THE ALIENS OF ALIEN CHRONICLES

 THE VMS ...a race of seven-foot-tall, beautiful reptilian creatures. Their

 physical attractiveness has convinced the Vüs that they are the most important,

 godlike creatures in the universe. This has led to an underground race of

 "uglies"— Vüs that were cast off as unacceptable, worthless spawn…

 THE AAROUN the race of Ampris are powerful, golden-furred carnivores with sharp

 teeth. They have long been kept by the Vüs as slaves, or as in the case of

 Ampris, pets.

 THE KEITH…a submissive, doglike race with stiff, bristly coats and simian hands.

 Because they are so easily intimidated, Keith are considered unreliable to

 handle important tasks. They are not to be trusted…

 THE MYAl…renowned for their insight and memories, Myal stand barely three feet

 tall and are usually poets, musicians, and historians. They control the archives

 of the Vüs empire.

 THE ZHBEll they are filthy, noisy, foul-smelling, and social­ly repulsive

 creatures. Yet they are unequaled at maintaining and repairing quantum hardware

 (the only reason to tolerate them).

 TH1 SKEK less than two feet high, furry, multi-limbed, and quick, the Skek live

 like rats in the ducts and garbage of the Vüs. It's a common slave belief that

 if you dropped one Skek in a barrel, the barrel would explode with Skek

 offspring within a day.

 THE TQTHS...Big, stupid, and Brutal, Toths roam the ghetto streets as thugs, but

 they are also used by their Vüs masters as hired enforcers or brownshirts.

 Nearly as tall as the Vüs, they have massive heads covered with thick mats of

 dirty, curly brown hair. Flies usually buzz around their long, flop­py ears.

 Their faces are broad and flat, with wide nostrils, and their eyes are small and

 cruel.

 THE GORUCANS Merchants, shopkeepers, traders, the Gorlicans are a steady,

 hardworking, nonviolent race allied to the Vüs. A heavy shell encases their

 torsos, rendering their balance sometimes percarious, and their arms and legs

 are covered with thick gray scales instead of skin. Their faces are ugly, with a

 prominent horned beak for an upper lip, and they have orange or yellow eyes.

 They must wear masks in public to avoid offending the Vüs.

  

 CHAPTER ONE

 Three days of warmth and shadow… nuzzling against the solid reassurance beside

 her… squirming with her siblings in the moist milk scent… dozing while gentle

 fingers stroked her back… making the soft mew-cries in dawning awareness of a

 world large and new.

 Vision cleared first, bringing her shapes to associate with the confusing tangle

 of fragrances filling her senses. Sibling shapes… four little wedge-shaped heads

 covered in tan and fawn fuzz, wobbling in exploration. Mother shape… large and

 infinitely gentle, crooning sounds of love, pro­viding warmth and nourishment as

 she stroked her babies and sang softly to them.

 Her single female child she held often, nestling her atop her stomach and

 letting the tiny one wobble and explore. A golden child with soft, downy baby

 fur and no markings at all save a light brown mask across her eyes that would

 probably darken with maturity. All the males were striped in brown and fawn,

 almost identical, fractious when to­gether yet furious if separated. The golden

 female, how­ever, was placid and calm, content to interact with her mother yet

 adventurous enough to explore on her own.

 "My golden one," the mother crooned to her, smoothing back the fur over sweet

 baby eyes. They all lay together in the bed. A small lamp glowed, pushing back

 the surround­ing shadows. Many sounds came from far away, muffled and

 unimportant.

 "Brave and strong, my daughter will grow up to be. Look at you, bigger already

 than your brothers. Straight-shouldered, you are. An Aaroun, you are, my

 darling, a daughter of a proud line of the Heva clan. All your history, I will

 teach you. Our songs, you will learn that you may teach them to your sons and

 daughters. Through you, we will go on."

 Gentle, steady words. The golden one blinked up at her mother's loving face,

 drinking in the words she did not as yet understand. But she could understand

 the love in those words, and the pride. Her own heart opened in response, and

 she felt a sudden rush of feeling so intense it almost frightened her.

 She mewed, and her mother kissed her, laughing softly.

 "Yes, my golden one," her mother said. "Yes, you are wonderful and precious. I

 love you so much."

 Love. The golden one blinked and rubbed her head against her mother's hand. It

 was her first lesson, to learn this feeling.

 Without warning, there came a perfunctory pounding on the door. Before the

 mother could move, the door was slammed open, and a shaft of sunlight stabbed

 inside.

 Startled, the golden one cried out. Her brothers awoke with screams. Their

 mother struggled up, hastily scooping her babies behind her.

 "Get out!" she roared. "This is a birthing room! I have the right to privacy for

 these first days."

 A pebble-skinned, blue Vüs male in a dust-colored coat that hung long enough to

 cover his tail stepped inside. He wore a voluminous hood that masked his rill

 and face ex­cept for his vivid green eyes, and concealed his identity. Two Toth

 thugs carrying stun-sticks followed him.

 Fear filled the Aaroun mother.

 Standing well above two meters, nearly as tall as the Vüs, with massive heads

 and shoulders covered in pelts of matted, curly hair, Toths were the worst kind

 of enforcers. Brutal, stupid, and dirty, they entered with a cloud of flies

 buzzing about their heads, chewing lazily, now and then flicking a big, pale

 tongue up inside their broad nostrils. They gazed at her with small, cruel eyes

 that danced with anticipation. Toths enjoyed inflicting hurt. Mercy was un­known

 to them. For the first time in her life, the mother felt the need to say the

 ancient Heva lamentations as a prayer rather than song-poetry. But her mind went

 blank, unable to summon the words. In the name of the ancient gods, what were

 these creatures doing here?

 From outside her room, she could hear anguished screams down the row of cheap

 housing. Her fear intensi­fied, and she began to pant. Whatever they intended,

 she would fight them to the death if necessary.

 She watched the three intruders fan out at the foot of the birthing bed, facing

 her. Again she shifted her body to shield her crying babies.

 "Get out. Get out!" she shouted, her voice thundering in the tiny room. "You

 have no business here."

 "Watch her," the Vüs said to his men. He was speaking in the common patois of

 the abiru, or slave races. "She's weak from birthing, but she's still

 dangerous."

 The mother's alarm continued to grow. She panted with it, her rage mingling with

 her fear. She was poor, a grade-two worker in the docks. Her mate was on shift

 duty even now. With all her heart and soul she longed for him to come, but she

 knew it was impossible. He did not know she needed help. He thought her safe

 within the birthing room. Gods' mercy, why were these brutes here?

 One of the enforcers pulled out a rope from his pocket and shook its coils free.

 The rope curled and straightened as though alive, suspending itself above the

 ground. A loop formed in one end. Dry-mouthed, the mother stared at it.

 "No," she panted. "No!"

 "Get back," the Vüs said harshly to her. He pointed at the wall near the door.

 "Stand over there and be quiet."

 She knew what they wanted then. It flashed over her like heat. Growling, she

 flung herself across the bed to protect her cubs, but the Toth moved faster.

 He tossed the loop at her, and the rope settled itself over her head and throat.

 At once she felt a sharp pulse of energy enclose her throat, then a sizzle of

 pain.

 Clutching the rope, she screamed.

 "Hold her!" the Vüs commanded as she struggled. "Take care, you fool! Don't hurt

 the cubs."

 Despite the tightening of the noose, she fought harder. Through the roaring in

 her ears, she could hear her babies crying. Their helplessness and danger

 enraged her past all caution, and she roared with fury as she lunged for a

 floppy Toth ear, bit it hard, and tried to tear it off.

 Oaths filled the room, mingling with her shouts and the screams of the cubs.

 "Now!" the Vüs said.

 Another noose settled over her head, and the two en­forcers dragged her bodily

 off the bed. She hit the floor hard enough to knock the wind from her weakened

 body. Lying there, she shook her head and tried to raise herself, but the Toths

 held her pinned, both of them sitting on her with cruel disregard for her

 condition or the pain they were inflicting. The Toth with the bitten ear shook

 his head, slinging splatters of blood, and huffed to himself. The Aar-oun mother

 could still taste blood and hair in her mouth. She spat, wishing her teeth had

 caught his shaggy throat instead.

 Helpless and seething, she was forced to watch as the Vüs grabbed each of her

 babies in turn by its scruff and carried them over to the light by the open

 door. He dumped them on the floor and examined them one by one, checking fur

 quality, conformation, and tiny milk teeth. Instinctive infant growling filled

 the air, and the mother pressed her face against the dirty floor and wept in

 sheer frustration.

 "Stripes," the Vüs said in disgust. "Ordinary stripes, just like all the other

 cubs in this birthing row. Ah, but what are you?"

 The mother heard the change in his tone, the keen inter­est, and her heart

 constricted. She saw him lift her golden child, her only daughter, high into the

 air to examine her thoroughly.

 When he lowered the golden one to chest height and cradled her against him, the

 mother knew she had lost.

 Grief consumed her. She howled until one of the Toths tightened the noose and

 choked off her cries.

 "An extraordinary find," the Vüs said. Although his voice was muffled by the

 hood, smug satisfaction registered in his tone. "This one will do very well.

 She'll bring a good price at market for Festival."

 Stroking the golden one, who was trying to growl and cry at the same time, the

 Vüs chuckled to himself. Stepping over the other infants, still squirming

 helplessly on the floor, he walked out into the street.

 "Let her up," he called over his shoulder. "Stun her if she tries to follow."

 The mother felt as though she had been shattered inside. She held herself still,

 defeated now, knowing that she had no choice in this theft, no recourse. But the

 Toths hurt her anyway as they stripped off the charged restraint ropes. She

 didn't rise, didn't try to regain her feet, but they beat her and kicked her

 until her pain was like fire, blazing around and through her body.

 "Stupid Aaroun," one of the Toths mumbled. His wide, long tongue flicked up into

 one of his broad nostrils. "Al­ways fight. Always lose."

 The other one bellowed a laugh.

 They stood over her a second more, as though expecting one last show of defiance

 from her, then at last lumbered toward the door. One of them clumsily kicked the

 infants aside, making them scream anew.

 The mother tried to pick herself up, tried to crawl for-ward to the babies she

 had left. Although the bonding was new, it was so strong she felt as though they

 had torn part of her body away and stolen it.

 "My golden one," she said, moaning as she dragged herself toward her tiny sons.

 They came to her, tottering and weak, seeking comfort.

 But although they were soon pacified and settled, there was no one to comfort

 the mother, left bleeding and bereft on the floor, never to see her daughter

 again.

 Carrying the golden one in the crook of his arm, his coat concealing her, the

 Vüs strode through the squalid streets of the abiru ghetto, his hired enforcers

 lumbering behind him. A block away, his transport hovered on park a half meter

 above the unpaved street. Three more Toths guarded it with sidearms illegal for

 civilians. The Vüs, however, had little fear of encountering a city patroller

 down here in this end of the ghetto.

 Smiling to himself, he pulled off his hood and tucked it in his belt. The warm

 afternoon breeze blew across his skin and ruffled his rill, which itched after

 being confined in the hood.

 "Hey, Poal," another trader called, walking up. "Any luck?"

 Poal glanced around to see Tynmez, his chief competitor, hailing him.

 Stiffening, he checked surreptitiously to make sure the golden Aaroun was

 well-hidden beneath his jacket, then turned to face Tynmez with a false smile.

 "Greetings of Festival," he said, using a tone that made the formal words a

 mockery. "May you fertilize many eggs."

 Tynmez bowed, but his purple eyes kept straying to the lump hidden beneath

 Poal's jacket. "Luck?"

 Poal flicked out his long, narrow tongue. "Not much."

 Tynmez smiled and gestured behind him at the two Toths carrying laden crates of

 young Aarouns, Keiths, and Myals. All were crying with fear. Their cries, plus

 those of their anguished parents, made a din that echoed off the mud hov­els.

 This was the very poorest end of the abiru ghetto, with the worst housing and

 most squalid conditions. Only the most desperate or greedy traders ventured into

 this area, but Poal now knew it was worth it. The Aaroun in his arms would fetch

 a handsome price. He had never seen her equal in all his years of trading.

 "Your air sacs are full," Tynmez said. "You must be happy with your catch."

 "I am."

 "Show me."

 Poal backed closer to his enforcers, glancing at them to see if they were alert.

 Two were gaping at something in the distance, chewing cud and flipping their

 ears at flies, but at least one seemed aware and on the job. Poal might need

 them all if Tynmez ordered his thugs to rob Poal's catch.

 "You'll see my wares at the premarket selection," Poal said. "Until then, I

 don't show what I've got."

 "Stupid," Tynmez said with irritation. "I might pay you well for your stock."

 "I'll do better at premarket."

 ' 'You think those market vendors will deal fairly or gen­erously with you?"

 Tynmez said with derision. "They are thinking of their markup. You and I are

 males of under­standing. Let us come to terms."

 "You would buy something you haven't seen?" Poal countered.

 "If it has value. I see the smugness in your eyes," Tyn­mez said. "And I have

 looked at the stock on your trans­port. Oh, don't raise your rill at me," he

 said sharply as Poal glared at him. "The crates aren't opaque. I have eyes, do I

 not?"

 Poal glanced at his guards, knowing now they were use­less. Tynmez had bribed

 the fools. Poal would have to fire them and hire more, providing he escaped this

 situation with his hide intact.

 More of Tynmez's enforcers appeared. They, like Poal's thugs, were armed with

 illegal weapons, all aimed at Poal.

 Gall poured through Poal, and he could feel his neck rill quivering with defeat.

 "Will you force me to sell?" he asked.

 "You have a good catch," Tynmez said, and now it was his turn to smile. ' 'You

 are an excellent judge of confor­mation and pelt quality. You are much more

 selective than I."

 "Yes," Poal said with a sneer as he watched his crates being loaded onto

 Tynmez's already-laden transport. "You would glean even Skeks from the sewer if

 you thought you could profit from them."

 The insult bounced off Tynmez without effect. His smile broadened, and he jerked

 his head.

 His enforcers moved fast, surrounding Poal in an instant. Poal's own hirelings

 made no move at all.

 Seething with rage, Poal held the golden Aaroun tighter, hearing her faint

 sounds and knowing that he would never see the fortune this small creature was

 worth. More gall soured his mouth. With all his soul he damned Tynmez.

 An enforcer stepped close and jammed the blunt snout of his weapon into Poal's

 ribs. "Don't move."

 Poal obeyed, glaring at Tynmez with the blackest hatred.

 Tynmez walked up to him and gently reached beneath the jacket. There was a bump,

 and a yip of rage drowned out by Tynmez's own hiss of breath.

 He yanked back his hand and shook it.

 Poal laughed. "Did she bite you?"

 Tynmez backed up, glaring back. "You fool. You can't sell a fighter anywhere but

 the ring. And even the Bizsi Mo'ad won't take abiru this young."

 As he considered the famous gladiator school and the high prices it sometimes

 paid for quality trainee stock, Poal's spirits lifted. "Ah, but when she's

 bigger, I'll have her to sell, won't I?"

 Tynmez was still shaking his hand and examining his bitten finger. Poal did not

 think the skin was even broken.

 His confidence came back. If he played this right, he could get rid of Tynmez

 and salvage this situation.

 "Still want to rob me?" he asked. "I didn't know you had stooped to stealing

 gladiator bait."

 "Bait?" Tynmez's eyes dilated in suspicion. "Or fighter?"

 "What do you think?" Poal said, trying to keep his tone light. "In this wretched

 end of the ghetto, we are competing for the dregs. If you expect to find

 something better then may I sell you a cloud, or perhaps part of the sea?''

 ' 'Why cover this one, if it is of such poor quality?''

 Poal flicked out his tongue, pretending indifference. "She bites and scratches

 like a cornered Skek. As you dis­covered."

 Tynmez scowled at him. "You're a fool, wasting your eye and discernment on

 gladiator bait. Especially now, just before Festival. It doesn't make sense that

 you've sunk to such a low. I suspect you of trickery."

 He was one to talk, after bribing Poal's guards and trying to steal everything

 in sight. Poal held down his anger, aware that he was still outnumbered and

 unprotected. Curl­ing his tongue inside his mouth, he met Tynmez's eyes,

 hesitated, then placed one digit between his nostrils and sniffed.

 Tynmez's eyes widened. "You?" he said in surprise. "You, caught by the dust?"

 Poal flicked out his tongue, even as he despised Tynmez for being so eager to

 believe the worst about him. ' 'When a male has debts, he must do everything

 possible to cover them."

 "In debt for dust? A third time I say you are a fool." Tynmez backed away from

 him and gestured at his enforc­ers. "Finish unloading his stock. Quickly!" He

 swung back to Poal. "The two spotted Aarouns I saw in your crates will recoup

 what I've spent in bribes. The rest are no better or worse than what I found."

 "Then leave them," Poal said. He tried to speak lightly, but there was an edge

 in his voice.

 Tynmez must have heard it. ' 'I will leave you your glad­iator bait and a curse

 to go with it. May it bite you and turn on you. May your wounds go septic. May

 your brain grow riddled with abiru fever, that you wander the streets forever,

 witless and gibbering to shadows only you can see."

 Poal drew in his breath to retaliate, and felt another warn­ing jab of the

 weapon pressed to his side. He held his breath instead, fuming too much to feel

 relief at having tricked Tynmez. When his transport was stripped of its cargo,

 Tyn­mez and his guards departed in a whoosh of jetted air and flying dust.

 Poal stood in the street, coated with dust, his neck rill at full extension.

 When he could finally command himself enough to speak, he turned on his

 enforcers with a glare, and flicked out his tongue.

 "You're fired, the lot of you."

 The Toth whose ear had been bitten by the mother of the golden Aaroun glared

 back at him. "I got no bribe. I—"

 "Then make your brothers share with you," Poal said viciously. He brushed by the

 brutes, who stared at him with their mouths open, and climbed aboard his

 transport so fast he made it tip and scrape one edge on the ground.

 Dropping the Aaroun on the seat beside him, Poal revved the engine and lifted it

 straight up just as the Toths finally figured out he was serious about firing

 them all. He roared away over their massive heads, leaving them bellowing

 in­sults in his wake.

 Not until he flew under the curving arch of new dock construction bordering the

 side of the ghetto and tucked himself into the general stream of traffic did

 Poal relax his death grip on the controls. His temper calmed down, and he began

 to mentally add up losses. They were plenty. He had lost the wages squandered on

 his enforcers, plus their stun-sticks, restraint ropes, and sidearms. He had

 lost a day's worth of stock, good stock, all of it, despite what he'd said to

 Tynmez. He had nearly lost his life.

 It was a heavy blow, especially coming this early in the year. If not for the

 prize still in his possession, he would be facing ruin right now.

 Poal glanced over at the Aaroun crouched fearfully in the seat beside him. Her

 dark eyes were enormous in the light mask across her face. Her paws clung to the

 cloth with instinctive desperation. He could see her little sides heaving.

 But, ah, that perfect fur. The broad shoulders, heavy with muscle and bone

 already, the sleek loins, and the balance of exquisite proportions. She was a

 beauty, as Aarouns went. Had he not lost everything else, she would have meant

 his fortune. Now she meant his salvation.

