the curb he stopped pacing and stood at the top of the steps, tapping one elegantly shod foot impatiently, surveying the situation through his slightly oversized dark brown eyes above a long, down-curved beak of a nose, making him look somewhat like an owl.  His remaining facial features were finely chiseled, almost to the point of being delicate.  His face had a sort of fragile beauty, drawn as it was into lines of taut concern.  His large, dark eyes followed Nick’s every move.  He seemed either anxious or irritated, Stan couldn’t tell which. 

One of the soldiers dismounted, giving his reins to the man next to him, and went to hold the horses.  Nick looked at the Sergeant.

“Sergeant Peters, have their luggage taken up to their rooms.  I’m putting them in the East Tower.  And thanks for meeting us.  Even if you were late.”  He grinned, his forgiveness implicit in his demeanor.

“Aye, My Lord.” 

Stan got out, and Nick gathered the still-sleeping Debbie in his arms.  They climbed the steps.  As soon as they were on the top step, the dapper man accosted Nick. 

“You’re late, Nickolas.”  He sounded worried.

“We had an extra stop that wasn’t on the initial itinerary,” Nick replied. 

A look of deepening concern came over the small man.  He looked Nick over intently.

“What happened?  Are you sure you’re all right, Nickolas?  I was starting to worry,” he said, concern in his voice.

Nick shot him a reassuring glance. 

“Everything’s fine.  No damages but Carlos, but that’s bad enough.”  He glanced at the papers the other man was carrying.  “Did you need something?” 

The small man frowned irritably.  He nodded.

“Nickolas, I need your signature immediately.” 

Nick sighed.  He glanced down at Debbie, then at Stan.

“Dr. Duvarnos, meet Lord Griffendahl.  Dr. Duvarnos is the Consultant.” 

The little man bowed politely.

“A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Duvarnos.  Welcome to Raznack.”  They shook hands.  He turned relentlessly on Nick again.  “Nickolas, I must have your signature on these papers.”

Nick sighed.

“I’m kind of, er, tied up right now, Griff,” he said pointedly.  “Can’t it wait until I’ve gotten Dr. Duvarnos and his daughter settled?” 

Griffendahl glanced at her then.  He became suddenly alert, like a hawk that had just spotted its prey.  He looked at Nick curiously.

“Is she a prisoner?” he asked, sounding almost hopeful. 

Stan scowled at him harshly.

“No, she’s a guest,” Nick said brusquely.  “She's the Consultant's daughter.  Why?”

“I would very much enjoy interrogating her, Nickolas,” he said eagerly. 

Nick snorted derisively.

“You see that you leave her strictly alone, Griff, or you’ll answer to me personally.  You just stick to business."  He bristled visibly.  "What is this thing you want signed?” 

The little man sniffed.  He gave the appearance of being very young, barely past puberty in fact. 

“It’s business.  I was hoping to take care of it right away, My Lord.  It’s rather important.”  He sounded very pedantic, almost petulant.  His mature tone was so at odds with his looks Stan found it hard to repress a smile.

“So is the consultant’s daughter, Griff.  Why don’t you come along with us, and you can tell me what this is about?”

A gust of wind swished along the flagstones, sending dust and dry leaves skittering, and the first few raindrops spattered in its wake.  Nick looked upward, assessing the storm with a practiced eye.

"Looks like it could be a bad one," he observed.

Griffendahl huffed grumpily.  He took a long look at Debbie then.  Reaching out, he touched her face softly, carefully brushing the few stray windblown wisps of hair away so that he could get a good look at her.  He stood looking at her intently for some time.  Stan had the incongruous thought for a moment that he looked rather like an eagle surveying its intended prey.

The pictures Griffendahl had accumulated in his dossier on her did not do her justice; they had only hinted at the creamy, almost luminous quality of her complexion and the delicate bow of her lips, and gave no hint at the vibrant highlights that sparkled in her hair.  That was rich and fine, and slid through his fingers smoothly like fine silk thread.  Photographs had not revealed all of the high brow, nor the determined looking chin.  He frowned slightly at the signs of tiredness and hints of strain long endured. 

He knew about what had happened to her, had probably more details than anyone else except Debbie and the guilty party.  Lord Griffendahl made it his business to know everything he could learn about visitors to Raznack, especially young, female ones.  He wouldn’t have cared if she’d been as ugly as an enraged wart horse, but seeing that she was quite attractive encouraged him.   She was underfed and careworn to the point of appearing haggard, but that was as a consequence of what she had endured.  That was inconsequential to his plans anyway.  It was purely aesthetic; besides, it could be remedied in a few months with some tender loving care, and he had a whole year.  She seemed healthy otherwise.   It was beginning to look like his plans might succeed after all.  His sharp features softened slightly.  He smiled presently, and his face settled into gentler lines. 

Stan observed that he looked rather handsome, in a fragile, almost angelic way when he smiled.  His face had the delicate, chiseled perfection Stan associated with fine works of art and sculpture.

“Oh, my.  She’s very pretty.  What’s wrong with her?” he asked at last.

“We had a difference of opinion with someone along the way.  When she saw the body she got hysterical and Hal gave her a sedative.  I expect she’ll sleep until suppertime.” 

They made their way into the castle through the oversized doors just as the heavens opened and the rain began in earnest.

“Now what’s this you want me to sign?” 

Griffendahl sighed in exasperation.

“I requested medical care for young Vince, due to his unfortunate injuries last night while we were, ah, interrogating him.  The Chief Medical Officer refused to authorize it.  He insisted that from now on all requests for medical care from my office had to be approved with your signature.”

