CHAPTER IX

TEMPTATIONS AND MUTATIONS


With a thud of steel on brick, entrance was announced and
framed in the doorway stood Hern Byrull, Dama Lisaloran and
Julyan Ermiz. The forms of Carlomon and his bodyguard lurked
in the background.

The incoming party caught sight of their uninvited guest,
and intended victim, sitting back in a chair eying them with
a deep frown and immediately a chill silence stifled all
noise. Byrull quickly overcame his stupefaction. He barked
an order over his shoulder and a band of Phalanx swarmed
into the room toting gleaming weapons.

"Tell them to leave," Councillor Byrull," Trajan said, "or I
swear that I will have the last laugh."

Byrull's face contorted in a spasm of wrath. "Who are you?"
he rasped, "to have the audacity to call the shots. You may
be a captain of the Spacio Command but you are in my
jurisdiction. I will deliver you to my guards and they can
take whatever measures they like with you."

"Your guards?" Trajan snorted, "You are a fool, Byrull. You
are not the authority here."

He rose from his seat. "Governor General Carlomon, step
forward! Henceforth I will discuss matters only with you.
Tell your guards to leave or I will take the only measure
that is MINE alone and you will definitely not like it."

Carlomon jostled to the front. "Men, leave the room
immediately," he commanded, "go to your posts."

He fixed his black, smouldering eyes on Trajan and a
serpentine smile tugged at his lips. "You have done your
homework well, Captain. What is it that you want from me?"

Trajan scrutinized his opponent with the same intensity. "A
truce, suspension of hostilities and freedom of movement for
me and for my Lieutenant."

"Yes," Carlomon said, "I can agree to that. I grant your
request but what can you offer in exchange?"

"What you want from me is much more," Trajan went on, his
eyes darkening to ominous grey. "You know what I have
absorbed. If you kill me, Starglory will die with me. You
don't want that to happen, do you? You need it to stabilize
the radiation bridge linking my world with yours.

"This is my offer: I will stabilize the bridge provided that
you go through it and re-enter your world, you, Governor
General, all your people and whoever else who wants to go
with you. If you refuse, I will send out a signal to my
command that my mission has failed. They will seal up and
bombard this place. The sacrifice of two commanders is a
small price to pay for the good of Iucari-Tres."

A dark sinister expression eclipsed the smile on Carlomon's
face. "You, and your brother, Adilar. Your father had acted
not only out of wisdom when he reared his sons in secrecy,
but more so out of caution, especially you the eldest. His
enemies were numerous."

"You are mistaken," Trajan countered, "I am the younger
son."

"Mistaken, me?" Carlomon's eyes glinted with the ferocity of
a sabreswine on the prowl. Trajan wouldn't be surprised if
the Governor General had a poisonous sting up his velvet
sleeve. "This fallacious irregularity means nothing to me.
It's been said that all firstborns of Lords Laris present
the toughest challenge, and I believe it is true.

"I see a puzzlement in your eyes, Captain. Let me tell you
only this: your father was a Lord Laris. There is no doubt
about it. What it means, you have to find out for yourself.
We don't render guidance to sons and daughters of Lords
Laris whose primary tasks in their lives are guiding others
less immaculate than they. As to your proposal or, more
rightly said, ultimatum, yes, I consent to it and will so
instruct my people. If we had managed to exercise control
over the Power, which you so skilfully wrested from us, the
situation would be entirely different but at present, I am
forced to leave this Sphere. I will take with me your people
who wish to go along. I gather you want them to be taken off
your hands and I could use them in MY Sphere."

Ruminatively smiling as if tingled by some private
pleasantry, Carlomon continued: "No, Trajan Schurell, I do
not want you to die, not just yet. You may still prove
useful to me."

Interruption came in the form of agitated voices coming down
the corridor. Amongst the harsh, unsympathetic growls of the
guards, a shriller voice screamed out more than just
displeasure. Propelled into the room by ungentle hands,
Doctor Reball made his presence, appearing even more
dishevelled than before. With a flushed face he jerked at
his crumpled clothes and demanded in a loud voice, "What is
the meaning of this, Byrull? Can't people take a stroll
anymore without being pushed around by your infernal
guards?"

"We have tried to contact you in your private laboratory,"
Byrull said without attempting to hide his contempt, "but
you gave no answer. You know damn well there are
restrictions here, even for you."

"Oh come now, Hern," Julyan Ermiz chimed in with a high,
almost childlike voice, "Reball here is much too tight most
of the time to take notice of things going on around him."
He giggled nervously as if the sight of a drunken old
scientist was a welcome respite in an atmosphere packed with
volcanic animosity. At his side, Dama Lisaloran stood still
like a pillar of lava rock.

"Even so," Byrull retorted menacingly, "I want him present
without delay when I need him."

Putting up a show of defiance, Doctor Reball planted his
clenched fists in his sides. "Ah, you do need me again. For
what, may I ask?"

Carlomon replied, "We will open the bridge one more time."

Reball squinted at him. "Will you now? Do you have the
equilibrating element? I should warn you that if you open
the bridge without an equilibrator, the whole mantle will
collapse this time!"