 As a newborn, however, she presented him with a prob­lem. She was too young,

 yet, to go long without proper care. Aaroun cubs could be slow to get started.

 Poal was not prepared to keep her for a few days, to hand-feed and pamper her.

 Right now, freshly plucked from her mother, she looked in prime condition. Her

 pelt was shiny and soft, and her sides were plump. In a day or two, she might

 collapse from fright and grief. Often Aarouns this young failed to thrive away

 from their families.

 He would lose money by selling her this early, but he wasn't going to be greedy

 now. He wasn't even going to risk the auction at premarket. He could no longer

 afford to take chances.

 Poal knew of a dealer in the rare and costly, a Gorlican who specialized in

 supplying pets to affluent households. Like all his kind, the Gorlican possessed

 repellent manners and a visage so ugly he kept it hidden behind a mask, yet

 Gorlicans were a useful race, hardworking allies to the Vüs empire. Most were

 merchants and shopkeepers, like his ac­quaintance, eager to partake of the

 buying and selling so repugnant to the middle and upper Vüs classes. Poal

 de-cided to take a chance and go straight to the pet dealer. Tynmez would not

 hear about the golden Aaroun he had missed until it was too late to steal her.

 Inflating his air sacs, Poal hissed to himself and gunned his transport even

 faster.

 CHAPTER TWO

 In the Chamber of Hatching, an ancient, rough-hewn place of stone and sand,

 antiquated torches blazed with unsteady radiance. Female Vüs attendants, all

 blue-skinned and wearing identical saffron-colored robes, stood rowed around the

 perimeter of the sand, silently watching the im­perial eggs.

 Low drumbeats throbbed in a steady cadence that stirred primitive urges within

 Sahmrahd Kaa. Sighing with antic­ipation, he closed his brilliant blue eyes and

 let his senses submerge into the raw, ancient sound. Other musical in­struments

 from antiquity joined in… the symstera wailing low and urgent; the flyta piping

 in swift staccato counter­point. For a few bars, the music reprised the mating

 songs, then it descended into the simple, pounding drumbeats once again. All the

 collective anticipation, the waiting since dawn, filled the Kaa.

 With his eyes still closed, the Kaa leaned forward on his throne. His will, his

 consciousness, surged toward the eggs. Come forth, little ones, he thought. Come

 forth that we may rejoice over you.

 The drums stilled abruptly, leaving a silence heavy and profound. The Kaa gasped

 and opened his eyes. He peered over the railing and heard a distinctive crack

 before he saw the split appear in one of the eggs. The female attendants raised

 their arms and sang in unison, the melody one of rejoicing and encouragement.

 Another egg rolled over. From the screened, secluded gallery above the Kaa's

 throne, he heard a collective gasp followed by a few muted giggles coming from

 his favorite wives, those whose eggs he had fertilized this year. Their

 excitement and anticipation fell like a hot breath on the back of his neck.

 The Chamber of Hatching vaulted high overhead, its in­tricately carved ceiling

 lost among the shadows. The im­perial eggs—large, faintly iridescent orbs of

 life—lay atopx warmed sand. Attendants in cerise-hued robes appeared. With

 blankets folded over their arms, they hovered expec­tantly near the eggs while

 the birthing song rose and ech­oed. Another egg opened, and another, spilling

 awkward occupants into the world.

 Now there were several damp, struggling youngsters crawling amidst shell

 fragments, gawky in their first move­ments as they rubbed off their opaque

 membranes to reveal their resplendent skin colors. The warm air grew fragrant

 with the birthing scent, and the Kaa inhaled deeply, feeling his own hatching

 memories stir in the vaguest recesses of his mind.

 Attendants swarmed about the hatchlings, blocking much of the Kaa's view. He

 glimpsed wobbly heads, a tiny crim­son rill as tender as a sigh, a flailing

 tail, miniature fingers and toes gripping the hands of the adults. Grinning to

 him­self, the Kaa rose to his feet in an effort to see better.

 The Master of the Imperial Hatchery moved slowly among the eggs, eyeing those

 not yet broken, now and then laying his hand gently atop a shell. Fifty-two

 imperial eggs this year. But how many hatchlings? The Kaa watched as the master

 frowned and gestured for two unhatched eggs to be lifted and taken away. The Kaa

 pretended not to see those failures. Reseating himself on his throne, he

 switched his tail from side to side and allowed himself no thought of the

 stillborn.

 He was impatient to see the living.

 "Sire."

 The Kaa half turned on his crimson cushion, allowing the Master of the Imperial

 Hatchery to approach him. This was a private moment for the Kaa, one of the few

 permitted to the Father of the Empire, the Supreme Warrior, the Guardian of the

 Golden Seals, the Lord of All Things. He ruled countless worlds. His word alone

 was law. He could take life with a single glance at the green-robed guards

 standing alert behind his throne.

 He could give life as well.

 The Kaa's brilliant blue eyes widened and softened. He returned his gaze to his

 progeny crawling on the birthing sand.

 His rill lifted above the jeweled collar supporting it, spreading in a

 magnificent deepening hue of crimson. His blood thrummed with excitement.

 "Sire, your imperial hatchlings have been sorted."

 This time the Kaa did not look away from where the saffron-robed attendants were

 filing out, each one carrying a hatchling swathed and concealed in a blanket.

 The Kaa frowned, feeling the pain of loss beneath his breastbone. Those

 offspring he would never know. He would never see their faces. He would never

 hear their happy voices, or laugh at their chatter. They were as lost to him as

 the eggs which had not hatched. Ugly, deformed, weak, or merely plain—they had

 been deemed unworthy of his notice. They would live their lives outside the

 palace, joining other Rejects, unaware of the heritage which had been denied

 them by fate.

 While the saffron-robed attendants did their grim work, the cerise-robed

 attendants moved slowly about, cuddling the acceptable hatchlings in their arms,

 cooing to them and singing.

 The Kaa finally turned his gaze upon the master still waiting at his side.

 "Master of the Birthing," the Kaa said formally. "What news do you bring us? How

 many born?"

 The master bowed deeply and cleared his throat. His rill lay limp about his

 neck. "Good news, sire. The hatching was a splendid and most bountiful one."

 From the corner of his eye, the Kaa saw another group of Rejects swathed in

 blankets and carried out. His pain grew, and from the gallery he heard a few

 hushed cries from his wives.

 "How many?" the Kaa asked, although in his mind he was counting.

 The master bowed again, careful to keep his gaze averted from the Kaa's face.

 "Twenty-nine blessed hatchlings are born to the Father and his gracious wives."

 Twenty-nine acceptable hatchlings of the fifty born. Bet­ter than half. The Kaa

 blinked. Twenty-nine hatchlings and twenty-eight favorite wives. Tonight when

 the sunset marked the end of Festival, and the closing bells in the city's

 spires were rung, songs of joy would fill the wives' court in the palace. There

 were enough tiny, dewy-rilled hatchlings for every set of loving arms. And he

 would allow Myneith—First Wife, and still most favored—to have two. She would be

 pleased by the gesture, and perhaps she would forget that she was growing older,

 with less plump­ness stored in her tail as her beauty became eclipsed by the

 newer wives.

 "Congratulations to the Imperial Father," the master said.

 "We are pleased," the Kaa replied.

 The master released an audible sigh of relief and bowed with a smile.

 The Kaa also smiled, and the drums began to roll with flourishes. Triumphant

 music soared in a rising series of fanfares. Now word would flash through the

 palace, and the waiting courtiers would be agog with the news.

 Twenty-nine perfect, beautiful hatchlings… May the gods show mercy and let them

 all live, the Kaa prayed.

 Satisfaction swelled within the Kaa. Rising from his throne, he bounced a little

 on his toes. At a time when fewer and fewer Vüs offspring were born every year,

 at a time when beauty and perfection seemed harder to find, he at least need not

 fear that he was losing his powers or his virility. Yes, he was indeed the

 Father of the Empire.

 But there remained one official question for him to ask.

 He pinned the master with his gaze. ' 'Do any of these newborns surpass the

 sri-Kaa in beauty?"

 The master tucked his hands together and tilted his head. "One male is crimson,

 green, and gold. A most striking combination."

 "Indeed, yes," the Kaa said, surprised. His thoughts flashed to Abiya, his

 newest wife from the southern con­tinent. She was exotic and high-tempered.

 Perhaps she was the genetic mother of this son, not that it mattered.

 "Still," the master continued, "unusual coloring does not in and of itself

 surpass the sublime qualities of the sri-Kaa. She remains supreme among the

 Imperial Father's progeny."

 Relieved, the Kaa uncurled his tongue within his mouth and gave the master a

 nod. ' 'Then it is done. We shall gaze upon them tomorrow when it is certain

 they will live. In­form our wives of the happy news."

 The master bowed yet again, so deeply this time the folds of his rill shook

 free. "Yes, sire. It shall be done."

 The Kaa walked away. By the time he reached the tall double doors of bronze

 carved with the legends of the First Hatching, the guards had snapped to

 attention, and two of them swung the heavy doors open for him.

 Trumpets blared, and small Keith lits of matched fur color, with upright ears

 and narrow muzzles, ran ahead through the passageway like small alarms in their

 red im­perial livery. "Heads up! Heads up!" they cried in shrill unison. "The

 Kaa is coming!"

 Surrounded by his guards, the Kaa strode along an an­cient passageway of worn

 stone lit by old-fashioned torches that flickered and smoked with great

 inefficiency. House­keeping went to great lengths to keep the soot scrubbed

 away, grumbling at the extra work involved. But the touches of antiquity pleased

 the Kaa, for he was an admirer of history and its relics. Many times his

 courtiers had urged him to build a new Chamber of Hatching, one with modern

 seats, one with windows, one with a spectators' gallery so that the whole court

 might attend. They said the imperial Chamber of Hatching was crude and too old,

 little better than a cave, and far too small.

 The Kaa had no intention of changing this most vener­able and sacred part of the

 palace. While he lived, there would never be room for spectators. To witness the

 emer­gence of the imperial hatchlings was the sole privilege of himself and his

 favored wives, and so it would remain.

 Ahead the Kaa could see a handful of intrepid courtiers crowding into the

 passageway where it linked to the main section of the palace. Guards held these

 fawning sycophants back, however, allowing none of them near the Kaa's im­perial

 person.

 One courtier ignored protocol and called out his con­gratulations, but the Kaa

 pretended not to hear. His servants opened the private door leading into his

 apartments, and the Kaa allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

 Although the last day of Festival was always the best because of the hatchings,

 he still regretted seeing the week of pleasure and informality end.

 Gaveid, chancellor of state and the Kaa's chief adviser, stood waiting inside

 the sunlit rooms. Heavy with much stored fat, his jaw rills sagging from

 dissipation that had not yet completely marred his good looks, Gaveid was

 lean­ing on his staff of office and yawning. He straightened hast­ily, however,

 at the Kaa's entrance and bowed deeply with an old-fashioned flourish both

 pleasing and graceful to the eye.

 "Congratulations, sire," he said in his cool, unhurried voice.

 "Thank you, chancellor," the Kaa replied.

 The captain of the guard snapped a salute, and the Kaa flicked him a glance of

 dismissal. All the guards saluted and filed out, leaving the Kaa and his

 chancellor alone. Slaves moved unobtrusively about, one pouring cups of

 im­ported meccan wine while others laid out brushes, oil jars, and additional

 preparations for the Kaa's bath. The Kaa accepted wine and offered some to

 Gaveid, who respect­fully gestured refusal.

 Gaveid was the only Vüs in the empire with the privilege to come and go as he

 pleased in the Kaa's quarters. He also possessed the privileges of being able to

 sit in the Kaa's presence and to speak his opinions as bluntly as he wished.

 Nearly as tall as the Kaa and very old, the chancellor was descended from one of

 the Twelve original lineages. Al­though in the past century Gaveid's family had

 been deci­mated by the Dancing Death, the noble bloodline had not yet been

 completely lost. Gaveid's golden, cynical eyes had seen everything. As the

 saying went, he had lived twice. Rarely did anything surprise him.

 From the tall open windows of the rooms came the crash­ing sound of gun salutes

 being fired, one salvo for every accepted imperial hatchling. A distant crowd

 cheered in the city streets beyond the palace walls. The Kaa paid little

 attention, but the chancellor winced slightly and turned his back to the

 sunlight streaming in through the windows.

 "Were you out gambling all night?" the Kaa asked him in amusement.

 The chancellor puffed out the air sacs in his throat. Even as a lun-adult—well

 past his fertile years—he preferred to gamble and drink wine with the zest of a

 much younger male. No one at court had his stamina or his hardheaded ability to

 function and reason early in the day following a night of debauchery.

 "Gambling?" he repeated. "Yes, sire. It is, after all, Festival, and I am not

 otal yet."

 "You will lose your fortune someday," the Kaa said, and drained his cup with a

 feeling of intense satisfaction. Father of twenty-nine new hatchlings. He

 restrained the urge to laugh aloud, and instead let the feeling bubble in­side

 him like the effects of a superb dinner wine.

 "Risk gives life its zest," Gaveid said.

 The Kaa felt generous enough to tease the old one. "Gaveid, you will come to us

 one day a ruined male, la­menting and wearing the ashes of remorse on your head.

 Great Father, you will say, why did you not prevail on me to use more reason?"

 The chancellor snorted. "I do not gamble my own money," he said. "I only risk

 the fortunes of others."

 While the Kaa was laughing, a melodic chime sounded outside his dressing room.

 The Kaa's good mood vanished like a burst bubble. "Permit no entry," he said

 sharply to the slave who hurried to the door. ' 'We will keep our pri­vacy yet a

 while longer."

 The slave bowed nervously. "It is Lord Telvrahd, sire."

 The Kaa narrowed his gaze. ' 'Most especially we do not wish to receive him.

 Deny him entry."

 The slave obeyed, and Gaveid cocked his head to one side. "Is that wise?

 Telvrahd will be offended."

 ' 'We told our egg-brother we would not discuss his pe­titions until after

 Festival," the Kaa said shortly.

 "The Progressionist Party is gaining popularity in the outlying areas, sire.

 Perhaps it is best to deal early with the matter, before it becomes a problem."

 "The Progressionists are fools. Telvrahd is a fool," the Kaa said.

 "Diplomacy, sire," Gaveid counseled. "Not confronta­tion."

 "Yes, and next you would advise us to listen to the Re­formists as well. Must we

 then give full rights of citizenship to the abiru?"

 "It is not necessary to go to radical extremes to appease these factions."

 "Factions." The Kaa flicked out his tongue in scorn.

 "We are bored with factions and political parties. They should be abolished."

 "Granted, they are a nuisance, but they allow citizens and nobles to vent their

 dissatisfaction without violence."

 "Do they?" the Kaa retorted sharply. "Or do they en­courage more grumbling

 against us?"

 "Sire—"

 "Enough," the Kaa said, and held up his hand. "This discussion bores us."

 "Politics remain a necessary evil in the duties of the Imperial Father."

 "But not today," the Kaa said with a grin of mischief. He was still swollen with

 pride, and he wished to savor the triumph of the Hatching as long as possible. '

 'The Imperial Father has executed his most important duty. Twenty-nine new

 hatchlings," he boasted.

 Gaveid bowed. "A splendid addition to your imperial progeny."

 The Kaa cast him a sharp glance. Sometimes it was dif­ficult to tell whether

 Gaveid was mocking him or not. "And how many hatchlings did you father when you

 were able, chancellor?"

 Considering the low birthrate in Gaveid's family, this retaliation was not a

 kind one.

 Gaveid's old eyes narrowed to slits. "A swift barb in­deed, sire. You have

 reminded me of lost days, of vigor I shall never regain, of memories best left

 forgotten in the dust of time. I am honored by the Imperial Father's

 atten­tion."

 Annoyance flared through the Kaa. "And now in turn you remind us of the old

 days, when the royal hatching was double or triple this number."

 Gaveid bowed. "Time sets its footprints upon us. Our civilization has changed.

 Our genetics have changed. We are in decay and decline as a race. The empire

 shrinks a little more each year."

 "Don't say such things!" the Kaa said sharply, turning away from him. Reaching

 for his refreshed wine cup, the Kaa drank deeply, too annoyed to savor its

 exquisite taste. "You speak as though we are finished."

 "The end comes," Gaveid said.

 His gloomy tone made the Kaa shiver. He loathed it when Gaveid was in one of his

 depressions. This should have been a time of rejoicing, but the old chancellor

 seemed to delight in drawing a curtain of pessimism over them all.

 "Our empire will not end," the Kaa said decisively. "We shall restore it to its

 former glory. We shall spread our influence among the worlds until once again

 our su­premacy dazzles the lesser races. We shall have our palaces restored, and

 our people will know prosperity."

 "So your majesty's speeches have assured us before," Gaveid said in a dry,

 unimpressed tone.

 The Kaa's rill reddened, and he glared at the old chan­cellor. Perhaps it was

 time for Gaveid to retire. He was becoming a nuisance. "We shall not hear

 another lecture against the expenses of restoration."

 "No, sire." Gaveid bowed and placed his pebbly-skinned hand on the dispatch box

 atop a small table of polished blue jaepis stone. ' 'There is not time today to

 dis­cuss the depleted state of the imperial treasury."

 The Kaa scowled. "Nor do we wish to receive the dis­patches. They can wait until

 Festival is over."

 "That time approaches."

 "Not until sunset," the Kaa retorted, although he knew it was an infantile

 quibble.

 "Some matters should not wait, sire."

 The Kaa gestured, and the slaves came forward to divest him of his ceremonial

 robes. Even in private, without his courtiers to attend him, there was a

 ceremony and ritual to be followed in undressing the Father of the Empire.

 Gaveid waited a moment, but the Kaa ignored him.

 "Sire," the chancellor said at last, stepping forward. He walked slowly these

 days. For an instant, the Kaa almost thought he saw the old chancellor limp. But

 that was un-thinkable. Were the chancellor to become otal—physically decrepit

 and infirm—he would have to be replaced at once, exiled from Vir, and sent to

 the country to finish his days far from the demands of public service.

 Regret and grief touched the Kaa. No matter how angry he sometimes became with

 Gaveid, he did not truly wish to replace him. Gaveid had the wily shrewdness

 necessary to guide him through the tangles of galactic diplomacy, policy

 setting, and continued subjugation of the abiru races without inciting active

 rebellion. Most important of all, Gaveid was clever enough to concoct ways of

 keeping the treasury filled, which paid for the all-important work of restoring

 the oldest sections of the palace. Let the gods preserve this old one for a few

 years more, the Kaa thought.

 "Sire," Gaveid said persistently, "the dispatches will not take long. The

 situation on galactic border nine—"

 "Not that," the Kaa interrupted sharply, deflecting the matter entirely. "Not

 now. Send the dispatches away."

 Without waiting for the chancellor's reply, he strode into his bathing chamber

 and walked down a series of shallow steps into a pool filled with warm, scented

 water. Pale moon blossoms floated on the surface, along with the oils of

 kaf-fyrd and eloa.

 Slaves bathed and dried him, then his clothes for the procession were brought.