“Hmm.  Fancy that,” Nick said, keeping a straight face with difficulty as he strode down the corridor.  “And did he say why?” 

The Royal Inquisitor sniffed pointedly.

“He suggested that I have been using much too forceful a means to interrogate criminals, and that I was misusing the time and resources of the Medical Corps by damaging people when I interrogated them.”  He seemed rather incensed. 

Nick smiled.  “Really?” he said, somewhat amused.

“Really!” Griffendahl huffed.  “I’m very careful with my work, Nickolas, you know that.  I never damage anything that can’t be fixed.  And I take great care not to permanently disfigure any of my clients,” he snapped irritably.  “I don’t tell them how to practice medicine, Nickolas, I don’t see why they think they can tell me how to interrogate prisoners.” 

It sounded incongruous coming from that youthful, almost childish-looking body.  Stan kept his face averted.  He was trying hard not to laugh.  Nick smiled slightly.

“Maybe they’re right, Griff.  Have you considered that?” 

The little man looked deeply offended.

“Well, Nickolas!  I always see to it that my clients are fixed up properly afterward.  I don’t understand what their problem is.”

They were walking down a long corridor deep within the castle.

“Their problem is they’re already overworked because they’re understaffed, and when you take perfectly healthy people and injure them you’re making work for them unnecessarily.  Not to mention that their ethics forbid them from aiding and abetting such behavior.  Your actions are unethical in their opinion, and they’d rather not be involved.”

“What’s ethics got to do with anything, Nickolas?  I never noticed Doctors suffering from a surfeit of ethics before where I was concerned,” he said harshly.  “I always fix what I break.  That should be good enough ethics for anyone.”  He sniffed and tossed his head arrogantly.

Nick sighed.

“Griff, they’re asking you to rein it in.  I think it’s a reasonable request.  I think you should take it under advisement.”  He nodded to the door ahead of them.  “Could you get that door for me?  It’s security locked, you’ll have to palm it.” 

Griffendahl placed his hand over a flat panel beside the door.  There was a click, and the door swung open slowly.  They passed through into a large room furnished with comfortable sofas and chairs.  Nick strode over to a sofa and laid his burden down carefully, making sure she was stretched out comfortably.  He knelt beside her, smoothing her hair out of her face.  Both men were watching him closely.  On impulse, he bent and kissed her lips before he stood up. 

Griffendahl took careful notice.  The last thing he needed was competition in furthering his plan.  Unless he missed his guess, it was already too late.  Nick was acting as if he was already emotionally involved with her.  A complication, that.  Dammit, he should have gone and gotten them himself.  Instead he’d stayed, trying to sort out young Vince’s situation, without much success.  He’d have to deal with it in his own way, in his own good time. 

Nick took a quick inspection tour of the apartment, checking every room carefully, before turning to the Inquisitor.

“I’ll sign it, this time, Griff.”  He took the papers and pen that the man handed him, and after carefully checking the papers he signed them.  “But this cannot continue.  You cannot continue to treat people like playthings.  You can’t keep breaking them and expecting Medical Corps to fix them.  That’s not what they’re here for.”

“Well, how am I supposed to do my job, then?” the man spluttered. 

Nick looked at him pityingly.

“Be creative, Griff.  Improvise.  Learn some new tactics.  You can do it, you’re a very intelligent man.  You've proven that many times through the ages.”  He smiled sweetly.

“But—.“  His angry outburst was interrupted by the arrival of several soldiers carrying the Duvarnos’ luggage.

“That’s another thing, Nickolas,” Griffendahl complained, pointing to the soldiers.  “Those soldiers kept insisting they were supposed to leave to go meet you after you’d left to pick up the consultant.  The King had no record of such an order and he forbade them to leave.  They went anyway.  They were absent without leave.  I’d like to ask them a few questions.”  He looked at Nick curiously.  “I still cannot fathom what it is you see in that ill-begotten bunch of riff-raff and misfits.” 

Sergeant Peters quickly hustled his men out the door. 

Nick smiled.

“I value those men precisely because they are misfits and riff-raff.  They are intelligent, capable and loyal to a man, and they can think for themselves, unlike most of the rest of the soldiers in the army today.  When I give them orders, they do their best to carry them out.  They were doing what they were ordered to do, Griff.  Today they were to set out in the morning and meet me at the edge of Raznack City.  Those were my orders, and Carlos is going over because they were not obeyed.  That makes our political situation a lot more precarious.  I’m more than a little displeased over that.”

Griffendahl deflated rapidly.

“Oh, I see, Nickolas.  Ahem.  Well, I’d best be going,” he said brightly.  He started to slip out the door. 

Nick caught him by the arm.  He bent down so that his face was close to the little owlish man’s face.

“The next time a company of soldiers under my command is prevented from following the orders I gave them, I may want your help to determine just who is at the cause of the trouble so I can remedy it,” Nick said very firmly.  “I don’t want it to happen again.  Understood?” 

Griffendahl stood silently, staring at Nick.

“Very well, Nickolas, I understand.  Perfectly.  Indeed.”  Griffendahl looked anxiously at Nick then.

“Are you sure everything’s all right?  She’s not injured, is she?”

Nick shook his head.

“I’ll see you later.  We’ll talk about it then.”  His eyes flickered meaningfully toward Stan.

“Very well.  You know where to find me,” Griffendahl said quietly.

Nick released him at last and he took off like a shot. 

When he was out of earshot Nick turned to Stan.

“That was the Royal Inquisitor.  Do you see what I mean?” 

Stan nodded.