Carlomon threw a sidelong, burning look in Trajan's
direction. "Doctor, there will be no more protestations
coming from you. The Captain has the equilibrator and I
believe he will utilize it with all his skills. This time it
will be a one-way passage only. Prepare the computer and the
bridge. Shall we go, Captain?"

"After you, Governor General," Trajan said and briefly
exchanged eye signals with Royan.

Coming out in the corridor Carlomon walked at the head of
the line and led them into what appeared to be a working
area networked with varying levels of platformed structures,
interjoined by a latticework of viaducts. They were crossing
a steel overpass when a roar struck up from the pit beneath,
a mob bellowing out their hunger and their animal rage.

"By the hairy scruts of a wisur, what was that?" Royan
gasped.

Straining their eyes in the scant illumination provided by
the outcroppings of fluorescent tubes, the two commanders
were able to indistinctly separate from the darker shadows
blurred shapes of hideous formations of life. They could
distinguish eyes, red flickering eyes like dots of flame,
nostrils, even lips, four trunks as limbs, but everything
else was anarchy of deformity and mutilation.

Doctor Reball shuddered and quickly turned away from the
railing. "Pray for the soul that falls into their claws," he
whispered to Trajan. "To think they were once people like
you and me."

Trajan silently nudged his horrified Lieutenant to hurry
along the overpass. Doctor Reball brought them into a wide
circular chamber clustered with control monitors, plotting
screens and a procession of instrument boards. A technician
in coveralls approached them and in great agitation
exchanged a few words with Carlomon.

"The heavy rain above seems to have caused flooding in the
upper areas," Carlomon reported to his group, "but I don't
think this will create any serious problems. Mechanics have
already been despatched to deal with it."

"I have to caution you," Doctor Reball interrupted, "several
strokes of lightning have earlier hit the power net outside
and have short-circuited some of the generators. Although as
yet there is no sign of immediate danger, I would rather
that you postpone the opening of the Equation."

"Stop nagging!" Byrull cut in with nervous impatience, "We
had better not waste any more time."

"Prepare the computer, Doctor Reball," Carlomon ordered. The
Doctor gave a shrug and without a further murmur of protest
he started fingering several panels on the instrument
boards.

Carlomon measured Trajan with the heat of his dark eyes.
"What happened to Niklaedus, Captain?"

"He fell from a great height."

"He always had a penchant for spectacular endings. A pity,
he was close to me but you are here now. Come with me,
Trajan Schurell, be my ally."

"This is not the time for frivolities, Governor General."

"I am deadly serious. Consider matters from my point of
view. What would you feel if you stood on the threshold of a
whole universe and with one flick of your finger you were
able to control every star, planet and creature? Power of
gods, and from the dawn of time, men and angels have vied
with each other for the omnipotence of gods. You are holding
such a power. Join me, and I will show you how to change
worlds. Join me and the rewards will be limitless."

There was a certain gentleness in Carlomon's voice, even
patience as though he was a teacher lecturing a junior
member of his entourage. It was the voice of the Governor
General indoctrinating his thralls. Hern had fallen for it
head over heels, and Julyan Ermiz. Lisaloran--she has
designs of her own. Trajan thought of the lives that had
been lost. He could only feel disgust.

"You are insane, Carlomon."

Carlomon heaved a sigh. "You are so immature, young Captain.
Obviously, your education was steeped in the virtues of your
species. Species that are well-proportioned, intelligent,
honourable, that do not have any kind of religious fervour
other than to terraform and worship your double stars, the
HeliĆ Equation, and as such more prone to corruption. Your
world is like Paradise with no defences, no ground forces,
other than space patrols and the meaningless mock battles
with computerized drones among the asteroids, and as such,
easier to conquer."

Trajan clenched his hands. "I am crushing your invasion of
my world, Carlomon! Your world might be more advanced since
you have the superior knowledge of designing the IsoMén
Equation, but I will resist you and cleanse Iucari-Tres of
your contamination."

"Ah," Carlomon rebutted suavely, "here is where you are
wrong. I, nor my scientists, designed the IsoMén Equation."

Trajan stood tongue-tied and Carlomon's voice was
beguilingly soft: "You have so much to learn, young and
innocent commander. The IsoMén Equation was simply there for
the taking. For nearly five epochs of your reckoning, our
scientists tried to figure out the conundrum of the Equation
but they failed because they didn't possess the necessary
knowledge. Then Doctor Reball, possessing that knowledge,
was able to build another Equation and the connection was
suddenly made. True to their nature the Iucarians had never
dared making the first step of venturing beyond their
borders, but when I saw that the gateway was there I took
the first step and entered an incredibly thriving Sphere,
your Iucari-Tres. I took the risk because I knew the gateway
would lead me to the Object for which I, and my family, have
been searching for nearly seventy Cycles of your reckoning.
So you see, Captain, your species are superior in their
scientific knowledge but not so superior in invasions and
conquests."

A haunting smile flitted through Carlomon's lean, swarthy
face. "I can teach you the art of ruling and indoctrinating
one's subjects, young commander, how to break them, how to
bend them to your own will. Think about it, you can take
Niklaedus's place."

"First, I want to see the parchments of the Equation,"
Trajan said.