 Normally his courtiers would have entered for the ritual Dressing of the Day

 while Gav­eid played the holograms of the dispatches. But during Fes­tival many

 of the stultifying rituals of court were relaxed. There would be many parades to

 celebrate the return of the males who had left on their mating migration to

 other com­munities, and several courtiers had requested leave today to welcome

 home their sons.

 On this final day, there would be no dispatches and no courtiers casting jealous

 glances at each other as they vied for imperial favor.

 Instead, the Kaa allowed his slaves to dress him. When he had been assisted into

 a long-skirted coat of brilliant green cloth woven on the Isles of Vyria, and a

 heavy chain of gold studded with green Gaza stones—the most precious and costly

 of jewels—had been hung across his shoulders, he selected a tall jeweled collar,

 and gentle hands reverently arranged the folds of his rill above it.

 He emerged from the bathing chamber to find the chan­cellor standing in the same

 spot. The dispatch box, how­ever, was gone. The Kaa spread his rill in

 satisfaction and gestured for his mirror to be activated. The slaves pressed one

 of the jewel-encrusted knobs adorning a paneled wall, and a portion of the wall

 shimmered into a reflective sur­face. Standing before it, the Kaa watched as his

 attendants finished preparing him.

 He was very tall, even for a Vüs male in the splendor of full maturity, and

 towered over most of his subjects. Hued a magnificent deep bronze color, with

 dark green shadings beneath his jaw and across his hands, his skin showed

 patches of iridescence that shimmered multiple colors in the sunshine. Poets had

 lauded him for his splendid coloring, claiming in one epic poem that he ' 'could

 blind his enemies simply with the radiant magnificence of his imperial per­son."

 The Kaa did not consider himself a vain male as a rule, although he took great

 pride in his appearance. Today he studied his reflection as the slaves finished

 slipping gold tips onto the spines of his neck and jaw rills. He had chosen to

 wear an elaborate collar of gold, embossed with his name and titles in the

 ancient alphabet. It was quite heavy, es­pecially in the back, where it

 supported his rill to nearly full extension. Narrowing his violet-blue eyes, as

 dark and vivid as the sky where it meets the curve of space, the Kaa twisted and

 turned his head to see the full effect.

 Satisfied, he stepped back, and his reflection automati­cally vanished as the

 mirror became a wall again. The religious procession would not take long, and

 then he would have his outing with the sri-Kaa. How pleasant that would be.

 Consulting his timepiece, Gaveid frowned.

 The Kaa knew that look. "Are we late?"

 "Very late, sire. It is coming on midday."

 "Don't fuss," the Kaa said without concern. "We are the father of twenty-nine

 new hatchlings. Our wives are plump and happy. We are blessed."

 "Blessed indeed," Gaveid said, inclining his head. "But still very late. There

 is the processional of thanksgiving to be made, the ritual at the old temple,

 the banquet, and the meetings with important visiting dignitaries. I think the

 Imperial Father should forgo his visit to the marketplace."

 The Kaa had been picking through a tray of rings and bracelets. Now he tossed

 down the trinkets and swung around.

 "No," he said sharply. "We made a promise to the sri-Kaa. We shall not break

 it."

 ' "The sri-Kaa is barely two years out of the egg. She will quickly forget her

 disappointment. The emissaries from Ul-one-two-four have been waiting several

 days for audience. Their disappointment may be more difficult to repair."

 Displeasure swept through the Kaa, and his tail stiffened beneath the long skirt

 of his coat. He faced his chancellor with a glare. "This will be the first

 public appearance of our daughter," he said. "It is important that all see she

 has become chune."

 "Yes, it is well that the sri-Kaa has reached her second growth cycle, healthy

 and strong," Gaveid said. "But equally important are the sivo crystals mined on

 Ul-one-two-four, and the money they pour into the imperial coffers. Money which

 pays for the restoration projects planned by the Imperial Father."

 "Can you not put them off?" the Kaa asked.

 "Unwise, sire."

 The Kaa's scowl deepened. He felt torn by these con­flicting obligations. He did

 not wish to make a decision.

 Gaveid watched him knowingly, as though he could read the Kaa's mind. "Perhaps—"

 "Yes?" the Kaa said eagerly.

 ' 'Perhaps the sri-Kaa could accompany the Imperial Fa­ther in meeting with the

 emissaries," Gaveid said persua­sively. ' 'Combine both events. Please the

 chune, introduce her to the world, grant these dignitaries a double honor with

 both your presence and hers."

 As always Gaveid's suggestions made excellent sense. The Kaa was tempted, but he

 remembered a pair of plead­ing eyes and the irresistible entwining of tender

 arms about his neck.

 "We gave our promise to the chune," he said. "We shall take her to the

 marketplace as she has requested."

 "Very well, sire," the chancellor said, frowning. "But should the sri-Kaa not

 learn that the duties of high office must take precedence over personal wishes?"

 The Kaa returned his frown. For a moment he felt the crushing weight of his

 duties, his responsibilities, the fact that he had yet to find the time or

 opportunity to visit the far-flung corners of his empire, the slowness of

 building projects that he might not live to see completed, the con­stant

 pressure from his subjects and courtiers, each with dozens of requests,

 petitions, and intrigues. He lived en­meshed in duties and obligations. No

 matter how early he rose or how late he retired, the work was never done, the

 demands were never satisfied. Dispatches, reports, petitions, and audiences were

 pushed aside, only to multiply like the repulsive little Skeks teeming in the

 city's sewers.

 This was Festival, a time of rejoicing and rebirth, a time of hope and renewal.

 The whole empire was at play for these few short days. Here, in his own capital,

 the Father of the Empire would also have a few moments of play with his daughter

 before Festival ended for another year of toil.

 "Let the emissaries wait," the Kaa said. "We shall please our daughter today."

 "The Imperial Father indulges her greatly," Gaveid re­plied. "Is it wise, I

 wonder, to spoil the character of one so lovely and graceful in physical form?"

 "Israi is perfect," the Kaa said to him, thinking his wor­ries foolish. "And

 perfection cannot be spoiled."

 Gaveid's yellow eyes betrayed rare consternation. "Surely an unwise—"

 "Let there be nothing more said on this matter."

 At that sharp command, the chancellor closed his mouth tightly and bowed low. He

 stood in silence, his air sacs inflated, his old eyes disapproving, while the

 Kaa finished his preparations.

 The Kaa ignored the disapproval and ordered the sri-Kaa brought to him. While

 his chancellor was wily and shrewd, never making mistakes, never steering him

 toward unwise decisions, the Kaa also disagreed with Gaveid in three key areas.

 One had to do with his restoration work. Another concerned certain policies

 regarding the outer worlds of the empire, especially the trouble spot of

 galactic border nine. The third revolved around the sri-Kaa, her training as a

 future ruler and Sahmrahd's successor, and the Kaa's own indulgence of the

 chune's whims and fancies.

 Let the old one stand in sour judgment, the Kaa thought derisively. Gaveid did

 not quite know everything.

 "Father! Father!"

 The exuberant shouting came as music to the Kaa's ears. Seconds later, the door

 burst open faster than the attendants could move it and a small figure came

 hurtling through. She barreled into the Kaa's legs, nearly knocking him

 off-balance, and gripped him tightly in a hug.

 "Father!" she squealed. "I have been waiting forever."

 Although the Kaa's heart swelled with love, he put on an expression of mock

 disapproval and glared down at her. "Is this the way the sri-Kaa greets the

 Imperial Father?"

 Israi's beaming smile faltered. Her eyes widened for a moment as she recollected

 etiquette. Swiftly she backed up, nearly bumping into her attendants, who had

 just now caught up with her.

 One of them gripped her shoulders to steady her and bent down to murmur

 encouragement into her ear dimple. The sri-Kaa nodded and lifted her gaze to her

 father.

 He stared down at her as though unmoved, although in­side he was melting with

 adoration. Never had he seen a more perfect chune. Her soft, pebbly skin glowed

 a pure golden hue without flaw or blemish. Her eyes were as bril­liant a green

 as the Kaa's own Gaza stones. That green spread from the outer corner of her

 eyes to curve up toward her ear dimples in markings that were very striking now

 but would, when she matured, make her beauty exotic in­deed. Her tiny neck rill,

 supported by a miniature collar studded with glittering jewels, displayed

 variegated hues of gold, green, and blue. Although still very young, Israi

 al­ready moved with incredible grace. Her physical propor­tions were perfect.

 She glowed with health and vitality. Even her tail, concealed today beneath the

 hem of her in­digo-blue gown, was thick and already growing plump with stored

 fat. Lovely, intelligent, graceful, vital, precocious— Israi was his favorite

 daughter and chosen successor.

 Just the sight of her filled him with joy and restored his spirits. He longed to

 laugh with her, to scoop her into his arms and breathe across her sweet face, to

 toss her into the air, to tickle her until she squealed, and to let her ride on

 his shoulders.

 But today was to be her first public appearance. As sri-Kaa, she had to remember

 what was expected of her and act according to her rank and position. The first,

 most im­portant lesson a sri-Kaa had to learn was to respect the Kaa.

 Completely, unhesitantly, and without fail.

 He stood firm, meeting a gaze which could have melted the foundation stones of

 the palace, his stern expression never altering.

 Israi's attendant whispered to her again, and Israi's green eyes lowered. Her

 rill blushed a dark blue, and with bowed head she walked slowly and respectfully

 up to him. She made her little obeisance flawlessly, and raised her gaze to his

 once more.

 "Good morning, Imperial Father," she said, her young voice grave and clear. '

 'May—may the blessings of Festi­val befall you."

 The Kaa bowed to her in return. ' 'Thank you, our daugh­ter."

 Her eyes were getting bigger, and he decided the lesson had been reinforced

 sufficiently.

 With a smile, he took her hand. Israi squeezed his long, slender fingers,

 grinning radiantly in return.

 "Time for the procession, sire," Gaveid said from be­hind him.

 Israi gestured urgently for the Kaa to bend down. When he did so, she whispered,

 "And the marketplace. You promised."

 "We promised," the Kaa agreed. He gazed deep into his daughter's eyes, seeing

 his future in their fire and courage. He smiled. "We shall not forget, provided

 the sri-Kaa be­haves herself through all the ceremonies that come before."

 Israi lifted her head high and imitated an imperious ges­ture made by court

 ladies. "The sri-Kaa will behave her­self," she promised.

 From the corner of his eye, the Kaa saw Gaveid frown with doubt and misgiving.

 The Kaa smiled at him. "You worry too much, old one. The sri-Kaa has given her

 word."

 "The sri-Kaa's word is her most excellent bond," Gav­eid said, bowing to Israi,

 who puffed up visibly at the praise. "But will the Imperial Daughter remember

 it?"

 "I will!" Israi said forcefully, stamping her foot.

 The Kaa swallowed his laughter. "She will," he assured the chancellor. ' 'Come,

 precious one. It is time to go among our people."

 CHAPTER THREE

 The spring sunshine blazed down, unseasonably warm. Sur­rounded by guards,

 courtiers, attendants, clowns, cupbear­ers, and musicians; the Kaa strolled

 along the dusty stalls of the abiru marketplace and felt the heat radiate off

 stone pavement and stone walls. He regretted bringing his daugh­ter here. This

 was no place for either of them. Despite at­tempts to brighten the surroundings

 with gaudy festoons of ribbons and wilted flowers, the plaza remained drab,

 dreary, ordinary. The rounded daub architecture of the buildings offended the

 Kaa's eyes, especially since it dated from a neomodern style that he

 particularly despised.

 Here and there, some shops or alleys leading away from the plaza had been closed

 off with walls of colorful silk gauze, such places deemed inappropriate for the

 Kaa to see. Yet the shops selected to remain accessible proved to be vile,

 scarcely large enough to turn around in, with wares of mediocre quality and

 execrable taste. Outside in the ex­panse of the plaza itself, portable stalls

 were set up in hap­hazard fashion. The hucksters running such places were mostly

 Keiths—cringing, fawning creatures in brindled fur. Their upright ears twitched

 nervously at every sound. Their keen eyes watched the Kaa's movements as though

 he would order them slain on the spot. Garbed plainly in colors of dust and

 muted greens, they seemed too awed by the Kaa's august presence to even call out

 their wares. One male Keith, bolder than the rest, held out a cheap trinket as

 though expecting the Kaa to purchase it. One of the guards glared at him, and

 the Keith hastily withdrew with an awkward bow.

 The crowd behind the patroller barricades consisted mostly of the mingled abiru

 races, with a scattering of lower-class Vüs among them. A few Rejects, cloaked

 and hooded, skulked on the fringes. Gripping Israi's small hand tightly, the Kaa

 averted his gaze from these, his basest sub­jects.

 Sighing, the Kaa paused halfway across the plaza, ready to retreat from this

 ill-considered expedition. At once his clowns raced ahead of him to tumble and

 flip in a display of acrobatics that made the abiru folk stare in astonishment.

 Israi laughed aloud, defying etiquette, and the Kaa smiled at the simple

 innocence of chunenhal.

 She tilted her head back to gaze up at him with sparkling green eyes. "Isn't

 this fun? I am fascinated."

 He sighed again, and had not the heart to drag her away just yet. Turning from

 the acrobatics of his clowns, he strolled to the booth of a short Myal. Of all

 the slave races, Myals were the most civilized. The Kaa appreciated their

 intelligence and undertanding of art and history. This par­ticular Myal was old

 and stunted, barely reaching to the Kaa's waist. His mane of reddish-gold hair

 was scraggly and sparse, but his dark liquid eyes held an expression of

 refinement. He dealt in handcrafted lamps.

 Pausing at the booth, the Kaa allowed a guard to select one of the lamps and

 hold it up for his inspection. The workmanship was surprisingly good; clearly

 the maker pos­sessed familiarity with historical artifacts. The Kaa found

 himself almost interested enough to forget how thirsty, hot, and uncomfortable

 he was. Almost. He longed for the cool, scented shade of his garden, and turned

 away from the

 Myal without asking the question he had intended.

 The guard put down the lamp, and the little Myal crafter curled his prehensile

 tail around one leg and sank down on his haunches in visible disappointment.

 "What?" asked a cultured voice from behind the Kaa. "Is the Imperial Father

 uninterested in these humble wares?''

 Recognizing that voice, the Kaa stiffened slightly, but masked his reaction by

 turning around. "Lord Telvrahd," he said without enthusiasm.

 Telvrahd bowed low with dramatic flourishes of his green-skinned hands,

 displaying wide, fashionable cuffs sprinkled with pave jewels that glittered in

 the relentless sunshine. His brow ridge and rill gleamed with oil. "A bountiful

 Festival to the Imperial Father," he said formally.

 "A bountiful Festival to you," the Kaa replied. Inwardly he was fuming. Which

 fool in his entourage had allowed Telvrahd access to him like this? Egg-brother

 or not, Tel­vrahd was a pest with ambitions that outstripped his im­portance.

 Yet because he had made himself a leader of the Progressionist Party, it was

 unwise to dismiss him publicly. After all, there was the cheering crowd beyond

 the patroller barricades to consider.

 When the Kaa acknowledged him, Telvrahd smirked. His ruby-colored eyes gleamed

 with mischief as he bowed somewhat less grandly to the sri-Kaa. "Greetings to

 the Imperial Daughter of Sahmrahd Kaa."

 Although she had been tugging impatiently at the Kaa's hand, Israi now looked up

 at her uncle and gave him the correct half obeisance for someone of his rank and

 standing at court. She failed to make a verbal response as she was supposed to,

 but the Kaa did not bother to correct her omis­sion.

 Catching this most subtle of insults, Telvrahd's grin be­came more forced. His

 rill pinkened and extended itself slightly above the support of his collar. '

 "There are matters between us, sire, that need discussion. My petition

 sup-porting the restoration of the jump gates between—"

 Israi tugged at the Kaa's hand. Welcoming the interrup­tion, no matter how rude,

 the Kaa lifted his long fingers to silence Telvrahd and bent down so that Israi

 might whisper in his ear canal.

 "Father," she said impatiently, "I want to look at the hatchlings."

 He hesitated, not understanding. "What?"

 A courtier in attendance intervened with a languid ges­ture toward a shop across

 the plaza. "No, Imperial Father. No Vüs have been hatched here. The sri-Kaa

 refers to young abiru, specially selected for presentation this day."

 The Kaa's frown deepened, and from the corner of his eye he saw Telvrahd's

 impatient expression. For that reason alone, the Kaa extended the interruption.

 "Young abiru?" he repeated. "What sort?"

 Fazhmind the courtier blinked at the question as though he had not expected it.

 Garbed in a heavy silk coat that clearly made him swelter, Fazhmind fanned

 himself with a delicate creation of lace-cut ivory, jingling the tiny silver

 bells that dangled from his rill spines, and consulted a lower attendant for an

 answer.

 "All kinds," Fazhmind finally replied, still fanning. He was a fastidious,

 pompous toady, too well-connected to be dismissed from court, but pushy and

 never popular with the Kaa.

 "Yes, sire," he continued, the tiny bells tinkling beneath his words. "I

 understand there is quite a pleasing selection of pet-quality animals. Keith,

 Aaroun, Myal, even a Toth or two for those who find it fashionable to own the

 un­fashionable—''

 "Toths?" the Kaa said in alarm. "Certainly not. The Imperial Daughter may not go

 near such animals. They are too dirty. They carry disease."

 "Father—," Israi whined.

 "No," the Kaa replied brusquely.

 He turned his back on both his daughter and the courtier, facing Telvrahd once

 more. "Forgive the interruption. Young chunen do not always remember their court

 man­ners."

 Telvrahd put on an indulgent expression. "It is Festival. Informality is

 expected. Now, about my proposal regarding the jump gates—''

 "This is not the time or the place to discuss the matter."

 "The Imperial Father has put me off for months."

 The Kaa curled his tongue within his mouth, struggling to hold his temper. Flies

 buzzed around a segment of gristly bone that an Aaroun child was gnawing. A

 horrified court­ier dispatched someone to shoo the cub from sight. The Kaa

 wished he might swat Telvrahd away as well.

 "We have our reasons for the delay, Lord Telvrahd," the Kaa said. "We are not

 unaware of the problems in­volved, problems which your proposal addresses. We

 are not unsympathetic—"

 "Sire!" Telvrahd dared interrupt. "Sympathy is not what is required. The jump

 gates are decaying, falling into disrepair—''

 "Nonsense," the Kaa said sharply, conscious of too many spectators watching and

 listening. "Such reports are false, the work of alarmists. Our jump gates are

 functional across the empire, and they will remain so."

 "Not without attention. When they stop working, noth­ing is done. Nothing!"

 Telvrahd said, leaning closer. He lowered his voice, his dark red eyes locked on

 the Kaa's. "This shrinks our empire's boundaries more. We cannot afford—"

 "We are assured that maintenance is done according to the correct schedule.

 While we appreciate your interest, surely there are other matters more

 appropriate for your attention."

 Telvrahd extended his rill fully, and it turned a dark crimson. The Kaa's

 personal guards stepped closer. "I have just returned from a visit to my estates

 in the colony worlds," Telvrahd said. "The ship was rerouted twice around failed

 jump gates, and I missed several important appointments—"

 "Including your audience with us," the Kaa said coldly. ' 'Now you have forced

 yourself upon our company, taken advantage of our time, and created a public

 spectacle around an insignificant matter."