“Curious little owl of a man.  An interesting character.” 

“One of many,” Nick said with some asperity.  He looked down the corridor after the owlish little man.  “An old mind in a young body,” he remarked enigmatically.  He showed Stan around the apartment.

“There are four bedrooms.  Use whichever ones suit your fancy.” 

There was a huge modern equipped bathroom, a small kitchen liberally stocked with food, a dining room complete with a chandelier over the table, the large living room and an office with computer and planet-net access.

“We can get you access to more networks if you need.  Just let us know.”

“This will be fine to start with, Nick.  You’ve been more than generous,” Stan said.

“Well, let me know if there’s anything you need.”  Nick showed Stan how to use the intercom system.

“Just ask for me, Nickolas, or the Chief of Security, that’s me too.  I’d better be going.  I have to check in and find out what else has happened while I was gone.”  He tugged on a stray lock of hair.  “One day, and everything falls apart.  Can’t believe it.”  He stopped beside Debbie’s inert form.  “Sleeping Beauty,” he remarked.  He bent and kissed her again.  She still did not stir.  “Nope, wrong fairy tale.”  He sounded disappointed.  Nick let himself out then.

  Stan set about unpacking his things into the bedroom he liked best.  It was simply furnished with a large bed, two comfortable chairs, a table with a lamp, and a clothes press.  When that was done he took a book and went into the living room to sit and read while he waited for Debbie to waken.

She began to stir at last.

“Hello, Princess,” Stan said softly.  “Feeling better?”  “What hit me?” she asked as she sat up.  “I haven’t slept that much in weeks.”

“I expect it was the motion-sickness medicine, to start with.  Then the medic on the helicopter gave you a sedative.  Mind telling me what that was all about?”

She shuddered slightly. 

“I woke up and saw that man lying there.  I was still drowsy, and kind of confused.  I thought he was Devon.  I thought you’d finally gotten so angry with him you’d killed him.  Not that I would have blamed you.  Once I started screaming, it seemed like I couldn’t stop myself.” 

Stan looked thoughtful.  The doctors had warned him that this could happen.

“The best treatment for her is to get her to talk about it.  She’s a strong woman, very set in her mind, and she refuses to talk to any of the medical staff here,” Dr. Slater had said.  “Get her away from here, in a new environment.  That will help her as much as anything.  Don’t hound her, but keep trying to get her to open up and talk about it.  She needs to examine it and analyze it in order to let go of it.”  So Stan had brought her to Raznack with him.  He’d begun to wonder if it was a wise decision.

“You know, dear, now that you mention it, he did bear quite a resemblance to your unlamented former fiancé.  I didn’t notice it at the time.”

Her eyes grew round and wide as she looked at him.

“You shot him, didn’t you, Daddy?” 

He sighed.

“Nick asked me not to discuss the matter with anyone, Debbie, and I have to respect his wishes.  He is responsible for our safety.” 

She mulled that over.  Stan glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Come, dear, let’s get your things unpacked.  I suspect it’s getting close to dinnertime.  I hope it is, anyway.  It’s been quite a while since we ate.” 

She chose a bedroom and he helped her move her luggage into it.  She set about unpacking.  Stan sat and watched her, noting her quick, jerky movements, the tension in her whole body.  A chime sounded above their heads.  She jumped noticeably.

“You have a visitor, Dr. Duvarnos,” the computer’s pleasant generic voice explained.  It startled them both slightly.

“Which Dr. Duvarnos?” Stan asked.

“Either or both of you.”

“I’ll take care of it, Debbie.”  He went into the living room.  At the door, he stopped.

“How do I know if I want to open the door?” he said quietly.

“Do you require further information?” came the computer’s pleasant voice.

“Yes.  Who is out there?”

“It is the man you know as Nickolas, the Chief of Security.” 

“Ah.”  Stan searched the door but found no mechanism to open it.  “How do I open it?  There doesn’t seem to be a handle.”

“The door can be opened manually by pressing on any two of these three points.”  A holographic projection showed him three locations in a row down the side of the door.  “In an emergency the door will open if impacted from within by a force greater than ten Razz.”  About twenty pounds, he translated to himself.  “However, the usual method of opening doors on Raznack is to ask the computer in charge to open them for you.  You need only verbalize the command ‘open’ to open a door, and ‘close’ to close it, as long as you are within one and a half meters of a door that you are authorized to open.  You may lock a door in a similar manner.”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Stan said irritably.

“Because you would not have listened attentively to the orientation speech with which I am required to brief all visitors,” the voice replied politely.

“You’re probably right, at that.  Now would you please open the door?”

“Certainly, Dr. Duvarnos.  I hope you enjoy your stay on Raznack.”

“Thank you.” 

The latch clicked, the door opened silently and Nick entered the room.  The door closed silently behind him.

“I came to bring you down to dinner.”  He glanced around the room.  “How’s Debbie?”

“Better.  I think the rest did her good.” 

Nick looked pleased.  

Just then Debbie came out of her room.

“Hello, Nick, nice to see you again!”  She had put on a deep green dress with long sleeves and a hem near the floor.  It matched her vivid green eyes, making her bright red hair and freckles much more noticeable.

“Greetings, My Lady!  You look much better than when I saw you last, and you looked good enough to eat then.”  He grinned winsomely.  “Are you ready to go down to dinner?”

“Yes, I am,” Debbie replied laughingly.  “I’m starving!” 

He caught her hand and kissed it, holding on gently but firmly when she would have tugged it from his grasp.