"Very well. I see you that are obsessed with the riddle of
the Equation. Come, I will show the parchments to you. Maybe
you will be able to get to the bottom of who designed the
IsoMén Equation in the first place."

Carlomon swept his hand invitingly in the direction of the
door.

"Lieutenant," Trajan said to Royan, "stay here until I
return."

They both left the monitor chamber and Carlomon brought
Trajan to a smaller room further down the subway that
contained a safe, a desk and a chair.

"Here is the key to that safe," Carlomon said, "and inside
the safe you will find the parchments. Go ahead, take your
time with it."

He moved aside while Trajan with the key thrust into his
hand stooped over to open the safe. Trajan's aural sensors
picked up a slight, swishing motion behind his back and in
an instant of defensive action he wheeled around, only to
see the door being snapped shut in his face. A faint click
told him that Carlomon had locked him in.

He snorted, shrugged his shoulders and returned to the safe,
unlocking it and taking out a roll of scrolls, which
appeared to be the only contents. Spreading the parchments
before him on the desk, he took in the yellowed context
first with amazement then with engrossing study.

* * *

For nearly half an hour Trajan sat down bending himself to
the task of studying the bewildering configurations plotted
in the scrolls of antiquity. Half an hour of revelations and
more questions.

There were two gateway machines to the IsoMén Equation but
one design. How had Byrull acquired the scrolls? These
scrolls--these blueprints were the work of a genius. He
understood that much. What he did not understand was the
sudden upsurge of emotion, a wrenching feeling that he
experienced a moment's difficulty of breathing, as if the
mystery within him was inseparably linked to the mysteries
of the scrolls. Had there been other outworlders besides
Carlomon and Niklaedus? He clutched the parchments against
his chest to ease the poignant wrestling of his heart and
heard someone unlocking the door.

Lisaloran Trevarthen slipped in and Trajan rose to his feet,
bundling up and sticking the scrolls inside his jacket.

"I'll keep the parchments. They are mine from now on. Are
you going to let me out?"

Lisaloran breathed deeply. "I only want to make sure that
you are all right."

Trajan thought it superfluous to give a response. The Dama
puckered her lips to a thin scarlet line. "For what it is
worth, let's make one thing clear between us. I have never
wanted any injury to come to your brother, Adilar. What
happened to him was most unfortunate and if I knew what they
were going to do, I would've done everything in my power to
prevent it."

"I don't believe you came here just to unburden your
conscience."

"No, you are right, there is more I have to tell you." She
paused before she surprised him with her question. "How well
do you know your father?"

Trajan narrowed his eyes, a multitude of conjectures of what
the Dama was up to fleeting through his mind. "I hardly knew
him. We lost our father while we were still toddlers."

Lisaloran took a deep breath. "Look at your brother. He has
your father's features and your father's eyes, but in nature
he is more like your mother. Gentle and warm-hearted, while
you--." She lifted her chin and looked him in the eyes. "You
are more like your father. Strong and unbending, to the
point of ruthlessness."

Lisaloran did not flinch from the look he gave her. "How can
you know this much about my father?"

"Because," she inhaled deeply before she hurled her
confession into his face, "I loved your father, Krystan
Schurell!"

Trajan snapped taut as if she had struck him. He struck back
with venom. "You destroyed your son, almost destroyed your
Lar in union and you want me to believe you have feelings
for my father! You are canker and poison!"

His face had gone pale in repugnance and his eyes blazed
fury, yet the Dama continued to the point of courting
disaster, "I've expected that you will hate me for loving
your father, and hating me you have lowered yourself to our
baser instincts. Rest assured, your father could not give
his love to me even when he was aware of my torment. He was
pitiless in his rejection, that bewitching Praecel, smiting
my heart as he stood before the gates of Trevarthen Hall in
the company of lacklustre tourists, flaunting a smile that
could warm your heart and captivating you with eyes that
sparkled like new morning. Grim he was too, grim like the
ice on the slopes of Mount Argento where I went to meet
him."

Trajan glared at her, shaken to the core. Still she
withstood his piercing gaze as she went on: "He still did
not want me but I wanted him and I tried to plead with him.
I was a little too violent in my anguish. He was standing on
the edge of a steep cliff and he--he lost his footing."

"You pushed him over the cliff. You killed my father!" The
rephar was in Trajan's hand.

"I don't care whether you believe me or not. I tell you it
was an accident. I would have saved him if I could, but
there was no one to whom I could turn for help. What was he
doing there, alone, so high up in the mountains with the
wind and the snow, so cold, so bitterly cold. Would you
rather that I had followed him, hurled myself over the edge
too? That would have been the best solution, but I had to
live on, to endure the pain. Only ambition to achieve the
impossible has sustained me. Nothing else matters any more."

Lisaloran started forward, seizing Trajan by the lapel of
his jacket. "I had to tell you the truth because looking at
you I cannot bear to nurse the secret any more like an open
wound in my bosom. Now you know who buried your father in
the snow of Mount Argento, what will you do for retribution?
Kill me or have me? You are your father's son. If you would
have me now, this moment, Trajan Schurell, I will break my
alliance with Carlomon!"