 "Insignificant," the Kaa repeated with more force. He glared at Telvrahd with

 eyes cold and flat. As his rill ex­tended and raised, Telvrahd's lowered.

 Bowing low, Telvrahd stepped back. "I ask the pardon of the Imperial Father. My

 heart is much occupied with the safety and well-being of the empire. My zeal

 sometimes exceeds my prudence."

 As an apology, it left much to be desired. The Kaa heard no sincerity in

 Telvrahd's tone. He saw no contrition in Telvrahd's red eyes. Telvrahd would

 persist, and make a great issue over something that was both costly and

 un­important. As long as there were sufficient jump gates across the empire, why

 bother with a few gone inactive? Even more foolishly, why make a public issue of

 it and stir up the populace with irrational fears?

 In the distance a squabble broke out among some Keith lits. One of them nipped

 another, and their shrill yelping caught the Kaa's attention. He glanced around,

 and realized the sri-Kaa was no longer clinging to his hand.

 Nor was she in sight. He stared at the small clusters of attendants, the

 wilting, bored courtiers, the tireless antics of the clowns. His musicians

 played light background melo­dies, but Israi was not with them either.

 His heart froze inside him. How could she be gone? In an instant, he thought of

 a thousand possibilities, each one worse than the one before it. "Israi!" he

 said in alarm.

 Telvrahd stepped very close to him. "I promise the Imperial Father that I shall

 not let this matter drop," he said in a low voice. ' 'If I must, I will carry it

 to the public forum and—"

 "Silence!" the Kaa roared, spinning around and turning his back to Telvrahd.

 Furiously, the Kaa gestured at his guards, and they pushed Telvrahd away.

 "Where is our daughter?" the Kaa demanded. "What has become of her?"

 The courtiers milled about in sudden consternation, mak­ing it impossible to

 determine what had become of the chune or her lady in waiting.

 The captain of the guard hurried to the Kaa and saluted. "Sire, a search will be

 conducted immediately."

 "Find her!" the Kaa commanded. He could not breathe. The air was stifling, laden

 with too many strange and un­pleasant smells. He could feel his heart pounding.

 His rill stood at complete extension, and he realized he was lashing his tail

 back and forth beneath his coat with enough agi­tation to make it visible. But

 at that moment he hardly cared if anyone noticed. If anyone had hurt her,

 abducted her, dared touch the most precious treasure of his life, he would have

 them torn into pieces and burned in the forum of as­sembly. He would have every

 building, every shop, every residence searched until she was found. He would

 level this entire squalid section of Vir if necessary. Who had dared take his

 daughter, the light of the empire, the jewel of his soul?

 "She is found!" came a shout over the hubbub.

 A guard came running, and behind him trotted Fazhmind in his silk coat and

 filigreed rill collar, silver bells jingling.

 "There is no alarm, sire," the guard said, halting and saluting the Kaa. ' 'The

 sri-Kaa is found in that shop across the way. She is safe and unharmed. Lady

 Lenith attends her, as is proper."

 "What is proper," the Kaa said around his flicking tongue, incapable of relief

 yet, ' 'is that the sri-Kaa be in her place at our side."

 Out of breath from having been rushed across the plaza in the heat, Fazhmind

 fanned himself and bowed low. ' 'All is well, sire. The sri-Kaa slipped away

 while the Imperial

 Father was talking to Lord Telvrahd. I followed her into the shop. As did her

 lady in waiting."

 Only now did the Kaa allow himself to believe their as­surances. He was flooded

 by a mixture of overwhelming relief and exasperation. "Where is she?" he

 demanded sharply, not certain whether to be angry at his daughter for slipping

 away from him or at this fool, for having let her do something so unwise. ' 'Why

 did you not return her to us? Why have you left her insufficiently attended?"

 Fazhmind bowed again, wilting beneath the Kaa's anger. "Forgive me, sire. I

 thought this area well-guarded and safe for—"

 "Bring her forth now," the Kaa commanded.

 Fazhmind hesitated, wringing his hands. "She will not come."

 "What!"

 ' 'She will not come. The Imperial Daughter is captivated by the newborn abiru

 she has found in the shop. She cannot be enticed away."

 "Do not entice her! Command her!"

 Fazhmind's gaze lowered. He seemed unable to breathe, and a pulse jumped rapidly

 beneath his ear dimple. ' 'For­give me, sire," he said in a soft, frightened

 voice. "It is not my place to command the sri-Kaa."

 Even before he'd spoken, the Kaa had realized the ab­surdity of his order. Israi

 knew she answered to no one but him. As sweet and delightful as she was, she

 could also be extremely stubborn when she chose. The Kaa hoped this was not

 going to be such an occasion.

 Drawing a deep breath, he tried to restore his inner calm before striding to the

 shop in question. People parted before him, making way with deep bows. Someone

 stopped the clowns from their antics, and even the musicians ceased playing.

 The Kaa realized his expression was thunderous. The way blood was pounding

 through his rill, he knew it was dark crimson and at full extension. The Kaa was

 not sup-posed to expose his emotions so openly, but at this moment he cared not.

 When they returned home to the palace, Israi would have to be punished. She

 would learn that correct public behavior did not involve coming and going where

 she pleased. Especially not when she was in the abiru quar­ter of the city.

 Gods, what if he had truly lost her? He needed wine for the shock, but he did

 not glance back for his cupbearer.

 Instead, he quickened his pace. The two guards accom­panying him had to run in

 order to reach the door of the shop before he did. The door stood ajar, and the

 guards thrust it open with a crash against the inside wall.

 "Attention!" one of them thundered at the occupants. "The Kaa is coming!"

 By then the Kaa was ducking his head and stepping over the threshold. The

 interior of the shop was low-ceilinged and dim, especially after the glaring

 sunshine outside. It took a moment for his vision to adjust, and his nostrils

 crinkled at the smell of damp litter, pungent cedar shavings, and tepid milk.

 Repulsed, he twisted his head aside and closed his nos­trils. Then he glimpsed

 his daughter sitting happily on the floor of this humble establishment, heedless

 of the dirt streaking her silk indigo court gown. She held something furry and

 small in her arms, and she was rocking back and forth, crooning to the creature.

 Her whole being seemed absorbed in what she was doing. She did not glance up

 even when the Kaa crossed the shop and loomed over her.

 A flustered Lady Lenith—richly gowned and wearing perfumed skin oil—bowed and

 backed away, looking grate­ful that someone else might take charge.

 The shop owner—a masked Gorlican with glowing or­ange eyes and bare arms covered

 with thick gray scales instead of skin—hastened forward, but one of the guards

 shoved him behind his counter. ' 'Bow to the imperial pres­ence," the guard

 ordered gruffly.

 With an inarticulate sound, the shopkeeper lowered him-self awkwardly. The shell

 encasing his torso made it dif­ficult for him to bend in respect, but no Vüs

 cared.

 Ignoring them all, the Kaa stared down at his daughter, who paid him no notice

 as she sang, rocked, and stroked the back of the tiny creature in her arms.

 Part of the Kaa had to appreciate the picture she made, his beautiful daughter

 with her exquisite coloring and ador­able ways. She looked charming there on the

 floor, horri­fying though the idea was, and when she crooned to the animal and

 rubbed her cheek against its soft golden fur, the Kaa almost wished the moment

 could be captured in an air portrait.

 Yet at the same time, his horror and outrage were grow­ing. Who had allowed her

 to touch this animal in the first place? Was it safe? Was it clean? Was it

 suitable to be gazed on by the sri-Kaa? Clearly her attendants were far too

 lenient. Their indulgence could lead to her harm.

 "Israi," he said, and his voice was sharper than he in­tended.

 She was whispering in the crumpled ear of the creature and apparently did not

 hear him.

 "Israi!" he said.

 His voice snapped in the shop's silence, and Lady Lenith jumped.

 Israi glanced up and beamed at him. "Father," she said excitedly, "look at what

 I have found! Isn't she adorable? Perfect in every way. That creature said so."

 Despite himself, the Kaa glanced at the shopkeeper, who bowed low again and said

 in an unctuous voice, ' 'The very best animals, Great One. In honor of this day,

 this visit, only the very best, the very finest pets gathered, yes. See the

 quality of this one's fur. Look at the absence of mark­ings—"

 "Not a spot or a stripe, Father!" Israi said proudly. "That creature says she'll

 be extremely pretty. Prettier than any of the others. And I picked her out all

 by myself."

 ' 'Did you?'' the Kaa said while he shot a look of dis­pleasure at the

 shopkeeper.

 Gorlican merchants the galaxy over were all the same—a greedy lot without

 conscience. The Kaa wondered why he had ever thought this visit among the common

 people would be a splendid idea. Instead, his senses and his aes­thetics had

 been assaulted all afternoon. And now, Israi had clearly attached herself to

 what could only be an unsuitable pet.

 "Splendid, our daughter," the Kaa said with dignity. "But now, the hour grows

 advanced. We must return to the palace. Put the animal down, and let us depart."

 Israi jumped to her feet, but her face was a thundercloud. "No!" she said. "I

 want her."

 In the doorway, courtiers and ladies exchanged glances. The Kaa's temper heated.

 "Daughter of the Empire, you do not say 'no' to your Imperial Father."

 Israi's tiny face set itself stubbornly. She squeezed the golden-furred animal

 tighter, making it mew. ' 'I want her. I want her for my own."

 The Kaa drew back, feeling helpless and hating it. ' 'What is this animal?''

 Fazhmind minced forward and grimaced in distaste be­fore he raised a scent cone

 to his nostrils. "An Aaroun, sire," he replied.

 "An Aaroun?" Fresh alarm flashed through the Kaa. ' 'No, Israi, you may not keep

 an Aaroun. They grow to be quite large and powerful. They do not make good

 pets."

 "She is my hatchling," Israi insisted. She rubbed the tiny Aaroun's blunt muzzle

 with her fingertip and laughed when the animal tried to suck it. "See? Already

 she loves me."

 "The Aarouns are very affectionate when young, sire," the shopkeeper said. "They

 bond into close-knit families. Very loyal. One that's only a few days old, like

 this, is rare, very rare. She'll bond to whoever cares for her. She'll never

 turn on the sri-Kaa. Not when hand-raised from this age."

 "She's mine," Israi insisted. Her green eyes darkened with impending temper, and

 her tiny nostrils began to flare. "It's Festival. Everyone has eggs. Everyone

 has hatchlings. I want a hatchling for myself."

 The Kaa stared down at his tiny daughter, who was fac­ing him like a little

 fury, ready to defend what she claimed was hers. Suddenly his own temper melted

 away, and he found himself laughing. Israi's logic was absurd… and adorable.

 "Of course you want to be a part of Festival," he said, bending over to rub her

 head affectionately. "Of course you want a hatchling like the ladies at court.

 But do you really want an Aaroun cub? Why not a—''

 "I want this one," Israi said stubbornly, cradling the animal against the bodice

 of her gown. Already the Aaroun had shed tiny golden hairs upon the indigo silk.

 "And I will take care of her. I know what to do. That creature told me."

 The Kaa glanced at the shopkeeper, who dared to grin.

 "Very fine specimen, Great One," he said. "Very fine pet for the sri-Kaa.

 Perfect conformation. Color superb."

 "Superb!" Fazhmind said with a sniff of disdain. "Great Father, consider the

 unsuitability of an Aaroun in the pal­ace. It will have to be fed meat. It is

 not even house­trained."

 Israi turned on him, her eyes blazing, her tiny rill spread at full extension.

 "Silence!" she shouted, stamping her foot. "You can't tell my father what to do.

 I want her, and she's mine. I'm not leaving unless I can take her with me."

 The Kaa frowned at this display of imperial temper. "Now, Daughter—"

 "I'll scream and scream and scream," Israi threatened, glaring at them all.

 "I'll make myself cry, and then I'll throw up. I'll—"

 "Silence!" the Kaa snapped.

 Israi hushed, but her chest was heaving and her eyes glittered furiously. Her

 rill had flushed so dark an indigo it looked almost black.

 ' 'Is it wise to threaten your father, little one?'' he asked her. "Is this the

 way a sri-Kaa behaves in public? Have you no shame?"

 Israi didn't back down. She went on glaring up at him, stubborn to the end. Only

 her bottom lip trembled slightly.

 That tiny sign of weakness undid the Kaa. His heart melted, and he knew he could

 refuse her nothing, not even this ridiculous pet she wanted.

 She was too young, of course, for the charge of such an animal. But she would

 tire of it, perhaps by nightfall. Then the slaves could dispose of it quietly,

 and the matter would be ended.

 "Put the animal down, Israi, that we may see it clearly."

 Israi hesitated, her eyes full of appeal.

 The Kaa kept his tone reasonable, even gentle. "Put it down. We cannot tell what

 it looks like or even if it is beautiful enough to be yours."

 Israi bent down and put the small Aaroun on the floor. "She's very beautiful.

 She—"

 "Allow me to take the animal away, sire," Fazhmind said, bustling forward

 unbidden. He gripped the Aaroun by the scruff of its tiny neck, and with a

 feeble growl the Aaroun snapped at his finger.

 The courtier screamed and dropped the animal on the floor. Bouncing and rolling

 over with a yelp, the Aaroun crouched on shaky, newborn legs, lifted her wobbly

 head, and uttered a baby growl both ferocious and absurd.

 "Have it killed!" Fazhmind cried, clutching his finger. His bells jingled

 furiously. "It's dangerous. It bit me."

 Unexpectedly, the Kaa found himself admiring the little Aaroun's courage, for if

 anyone deserved to be bitten it was Fazhmind, with his airs and affectations.

 The Aaroun advanced toward Fazhmind's foot, instinc­tively stiff-legged, a ridge

 of hair standing up along her spine. She growled again, louder this time, and

 snorted in disdain before turning and tottering back to Israi. Rearing up on her

 haunches, the Aaroun lifted her little hands in appeal, then fell over as she

 lost her balance.

 Israi crouched on the floor and scooped up the Aaroun. "You poor thing. Are you

 hurt?"

 "Hurt!" Fazhmind screeched. "It is I who am hurt."

 Israi ignored him, cuddling the Aaroun closer.

 "Careful," the Kaa said in alarm, concerned that the creature might attack her.

 "It could bite you, Israi."

 "As it bit me, sire," Fazhmind said, still clutching his finger and grimacing

 dramatically in pain. "It is vicious and unpredictable. It will harm the

 sri-Kaa. Let the guards destroy it."

 But Israi rose to her feet with the Aaroun clutched against her. The trembling

 animal thrust its head beneath her comforting hand. "Don't be silly, Lord

 Fazhmind," she said. "She couldn't really bite you. Her milk teeth are tiny

 things, nothing that could harm you."

 "Right, yes," the shopkeeper said. "An Aaroun that lit­tle has no jaw strength

 yet."

 A strange look crossed Fazhmind's face. He lowered his hand to his side and

 curled his fingers to conceal them in his fist.

 The Kaa averted his gaze. He felt a tremor of humor all the way to his tail, and

 he struggled not to laugh aloud.

 "Well." Fazhmind tried to regain his dignity, even as Lady Lenith spread her fan

 across her mouth and the cap­tain of the guard coughed loudly.

 Outside the doorway of the shop, several onlookers tit­tered in the crooks of

 their elbows.

 "The dangerous instincts are there, sire," Fazhmind said. ' 'The creature will

 grow real teeth soon enough, and then—''

 "Defending the sri-Kaa a good sign of bonding al­ready," the shopkeeper said.

 "Aarouns never turn on their own kind. She'll make a good pet. Loyal to the

 sri-Kaa always. Protect the sri-Kaa always."

 ' 'Within the safety of the palace, what need has the sri-

 Kaa of protection other than that provided by the Palace Guards?" Fazhmind

 asked.

 Israi's eyes widened. "Father, she has defended me. She will be loyal to me. I

 know it."

 "Nonsense," Fazhmind said with a sniff. "Such animals can never be trusted.

 Never. It is most unwise. I strongly urge the Imperial Father to deny—"

 The Kaa beckoned, and Fazhmind shuffled closer. Turn­ing his back to Israi, the

 Kaa asked quietly, "How are pets usually obtained for the imperial chunen?

 Suitable pets, quiet and well-trained?"

 "Ah." Fazhmind rubbed his hands together and puffed out his air sacs, clearly

 pleased at being consulted. ' 'Some­thing such as a coovie, perhaps?"

 "Yes—"

 "I don't want a coovie!" Israi pushed herself between them and glared up at them

 both. "They're stupid and bor­ing. I want this one!"

 Fazhmind's mouth curled in disapproval at the sri-Kaa's manners, but he replied

 to the Kaa, "A request is sent forth via the office of the chamberlain, sire. I

 believe that indi­vidual then contacts a merchant who holds an official

 ap­pointment of pet supplier to the imperial family."

 "Ah," the Kaa said, nodding. "Of course."

 Israi stamped her foot. "No! I want this one!"

 The Kaa bent down and stroked her brow ridge. "Dear­est, this creature is pretty

 but—"

 "She's beautiful. Like me!" Israi said.

 Again, laughter circled the shop. The Kaa sighed. Al­ready his favorite daughter

 was growing vain. Yet how could she be otherwise, when what she said was true?

 Fazhmind flicked his fan. "Sire, I shall be most pleased to speak to the

 chamberlain about a different—"

 "No!" Israi shouted. "I won't! I won't! I won't!"

 Before the Kaa could silence her, she kicked Fazhmind in the leg and ran for the

 open doorway of the shop. Swiftly the guards moved to block her path. She

 screamed at them, and the Kaa knew from the expression of growing dread on Lady

 Lenith's face that a full-blown tantrum was im­minent.

 "Israi!" he said sharply. "Come here."

 She fell silent, much to his relief, and obeyed him. But her face was twisted

 into a scowl. Her sides heaved, and her rill stayed an ominous dark color.

 "This is not behavior for public display," the Kaa told her.

 Israi glared at the floor and said nothing.

 "You will apologize to Lord Fazhmind."

 Israi's green eyes flashed defiance.

 He held up his finger before she could speak. "Come here that we may speak

 privately."

 She hesitated, kicking the toe of her sandal on the floor before she complied.

 The Kaa gestured, and Lady Lenith and Fazhmind with­drew to the opposite end of

 the small shop. With growing exasperation, the Kaa leaned down and picked up his

 daughter, Aaroun and all, so that he could speak softly into her ear dimple

 without being overheard.

 "Daughter," he said, "you belong to the imperial house. You are the sri-Kaa."

 She nodded. "I am important."

 "Yes, but that does not mean you can kick people, es­pecially courtiers with

 titles and rank like Lord Fazhmind."

 Israi scowled and glared at the male over her father's shoulder. "I don't like

 him."

 The Kaa's tongue twitched inside his mouth. He barely kept his composure.

 "Neither do we," he whispered.

 Her eyes widened, and she giggled.

 "Shush," he warned her, fearful she would announce his rash confidence to the

 world. "That is a secret between us. Understood? You must never say it to

 anyone."

 She nodded. "Yes, Father."

 "Now—"

 "But if we don't like him, I should have kicked him harder."