“Stick with me, Miss, and we’ll go places.”  He tucked her hand under his arm, his hand firmly grasping hers, and they strode off to the State dining hall.  He saw her to her seat next to her father and took the one on her other side.  They were at the head table.  The two seats beside him remained empty.  Lord Griffendahl came in and sat down beside Stan.  Soon a plate was set before her.

“Go ahead and eat,” Nick urged her.  “Everyone will be served quite soon, and I know you must be starving.” 

Nonetheless, she waited until they were served.  As she ate, she was aware of other people staring at her.  Nick nudged her gently.  She jumped nervously.

“Don’t mind them.  We don’t get many female visitors.”

“Aren’t there any women on Raznack?” she whispered.

“Not very many.  The radiation affects the birth rate, and there are other factors.  For various reasons, there are about three males for every one female here.  It tends to make them take more interest in the women they do see.  Sometimes they take an interest in other boys, too.” 

She looked nervous then.  He put a hand on her arm reassuringly. 

“Don’t worry, Debbie, you’re safe with me.”  He smiled rakishly.  “They’ll have to get past me first, and that’s never happened.”

As the meal progressed, there were mutterings and mumblings.  Finally one man, emboldened by his drink perhaps, called out,

“So, Black Nick, aren’t you going to tell us where you found the gorgeous lady?” 

Nick looked at the man and sighed.

“I lifted up Hugo’s shuttle door, and there she was, Clint, big as life and twice as lovely.”

“She’s very pretty, Black Nick.  Are you sure you couldn’t share her around, just a little bit?” 

"A little bit wouldn't be enough, Clint.  I'd have to have all of her," another man said suggestively.

Debbie tensed, shrinking in her seat.

Nick scowled then.

“She belongs to the Consultant, Clint, and they are under my protection.  If anyone lays a hand on her I’ll turn them over to Lord Griffendahl for a few days.” 

The Inquisitor heard his name called and looked up, interested.  Clint seemed to shrink into his seat.  The muttering and mumbling ceased immediately.  Nick took advantage of the lull.  He tapped on a beer mug with a spoon.  It made a dull clanking sound, but it drew everyone’s attention.

“Your attention, please, everyone,” he called out.  “Since His Majesty has declined to attend dinner due to a bad case of the grippe he contracted at lunch…. ”  There were some amused chuckles.  “The task of introducing our guests tonight falls to me.  I’d like you to meet Dr. Konstantin Duvarnos, the noted Metallurgist, and his daughter, Dr. Deborah Duvarnos.  Her field of expertise is in Polymer Chemistry, a very important field here on Raznack.  Please make them welcome.”  There was a warm round of applause.

There was a spate of comments, most of them remarking on Debbie’s attractiveness.

“I’d love to make her welcome,” she overheard one young man say.  “She’s one very sexy wench.”

“You in a hurry to go over, Mack?  You’re crazy!  If the Black Lord didn’t grind you to bits himself, he’d turn you over to the Inquisitor.  They say he likes your type.  Weird little man, he is.”

"I'd just want one night, and I'd die a happy man!" Mack replied gaily.

Debbie shuddered slightly.  It occurred to her to wonder if all the men on Raznack thought about was sex.  She shrank back in her seat and leaned a little closer to Stan, who gave her an understanding look and put his arm around her shoulders for a moment in a brief hug of reassurance.

Griffendahl made a show of glancing around, his gaze resting briefly on the men who'd made remarks.  Each one cringed slightly as he nodded very slightly at them, a thin, knowing smile barely lifting the corners of his mouth.   That was solely for Debbie’s benefit.  He didn’t have to look; he knew everyone’s voice.  The comments ceased abruptly.

Griffendahl smiled slightly.  One way or another, in the end they all came to him.  He owned the cloning facility where going over and certain forms of reproduction were handled.  He was also responsible for the operation of the jail.  He owned several of the most productive gem and metal mines on Raznack outright; the people who worked in those mines lived as comfortably as he did.  His varied business interests included a wide variety of enterprises whose owners he’d quietly helped over time, in exchange for a small interest in their business.  Among their families he was honored and respected.  They were in the minority.  The rest of Raznack feared and hated him.  The mere mention of his name in some circles was enough to bring wrath upon the speaker.

Towards the end of the meal an elderly couple came and took the vacant seats next to Nick.  The man looked somewhat pale, as if he’d been ill.  The room grew quiet.  Nick greeted them familiarly.

“Debbie, Stan, I’d like to introduce you to King Dalmar and his wife, Queen Lydia,” Nick said by way of introduction.  “King Dalmar, Queen Lydia, meet Dr. Konstantin Duvarnos, and his daughter, Dr. Debbie Duvarnos.”

Stan and Debbie rose to greet them.  Stan executed a snappy formal bow.  Debbie curtsied gracefully. 

“Oh, my, you must have very formal manners on Karthos.  Here we just shake hands,” Dalmar said, suiting his actions to his words.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.  All of Raznack has been looking forward to your arrival.”  He was still obviously pleased at the courtesy.

“Please, call me Stan.  It’s a pleasure to be here, Your Majesty,” Stan said.  Part of Raznack wasn’t wholly pleased with their presence, Stan thought silently.  Nick caught his eye and winked conspiratorially.

“Dr. Duvarnos is an excellent marksman, I understand, King Dalmar.  Perhaps you should take him hunting with you have some time,” Nick suggested blandly.

“Oh, do you hunt, Dr. Duvarnos?”  Dalmar sounded delighted.  “You must come with us some time when we cull the herds.  We always can use another sharpshooter.  It’s quite an experience.  You’d get to see a lot of Raznack.”