Trajan shook himself free of her grip, wincing as the
violence of his movements jolted his wounded shoulder. He
stood with his sound arm leaning against the wall, the
rephar dangling purposelessly from his hand. For moments he
panted and shivered, covering his face with his sleeve. His
voice was flat, almost apathetic when he finally spoke.

"You took our father away before we could know him better,
but my mother still grieves for him. And that, my Dama, is
unredeemable and unforgivable. But I will not harm a hair of
your head. My mother wouldn't want me to, nor my father.
Don't you ever speak again about loving him. It was not
love. You don't understand what it means, don't care. What
you care about is possession of a person, a handsome
playmate to exhibit at festivities. I have nothing to offer
to you. Go with Carlomon into the other Sphere, he is more
able to give what your passions crave."

Lisaloran turned her face to the door. "It is you who don't
understand," she said in a muffled voice, "you are blind or
maybe not just grown up enough. Wait until you have outgrown
your Praecel teachings, then you will see things from my
perspective. The lineage of Lar Irwain is more pronounced in
you than in your brother. As his great-grandson, you carry
his virus of ambition too, Captain of the Spacio Command."

Scarcely had the Dama spoken when a dull and heavy sound
resounded from the levels below, rattling the walls of the
room. Royan's voice called through the optic communicator.

"Is everything all right, Lieutenant?"

"No, Captain, it appears that a fire has broken out on the
level below the structural columns. It is spreading and now
it seems that one of the toroid towers has exploded."

"Stay put, I'm coming."

Trajan turned his back on the Dama as he started for the
door. Lisaloran pulled her shawl tighter around her
shoulders and followed him. "I'd better come as well. Doctor
Reball has had some problems in processing the computer.
He's gone away to do some checking on the main system
control. The old fool! I hope he hasn't made things worse."

Hurrying forward along the subway Trajan did not speak. At
this time, another blast thumped through the area, louder
and more powerful. The shockwave loosened a spray of plaster
throughout the passageway.

"What are the idiots up to!" Lisaloran cried out.

Royan met with them outside the door of the monitor chamber
with rephar in hand. "I wouldn't go back inside," he said.
"Part of the ceiling has caved in and I am not too sure
about the walls either. Everything could come down any
minute."

"Where are the rest of them?"

Royan pointed vaguely with his finger towards the end of the
corridor. "They all went that way, apparently to view the
damage and to deal with emergencies."

Lisaloran broke in with a distraught face: "They must have
gone to look whether the main system control is still
intact. It must be preserved no matter what, otherwise we
will be trapped here!"

"You obviously know the area better than we do," Trajan said
curtly, "lead the way, my Dama, we will follow you."

Lisaloran said nothing more and she hurried forward, along
the same path the others had taken. Halfway they bumped into
a technician. With eyes bulging, he screamed incoherently
and fled down the corridor. Lisaloran's fearful eyes gazed
at Trajan.

"He said the Mutations have escaped from the pit."

"We must find the others," Trajan said.

She stormed ahead again, leading in front with the two
commanders closely at her heels, struggling through dense
smoke, through passageways partly blocked by debris and
bodies, and structures fissioning into wrack and ruin.
Arriving at the platform overlooking the huge black pit they
encountered bedlam.

The abnormalities were starved to the point of lunacy;
everything that moved was food in their red and yellow eyes.
In the sizzling sparkle of broken power cables, jagged fangs
glistened and coarse lips dripped with strings of saliva.
Numbers were already feasting on carcasses, chewing in
distraction like ruminating cows. A horde of spiky creatures
surrounded a group of people who were cornered with their
backs against the railing.

A small amount of Phalanx defended the group and desperately
tried to hold off the advancing Mutations but in spite of
their sophisticated armoury and the widespread
destructiveness of their firepower, the horde kept on
approaching with suicidal doggedness. The thin frontline of
guards fell under the moving wall of hides like pebbles and
sand under a dyno-roller.

"Lieutenant," Trajan ordered, "maximum elimination. Ultimate
synchronization."
Screams of terror rang through the air as the horde broke
through the circle of defenders. Two powerful beams of
radiation, joined in a single resplendent shaft, cleaved
through the jumbled backsides of the Mutations. With a
heartrending howl, the mass splintered left and right in
small ragged tides of abomination.

"Our rephar fire seems to be holding them off, Captain!"
Royan cried exultantly.

Carlomon, his coal eyes almost protruding from his haggard
face, speedily approached them. "We have to get out of this
deathtrap. There are too many of them and soon we will be
completely overpowered."

"How did they ever manage to come up here?" Trajan enquired,
walking across to the railing and looking into the
arena-shaped confinement below. He quickly deduced that torn
cables and broken metal framework collapsing into the pit
had provided opportune ladders for escape to freedom and the
hunt for food. He turned his head to look upon the battle
scene before him. The surprise assault with their rephars
had momentarily thrown the Mutations off balance and given
the people precious moments to replenish their firepower but
death was only steps away: the Mutations were slowly
regrouping from their rout.

"Is there a way out from that circuit below?" Trajan asked
and all present fixed their eyes upon him with an assortment
of dread and downright terror. He went on: "There is only
one way to escape these monsters and that is, as they all
seem to be up here we have to go down there."