 "No, Israi. It is beneath imperial dignity to kick our courtiers. We must show

 good manners to all those who are beneath us in rank. It is our responsibility."

 "I don't understand."

 He stroked her head, adoring the clarity of her soft, golden skin. She was so

 bright, so precious to him. How fragrant she smelled, cuddled here in his arms.

 Yet what a devil she could be.

 "It is difficult," he said, "but one day you will under­stand. For now, remember

 your manners. Will you promise that?"

 Her head tilted to one side, Israi thought a moment. ' 'If I promise not to kick

 Fazhmind again, will you let me keep the Aaroun?"

 The Kaa drew in a sharp breath, finding himself caught unexpectedly. Ah, she was

 bright and quick, this chune.

 Israi went on gazing up at her father, her expressive eyes pleading. The Aaroun

 lifted her face and looked at him also. Something in the Aaroun's expression

 caught his at­tention. Her long-lashed eyes, set in their striking mask of light

 brown fur, held gentle, sensitive intelligence.

 Startled, he gazed back at her, realizing this was no or­dinary Aaroun.

 "Father, please." Israi fidgeted in his arms, tilting her head from side to

 side.

 He let her slide to the ground and stared down at her, this adorable daughter

 with whom he could never be angry long.

 "How pretty," said a voice from the doorway behind them. It was Chancellor

 Gaveid's distinctive orator's voice, rich and measured. "A golden pet for a

 golden sri-Kaa."

 Appreciative murmurs arose among the onlookers. Gav­eid's poetic bon mot would

 be repeated endlessly around the court for the next few days.

 The Kaa smiled to himself. Gaveid spoke true. The an-imal's coloring did

 complement Israi's. Besides, the crea­ture had made him laugh and had bitten

 Fazhmind. Surely that in itself was worthy of special consideration.

 "Very well," the Kaa said, relenting. "Our permission is granted, but—"

 "Oh, thank you, Father! Thank you!" Radiant again, Israi hugged his legs

 tightly. Crushed between them, the little Aaroun mewed in fright.

 At once, Israi sprang back and stroked her. "Hush, little one," she said to her.

 "I'll take good care of you. I prom­ise."

 The shopkeeper bustled forward, rubbing his palms to­gether, before he was once

 again shoved back by the guards. "Excellent choice, Great One," he said. "This

 Aar­oun is outstanding for her kind, yes. The best of—"

 The Kaa glanced at Fazhmind, whose mouth had closed in a pinched, sour look.

 "Make the payment," he said, and walked out. "Come, Daughter."

 Carrying the Aaroun herself and allowing no one else to take it from her, Israi

 hurried to catch up with her father's long strides.

 "I am so happy, Father," she chattered. "Now I can be a mother too, just like

 the other females in the palace. I have my own hatchling to look after. I shall

 be very good to her. You'll see. I can take care of her. I won't forget her.

 She'll be house-trained right away. My slave Subi will take care of that. And

 she'll be good. I won't let her chew on anything. And when she's bigger, I'll—"

 "You will have your slaves walk her regularly," the Kaa said, shutting away

 visions of a large, bulky Aaroun run­ning about the palace, knocking over

 furniture and breaking priceless vases. But of course, it would never come to

 that. By the time Israi went to bed tonight, the Aaroun would be forgotten, just

 another discarded toy. Still, for the sake of parental authority, he felt he

 should give her a lecture on responsibility. "You will not forget to instruct

 your slaves to feed her. She is a small, helpless animal, very dependent on you

 and the care you give her. She is not like a Vüs infant, able to take care of

 herself straight from the egg. The abiru folk are inferior to us in that way, as

 in many others. It must be your responsibility to think of her special needs."

 "I understand," Israi said with a serious nod. "I won't forget."

 The Kaa sighed. Chunenhal promises: solemnly given, yet as enduring as

 puff-seeds blown by the wind.

 Outside, standing in the dappled shade of a tree, the old chancellor leaned on

 his staff of office and bowed low to the Kaa, who paused.

 "A wise decision, sire," Gaveid murmured without moving his lips. ' 'An abiru,

 however humbly placed within the palace and within the private circle of the

 imperial fam­ily, can only bring renewed love from the Imperial Father's

 humblest subjects."

 The Kaa frowned. In Gaveid's professional rhetoric, humblest subjects was a

 euphemism for abiru slaves. Al­though the Kaa had not indulged his daughter's

 whim in order to curry favor from the lowest ranks of the unwashed, he realized

 that his action would increase his popularity.

 Their eyes met with perfect understanding.

 "Father," Israi said, tugging on his sleeve for attention. ' 'Will the guns fire

 over the city to celebrate my hatchling, like they did today for yours?''

 Behind them, Fazhmind gasped audibly in outrage, but the Kaa's heart swelled

 with pride. Truly his daughter was growing imperial. Already she reached for the

 privileges that could not yet be hers.

 Holding back a smile, the Kaa said patiently, "No, the guns will not salute your

 pet, precious one."

 Israi's green eyes flashed. "Why not?"

 ' 'Because that right is reserved for the chunen of the Kaa only."

 "But I am sri-Kaa!"

 "That is not the same," he said with more firmness.

 Israi stamped her foot. ' 'I want a salute. I want to be just like you."

 He placed his hand gently on her head to urge her for­ward. "One day, our

 daughter. But we are the Kaa now, and you are not."

 Scowling, she opened her mouth to protest further, but the Kaa's patience was

 over. He changed the subject as they walked toward their waiting transportation,

 saying, "And what will you name this pet of yours?''

 Distracted from an imminent tantrum, Israi smiled up at him. "Ampria. For our

 Goddess of Gold."

 The Kaa blinked and behind them someone gasped in affront. "Perhaps the name of

 our sun-goddess is a bit grand for such a small pet?" he suggested gently. It

 did not matter, of course. People named their pets after the lesser panoply of

 gods all the time, when it was fashionable. Presently, it was not. "Perhaps you

 should not offend the goddess in that way?"

 Israi frowned, thinking it over.

 They had reached the imperial litters at the outskirts of the marketplace.

 Beyond, the squalid streets of the abiru quarter twisted and turned in a maze of

 poverty and deg­radation. Guards ringed the litters, which floated above the

 pavement in readiness to go. The Kaa barely glanced around at his ugly

 surroundings. He was relieved to depart. He promised himself he would not return

 to this section of the city. Nor would Israi. She was too young for exposure to

 such grim conditions.

 The Kaa climbed aboard and settled himself upon the crimson cushions. Israi was

 lifted in beside him. She snug­gled close, with the Aaroun cradled in the crook

 of her arm. One of the golden animal's tiny feet dangled perilously, and the Kaa

 himself showed her how to hold the creature correctly.

 "I shall call her Ampris," Israi said, holding up the Aar­oun to blow gently

 into her small face. Brown fur formed a mask across Ampris's eyes, which were

 squinted against the slanting sunlight. The Aaroun squeaked and mewed, and Israi

 cradled her close once more. "That will honor the goddess and make everyone

 think of her, yet it cannot offend."

 "Well thought, Daughter," the Kaa said in approval.

 Israi grinned. "Yes, Ampris. A grand name, for her to grow into, for when she is

 bigger."

 "Perhaps a bit too grand for a mere Aaroun?" he sug­gested again.

 Israi looked at him. "Nothing is too grand for the pos­session of the sri-Kaa!"

 she declared.

 He inflated his air sacs in pride. "Spoken like a true Daughter of the Empire."

 She grinned at him, and for a second as their litter swung around and surged

 forward on a jet of air, they were in complete accord.

 The Kaa hugged his daughter fondly and indulged her by blowing through her ear

 dimples. She squealed with laughter, and he laughed too.

 "Faster!" he called to his driver, willing to give his daughter a treat. "Racing

 speed!"

 The nose of the litter tilted up, and although it was built for stately

 processionals, not racing, the driver gunned it to maximum acceleration.

 Draperies billowed and swung free of their securings, flapping from the canopy.

 A cushion blew off, tumbling into the street to be fought over by the cheering

 crowd. The litter flashed by the people in a mul­ticolored blur. The litters

 containing their attendants strug­gled to keep up, while Fazhmind and the ladies

 in waiting clutched clothing and squinted grimly against the wind.

 The guards rode in a skimmer that was larger and faster. It caught up and

 paralleled the imperial litter, pretending to race them, yet never quite edging

 ahead.

 Israi squealed in shrill delight and leaned forward. ' 'Fas­ter, faster!" she

 called to the driver. "Don't let them win!"

 It was madness, surging through the streets of Vir at this reckless speed. The

 impetuous act of a ta-chune male, not a ruler over numerous worlds. Yet the

 Kaa's spirit soared, and he laughed in the sheer joy of speed, which he loved as

 much as his daughter.

 Ahead of them, the magnificent spires of the palace reached to the sky,

 silhouetted against a sunset of blazing corals and delicate pinks. It was as

 though the sky itself celebrated the close of Festival with them. The Kaa saw

 the rising walls and scaffolding of the restoration project beyond the perimeter

 of the present palace compound, and his heart swelled more. Life was as it

 should be. No matter what detractors and political fools might murmur among

 themselves, his empire remained great. He was great. There was peace and

 prosperity for the Vüs, and so it would re­main while he held the throne. All

 was well.

 In Israi's lap, Ampris squirmed briefly in an instinctive search for her mother.

 But there was only the reassuring touch of a tiny Vüs hand pressed against her

 side, and mo­mentarily, the stroke of a large hand down her back. Al­ready

 Ampris had learned much in these short days. She had known excruciating loss and

 terror. She felt weak from hunger now, and her thirst brought pain. Yet the

 touch of these Vüs creatures was gentle, not rough. The little Vüs had saved

 her. That, Ampris understood. The little Vüs loved her, and Ampris absorbed that

 love into herself, find­ing comfort in it. Already the memory of her mother was

 not as strong, not as painful, as it had been.

 The fear and grieving in her tiny heart abated for the first time. Ampris

 sniffed, pressing her nose against the small hand upon her, and breathed in the

 strange scent of it. Vüs scent. Not good… until now.

 Not mother scent, yet here was love offered, along with comfort and security.

 Not mother scent, not mother love, but a good scent and a good love. Large Vüs

 people could not be trusted. She knew that. When she looked at them she wanted

 to bite.

 But this little Vüs person was different. The little Vüs person had promised to

 take care of her. There was no lie in her scent, no harm. Ampris relaxed her

 young muscles. She licked the hand that petted her, and found herself cud­dled

 closer. Yes, this was good. She inhaled the skin scent of Israi's hand again and

 absorbed it into her memory, into her very being.

 For the first time since being taken from her mother, Ampris felt safe. She did

 not know how long it would last. The last time she felt safe, terror had come.

 But for now, it was enough.

 CHAPTER FOUR

 Elrabin's stomach hurt so much he could barely concentrate on the display of

 meat globes just a few feet away. Crouched behind a stack of rotting, smelly

 fruit crates, El-rabin flicked his ears against the swarm of buzzing flies and

 peeked around the edge of the crates again.

 Yes, the Gorlican shopkeeper was still haggling with his customer, a scrawny old

 green-skinned Vüs with a heavily laden market basket. The Vüs was clearly a cook

 in a small household. He gave himself far too many airs for his rank, and

 insisted on squeezing, sniffing, and haggling over every item.

 Elrabin didn't mind the performance, for it distracted the shopkeeper, but the

 two adults were standing next to the meat globes. Elrabin could have stolen half

 the contents of the shop by now, but he wanted meat—juicy, synthetic, and

 flavored with spices to make it taste real. His mouth wa­tered with

 anticipation, and he had to press both hands against the fierce ache in his

 stomach.

 Gods, he was hungry. After a rough night crammed in bed with his younger lits,

 who yipped, kicked, and twitched in their dreams, Elrabin had awakened this

 morning to an empty larder and a note from his mother blinking on the data

 screen, saying to get two measures of Quixlix from the market on her payment

 card.

 It was strange the way a sudden cool certainty had flowed through him. He stood

 there in the galley, staring at the open door to the bare larder, the

 grease-smeared cooker, the scuffed, cheap table, the grimy floor, and the

 fly-specked window that overlooked the next tenement building, and he felt

 suddenly calm and at peace with him­self.

 His lits, Vol and Mikar, were yipping in the other room in shrill argument, but

 even the noise seemed to dampen down and become insignificant in his hearing. He

 saw as clearly as though he gazed into a sivo crystal.

 Their lodging stank of dry rot, rancid meat grease, and unclean fur. They had

 two rooms, both too small. The se­curity locks didn't work. The bath sprayer

 didn't work. The water pipe leaked. The cooker was down to its last working

 burner, a bomb waiting to explode. The bottom panel of the door had been kicked

 in the last time Elrabin''s da came by, drunk and howling for admittance-

 Maintenance had never repaired it. They had an old data screen that was

 illegally hooked up to the building's incoming vid signal feed. One of Elrabin's

 daily chores was to monitor any scans and keep the screen switched off at random

 intervals to avoid detection.

 Yeah, like the building supervisor was going to be able to squeeze a fine out of

 Elrabin's mother if they did get caught. All he could do would be to evict them,

 and that was fine with Elrabin. The hopelessness of the place some­times drove

 Elrabin to fury, and sometimes to despair.

 "When things look up, we'll move," his mother often said. "When things look up,

 I'll change jobs, get a better shift. When things look up, we won't have to

 worry."

 This morning Elrabin understood that things would never look up. Nothing changed

 in the ghetto, ever. His mother already worked double shifts, which meant she

 was never home. She slaved out there, breaking her back doing work too hard for

 her while she got the worst wages in the world. They came up short every pay

 cycle. Most of the time all they could afford to buy was Quixlix, and if Elrabin

 had to synthesize one more meal out of that stuff he would puke.

 So he just stood there in the galley, with his heart thump­ing a little and his

 ears roaring and that strange calmness flowing through him. He picked up his

 mother's payment card, which had maybe one credit on it. He put on his coat. He

 switched the data screen to vid signal so the lits would have something to do

 when they came scrounging in for the breakfast they wouldn't get. And he walked

 out.

 Just like that. He wasn't going back. Ever.

 "Here, then, is all I will pay you!" declared the Vüs cook to the shopkeeper.

 Flicking out his tongue, he fitted his purchases into his basket and left.

 Another customer came up.

 Exasperation welled up inside Elrabin. He couldn't wait here much longer. Good

 thieving involved a quick dart, grab, and run. Lingering meant being seen. Being

 seen meant getting caught.

 If luck rode on his shoulder, the patrollers would be kind, understanding

 individuals who would haul him home, strung up by the heels for all the

 neighbors to see. They would force his mother to leave work and make his bail.

 She'd lose pay. Elrabin would get an arrest mark on his record sheet. After

 that, if he got caught again, it was loss of a hand or sale to hard labor. That

 was the lucky scenario.

 The unlucky one meant the patrollers would skip ahead past warnings and reform

 efforts and just cut off his hand on the spot for a first offense.

 Not a good start to his first day as a thief.

 But Elrabin had no intention of being a failure.

 The shopkeeper turned his back to rearrange the scarlet pomas into a small

 pyramid, and Elrabin seized his chance.

 He sprang forward, running right under the shopkeeper's coattails, and grabbed

 as many of the meat globes as he could. Stuffing them into his pockets, he

 wheeled toward the back of the stall.

 But the customer saw him. "A thief! A thief!" she shouted, pointing.

 The shopkeeper whirled around, banging the edge of his torso shell against the

 counter. "Thief! Stop! Robber!" He slapped a button, and a portable alarm

 blared.

 Cursing them both, Elrabin flung himself through the slit he had cut in the back

 of the tent stall. Cloth ripped as he forced himself through the hole. The

 shopkeeper, hard on his heels, gripped his coat and dragged him back.

 Fear burst in Elrabin's chest. He squirmed desperately and pulled free, only to

 trip flat. Several of the meat globes squished in his pockets, soaking him with

 juice and filling his nostrils with their aroma. The shopkeeper grabbed him by

 his left ankle now and held on, shrieking for assistance.

 Elrabin twisted in the shopkeeper's hold and kicked free. He scrambled backward,

 scooting right under the Gorlican, then stood up. The move toppled the Gorlican

 off-balance. Staggering to one side, the Gorlican snapped with his beaked mouth,

 but Elrabin was already scrambling through the tent slit on all fours.

 The alarm was still blaring. Gaining his feet in the filthy alley behind the

 food stall, Elrabin heard the sound of run­ning footsteps. The shopkeeper's

 shouts for help grew louder. At any moment the patrollers would arrive.

 Elrabin gulped in air, flattened his ears, and ran for his life. If he was

 lucky, he could reach the end of the alley and make the corner before anyone

 spotted him. All he needed was a head start and he could lose the patrollers.

 "You!" an amplified Vüs voice boomed behind him. "Small Keith in the brown coat.

 You will stop and submit to arrest!"

 Elrabin glanced over his shoulder and saw black-suited patrollers coming after

 him. He couldn't count how many. One or twenty, it didn't matter. In moments

 they would have a sniffer locked onto him, and then his chances would pretty

 much be over.

 Panting for breath, fear running hot weakness through his pumping legs, he ran

 in a zigzag pattern, trying to elude the sniffer and knowing he had scant chance

 of success in the narrow alley.

 It was stupid to head for the corner. They expected that. He could hear them

 talking into their comms behind him. Probably they were calling up more

 patrollers to block his path.

 Abruptly, Elrabin turned left and ran through a narrow gap between two of the

 stalls. He jumped over tent ropes and ducked past a precarious stack of crates,

 spilling them behind him. A startled Skek burst forth, cutting directly in front

 of Elrabin on its stick-thin, multiple limbs.

 Elrabin tripped over it and went rolling into the soft side of a tent. He

 scrambled onto his knees, and for a moment he and the Skek stared directly into

 each other's eyes. Then the Skek lifted its skinny arms high over its furred

 head and ran, hands flopping almost bonelessly as it went.

 Elrabin ducked and rolled in the opposite direction, scooting beneath the edge

 of the tent and finding himself wedged between another stack of crates. Baring

 his teeth, he squeezed through, waited until the shopkeeper stepped outside to

 watch the patrollers go by, then darted out past her and cut across the plaza.

 People shouted and pointed, but Elrabin didn't care as long as he shook off his

 pursuers. He ran down another alley, sauntered casually through a crowded shop

 with his hands innocently in his pockets, lifted a comb adorned with fake

 jewels, and skipped out the back door without being noticed. Outside, he broke

 into a steady trot and headed into the dirty streets of the east side of the

 ghetto. Sounds of pursuit faded completely. He couldn't even hear the alarm now.

 Elrabin's pounding heart slowed down. He drew in sev­eral deep breaths, glancing

 back often. A grin lifted his lips from his teeth. Now that the danger was over,

 his fear van­ished, to be replaced by a rush of elation. Whirling around to face

 the direction he'd come from, he licked his palm and made the universal gesture

 of disrespect.

 So much for the patrollers. They weren't so scary. Even with all their comms,

 sniffers, scanners, and surveillance nets they hadn't been able to catch one

 third-grown lit. Clearly he had been born to be a master thief. He had the

 moves; he had the talent. From now on he would be known on the streets as

 Elrabin the Quick. Everyone would soon admire how he could outthink and outrun

 the patrollers.