“Well, I expect that I’ll be quite busy with my work, but I’ll certainly give it some thought,” Stan said diplomatically.  They resumed their seats.

“What do you do, my dear?” Lydia inquired.

“I’m a Polymer Chemist, Your Majesty,” Debbie replied.  “I work with chemicals that are constructed of repeating units, like beads on a string.  They’re really useful.  They kind of bind the world together.  I like to think of them as cosmic glue.”

“How interesting!  We’ll have to talk some time.  Chemistry has always fascinated me.  Now I’ll stop being rude and let poor Nickolas at his food.”  They’d been talking past Nick, who’d politely leaned back out of their way.  She smiled charmingly at Nick.  “If I were fifty years younger, Nickolas, I’d have to chase you, you gorgeous man.”

Nick smiled.

“If you were fifty years younger, Lydia, my mother would be a baby in a pram,” Nick replied pragmatically.

Lydia sighed.

“I know, dear, but you’re still a gorgeous man,” she said, giving him a wink.  “I can still enjoy the scenery, even if the roof is getting snowy.”  She grinned.  “Besides, one man is enough for me.  Dalmar is all I need.”

Even the women are fixated on sex, Debbie thought sourly.

Dessert was served and conversation gradually returned to more normal lines.  Soon a messenger came and whispered something to Nick.  He frowned slightly.

“Have them wait in my office.  Tell them I’ll be right there.”  The man nodded and left hurriedly. 

Nick turned and gestured to Sergeant Peters, who was standing nearby.

“Yes, My Lord?”

“Could you look out for our guests for a while?  I’ve got to go meet with Carlos’ family.  When they’re done here, take them into the great hall and introduce them around a little.  I’ll be back in about an hour.”

“Certainly, My Lord.  I’d be glad to.” 

Nick introduced him to Stan and Debbie.  Then he slipped from the room and headed upstairs to his office.

An hour later Nick returned. 

“How did it go, Boss?” the sergeant inquired.

“It went,” Nick said vexedly, snagging a drink from a passing server and sipping deeply.  “They weren’t very happy, but they understood, and in the end they accepted it.  I told them I would take care of all the death fees and expenses.  That made them a lot happier.  And they understand why it happened.  They’re not blaming me in this.”

“That’s a relief.” 

Nick nodded. 

“I’m sorry we weren’t there on time, My Lord.  I think we could have prevented it.”  Sergeant Peters hung his head. 

Nick gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s all right.  It couldn't be helped.”

There was a commotion by the door.  A woman’s voice cried out loudly.

“Murderer!” 

A guard at the door was restraining a distraught young woman with long, flowing black hair and creamy skin.  Suddenly she broke loose and began fiercely working her way toward Nick, shoving people out of her way.  Several people rapidly ushered Dalmar and Lydia out of the room.  A hand closed on Debbie's arm, and she jumped, startled. 

"Please, Miss, you must come with me."  The young soldier gestured toward Nick.  "Lord Nickolas said to keep you out of harm's way." 

She let him lead her toward the far doorway, away from the center of conflict.  Stan soon joined her, accompanied by another soldier.

They watched as the crowd parted hastily for the upset woman.  She stopped several feet away from Nick, her long black hair disheveled, a harsh, glittering, wild light in her deep blue eyes.  She was breathing hard, and her hands were curled into two hard little balls at her side.

“Black Nick!  You murderer!” she screamed at him again.  “You killed Carlos!”

“Hello, Catherine,” Nick said calmly.  “Welcome to Castle Royal once more.  Would you like a drink?”  He studied her intently, noting her extreme tension and the wild, deranged look in her eyes. 

Sergeant Peters and two of his men began surreptitiously working their way around behind her.

She shook her head angrily. 

“I don’t need a drink from an assassin!” she shouted.

“I think you’re in need of something, Catherine, you are not yourself.  You seem distraught.  Won’t you have a seat?” he said kindly.  He strongly suspected she was drugged, though why, with what or by whom he couldn’t begin to guess.

She tossed her head angrily.

“Why, Black Nick?  Why?  We were engaged to be wed!  Why did you have to kill him?”

“I never said I killed Carlos, Catherine.  I only said I was responsible.  There’s a difference,” Nick said calmly

“Not to me there isn’t!  You killed him, you black hearted assassin!!   You’re a murderer, Black Lord!  It’s what you do best, isn’t it? You enjoy it!  It’s just a job to you!” 

Suddenly the flash of a highly polished metal blade shone in her hand, and she struck at him hard with all the speed of an incensed viper.

Fast as she was, Nick was faster.  He caught her wrist and stopped her hand mere inches from his neck.  Slowly he forced her hand upward, away from him.  He caught her other wrist as she struck out at him again.  She held the dagger tightly, refusing to let go.

“Drop the weapon, Catherine,” he urged coolly.  Sergeant Peters gave him a questioning glance; he made a slight gesture of negation.

She bit her lip and shook her head. Several swords had been drawn by this time. 

“Let it go, Catherine.  Take a look around.  You can’t win.” 

She shook her head and gripped the blade even more desperately.  Her hand was turning white where he was cutting off the blood flow. 

“Don’t make me have to break you, Catherine.  You are not yourself.  Someone’s put you up to this.  Give it up, and let’s talk.”

She shook her head determinedly.

“Today you die, Black Nick!” she shrieked wildly.  She threw herself at him violently, trying to knock him off balance.