"No!" Julyan cried hoarsely. "It is madness to go down
there!"

Trajan narrowed his eyes. "Why? What is down there?"

"You are right, Captain," Carlomon said. "The arena below
has a ventilating outlet which leads to subterranean caves
and old sewers, all linked to different regions of this
area, and to the main system control."

"You are mad!" Julian protested. "Have you forgotten what
those sewers are for!"

"Shut your mouth, you fool!" Byrull barked, "Everyone has a
choice what to do. You can either stay here or come with us.
I am going and Lisaloran too."

He drew the Dama to his side and put an affectionate arm
around her proud shoulders. Briefly Trajan glanced at the
Dama, whose eyes glinted for a moment in provocation. He
quickly looked away.

Immediate attention was required to prevent the Mutations
from following them down into the pit and Royan, exercising
authority over the other guards with ease, supervised the
improverisation of a crude defence barrier along the mangled
fence, fragments of plating, bent steel bars and other
wreckage they can lay their hands on. The situation demanded
that they worked as fast as they could. Trajan collected
some of the crude heavy armoury that lay scattered
throughout the ravaged area and distributed them among the
members of Carlomon's group. He steeled himself not to dwell
overlong on the nauseating state of the some of the dead.

Royan was already overseeing the descent of the survivors
into the lower compound as Trajan approached Julyan who
looked none too steady on his feet. "Take it," Trajan told
his cousin and slapped a slug gun into his hand, "they are
quite easy to use. Pull this little spring here with your
forefinger and off it goes. It won't necessarily kill but it
can make you suffer a lot, believe me."

Julyan protested vehemently, "Get it away from me! I hate
these things!"

Trajan could not take his eyes off his cousin. The fear
waves of Lar Ermiz felt like a barrage of pins and needles.
Trajan nudged his shoulder and said: "You must come with us.
Those monsters will have you for dinner, guts and all. I
don't know what other monstrosities are lurking below, but
at least for the time being I am not going to become a
carcass on a spit."

Julyan Ermiz no longer resisted and listlessly allowed the
guards to lower him too. Trajan and Royan were the last ones
to descend into the pit. The ferocious creatures above
noticing how fresh food was escaping their hunger let out a
drawn-out wail that echoed like the roar of a tornado
through the crumbling subways of the bastion. They tore with
their huge claws at the fence and the blockade.

"They are coming after us!" Lisaloran shouted.

"Maximum power, Lieutenant," Trajan ordered.

They trained their rephars on the barrier of mangled steel
above their heads and a synchronization of one pair of white
incandescent beams blazed along the entire perimeter of the
fence. The barricade smouldered, glowed and flared into a
towering ring of fire.

"That will hold them off for a couple of hours," Royan
remarked.

In the meantime, Carlomon and his guards had not stood
around idle and had removed the gridiron across the
ventilator porthole. Carlomon glanced across his shoulder,
gestured with his chin towards the porthole and without a
further word took command of the group, leading them through
a low archway, exchanging the spaciousness of the upper
decks with the labyrinth of dark and sombre catacombs.

Julyan had by this time buried his neck deep into his
turn-up collar and grumbled, "Do you know where you are
leading us to, Carlomon? Nothing has gone right for us so
far."

Carlomon said with his deep and cold voice, "Do not worry,
my Lar Ermiz. I know the foundations of the old castle
better than anyone else."

Nobody appeared to have the stamina to question the
self-assurance of the Governor General. Flame torches were
lit and the company followed Carlomon, one by one, with the
two commanders bringing up the end of the line, their
stylets' luminance two scalpels of radiance cutting through
the dark.

The tunnels gradually widened enabling some of them to break
away from the file and group in pairs, seeking each other's
warmth and companionship in the gloomy surroundings. Their
footsteps hardly made a sound on the layers of moss that
bedded the stone floor although now and then a harsh suck
told them that a foot had sunk ankle-deep into a stagnant
mire.

Suddenly Byrull halted in his tracks and swerved to the
right so abruptly that Julyan almost bumped into his back.
"This way," Byrull said, cursing under his breath.

"What is it?" Julyan growled mutinously. "What is it that
has frightened our intrepid Councillor Byrull?"

He took a few steps towards the left wall and held up his
torch high above his head. He revealed for all who dared to
look an individual slumping with his back against the wall
or, better said, the pitiful faceless remains of what had
once been a strapping adult, gnawed bare here and there to
the bone and covered with pockmarks in the parts where the
flesh had once been the juiciest.

"By the HeliĆ!" Byrull croaked, holding Lisaloran tightly
against his chest. "Why do you have to be so inquisitive.
Don't you realize, you blockhead, there are things here that
had better stay in the dark."

The group stood, hanging around indecisively. Carlomon and
his bodyguard at one side, the Iucarians on the other, and
the small band of guards congregating further away.
Deliberately Trajan and Royan held their distance from this
tableau; resentment was smouldering in the air.

"Lieutenant," Trajan said, "have you found out what this
area is? Why has everybody such a dreadful fear of entering
it? You seem to have struck a rapport with those guards over
there."