 Still grinning to himself, he paused in a doorway and checked the contents of

 his pockets before fishing out a meat globe. It was sadly squashed, with most of

 its flavorful juice gone, but he ate it anyway, smacking his jaws and savoring

 every bite. He was tempted to eat all the globes; after the danger he'd eluded

 he deserved to treat himself like a kaa.

 But he held back. He had to take care of himself, now that he was out on his

 own. He had to plan and think ahead.

 Only for a moment did he remember his two younger lits at home, probably howling

 with hunger right now and wondering when he'd return.

 Elrabin felt a tide of guilt surge through his throat, and his ears swiveled

 back. He could go home, take them the food, spend the rest of the day watching

 illegal vids. He could give his mother the comb he'd stolen from the shop.

 Pulling it out, Elrabin turned it over in his hands, watching how the fake

 jewels flashed in the morning sunlight. Even with jewels made of colored glass

 that were glued on, the comb looked bright and pretty to Elrabin, something that

 should belong to a fine lady. He felt sure that if he gave it to his mother, her

 tired eyes would light up. She might even smile and give him that fond lick

 between the ears the way she used to when he was really little.

 A skilled thief could make forty times as much as a street sweeper, not that

 Elrabin was even old enough to hold a legal job. As long as he brought home food

 and gifts, useful items they all could use, why should she mind?

 She would, though.

 Elrabin closed from his mind the memories of his parents snapping and fighting,

 the stolen loot from his da's latest escapade lying glittering on the battered

 table in the galley, the dust pouch dropped carelessly next to it in plain

 sight. They fought over everything, including Cuvein's inability to support his

 family, his dust habit, his gambling. He would stand there, leaning against the

 counter, charming and rakish with his head tilted to one side and his brown eyes

 gleaming. Now and then he would grin a little at her, then roll his eyes to the

 lits, crouched in the doorway in a watchful huddle. She would rail at him, her

 body worn and her fur dull, too many disillusionments in her eyes. He never

 listened. He never changed. Finally he stopped com­ing by altogether.

 That's when she started working double shifts and talk­ing about how things

 would change.

 Yeah, Elrabin thought resentfully. Things had changed, all right. They had

 gotten worse.

 Whining softly through his teeth, Elrabin tossed the comb in the air and caught

 it, then tucked it safely away in his belt pouch beneath his tattered brown

 coat. He was a gangly youngster, longer of leg and lighter-boned than most lits

 his age. Even at seven years, Elrabin was bright and observant, with a measure

 of cynicism worthy of one far older. His fur was short and dense, brindled a

 pale gray-brown color, and his eyes were a light, golden brown filled with

 mischief. His coat had belonged to his father, and was his only inheritance.

 Worn and grimy, the garment was made of strong, well-woven linen stolen and

 handed down many times until it turned up at a ragpicker's and was bar­tered for

 by Elrabin's mother. It was the only thing his da left behind, and Elrabin had

 claimed it immediately for his own. The sleeves were rolled up to hide their

 missing cuffs and tatters, and if it needed a good washing or if the lining had

 long since ripped out or if the pockets were stretched from having too many

 objects crammed into them, he didn't care.

 "I'm not going back," he said defiantly to the empty street.

 He had the spare meat globes in his pockets for lunch, and he would sell the

 comb to Berv, the junk dealer who worked near the docks. That would bring him

 enough to pay for his supper. A heady sense of freedom swept Elrabin as he

 turned his steps toward the far side of the ghetto. Life was getting better

 already.

 "Come on, Ampris," the melodic voice crooned to her. "Come to me, my sweet.

 Ampris, come."

 Crouched beneath the white, bell-shaped flowers that drooped becomingly on

 fragile stems, Ampris heard the voice calling to her but ignored it. She had

 discovered a fat worm with multiple tiny feet and a set of horns on its head,

 and the creature fascinated her. Rainbow-hued, it inched its way across the

 lower petals of a white flower, distracted neither by the twig Ampris held

 across its path nor by her gentle thumping of its posterior. She laughed at it

 and leaned closer, sniffing its length to gain a peculiar, leafy odor.

 Lately Ampris had been collecting scents. Her nostrils were filled with a bounty

 of fragrances, some exhilarating and some pungent, some simply awful. She had to

 trace each smell to its source, so she could identify and learn.

 Now she had learned what a flower worm smelled like. Pausing on the rim of the

 blossom, it reared up three-quarters of its plump length and reached for a leaf

 sus­pended above it. Ampris helped by moving the leaf within the worm's reach.

 It crawled onto the green surface, paused there, and began to eat steadily,

 again letting nothing she did distract it from its purpose.

 Its leafy scent grew stronger, and she understood that it was a creature devoted

 only to food—the gathering and the consumption of it.

 Laughing to herself, Ampris sniffed the leaves of the flower and forever

 isolated the scent of flower worm in her memory.

 ' 'Ampris!''

 Startled, Ampris looked up and saw a thin-armed silhou­ette looming over her

 with clear impatience.

 "I have called you and called you," Israi said. "You are supposed to come when I

 call you. Don't you remember? I explained everything to you before we started."

 Ampris rose to her feet, wobbling a little before she found her balance. It was

 still a new experience to walk upright, but it made her feel very grown up, a

 chune like Israi and no longer a helpless infant. When she'd ceased to crawl

 last week, Israi had praised her lavishly. They had celebrated with a party in

 the garden, just the two of them and Israi's favorite court of dolls. Servants

 had brought them savory dishes and served them banquet style. Ampris had been

 the guest of honor, and for a gift she had been given a new, very pretty

 ownership ring for her ear, one fashioned of real gold. From it dangled an

 elaborate car­touche of Israi's name, enameled in jewel-bright colors.

 But now no approval showed on Israi's beautiful face. Her vibrant green eyes

 flashed with annoyance.

 Dismay sank through Ampris. She hated it when Israi lost her temper. She could

 not bear to disappoint her be­loved friend. "I am sorry," she said, bowing her

 head.

 Already she understood that at court one did not make excuses for bad behavior.

 One apologized and took one's punishment. It was the brave way, the honorable

 way, the Vüs way, according to Israi.

 But Ampris's simple apology did not wipe the anger from Israi's face. Above her

 jeweled collar, her rill had turned a smudgy, dark hue. "Was I not clear?" Israi

 asked. "Must I explain the procedure again?"

 "No, Israi," Ampris said hastily. "I remember the game."

 "It is not a game," Israi said. "And you do not act like you remember anything.

 What are you doing?''

 Ampris panted, eager to share her discoveries. "Sniff­ing."

 "Again?" Israi asked, aghast. "Why?"

 "It's important."

 Israi glared at her. ' 'Not as important as learning to come when you are

 called. Lord Fazhmind has told the whole court that you are a stupid Aaroun,

 impossible to train. I intend to show everyone how smart you are."

 Ampris drew herself up, willing to please. "Yes, Israi."

 "But I can't if you don't learn to do this! I have boasted about you. Will you

 now prove the sri-Kaa a liar?''

 Ampris's ears flattened. She dared not meet Israi's eyes. This was real anger,

 not just a scolding because Israi liked to be bossy. Ampris realized she had

 made a serious error in disappointing her beloved friend. She wanted to weep.

 She would do anything to make amends.

 "Please don't be angry," she said, throwing herself at Israi's feet. She pressed

 her face against the delicate enam­eled straps of Israi's sandals. They smelled

 of finely worked leather and the perfumed oil rubbed daily into Israi's golden

 skin. ' 'I will learn all the games. I will make you proud of me. I promise."

 "That's what you said when we started. Now the sun is getting hot, and I am

 tired," Israi said.

 Ampris rubbed the side of her muzzle against Israi's foot. She knew that the

 feel of her soft fur usually pleased Israi. "Please don't pout," she said

 softly. "I promise I will be good."

 "You promise, but then you forget." Israi pulled her foot back from Ampris's

 grasp. "And stop groveling."

 Ampris sat up. "What's groveling?"

 "It means licking my foot when you want me to like you. Fazhmind flatters my

 father for the same reason, and he's nasty. I don't like him at all."

 Ampris blinked up at Israi, her heart sinking inside her. "And you don't like me

 anymore either?" she asked.

 "Silly." Israi swooped down and gave her a quick hug. ' 'Of course I like you,

 except when you act stupid. Stand up."

 Flooded with joy and relief, Ampris obeyed.

 Israi clasped her hands behind her back, imitating her father, and circled

 Ampris for an inspection. "You have dirt on your clothes."

 Ampris glanced down at herself and swiftly slapped at the streaks of dust on her

 fur. She wore no clothes, nor did Israi. During the hot summers, young Vüs

 chunen of all ranks went unclothed within the privacy of their garden walls. It

 saved much unnecessary wear and tear on gar­ments. Less laundry had to be done,

 and chunen could grow as they pleased without having to be refitted as often.

 But both Israi and Ampris loved to pretend they were wearing elaborate court

 attire.

 If Israi was back to pretending, that meant Ampris really was forgiven. Tipping

 back her head, she squinted against the bright sunshine and lifted her palms to

 its warmth.

 "Pay attention," Israi commanded.

 Ampris lowered her arms and watched her beloved friend with concentration.

 "I am going to leave you here in the flowers," Israi ordered. "Don't start

 sniffing them again."

 "Yes, Israi," Ampris said.

 "I will wait a few minutes and then I will call you. When I do, you are to come

 to me at once. Understand?''

 "Yes, Israi."

 "Good." Israi smiled at her and gave her a quick rub between the ears. "Now—"

 "Israi!" called a female voice. "Israi! It is time for re­freshments. Come

 indoors before you burn your skin."

 Israi whirled around and waved to show that she'd heard.

 Then she turned back to Ampris and bent close. "Lenith is watching. Now you have

 to do this correctly. Will you?"

 "Yes, Israi," Ampris said.

 "You won't forget? Even if I don't call you for a while?"

 "I won't forget," Ampris promised. But even as she spoke, she couldn't help but

 look out of the corner of her eye to see if the worm was still eating his leaf.

 If Israi delayed calling her for a few minutes, she would have time to play with

 the flower worm a short while longer.

 "Ampris?" Israi said doubtfully, letting her long slim tongue flicker past her

 lips.

 Ampris looked right at her, eyes wide with sincerity. ' 'I promise."

 "Israi!" the lady in waiting called again. "Please. The sun is too hot for you."

 "Yes, Lady Lenith," Israi said. She turned away to go, but not before she gave

 Ampris one last look over her shoulder.

 Ampris smiled and crouched among the flowers again. They were slightly trampled

 now, but she didn't mind. The flower worm had vanished, and she could not find

 him, not even when she sniffed for him among the leaves. Perhaps he had gone

 into the dirt.

 Dropping to her stomach, she burrowed among the flow­ers, sniffing the ground.

 In the process she discovered an entire new range of scents. The flowers were

 growing in loose, dark loam, and it smelled far different from the com­pacted

 soil of the—

 "Ampris!" Israi called. "Come, Ampris."

 Jolted from her thoughts, Ampris looked up. Israi was calling. She had to go.

 But just as she started to climb to her feet, she smelled a scent so exquisite,

 so enticing, she reeled from it. Heady, intoxicating, it overwhelmed her senses

 and nearly suffo­cated her with its sweet perfume. Forgetting everything else,

 she crawled forward through the last of the white bell flowers and found a bush

 loaded with heavy bright blue racemes. Bees swarmed the bush, and its perfume

 filled the sunlit air.

 "Ampris!" Israi called once more, then fell silent.

 Torn, Ampris glanced over her shoulder, but she could not see her beloved friend

 anywhere in the garden. She knew Israi must have gone inside. Israi would think

 she had forgotten her promise, but Ampris couldn't bear to leave the bush

 without touching it. It might never smell this fragrant again. Israi said that

 many of the flowers bloomed for a short time, once a year.

 Ampris did not completely understand how long a year could be yet, but Israi

 said it was a very long time, much longer than between breakfast and dinner.

 But the garden was suddenly very quiet, except for the busy humming of the bees.

 Ampris looked around again and climbed to her feet. She felt lonely, isolated,

 strange.

 Never had she been alone before. Not like this. For even the guards who always

 shadowed Israi had vanished from their place by the wall.

 The sun blazed down, and Ampris felt suddenly pinned by its heat, pressing her

 toward the ground. She was small, and not very fast yet. If danger came, she

 could not outrun it.

 And danger might come, for she did not have her beloved friend to protect her.

 Israi had called her, and Ampris had not obeyed.

 She opened her mouth and began to whimper, then stopped herself. She would not

 fail her beloved friend.

 Quickly Ampris jerked a handful of the blue flowers from the bush, then turned

 and ran on her short, awkward legs for the portico. At the steps she stopped,

 frowning. She could not do steps upright yet. She had tried yesterday and

 fallen, bumping all the way down and scaring herself. But to crawl meant leaving

 the flowers behind.

 After a moment, she put the flowers in her mouth and swiftly scrambled up the

 steps to the column. Leaning against it, she found her balance, dropped some of

 her flow­ers and had to pick them up, then hurried inside.

 The quiet coolness of the interior surrounded her. Her dirty feet padded

 silently on the polished stone floors. She skirted the atrium with its softly

 splashing fountain and bright, darting fish and headed down the broad corridor

 that led to Israi's apartments.

 The tall doors of heavily carved bronze stood open. As Ampris approached, she

 could hear Fazhmind's arrogant voice:

 ' 'I have always felt the sri-Kaa should have a more elegant pet, something

 suitable for the Imperial Daughter's—"

 "Here I am, Israi," Ampris said proudly as she pushed her way inside. She held

 the flowers aloft, and the room filled instantly with their fragrance. They were

 so beautiful, although they had already started to wilt, and she was pleased to

 offer Israi a gift worthy of her beauty.

 She laid them on the table next to where Israi was sitting and smiled. "I am

 sorry to keep the sri-Kaa waiting," she said without stumbling over the formal

 words. She started to tell Israi that she'd found the bush and had wanted to

 experience it, but she glanced up at Fazhmind, who was glaring at her, and fell

 silent.

 Israi sat up taller in her chair and extended her rill. When she looked at

 Fazhmind, her eyes held triumph. "You were saying my pet cannot be trained?''

 His face looked as though he had eaten sour fruit, and his tongue^ flicked once

 into sight. "Well, perhaps some training can be achieved with this creature,

 your highness, if you call this straggling in trained.''

 Israi's face turned to stone.

 Lady Lenith tried to intervene. "My lord," she said with a placating gesture.

 "Remember that the Aaroun is very young. Only this week has it been determined

 that she is reaching the age of accountability, when training can begin. Do not

 expect too much too quickly. I think she has done very well. She is far more

 intelligent than most of her kind. Otherwise, she could never have learned our

 language. That alone is quite an accomplishment."

 Ampris swelled with pride, but Fazhmind only looked at her as though she were

 something to be stepped on with his sandal.

 He flicked out his tongue. "Accomplishment? It is an abomination. Never should

 it have been permitted."

 Lady Lenith lifted her rill and glanced at Israi as though to warn him to mind

 what he said, but Fazhmind's tirade went on, unchecked.

 "She comes to her mistress, covered with dirt, as be­fouled as a street urchin,

 and dragging in these hideous flowers which are an offense to the imperial eye."

 Ampris opened her mouth to defend her beautiful bou­quet, but to her dismay the

 blossoms were wilted and curl­ing up. Their bright blue color had already faded,

 and their delicious fragrance was gone.

 ' 'What happened to them?'' she cried.

 ' 'They cannot be picked, for their blooms will not keep more than a few

 minutes," Fazhmind said spitefully. "You stupid creature, you have destroyed the

 symmetry of that shrub for no purpose, thus creating a double offense." He

 glanced across the room at a slave and flicked his fingers in summons. "Take

 this mess from the Imperial Daughter's sight at once."

 The slave hastened to obey.

 Fazhmind pointed at Ampris. "Remove that as well. Wash it. Clean what it has

 touched."

 Ampris growled low in her throat. "I am not an it. I am—"

 "Ampris, hush," Lady Lenith said.

 Backing her ears, Ampris obeyed.

 Fazhmind gestured again at the slave. "Take it away."

 Bowing deeply, the slave reached for Ampris's hand.

 "Leave her here," Israi commanded.

 The slave released Ampris's fingers as though burned and backed away, bowing.

 Israi glared at Fazhmind. Her half-extended rill had dark­ened. "You may not

 dismiss my pet without my permis­sion."

 "Say my lord," Lady Lenith advised her softly. "Your imperial highness must be

 polite."

 "My lord," Israi said coldly. She went on glaring at Fazhmind.

 He sighed and bowed to the sri-Kaa. "The Imperial Daughter surely does not wish

 the company of a creature who is dirty. It will be a more pleasant companion if

 it is clean."

 "I'm not an it!" Ampris shouted angrily.

 Israi whirled on her and gestured for silence. Shame washed over Ampris, and she

 obeyed.

 "Yes, Lord Fazhmind," Israi said. "My Ampris is dirty. She was wrong to enter my

 presence with dirt on her nose. But / will correct her, not you." She glanced at

 Lady Lenith and added reluctantly, "My lord."

 Fazhmind flicked out his tongue. "The Imperial Daugh­ter has made herself very

 clear. May I be excused from her presence?''

 "Yes," Israi said coldly. "You may go."

 She turned her back on Fazhmind, who bowed, extended his rill disrespectfully,

 and departed.

 Silence fell over them, then Lady Lenith said, "Will you now drink your

 refreshment?"

 Israi pouted, her rill rising and falling. She would not look at Lady Lenith.

 She would not look at Ampris.

 This was not a good sign. Ampris watched her beloved friend worriedly. She

 understood that she had failed again to please Israi. Worse, she had somehow

 caused Israi to fail with Fazhmind. When he sneered at Ampris, that disrespect

 was somehow transferred to Israi. And for nothing in the world did Ampris want

 anyone to feel less than complete adoration for her beloved friend.

 "I am sorry," Ampris whispered. Her eyes filled with tears, and she was suddenly

 afraid Israi would send her away as Fazhmind was always urging. "Please forgive

 me."

 Israi said nothing. She would not look at Ampris.

 "Please," Ampris whispered. She crept closer to Israi, only to be drawn back by

 Lady Lenith's gentle hand.

 Lady Lenith shook her head and gestured for Ampris to be quiet.

 Frightened by Israi's anger, Ampris flattened her ears and obeyed.

 Lady Lenith kept her hand on Ampris's shoulder. "Have I the Imperial Daughter's

 permission to order a bath for Ampris?''

 Israi flicked out her tongue but said nothing.

 Ampris stared at the floor. She was whimpering silently now; huge tears rolled

 down her face, streaking and matting her fur.

 "I think," Lady Lenith said in her calm way, "that little Ampris did very well.

 She is walking upright now, a great accomplishment. She probably tried to hurry

 when the Imperial Daughter called. Did you fall down when you hur­ried, Ampris?"

 Ampris opened her mouth to say no, but Lady Lenith continued before she could

 answer.

 "Falling down always gets Ampris dirty. Her fur is such a light color that she

 can't help it, can she? And she went to such an effort to bring your highness

 flowers. Wasn't that a splendid gesture?"