Suddenly he twisted her wrist sharply.  There was a loud “crack!” as her bones broke.  She yelped with pain and dropped the knife.  She attempted to dive for it, but as it hit the stone floor he gave it a swift kick.  It skittered across the paving, spinning wildly, to come to rest at Sergeant Peters’ booted foot several feet behind her.  He snatched it up just as she began to scream from the pain.  Nick twisted her injured arm up behind her back painfully, catching her other arm as he did so, turning her away from him.  He put his hand over her mouth, muffling her screams.  He nodded to Griffendahl, who quickly patted her down.  His thorough yet impersonal touch suddenly stopped at her chest.  He looked at her curiously. 

“Hmm.  An interesting place to be carrying papers,” he said blandly. 

She struggled harder, her chest heaving, kicking at him.  He deftly dodged her feet.  Nick tightened his grip on her, and she screamed louder.  Griffendahl’s hand slid quickly into her bodice, emerging moments later holding a small paper packet.  She glared at him in rage.  He glanced at it momentarily before setting it aside carefully.  He continued frisking Catherine, relieving her of another small throwing dagger concealed in her boot top. 

He studied her carefully, his head cocked to one side slightly.  Then he took the paper packet, opening it cautiously.  He held it away from himself and peered carefully inside.  He took out his handkerchief and spread it on a nearby table.  He emptied the packet onto the handkerchief.  Several distinctively shaped violet-colored tablets rolled out.  Some muttering from the audience told him others had recognized the lethal contents.  He inspected the packet, satisfying himself that it was empty.  He returned the tablets to the packet without touching them and folded the handkerchief very carefully before placing both in his pocket.  He studied her carefully once more.

 “You’ve been in someone’s pharmacy, my dear.  Someone’s given you way too much of something.”  He shook his head sadly.  “It looks as if you were sent on a one-way errand.”

Catherine looked away.  She ceased struggling and sagged against Nick, a look of defeat in her eyes.

“We need to talk, Catherine, my dear,” Nick said.  “There are ways to do this.  Carlos is going over.  You can still join him if you like, but not if you kill someone yourself.  You've just earned yourself the death penalty here tonight.  I guarantee you trying to kill me will result in you losing Carlos forever if I choose to press charges.  Understand?”

She nodded, as if in a daze. 

“Good.  Now, you’re going to stop screaming and go with Lord Griffendahl.  I’ll give you an hour to calm down, and we can talk about this like sensible people.  But any more horsing around and I’ll see to your sentence myself.  Is that clear?”  He still had his hand over her mouth. 

She nodded shakily.  He took his hand away cautiously, and she remained silent.  Nick began to breathe easier.  He produced a pair of handcuffs and bound her hands behind her, carefully fastening them around her injured arm.  She winced and yelped with pain.

“I’m sorry, Catherine.  I know that hurts, but it’s just for a little while until we get you to the jail,” he said gently.  He dried her tear-stained face and kissed her gently on the cheek.  “I really don’t like hurting people, least of all women.”  He sighed and gestured to one of the soldiers.

“Riltan, would you mind accompanying the lady?”

The young soldier nodded soberly.  Nick turned back to Catherine.

“Now go with Lord Griffendahl.  I’ll see you in an hour.” 

The crowd watched as the Inquisitor led her away, accompanied by Riltan.  Nick shook his head.

“Her party’s over,” he said cryptically.  He looked around.  Dalmar and Lydia had been spirited away by a couple of guards at the first sign of trouble.  They would probably not be back tonight.   Nick looked at Debbie.  Stan held her tightly in his embrace, her face buried in his chest; she was shaking visibly. 

“She’s not the only one who left the party,” he said softly, sighing sadly.  He looked at the people standing around nervously. 

“Come on, everyone, it’s all right,” Nick said gaily.  “The night is young still, let’s enjoy it while we are, too.”  The crowd began to disperse.

“Sorry about that, My Lord.  We didn’t realize she had a weapon on her.”  Simon was penitent.

“It’s all right, Simon.  We all should have been a bit more vigilant.”  Nick patted him on the back gently.

Gradually things rocked back to normal.  The band began playing again.  Nick turned to Stan.

“Is she going to be all right?” he asked quietly. 

Stan shrugged.  “I expect so.  I think it was the knife that set her off.”

“Hmm,” Nick said.  He tapped her gently on the shoulder.  “Could I have this dance, Debbie?” 

After a moment’s hesitation, she tried to smile.

“I guess so.  But I don’t know how to dance.”

“Then I’ll teach you.  You’ll never learn any younger.”  He took her in his arms, and gradually she relaxed. 

“You’re a very good teacher, Nick,” she observed after some time.  They were dancing close together, his arms around her. 

His arms tightened, drawing her closer.

“You’re a very good student,” he murmured softly, kissing her on the cheek.

“Why do they call you Black Nick?” she queried suddenly.  He missed a step and it took him a few seconds to recover.

“For many reasons, Debbie,” he said at last.  “Partly because I often wear black.  It’ s a convenient color.  And partly because of my job.  I have to do other people’s dirty work sometimes.  Like fetching visiting dignitaries from the spaceport, for instance, and subduing would-be murderers who are high on drugs.  Occasionally I have to chase down the odd fugitive from justice and bring them in.  The Chief of Security is somewhat equivalent to a Sheriff or Marshal where you come from.  It’s not a popular job.”

After an hour, Riltan came and interrupted them.

“Excuse me, My Lord, but Lord Griffendahl requests your presence,” the man said.

“I’ll be right there.  Thank you.” Nick looked around carefully but didn’t see Stan anywhere.

“What shall I do with you, my dear?  I doubt you’ve got a blazing interest in seeing Lord Griffendahl’s torture chambers.” 

She hesitated for a moment.