"In truth, Captain," Royan said, "they don't seem to me to
be a very bad lot. Some of them are mere boys, wishing they
would rather be home than here. This area is known as the
cemetery. In case of accidents or fatal injury, they have
found it more convenient to dispose of the dead, or half
dead, in these sewers. It is cleaner and more efficient, as
the word goes."

"A burial or execution ground for the disobedient, I wonder?
Judging by what has remained of his clothes, that corpse
over there was once a guard. A guard accidentally shot in
the foot by his mate, and dying of a deadly infection or
simply because he was bad in following orders?"

"They are working under a great strain. I wouldn't be
surprised if some of them had been brought in by force,
doing their jobs against their will. They are victims too."

Trajan squeezed Royan's shoulder. "I understand your concern
for these people, Eskar. But do not be too complacent. I am
of the view that we have been too complacent in the past. We
have taken everything for granted, our affluence, our easy
lifestyles, trusting our strength and our unity. Up until
now it would have been preposterous to even think that an
outworlder could enlist the aid of fellow Iucarians to build
a fortress of invasion right under the grounds of their very
homes. Times are changing, Eskar, and we have to change with
the times. I understand now Lar Ermiz's almost irrational
terror. The sight of a hundred rotting bodies would be most
terrifying indeed but why are there none now, except for
that carcass over there?"

"They flood these sewers from time to time, cleansing it of
all muck and dirt that have accumulated here, dead or alive.
That's the reason I think why everything here
looks--admirably clean."

Trajan gestured with his finger to the little party of
whispering guards. "Lieutenant, I want you to go over to
that disgruntled looking band and keep them tightly in
control. I cannot afford a rebellion at this moment. We need
each other now, more than ever, if we want to get out of
this mess."

"Yes, Captain," Royan said and with his rephar hanging
loosely from his belt the tall, tawny haired commander
walked leisurely across as if he was going to crack a joke
or two.

Trajan gazed forward at the dark and long winding path of
the tunnel, the glow of the torches only penetrating the
darkness for ten paces or so. His scrutiny uncovered only
trickling water and moss-laden stones. He felt uneasy
without knowing why. Nothing existed in these putrefied
corridors and yet, his Oracles, which had increased ten-fold
since the phenomenal absorption of Starglory, told him that
there was, just ahead of them. The uncertainty maddened him;
he could deal forthright with danger, not the unknown. He
doubt if the others would be any wiser about the possibility
of a presence. Only the dead enter here, and if you were
unfortunately still alive, too bad, you would be dead very
soon, and not even your bones would be left to tell who you
were.

He walked to the head of the line where Carlomon was locked
in bitter debate with his associates. "What is the problem?"

Carlomon had his arms crossed with grim discontent. "They
are questioning the wisdom of my leadership."

Trajan pointed forward to the dark path. "Your way out lies
there, ahead. There is no other way."

He called Royan on his communicator. "How are things at your
end, Eskar?"

"I came in the nick of time, Captain. They were ready to
shoot their master and general in the back, and everyone
else in the bargain. But everything is under control. For
the time being."

"I don't want them concentrated as a group. Spread them
around. I will lead this time while you bring up the rear.
Keep your eyes peeled for anything that moves. There might
still be other Mutations around."

Trajan took the rephar in his hand and assumed command,
directing the group to move ahead.

"How far do we still have to go?" he enquired of Carlomon
when they started walking again.

"Not very far in fact. There are drainholes situated at
strategic locations throughout the maze. When we reach the
first one, which should be reasonably soon, we'll turn to
the left where there is another ventilating porthole. From
there we go up a staircase that will bring us right to the
door of the main system control."

The others marched on in silence as Carlomon stayed closely
at Trajan's side, asking him: "What is it that I cannot
feel?"

"Are you supposed to feel anything, Governor General?"

Carlomon plastered his face with his humourless smile. "I
have a great feeling for a lady, more intriguing and less
dull than others of her race, hauntingly beautiful and
outstandingly proud, capable of powerful passion, and
haunted by the loss of a love her passion had destroyed. I
admire her since without her I may never have come so far.
Nonetheless, I know which direction her sentiments are
taking her now. If she wishes to stay, I will give her to
you."

"Like an object which has outlived its usefulness?" I am not
in a position to mete out retribution or redemption.
Governor General, you may keep her."

Trajan suddenly stopped. "Listen," he said, "do you hear
anything?"

Carlomon stared at him and Trajan coded his optic strip.
"Lieutenant, do you hear the noise?"

"Yes, Captain, about twenty steps ahead of us."

Trajan cautioned the group: "Continue walking and keep
closely together. Keep your torches burning and watch out
for any movement."

They crept forward, huddling together. The glow of their
torches cast a shadow play of contracting and shivering
phantoms on the dank walls. After a time of agonizing
suspense the rest of the group were finally able to hear
what the trained sensors of their commanders had already
picked up: a low grinding sound, like teeth gnawing at a
bone.

Trajan went on, and the others followed him, with fingers
curled taut around their weapons and with wide-open eyes
desperately trying to see light at the end of a dark,
tortuous tunnel.

"Look," Lisaloran said, "lights, in front of us."

"No," Trajan said, "those are eyes."