 Israi kept her gaze averted. "They were ugly."

 "Oh, yes, indeed, very ugly," Lady Lenith agreed, while Ampris quivered under

 her hand. "But when Ampris first picked them, they must have been exquisite. Too

 exquisite for a little one to resist."

 Ampris nodded her head, grateful for Lady Lenith's un­derstanding.

 Lady Lenith smiled at her. ' 'Now Ampris knows that she must never pick the

 flowers again, don't you?"

 Ampris nodded again. "Yes, Lady Lenith," she said softly. Her gaze never left

 Israi's averted face.

 "Did your highness notice how splendidly she spoke when she first came in? Of

 course, she was not yet ac­knowledged. That was a small mistake of etiquette,

 which we can overlook because of her tender age. For even the Imperial Daughter

 can forget to wait for acknowledgment, sometimes when she approaches her father,

 for example. But Ampris said what was correct. She used the proper formality,

 and she spoke Vüs without error. That is no small accomplishment for one of the

 abiru."

 Israi turned around to face them. Her green eyes were still flat and cold, but

 at least now she was looking at Am­pris and her rill was fading to its normal

 color.

 Fresh unhappiness filled Ampris. She was so sorry for all her mistakes. If Lady

 Lenith had not held her in place, she would have flung herself flat on the floor

 at Israi's feet.

 "It is important to make allowances for the shortcomings of those beneath us in

 ability, Israi," Lady Lenith said. "Ampris is not perfect, but your highness

 loves her."

 Israi nodded, and relief dawned in Ampris. She gulped in a breath and wiped her

 eyes.

 "As one who is older and more accomplished, your highness must remember to have

 patience with someone so little and new to court life. Ampris will learn, and

 she will improve. Give her time, and she will eventually reward you by behaving

 perfectly."

 "I will," Ampris promised fervently.

 Israi's gaze softened before a fresh streak of dark blue appeared on her rill.

 "But Lord Fazhmind is horrid. I wanted her to impress him."

 "She will, in time. You must not mind his criticism so much. After all, you are

 the sri-Kaa. He is forever beneath your highness, forever subject to you. Do not

 give him more power than he has by letting his remarks upset you."

 Israi tilted her head, looking surprised. "Is that why he is so mean?"

 "Yes," Lady Lenith said.

 "Oh."

 Ampris gazed up at Lady Lenith in gratitude. Perhaps Israi was going to forgive

 her after all, and if she did it was due to this gentle person's influence. At

 that moment Am­pris loved Lady Lenith almost as completely as she loved Israi.

 She rubbed her muzzle against Lady Lenith's hand.

 Lady Lenith patted her shoulder. "There now. All is right again. Will you two

 not make up? Or is Lord Fazh-mind going to succeed in ruining your friendship?''

 A strange look crossed Israi's face. She jumped off her chair and rushed to hug

 Ampris, dirt and all.

 "Dear little Ampris," she said, squeezing Ampris tight. "I won't let him do

 that. I promise. You are going to be with me forever."

 Happy once again, Ampris hugged her back. "I'll be good," she said. "I'll be

 very good."

 Israi pulled free from their embrace and gently tugged one of Ampris's ears.

 "Now go and get your bath. I have a new game for us to play."

 ' 'The Imperial Daughter must take refreshment and a nap first," Lady Lenith

 said.

 Israi grimaced. "I am too old for naps," she declared.

 "All ladies take naps," Lady Lenith said. "It preserves their beauty and their

 skin."

 Israi flicked out her tongue, but she made no further pro­test. "Go, Ampris, and

 bathe," she said. "I'll take a short nap while you do that. Then we'll play."

 Relief was making Ampris feel sleepy herself. She beamed at Israi and bowed. "I

 can't wait," she said. "I like new games. But I want to play Squeak, too."

 Spinning around, she rushed out.

 Before she reached the bathing chamber, however, Lady Lenith caught up with her.

 Under the neutral stares of the slaves, Lady Lenith gripped Ampris by the arm

 and shoved her over against a wall. Her gentle expression of sympathy was gone,

 replaced by stern disapproval. Her rill stood dark, at full extension.

 She slapped Ampris once across the muzzle, not hard enough to hurt, but hard

 enough to shock Ampris.

 Surprised by the blow, Ampris stared at her in disbelief while fresh tears

 filled her eyes. Her mouth began to quiver, but she dared say nothing.

 "Now you listen to me," Lady Lenith said in a clipped, no-nonsense voice. ' 'You

 are getting too far above yourself of late. You are not the equal of the

 Imperial Daughter. Is that clear? You must never dictate which games her

 high­ness will play. Your opinion is not important, nor is it re­quested. Never

 again do I want to see you argue with her, or cause her distress. Is that

 clear?''

 Shaken, Ampris nodded. "Yes, my lady," she whis­pered.

 "You have been set far above your station because it pleases the Imperial

 Daughter to put you there, but never forget that you are just an Aaroun, nothing

 more. The fact that you are allowed to speak Vüs does not mean you are one of

 us. You are abiru, just like those slaves standing there."

 She gestured as she spoke, and Ampris stared at the ex­pressionless servants in

 rising distress. She wasn't a slave. She belonged to Israi. She was beloved of

 Israi. She was special. Israi had told her so.

 "Silence," Lady Lenith said as Ampris started to speak. "You are abiru, the

 lowest of the low. See that you re­member it."

 "Yes, my lady," Ampris whispered.

 ' 'And you can remember this also. The imperial promise is binding only as long

 as the Imperial Daughter wishes it to be. If you make her angry, she can send

 you away, just like that." Lady Lenith flicked her fingers. "Her cartouche will

 be taken from your ear, and you will be cast out."

 Ampris clutched her earring in horror. "No!"

 "Yes! I tell you this for your own benefit. You can be a good companion for her,

 if you will behave."

 "She won't send me away," Ampris insisted. "She is my friend."

 Lady Lenith slapped her again, hard enough to sting through Ampris's fur this

 time. "No, you stupid Aaroun. The Imperial Daughter is not your friend. She is

 your owner. Never forget it. Never, do you hear?"

 Holding her aching muzzle and fighting not to whimper, Ampris said nothing.

 Lady Lenith pushed her toward the pool. ' 'Go take your bath. You've had your

 warning. It's up to you to remember it."

 Without another word, she turned and walked away, her long skirts billowing over

 her tail.

 Not until she was gone from sight did Ampris dare move. Running to one of the

 decorative columns, she crouched down behind it and glared at the slaves

 watching her.

 "Leave me alone!" she said, growling.

 They shrugged and filed out, while Ampris told herself she didn't care what they

 saw or what they heard. The opinion of a slave, after all, was nothing.

 Alone in the vaulted bathing chamber, Ampris pressed her muzzle against the cool

 stone column and wept. She hated Lord Fazhmind, and she hated Lady Lenith. They

 said one thing and did another. Everything was a lie for Israi's benefit. Their

 kindness was false, and no one could be trusted.

 No one, except Israi.

 Ampris lifted her head at last, trying to stop the miserable ache inside her.

 She had learned a big lesson today. Never again must she risk Israi's

 displeasure. For only Israi mat­tered. She would make herself worthy of Israi's

 friendship in every way. She would make Israi proud of her. Never again would

 she shame her beloved friend.

 "I am not a stupid Aaroun," Ampris whispered, resent­ing all the things Lady

 Lenith had said to her. "And Israi is my friend. As I am her friend. She will

 never send me away. She isn't mean. She isn't false."

 Slitting her eyes, Ampris glared into the distance and licked her palm before

 slapping it down on the floor and grinding it back and forth, the way she'd seen

 some of the slaves do when they thought no one was watching.

 That for Lady Lenith of the two faces.

 She licked her palm a second time and again slapped her hand on the floor,

 smearing her spittle across the stone. And that for Lord Fazhmind, her enemy.

 Both of them could do what they liked and say what they wanted. She would show

 them that an Aaroun was just as good as they were.

 CHAPTER FIVE

 The city of Vir lay wedge-shaped along the shores of the Cuna Da'r River. At its

 apex stood the vast palace complex, seat of the Kaa's power, and from the tall

 palace gates the broad Avenue of Triumph bisected the rest of the city. The

 fashionable west side, with its expensive shops and the vil­las of the nobility,

 filled the area between the river and the Avenue of Triumph. Bordering the banks

 of the river itself stood the Row of Palaces, grand edifices built long ago

 during the height of the Vüs Empire. They were maintained now by the descendants

 of the Twelve, the original noble houses.

 The east side of the city sprawled unchecked out into the dry, flat Plains of

 Filea. As the capital city of the Vüs homeworld, Vir required a spaceport, but

 the terminal had been located eighty klicks away to spare the city from the

 noise of ground-space shuttles booming into departure ve­locity. Vir Station One

 stood at the farthest rim of the east­ern side of the city, handling first-class

 passengers. Vir Stations Two and Three processed second- and third-class

 passengers, including military personnel. Vir Station Four handled only cargo,

 including domestic, intercontinental, and galactic trade. It constantly expanded

 to accommodate the heavy traffic between it and Port Filea, and many of the

 loading docks for cargo now extended into the abiru ghetto. Tenants never knew

 when they might return home from work to find their building marked for

 demolition. As a result, more and more tenements grew crowded, and more and more

 of the abiru folk were forced to live in alley shanties.

 The ghetto was a place of decaying buildings, abandoned shops, and dirty

 streets. Sanitation Services came through sporadically. Public comm lines were

 usually broken, which also meant most of the vids didn't work. Public tran­sit

 did not enter the ghetto. Cameras and security sniffers floated constantly along

 the perimeter dividing the ghetto from the rest of the city, with strong

 security networks clus­tered at the gates. The registration ID implanted in

 Elrabin's elbow lacked an authorization exit code, which meant he could stand at

 the barricades all day long and look at the sleek skimmers flying by, the

 well-to-do Vüs citizens hur­rying past on their business, the shops with

 fabulous wares displayed behind shimmering security bars, but he could never

 pass through the gates into the Vüs part of the city. All those wonderful things

 out there might as well be lo­cated on the planet Mynchepop, for all the chance

 Elrabin had of ever getting closer to them.

 Few Vüs ventured into the ghetto besides slavers, pa-trollers, and members of

 the small religious order that min­istered to the Vüs Rejects, who were to be

 avoided at all costs.

 Reforms were mentioned occasionally on vid news, but no one in the Vüs

 government wanted to squander money on breaking the endless cycle of poverty,

 hard labor, and degradation of the inferior abiru races.

 To Elrabin, standing at the barricade with his narrow muzzle almost pressed to

 its crackling energy barrier, there was an entirely unexplored world waiting for

 him out there. He pressed closer, yearning to experience a type of exis­tence

 that seemed like a fantasy.

 An alarm blared, startling him into jumping back. Heart pounding, he gazed up at

 the sniffer floating above him. Little frizzles of energy crackled over his

 skin, and he knew he was being scanned.

 "You are too close to the barricade," a mechanical voice blared. It was

 scratchy, warbling at the ends of words in a way that would have been funny in

 other circumstances. "Step back six paces. Warning. You are… close to the barr…

 cade. Step back."

 Elrabin scooted back, turned, and headed down the street with his ears cocked

 back, alert for trouble. The sniffer continued to float over the spot where he'd

 been, its mes­sage repeating itself as though stuck in a loop.

 The stupid thing was probably five seconds from a break­down. Elrabin flicked

 his ears forward. Half the machinery in the ghetto didn't work. No one

 maintained it, and any­thing that did function usually got stolen or

 cannibalized for parts.

 Then the beeping alarm suddenly changed pitch to some­thing shriller and more

 insistent. The sniffer came flying after him. "Warning," it blared. "ID chip

 five-five-seven-two-one-zero, you are in violation of city ordinance—"

 Elrabin snarled a curse and ran, dodging pedestrians and stacks of uncollected

 garbage on the decaying street. At the corner ahead of him was a group of Toth

 thugs, seemingly idle and talking to each other in the guttural, broken phrases

 they considered their own language. In reality they were looking for their next

 victim to shake down. Elrabin veered instinctively away from them, because Toths

 were always big trouble, then reconsidered and ran straight toward them.

 The sniffer followed, locked on him now and still blaring its message. If the

 stupid thing expected him to stand still as ordered and wait until a patrol

 skimmer showed up to arrest him, pass sentence, and utilize the wrist cutters on

 the spot, he wasn't going to behave like a good little slave-grade citizen.

 Ahead of him, the group of Toths stopped talking and stared at the approaching

 sniffer, their floppy ears extended. Uneasiness showed on their broad, ugly

 faces.

 Grinning to himself, Elrabin stayed on direct approach. He figured they all had

 record sheets. Let the sniffer get in range of their registration codes, and it

 might short-circuit from trying to lock on everyone at once.

 Muttering, the Toths could have scattered, but instead they spread out to face

 Elrabin. They were all adults, well above twice his height. Their massive,

 oversized heads were covered in mats of brown, curly hair. Their small, dim eyes

 glittered with brutal malice and little else. Originally brought to Vüsymel for

 heavy labor, the Toths were rebel­lious and hard to control. Most ran in gangs

 or worked for slavers as enforcers. They respected no authority, followed no

 rules. Genetic bullies, they fed on fear and intimidation.

 The sniffer was still blaring at Elrabin, ordering him to halt for arrest. He

 ran right up to the Toths, watching the sniffer from the corner of his eye to

 make sure it was close enough, then veered to dart around the thugs.

 One of them grabbed him by the shoulder and brought him to a halt so sudden that

 Elrabin was nearly jerked off his feet. Snarling and snapping in fear, his plan

 suddenly cooked, Elrabin tried to break free of the Toth's grip and failed.

 The sniffer halted and floated over their heads, still blar­ing its message.

 Elrabin glared at it, wondering why it didn't scan the Toths. The stupid

 sniffer's multiscan capa­bility must be broken, he figured. Elrabin muttered

 under his breath and tried again to twist free. His captor only clamped

 Elrabin's shoulder harder, making him gasp with pain.

 A small red light suddenly glowed on the sniffer's scuffed ovoid surface.

 Elrabin's heart lifted with hope, but one of the Toths pulled out an illegal

 sidearm and shot it, exploding bits of wire and circuitry over their heads. The

 bits came raining down, white-hot, singeing Toth fur where they landed.

 Elrabin's captor bellowed in pain and slapped at his head. Elrabin took a

 chance, twisted around, and bit the hairy wrist of the hand clamped on his

 shoulder.

 Toth blood, hot and foul-tasting, spurted across his tongue. The Toth bellowed

 again and slung Elrabin away. Elrabin went flying bodily through the air, arms

 and legs windmilling, and slammed into the graffiti-covered wall of a building.

 The impact jolted his bones and knocked the breath from him. He lay on the

 ground, stunned and only half-conscious. By the time he managed to suck air back

 into his lungs, he found himself roughly flipped over on his back. Hands groped

 and patted through his pockets and belt pouch.

 When he realized groggily what they were doing, he tried to sit up. "You—"

 The Toth kneeling over him butted him in the chest with that massive head.

 Everything went black, and when the world came back again Elrabin found himself

 lying alone in the dusty gutter, with bits of garbage and food wrappers blowing

 over him.

 Wheezing, he managed to sit up, and moaned from the effort. His chest felt caved

 in, although when he gingerly rubbed his ribs nothing seemed broken. The pockets

 of his coat were ripped out. His meat globes and the comb with fake jewels were

 gone. His belt had also been taken, leaving him minus his payment card and its

 one credit.

 Elrabin rubbed his narrow muzzle, so angry he wanted to tip back his head and

 howl. But that wouldn't bring back his stolen property. He bared his teeth and

 muttered to him­self. He'd taken those things because he needed them— well, the

 credit and the meat globes anyway. But the Toths were despicable thieves. They

 robbed for the pleasure of it. They had no morals at all.

 "Loitering is not permitted. Keep moving. Loitering is not permitted. Keep

 moving."

 The message blared overhead, making Elrabin jump at the arrival of another

 sniffer.

 Gaining his feet, he trotted away and blended in with other pedestrians. Without

 scanning him, the new sniffer let him go, and by the time he'd dodged down

 several alleys and ducked in and out of a few businesses, his heart had stopped

 pounding and he was able to breathe normally again.

 But his thoughts still raced around and around in his head, until he felt almost

 dizzy. This morning he had begun his new life in good shape. He had food and he

 had credit. Now, with late afternoon sunlight slanting across the city

 buildings, he had nothing to his name but his wits.

 He sighed and rubbed his muzzle, telling himself not to worry, not to be scared.

 He was smart enough to take care of himself. He could figure something out.

 But already his stomach was growling with hunger. He had nothing to eat. Nothing

 in mind to steal. Nowhere to go. Right now, freedom looked a lot bigger than it

 had before, and a lot less fun.

 In the distance he could hear the throaty horns of barge traffic on the river.

 Most of the vehicles flying past on the streets in this section were industry

 transports. Warehouses shielded by security fields either buzzed with activity

 or stood abandoned. When the wind shifted fractionally, El­rabin caught a whiff

 of a stench that made his ears prick forward and the hair around his neck stand

 on end.

 It was the smell of death, the stench of the meat houses, where condemned slaves

 were taken to be slaughtered.

 He growled low in his throat and veered in the opposite direction. Picking up

 his pace, he hurried out of the district, knowing he had to look purposeful to

 avoid being picked up for vagrancy. He couldn't approach any public vid screens,

 because they would blare an alarm based on his registration code. If he went to

 one of the public food dis­pensaries and begged for charity, an alarm would

 sound.

 One day on his own, and already he was wanted.

 His ears drooped, and discouragement settled heavily on his young shoulders.

 Maybe he wasn't quite as streetwise as he thought.

 Go home, ran a thought through his mind. Go home.

 He thought of supper made from tasteless Quixlix, the cramped quarters, his

 quarreling lits, no privacy, no hope. A fresh sense of rebellion stiffened his

 shoulders.

 No. He wasn't going home. He had no home. He was on his own, and he could make

 it. He would go to his old friend Berv, who would give him work and somehow get

 around the labor laws.

 By the time he crossed the ghetto and reached the cramped streets and

 half-demolished buildings fringing the dock area for Vir Station Four, Elrabin's

 legs ached with weariness and he was famished. He dragged himself down a street

 lined with tenement buildings that made him think of home, ignored a handful of

 dirty Keith lits and Aaroun cubs playing gollooball with chunks of decaying

 pavement gleaned from the unmended street, and cut across a vacant lot that had

 once been a city park with a statue of some dead Vüs kaa surrounded by a grove

 of trees. Vines now grew over the statue, obscuring it. The grove of trees had

 died and been cut down for firewood by scavengers who couldn't afford cookers.

 Trash blew ahead of him. Now and then he stopped to kick through a pile of

 garbage that looked promising. So far all he'd found was a piece of circuit

 board, but he clutched it in his hand for hope. If he could sell it to Berv, he

 would be back in business.

 But Berv's tiny basement shop was closed up tightly, the windows dark, a heavy

 iron bar locked across the door for security.

 Elrabin sniffed at the door and windows, pounding on them, and yelled for Berv

 to come out.

 No answer.

 He whined softly in his throat, feeling frustration rising to mingle with sharp

 disappointment. Berv had to be here. The junk dealer never went anywhere.