“I’d rather be with you there than be alone here,” she said.  In fact, she had a sudden perverse interest in seeing them.

“Are you sure?  I don’t want you to be frightened.” 

She looked at him, a flicker of fear, or perhaps something else, showing in her eyes.

“It won’t matter.  I’m frightened a lot anyway.” 

At last he led her down into the depths of the castle with him. 

Griffendahl’s normally bland expression brightened when he saw her.

“Ah, Nickolas!  You changed your mind?  You want me to interrogate her after all, My Lord?” he asked hopefully.  Actually, interrogating Debbie was the furthest thing from his mind, but it was best that Nick not discover the real nature of his interest in her, so he did his best not to tip his hand too early.  It was essential to his plans that Nick think his interest in her was solely professional for now.

She shrank back, clutching Nick’s sleeve.   Nick shook his head.

“No, I just didn’t have anyone to leave her with at the time I got your message.” 

The Inquisitor’s face fell in disappointment. 

“Besides, she’s the Consultant’s daughter, and I don’t want anything bad to happen to her.  She’s been tortured before. I don’t want you giving her nightmares.” 

“How did you know that, Nick?” Debbie asked suddenly.

Both men noted her sudden paleness and the way she wrapped herself protectively in her arms.  Her eyes darted anxiously from one man to the other like a girtslanger caught between two rock tigers.  She looked as if she were ready to bolt on half a moment's notice.

“Your father told me on the way here,” Nick said gently.  He touched her gently on the shoulder, seeing her jump slightly.  He held on gently; after a moment she relaxed somewhat.  “I’m sorry, Debbie, I didn’t know it was a secret.”

“It’s—it’s all right,” she said slowly.  “I’m just not…not used to talking about it, I guess.”

Nick and Griffendahl exchanged glances.

“Perhaps you should talk about it more,” Nick said calmly.  “You might feel better if you did.”

“That’s what the doctors said.  But none of them understood.  They’d never had any kind of experience like that.  It was like trying to explain a picture to a blind person.  They just didn’t comprehend.”

Griffendahl looked at her with greater interest.

“You’ve been tortured, have you?  Hmm.  Maybe we could compare notes.  I could use a few pointers now that my methods have come into disfavor.”  He gave Nick a dark look.  For a moment he looked like a frowning owl.

“Griff!” Nick snapped.  “I need to talk to you about Catherine.”

“Oh, yes, right.  That.”  The little man seemed abstracted.  “I gave her an antidote to the drugs she was hyped up on.  She should be pretty well back to normal by now.  You do need to talk to her, Nickolas.”  He took a ring of keys from a hook on the wall and led them down a corridor to a cell he unlocked. 

Nick walked into her cell.  Debbie hesitated. 

“They must talk privately,” Griffendahl said abruptly.  He locked the cell door and led her back to his office, politely offering her a comfortable chair.  He sat down opposite her and looked at her with considerable interest.

“So, someone has tortured you.  Tell me about it?”  It was a sort of half question, half command, completely without subtlety. 

Debbie was somewhat taken aback.  She’d never before met someone so baldly interested in the subject.  Haltingly at first, then more willingly, Debbie began to talk to the crisp little man.  He was a very skillful interviewer, and he carefully drew her out with his questions.  For the first time since it happened, Debbie was able to express some of what had happened to her at the hands of her attacker.  Griffendahl listened patiently yet avidly, his manner completely non-judgmental.  Talking about it made it seem less horrible, somehow.  Gradually she became aware of a loud banging and shouting going on down the corridor.

“What’s that noise?” she asked. 

Griffendahl started, as if just becoming aware of it.  The birdlike little man sighed deeply.

“It is Nickolas.  I completely forgot him.  He is going to be very angry with me.”  He hopped up from his seat and grabbed the key ring, taking off at a very swift walk, Debbie trotting to keep beside him. 

“You will come again, My Lady.  We must talk some more.” 

He opened the cell and let Nick out.  He was livid.  Behind him, Catherine sat quietly on the edge of her bed, cradling her injured arm in the other.

“Griff!” he shouted.  “I’ve been trying to get your attention for almost half an hour!  What were you doing?”  The door closed and locked behind him.

“The young lady and I have been talking, about torture, if you must know, Nickolas.  I find her absolutely fascinating!”  The little man spoke very enthusiastically, and his eyes gleamed. 

If he were a dog, he’d be wagging his tail and panting, Nick thought.  He ran a hand through his hair.

“Wonderful.  Just wonderful.  Her father is going to have my hide for this.  If she has nightmares from this I’m going to make you pay, Griff, mark my words.”

The air between the two men fairly crackled with tension.

“Nick, it’s all right, really,” Debbie interjected quietly.  “I know it may seem strange, but I feel a lot better somehow.  A lot lighter.  As if talking about it kind of defused it.  I can think about it differently now.  It doesn’t seem so terrible any more.”

Griffendahl smirked.  “You see, Nickolas, I can be good for something."  He looked at her covetously as if she were some exquisite treasure. 

"You must bring her back again.  We had a very stimulating conversation.  I find her very exciting to talk with.” 

“Just pant and wag your tail, why don’t you?" Nick sneered derisively.  "Why is the whole world turning upside down on me today?”  He shook his head.  “All right.  I’ll try to bring her back tomorrow.  Catherine has decided to go over to be with Carlos, and I’ll have to make the final arrangements in the morning.”  He did not seem pleased.

“Do you want me to interrogate her, Nickolas?”  He sounded hopeful. 

Nick shook his head.