Julyan uttered a low moan and one of the guards cursed:
"Let's get out of here, this minute!"

"Don't make a move!" Trajan ordered, "keep very still. Your
life may depend on it."

He went forward, alone, raising his stylet torch high in the
fetid air and after ten steps or so, the silverwhite beam
revealed to their disbelieving eyes a swamp of unspeakable
hideousness, not as thorny as the Mutations above but
equally grotesque and repugnant. The torches seemed to sting
the creatures into fright as they scurried into deeper
murkiness in clumps of twisted flesh and muscles.

"Plains Burrowers!" Carlomon twitched his thin lips as if he
was tasting acid. "This is all what is left of them. We
shouldn't worry, even in their altered state they are much
too meek to be a danger."

"As long as we stay here, I am very worried!" Trajan
retorted, "We go on. Watch your step. The ground is very
slippery around here."

After a length of time they came upon an intersection and
Carlomon advised the group to keep to the main tunnel.
Trajan waited until everyone had crossed over. Royan was the
last one. With eyes sharp and alert, and movements precise
and unwavering the big commander breathed confidence and
steady determination. For the moment at least, the group was
glad he was there, as an ally protecting their back rather
than as an adversary up front.

"Lieutenant," Trajan said, "take your place in the middle of
the line. These sewers are ridden with malignancies and I
don't want to lose you."

The party pressed on, arriving yet at another crossroad when
suddenly someone uttered a yell of terror.

As though having come alive in a flash from the grimy mist
threading the subway, a Mutation stood in their path,
colossal and more malevolent than the ones they had earlier
encountered, filling up the width of the tunnel with the
whole of its thorny torso.

Amidst shrieks and expletives the group splintered and fled
in various directions. In the panic Byrull was jostled and
tripped. He slid like a runaway pod over the slippery stones
right into the yawning mouth of the monstrosity. Screaming
he wriggled and clawed at the greasy floor. The Mutation
looked him over as if he was an appetizer, and a claw lifted
him in the air by his ankle.

Trajan sprang forward, aiming his rephar. Royan yelled a
warning as a flagellum of the creature came beating through
the air. The pointed tip caught Trajan between the shoulder
blades and threw him savagely against the wall. He felt as
if a hot arrow had penetrated his left shoulder. Reeling he
clasped his head, a mist of myriad lights dancing before his
eyes. The melee of the horrified crowd was reaching him from
an ever-widening distance and only the voice of his
Lieutenant bellowing out to him pulled him back to
consciousness.

Gasping for breath Trajan saw that Byrull was only seconds
away from being chomped into meat strips. Royan's view was
badly hindered by the huge stomping legs and the flailing
flagellum. The Lieutenant was torn between the decision of
risking life and limb scaling up the monster's back to snap
up the Councillor from the huge jaws or rushing to the aid
of his Captain who looked deathly sick.

Trajan's rephar was lying at his feet and he knelt down,
reaching for it with his right hand. With every turn of his
body his left shoulder throbbed with unbearable pain. "I
cannot do it," he groaned, cold sweat breaking on his brow,
"I don't have the strength."

In his utter hopelessness, something began to stir deep
within him, battling nausea and weakness, and infusing him
with an awareness of new sentience. The rephar at his feet
quivered as if it was touched by an invisible hand. It
turned, pointed upwards and flew through the air. It pierced
the Mutation's bulbous eye and flowered inside its skull
with a firework of brilliant white light.

Byrull was swung forward through the air as the mountain of
spikes floundered in a writhing mass and he thudded heavily
on the stones. As Lisaloran rushed to help the stricken
councillor, Royan ran to his Captain but Trajan had risen to
his feet and had seemingly recovered. Carlomon quickly
reorganized his group and with him now leading, they
speedily filed past the massive bulk of frothing flesh. They
were happy to be alive.

After a few yards the drainhole, which Carlomon had
mentioned, came into view. It lay in front of an alcove,
which was nestled in a corner on higher and drier ground,
dimly lit by a naked bulb. The ventilator hole gaped on
their far left.

"Before we tackle the porthole," Carlomon suggested, "let us
rest awhile. We need it."

"I want to sit down," Byrull said and supported by the Dama
he clambered to a jutting block of concrete and crumpled up,
with his suit all wrinkled and stained, into a sullen heap.

"Are you all right, Hern?" Lisaloran asked.

"I am now," Byrull said churlishly, "I thought I was done
for." He pointed an accusing finger at Trajan: "Why didn't
you act faster? Commanders are supposed to. I wouldn't be
surprised if you did it deliberately, toying with your
opponent's life until the very last second."

"Damn you!" Trajan said bitterly. "It is your slug in my
shoulder." He started to walk away from them.

"Where are you going?" Carlomon asked.

"Don't any of you follow me," Trajan answered irritably, "I
want to be alone for a while."

Farther away, round a sharp corner, there was another narrow
recess where Trajan seated himself. The pain in his left
shoulder had subsided to a dull ache and he massaged it with
his right hand. Overcome by utter misery he rested his head
on his knees.