“No, I think we know everything from her we need to know.  Just keep her comfortable.  There’s no need for her to be in pain from that broken wrist tonight.  I’ll have the Medical Officer give her something.  I’ll explain it was my fault.”

“Well, would it hurt anything if I interrogated her?” Griffendahl wheedled. 

Nick gave him a look that would freeze a river solid. 

The Inquisitor sighed.  “Oh, all right, Nickolas.”  He subsided at last.  He handed Nick some papers, which he looked at carefully before he signed.

“There, it is done.  I hope they find happiness eventually,” Nick said resignedly.

The Medical Officer arrived in short order, and they all trouped down to Catherine's cell.  She was evidently in considerable pain.  She watched as the needle sank into her arm.  In seconds she relaxed.  Her eyelids grew heavy.  She looked over at Nick.  She reached for him with her good arm, and he took her hand in his.

“Thank you, My Lord, for forgiving my foolishness.  Will I see you again?”

“I’ll be here, Catherine.  I’ll just be a little older.” 

She gave him an apologetic look.

“I have to be with Carlos.  He’s the one.”

“I understand, Catherine.  Don’t worry.  Just get some rest.  Uncle Nick will take care of everything in the morning.” 

She smiled.

“I like that.  Uncle Nick.  Haha!”  They were in fact distantly related; the term “Uncle” was a term of endearment between them.  Her smile faded, and her body relaxed.  Her grip melted in Nick’s, and her arm fell limply to the bed.

He gently tucked her limp arm beneath the covers.

“Perhaps I ought to set that wrist,” the Medic suggested.  “I could do it now, and she wouldn’t feel a thing.” 

Nick shook his head.

“She’s going over in the morning.  It would be a waste of medicine.  There’s no need to have her suffer unnecessarily, though.  You might just tape it.” 

The man shrugged.

“As you wish, My Lord.”  He straightened her wrist and taped it.  “I’ll stop by later and see if she needs more medicine for the pain.  It won’t interfere with her going over.”  He collected his materials, and they left Catherine to rest in peace.

Nick spotted Stan at last.  He was in an alcove on the far side of the room, engaged in a spirited discussion with several people.  He led Debbie over to them, getting them both a drink along the way.

“There you are, my dear.  I was afraid you’d gotten lost.”  Stan sounded genuinely relieved.

“No, Daddy, I’m fine.”  She smiled cheerfully.

“Nevertheless, you two may want to call it a night.  Days on Raznack are a few hours longer than what you’re used to.  Tomorrow we have a bunch of meetings scheduled with the bureaucrats.  Then we can get down to the real work.”

“My Lord, what will become of Catherine?” a man in the back of the group questioned. 

Nick took a sip of his drink before he answered.

“She decided to go over, Lord Mellick.  She wanted to be with Carlos.  They had chosen, before his accident.”  The man’s face fell.  “I’m sorry, Mel.” 

“I’d like to say goodbye to her, My Lord.  I was, er, very fond of her.”

Nick nodded.

“I’ll get you in the morning, then.  Early, before all the official stuff gets started.  She’s asleep now.  The medic gave her some medicine for the pain.

“That will be fine,” Mellick said, nodding his understanding.  He sounded very melancholy.  He was a quiet, unassuming man, rather cheerless and despondent at the best of times.  At the moment he seemed positively funereal.

Nick wondered briefly what his connection was to the bright, sizzling, vivacious Catherine.  Perhaps they’d been lovers at one time or another, he thought.  It wouldn’t have surprised him, knowing Catherine as he did.

“And now I think I’d better take the Doctors Duvarnos away,” Nick said.  “We can continue this conversation another time.”  

Goodbyes were said, and Nick led them to their quarters.  He showed Debbie how to operate the intercom. 

“If you’re hungry, there’s food in the kitchen.  If you want anything, anything at all, just page me.  I’ll be up for a while yet.”  He gave Debbie a long, hungry look.  Then he was gone.  He padded down the corridor to his room. 

After a few minutes, he slipped out of his room and made his way to a room on the far side of the castle.  His lover welcomed him with a warm embrace and a kiss.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” 

Nick shook his head.  He gazed into the eyes of his long-time lover, eyes smoldering with passion.

“No, thanks.”  He sighed deeply, a pained look in his eyes.  “I’m not looking forward to tomorrow.  Sending Catherine over isn’t going to be easy.  I don’t want to think about it.  I just want to make love to you all night long.  I want to die in your arms and come to life again until the sun comes up.” 

A throaty chuckle met his declaration.

“Come to my arms, sweet boy.  We shall have wonderful pleasure.  The night is young.  We shall fill it with love.” 

A warm hand took his, leading him to a bedroom.  They undressed each other, touching, caressing, and enticing one another.  Soon they slid beneath the covers, coming together in passion again and again, crying out in ecstasy as they found release at the peak of passion.  At last Nick drifted off to sleep.  His lover gazed upon him with infinite tenderness in the dim light.

“Sweet, sweet Nickolas.  I remember when you first came to me.  You were little more than a stripling boy, and so afraid.  But I taught you well.  I made you mine, totally and completely.  I bound you to me with bonds of pure love.  You have become such a fine man.”  A gentle, tender kiss was bestowed on Nick’s love-swollen lips; he murmured softly and snuggled closer.  “I am so proud of you.” 

Nick smiled sweetly in his sleep as warm hands stroked him soothingly. 

“I must leave you for a while, dear Nickolas, but I’ll be back.”

In the early morning, they awoke and made love again.  At last they parted, Nick creeping back down to his room for a few hours of sleep before he had to face the day’s work, his lover to a duty distasteful but necessary.