He feared Starglory that he had absorbed, the Object thrown
into Iucari-Tres from the Other Sphere by design or mere
happenstance. It was Starglory, potent and terrible, for
which the Governor General had breached dimensions of time
and space, tormented and sacrificed his own people, and
contaminated a flourishing world. Iucari-Tres had lain prone
at his feet, ready to be taken and Iucari-Tres could never
be safe as long as Starglory remained within its borders. My
Lar Irwain, WHO are you? WHAT am I to BECOME? 'What am I
going to do with you, Starglory? Why have you chosen me?'

He released his Oracles to the world outside the underground
stronghold, a world battered by rain and wind, where
Myaronites, rescuers and commanders were locked in a
desperate battle with the fury of the elements. The heroism
of everyone he knew. The d'Orrians deep in their hide-away,
patiently waiting for a sign of their deliverance. So much
hope, faith and courage--his turbulence quietened. He sighed
deeply, straightened himself and opened his eyes.

Julyan Ermiz stood watching him.

"What do you want, Julyan?" Trajan asked, not ungently.

"You must despise me very much, cousin."

"No," Trajan said tiredly, "not at all. I only wish it could
have been otherwise."

"I am not strong as you are, Trajan," Julyan spoke rapidly,
"I would admit that as much. Maybe, if I had known you
before it might have been different, but let's not dwell on
suppositions. I only want to say that we, I and everyone
else here, owe our lives to you. Without you we would all be
scattered like dead, half-eaten meat."

Julyan continued in a hoarse and trembling voice: "I have
personally nothing against your mother or your grandfather,
let's make that absolutely clear. At times my judgments may
be a little clouded but I have never held any grudge against
you or your brother, Trajan. It was Glynmoran I found
detestable, the way he played around with my Dama. My union
was not altogether a bed of roses."

"Why did you not dissolve it? We are not bound by rules and
tradition trying to hammer out a futile union." Trajan
sighed heavily: "Other than pride, I presume."

"I thought at the time that I was really seriously ill, and
I want an heir to my estate." Julyan shrugged his shoulders
woefully. "Of course Virga had better things to do with Lar
Glynmoran, and I didn't want his offspring to be the next
Lar Protector of Ermizgarth. You could say that it was
rather a messy act of revenge on my part."

"Julyan," Trajan said, "I know that Glynmoran had not always
been the exemplary person he was supposed to be, but I want
to set the record straight where it concerns him and Virga."

Trajan steepened his fingers against Julyan's. "Glynmoran
never violated your Dama. She was pregnant when she died and
because she died a violent death we had to conduct tests on
the foetus we extracted. The gene information matches hers
and yours. No one else's."

They looked at each other and Julyan turned and marched
away. Quietly Royan approached him.

"Captain," he urged worriedly, "let me look at your
shoulder, please?"

Trajan leant back, while Royan fumbled with the zippers of
his jacket and shirt. "Why can't you warm your hands a
little bit?" he grumbled with his eyes shut.

"Forgive me for tickling your tender skin, Captain, but your
wound doesn't look too good. It is bleeding again. I'll
spray a fresh skin patch. And let me adjust your strap."

"Later, Eskar. Let's get out of here first of all. I don't
fancy staying too long in these sewers."

"Me neither. All weird things are happening. The light has
suddenly changed colour and everything looks positively
green."

"Green?" Trajan stiffened. "What green light?"

"Yes," Royan said frowning, "isn't it odd? While we're
sitting there, a faint green glow seems to fill the area,
like the glow we have seen before."

Trajan jumped up and sped away. Approaching the alcove Royan
blurted out a string of oaths. Spirals of green mist were
forming around the mouth of the drainhole. Their warning
shouts reached the group as the chlorine mist gyrated to the
ceiling thickening into a vaporous column and spewed out an
army of tendrils that squiggled through the air like leeches
through shallow water. A salvo of shots thrummed through the
aisle. Carlomon's close-mouthed bodyguard was emptying his
gun at a snarl of leeches hovering around him. Metal slugs
appeared only to bloat up the sluglike predators and one
coiled around the bodyguard like tapeworm and he, other than
gesticulating madly, remained speechless, as the main body
of the vapour hauled him into the hole..

Trajan grabbed Royan's arm. "Hold your fire, Eskar! Don't
attract that thing's attention!" He spat out a curse when
another volley crackled. "Stop the firing! Kick in the
gridiron, go through the porthole!"

The young guards kicked with their boots and pounded with
their weapons in a frenzy to batter down the bars across the
porthole. Cringing against the walls the party fearfully
watched the tangles swaying above their heads like a nest of
vipers picking out a prey. Lisaloran's gun was still smoking
in her hand. A tendril curled down and twisted around her a
girdle of green.

"No! No! Lisaloran!" Byrull cried out.

Lisaloran struggled and squirmed, clawing at the air. She
jumped forward and among the persons who were rushing to her
aid she targeted Trajan. Her nails scratched into the fabric
of his jacket and he let out a sharp cry as her fingers
hooked into his wound. Entwining her arms around his neck,
she said with sudden and surprising composure: "Hang on to
me, Trajan."

"Let go, Captain!" Royan howled in horror, "Let go!"

Lisaloran pressed Trajan tighter against her bosom and as
the vapour entity dragged her over the brim of the
drainhole, he was pulled with her into the abyss.