 Turning around, he glimpsed a pair of eyes watching him from the shadows across

 the street.

 "Hey!" Elrabin said.

 The eyes vanished.

 He ran to the doorway and knocked on the door inside the shadowy alcove, but it

 remained closed against him. "Hey!" he shouted again. "I'm looking for Berv.

 Where is he?"

 No one came to the door. No one answered his question.

 Elrabin muttered to himself and turned around to glare at Berv's place. He had

 no right to be gone when he was needed.

 A few blocks over, a departing cargo shuttle launched itself into the sky with a

 blast of fuel exhaust that lit up the twilight shadows. The thundering takeoff

 deafened El­rabin and made the windows rattle in the building next to him. There

 was an ordinance against flying the shuttles this close to inhabited buildings.

 But the abiru folk had no clout with the Vüs government to make it enforce its

 laws, and the shuttle flights got closer and more frequent all the time. Word

 was that another dock and landing pad were to be built this year, extending the

 station yet farther into the residential district of the ghetto.

 Elrabin listened to the powerful engines throbbing swiftly in the distance. He

 promised himself that someday he would leave the ghetto, would leave Vir, would

 go out to Port Filea and climb aboard one of those gleaming ground-space

 shuttles to get off Vüsymel forever. Someday he would see the empire for

 himself, and not just watch vid broadcasts about it. He would see the wonder

 planets, like Mynchepop with its upside-down waterfalls and pleasure gardens. He

 would walk through exotic cities, breathing air that did not stink like Vir's.

 He would make his fortune, and he would live a life that meant something.

 Someday.

 In the meantime, it was getting dark. Upstairs windows showed lights now. The

 smells of cooking wafted on the cool night air. Elrabin's mouth watered and his

 stomach growled so hard he felt faint.

 Go home, he thought again, but he shook it off, angry at himself for being weak.

 Home was nowhere. Home was a dead end. He was El-rabin the Quick, and he was

 destined for better things than this.

 There was only one thing left to do. He would go looking in the bars and dust

 holes for his da. Surely his own da would take him in, feed him, and teach him

 the ways of the good life.

 That was, if his old da wasn't dead or arrested by now.

 CHAPTER SIX

 A chilly afternoon rain fell upon the eastern slopes of the Sivean Mountains and

 drizzled steadily over the Kaa's hunting lodge. A cold, wintry, disappointing

 rain. A plan-spoiling rain.

 Standing at a window and gazing outside at the dreary, leaden skies,

 Ampris—fourteen now in Aaroun years and ta-chune in Vüs growth cycles—heaved a

 disgusted sigh.

 The imperial party had arrived earlier in the week for the Kaa's annual visit.

 Now that the hectic days of Hevrmasihd Festival had brought the year to an end,

 everyone felt lazy and bloated from too much feasting and activity. The Kaa came

 here to hunt across the breathtaking mountains, to take in fresh air, to eat

 simply, and to rest far from the cares of governing his empire. These were the

 slow days of Feval, the renewal. The courtiers had been released to visit their

 own homes or to go offworld if they wished extensive travel. Only a chosen,

 select few were invited to accompany the Kaa here to his beloved lodge. Some

 years he brought all his favorite wives and offspring; other years he did not.

 This year, only six of his most beloved wives were present, and of the many

 imperial progeny, only the sri-Kaa and her nine egg-siblings had been brought.

 Even the tutors had been left behind.

 As a result, the galleries and corridors of the lodge seemed almost empty in

 comparison with the busy court at Vir. Here, the onerous burdens of court

 etiquette and pro­tocol were relaxed a great deal; even clothing was simpler,

 less ornate and more comfortable.

 Ampris loved Feval far more than the hectic Hevrmasihd. She relished the quiet

 days of renewal, the release from lessons that she had to share with Israi at

 the sri-Kaa's insistence, the freedom to wander and sometimes dream.

 Israi's preferences, of course, were just the opposite. She loved festivals of

 all kinds, relishing the activities, the packed schedules of parties and

 preparations, the clothes, jewels, and finery, the music and games that seemed

 to spin on endlessly.

 But there would not be another festival to celebrate until spring, when the best

 one of all was held. Sahvrazaa, the Festival of Fertility, brought the largest

 feasts, the greatest revels, and an atmosphere of kindness and goodwill, intense

 expectations and hopes. All the splendid old songs were sung in both palace and

 city. The bells rang, and many traditional rituals marked the occasion,

 including the grand mating migration of the males. Ampris loved the Sahvrazaa,

 for it marked the anniversary of Israi's finding her and giv­ing her a home.

 Together, they had woven their own private traditions of gift-giving and

 feasting with each other. But beyond that, they both loved the opportunity of

 playing pranks and running free of supervision while the adults were occupied

 with hatchings and ceremonies.

 Still, spring was a long time away, too far away to think about today. Outside,

 it was pouring rain even harder than before. Israi was gone, summoned to spend

 the afternoon with her father. In past years, when Ampris was younger, she had

 been allowed to enter the Kaa's study with Israi. She had found such times

 pleasing, for the Kaa would talk quietly of history or architecture, unrolling

 musty old scrolls of dim drawings to show them. Often he would hold Israi on his

 lap and allow Ampris to lean against his knee while he rubbed her head between

 her ears. The Kaa's voice was deep with authority, yet gentle. Ampris loved to

 listen to him speak.

 Sometimes he activated a screen, allowing them to watch the twirling schematics

 of new architectural drawings pre­pared specifically for the restoration of the

 old palace. As a treat, he would permit them to open a program and gen­erate

 their own buildings. It was more fun than simple drawing with a stylus. Ampris

 found she had a flair for three-dimensional structures. She was quick to learn,

 and inventive enough to earn the Kaa's praise. On the other hand, Israi's walls

 never matched up. Her staircases went nowhere. While she loved choosing colors

 and exquisite details, she had none of Ampris's patience for the construc­tion

 aspects of a building project.

 If that was what Israi and the Kaa were doing this rainy afternoon, then Ampris

 could not help but scowl at the far end of the gallery, where the study door

 stood closed be­hind motionless guards.

 Today, Ampris had not been invited to join Israi and her father.

 For the first time in her memory, Ampris had been shut out.

 Growling silently in her throat, she picked aimlessly at a mortar joint in the

 windowsill. There had to be something she could do. Something more interesting

 than just waiting here until Israi came out.

 Ampris's gaze wandered toward the opposite end of the gallery, to a door

 standing ajar and unguarded. A door that beckoned to her, leading to a part of

 the lodge she had never explored before.

 Israi would be furious if Ampris explored without her.

 On the other hand, why should Ampris wait?

 She glanced at the Kaa's study door, still firmly closed.

 Israi had not ordered her to stay nearby. Israi had not given her any

 instructions at all.

 "My father has summoned me to his study this after­noon," Israi had said.

 "Will we draw houses?" Ampris asked excitedly.

 "I do not know, but you may not come."

 It took a moment for the remark to soak in. Then Ampris blinked at her in

 surprise. "Why not?"

 Israi flicked out her tongue. She was wearing a bright green satin tunic lined

 with velvet that reached to her knees, worn open over a pair of golden trousers

 the exact color of her skin. Pretty pendants dangled from the spines of her rill

 in the latest fashion.

 "The Kaa did not request your presence," Israi said.

 Ampris waited for her to look annoyed, or to say that she had requested

 permission for Ampris to accompany her, but Israi said nothing more.

 It was not polite to insist or beg. Swallowing her hurt and disappointment,

 Ampris bowed. ' 'What shall I do?''

 Again Israi flicked her tongue. "Anything you like."

 And she walked away through the doors which the guards opened for her.

 Anything I like, Ampris thought.

 She looked around again, turning her back on the dreary rain streaking the

 windowpanes. She would explore, by her­self, and she hoped with all her heart

 that she found some­thing wonderful, something that would make Israi envious.

 At once, she touched the cartouche hanging from her ear in automatic atonement

 for such an unworthy thought. It was wicked to make such a wish.

 "But I don't care," Ampris whispered to herself, and hurried down the length of

 the immense gallery to the un-tended door.

 She slipped past it without touching its ornate gold sur­face. For a second she

 held her breath, for there were alarms fitted throughout the lodge as part of

 the general security system, but she set nothing off.

 Relieved, she looked around.

 She saw nothing exciting, only another gallery as wide and long as the one she'd

 just left. This one, however, was fitted with dark paneling carved with scenes

 of ancient Vüs battles waged long before the age of technology. She smelled

 archaic candles, cold stone, and wood well-polished with camphan oil.

 She gazed at the panels, which were illuminated by the gloomy light that entered

 through the tall, narrow windows. Without someone to explain the significance of

 the scenes depicted, Ampris soon tired of them and walked on.

 The lodge itself had been built more than two centuries before, at the height of

 Vüs supremacy, and it was wedged onto the side of a dizzying slope. Balconies

 overlooked sheer precipices, and the crisp scent of narpine forests filled the

 air. On days of clear weather, fierce raptuls flew in spirals about the towers

 of the lodge, uttering harsh hunting cries that echoed forever into the canyons.

 For Ampris, this was a marvelous place of nooks and crannies, stairways that

 wound and crooked unexpectedly, uneven ceilings, fabulous views from every

 window, the perpetual cooking scents of savory ragouts and leneek pies mingled

 with the fragrances of oiled leather, stone floors, musty tapestries,

 snow-frosted air, and the narpines.

 Every year upon arrival, Ampris and Israi separated themselves from the other

 youngsters to explore the lodge as much as they were permitted. They had free

 run of the first two stories, which contained both public and private

 apartments, plus the common library, access to the gardens, and round towers

 with circular staircases that spiraled up to locked doors that no one would

 open.

 This floor, the third, held the state apartments and the Kaa's quarters. Usually

 it was off-limits.

 Ampris quickened her footsteps, nearly running to the end of the paneled

 gallery. Again, there was a door at its end, plainer than the previous one. No

 one guarded it either.

 She curled her ringers around the cold metal latch and hesitated a moment. Her

 heart was pumping fast. She pressed her ear against the door and listened for

 what might be on the other side.

 Only silence came to her ears.

 She sniffed, seeking Vüs scent with the distinctive over­lying fragrance of

 armor lubricant.

 Nothing. No guards in the vicinity.

 Suppose she actually walked into the Kaa's own cham­bers?

 The idea made her shiver. Her heart pumped harder with growing excitement. No

 one entered the Kaa's private rooms without permission. Not even Israi dared do

 that.

 Yet, it was surely the supreme adventure, the ultimate in daring. It would

 surpass even the day that Israi had dared her to walk the rooftop over the wives

 court, and Ampris had. Only the swift intervention of Lady Lenith had pre­vented

 Israi from making the attempt herself. Mortified by such interference, Israi had

 not spoken to her chief lady in waiting for three days. Then the matter was

 forgotten by all save Ampris, who still treasured her accomplishment.

 Today, however, she would surpass herself. But she would have to prove she had

 actually entered the Kaa's chambers.

 Ampris frowned in thought. She did not dare take any­thing from the Kaa's rooms.

 That was unthinkable. She could lose her head for that.

 But she could leave something. Swiftly Ampris patted through her pockets and

 found three small, smooth pebbles that she had picked up on the hiking trail

 yesterday. They were intended for the pebble collection that she added to every

 year. Lady Lenith sneered at her collection, calling it ugly and foolish, and

 would not permit Ampris to display it the way Israi displayed her collection of

 exquisite sun crystals in a case built especially for them. But at the same

 time, Lady Lenith permitted Ampris to keep her humble collection of stones, for

 they had no worth and could not compete with Israi's possessions.

 Hefting the three pebbles on her palm, Ampris turned them over with a fingertip,

 admiring their naturally smooth sides and the striations of color that veined

 them. Humble or not, they were not ugly to her eyes. She liked things that were

 natural, things that came from the ground.

 Israi did not understand what Ampris liked in the stones, but Israi was too kind

 to sneer at them.

 Ampris curled her fingers over the pebbles with satisfac­tion. Yes, she would

 leave these on the center of the Kaa's bed, for his valet to find. Word would

 circle around among the servants; questions would be asked. Israi would hear of

 it, and that would confirm what Ampris intended to tell her tonight.

 Wouldn't Israi be wild with envy?

 Grinning to herself, Ampris carefully turned the latch, pulled open the heavy

 door, and peered around it.

 But the Kaa's quarters did not lie on the other side. Dis­appointed, Ampris

 found herself looking at yet another hall­way. It was furnished with thick rugs

 imported from' offworld, antique tables that displayed fine vases so old their

 glazes were cracked, chairs of antiquated, unfamiliar designs, and mysterious

 paintings with opaque surfaces that revealed nothing until Ampris stood close

 and peered at them for a long time.

 Only then, slyly, would the painting surface shimmer to life, evolving into a

 portrait or a landscape of breathtaking quality that altered each time she

 changed her angle of looking at it.

 She took her time here, peering into the paintings and catching her breath

 sharply at what was revealed to her. Oh, if only Israi could see these.

 This far surpassed the pleasure of sniffing about the huge, hot kitchens,

 getting underfoot, and begging for treats from the harried staff.

 Keeping her ears sharp for the sound of footsteps that would warn her someone

 was coming, Ampris finally moved beyond the paintings and stopped before a

 cabinet that was tall and narrow, with solid wood panels that con­cealed its

 interior from top to bottom.

 When she traced her fingertips across the lovely grain of the wood, a stirring

 of sound reached her ears, barely dis­cernible, like the soft lilting of a harp

 when air blows through its strings.

 She stroked the wood again, and again it sang softly to her. Ampris had heard of

 songwood. She knew its rarity was beyond price. Sometimes betrothed Vüs couples

 would exchange tiny slivers of the costly wood as tokens of their impending

 nuptials.

 But here stood an entire cabinet made of this lovely wood, as beautiful in

 appearance as the sound it produced beneath her fingertips. Ampris could barely

 tear herself away from it, for its song fascinated her. Yet she dared not linger

 in here forever.

 There were surely many more fabulous treasures to find. Even so, what thrilled

 her most was the thought of bringing Israi here and showing her everything.

 This passage ended with an open, vaulted doorway that led into a spacious, round

 antechamber. Looking around, Ampris saw a set of stairs carpeted in imperial

 crimson rising to a magnificent door of hammered gold. Above the door hung the

 grand seal of the Kaa.

 Seeing it, Ampris gulped a little. Guards flanked the door, staring straight

 ahead. Impassive and formidable, they ignored Ampris, but she knew better than

 to venture near the stairs. That, clearly, was forbidden territory.

 Panting, she returned her humble pebbles to her pocket, forgetting her plan of

 sneaking into the Kaa's quarters. Such an attempt would not be daring; it would

 be stupid and disrespectful.

 Still, she had gotten this far without being challenged or stopped, and that

 would surely be enough to make Israi wish she had been here.

 Overhead, the landing's ceiling was painted with scenes from ancient Vüs

 mythology, including Ampria the sun goddess in her sky boat drawn by flying

 raptuls. The dark floor was inset with precious stones mimicking the patterns of

 constellations across the night skies.

 Opposite the passageway Ampris had emerged from stood three doors, all closed,

 all unguarded. She stared at them, curious to see what they contained. But with

 the guards present, Ampris's curiosity flattened. She turned to retreat back the

 way she'd come, only to halt as she heard voices in the distance—fluty,

 well-educated Vüs voices— that warned her several courtiers were approaching.

 Ampris hesitated only a moment, then dashed across the landing to one of the

 doors. Although she did not think she was doing anything wrong, certainly she

 had not been given permission to be here, so near the Kaa's quarters. Still, it

 was better to hide until the approaching courtiers were gone. Then she would

 return to the area where Israi had left her.

 Picking a door at random, she turned the latch and found it unlocked. She

 glanced up just as one of the guards turned his head to stare at her.

 His eyes were yellow and cold. They stabbed right through her, and Ampris panted

 again.

 The approaching voices were louder, closer.

 Dry-mouthed, Ampris sprang inside without looking and shut the door firmly

 behind her.

 She waited there with her face pressed against the door, listening for a shout,

 for the sound of hasty footsteps. But she heard neither.

 After a moment she relaxed, relieved that the guards were not going to come

 after her.

 When she was with Israi, she never feared the guards. But alone was a different

 matter. Ampris might live a happy, secure life now, but sometimes at night she

 still suffered nightmares of the Scary Time, those fearful few days before Israi

 had found and adopted her. While Ampris never remembered those dreams clearly,

 the heart-pounding terror they evoked haunted her, especially whenever she

 crossed paths with palace guards.

 The courtiers walked past the door which concealed her, their chattering gossip

 loud. After a moment she heard them continue downstairs, and quiet came again in

 their wake.

 She eased out her breath, not realizing until then that she'd been holding it.

 Sometimes the courtiers made cruel remarks to her when she was not safe in

 Israi's presence. Ampris was well-aware that few at court approved of her

 presence in the imperial household. No other Aaroun in all the empire was as

 well-placed as she. Lady Lenith re­minded her of this fact at least once a day,

 if not more often, forever telling her to be grateful for the supreme kindness

 which had been shown her by the sri-Kaa.

 Ampris sighed. The only problem with constantly being told to feel grateful was

 that it made her want to bite in­stead. Ampris adored Israi and knew she was

 blessed in the favor shown to her. But whenever Lady Lenith lectured her, Ampris

 hated being told how she should feel. She had to hide her resentment, of course,

 for Lady Lenith's punish­ments could be terrible. Nor could she go to Israi and

 com­plain, for then Lady Lenith would retaliate in even more horrible ways.

 Ampris had learned the harsh realities of court life long ago. So many things

 were shielded from the sri-Kaa, so many things deemed inappropriate for Israi to

 know about or for Israi to see.

 Ampris thought that the sri-Kaa should be told the truth about everything, but

 no one cared about the opinion of a young Aaroun. Truth, in the Vüs imperial

 court, was a slip­pery concept at best.

 In the meantime, however, Ampris decided she had been gone long enough. She knew

 she had better return before Israi found that she was missing.

 She reached for the door latch, but before she opened it she glanced over her

 shoulder at the room she was in and found herself transfixed.

 It was a hideous place, long and gloomy with narrow, antiquated windows.

 Preserved heads of all kinds of ani­mals hung on the walls. Their dead, glassy

 eyes stared at Ampris in silent accusation. Bared teeth, yellowed with age,

 snarled perpetually.

 Horrified, Ampris walked away from the door and slowly ventured deeper into the

 room. She felt as though she had entered a tomb. Her blood ran cold in her

 veins, yet she could not stop walking from one mounted head to another, staring

 at each and every one of the dead visages.

 In one corner, she found a collection of five adult Aaroun heads mounted in a

 row. Severed pairs of hands, wizened into mummified claws, hung beneath each

 head.

 Shocked, she stood like one frozen, unable to tear herself away from the sight.

 On the wall with them hung an inscription relating to the incident. It described

 a battle between these five Aarouns, labeled assassins, and the former kaa, who

 had killed them single-handedly. The ceremonial sword he had used was also

 present, mounted in a special display case.

 With a trembling hand, Ampris reached out and touched one of the Aarouns. Its

 fur felt silky soft, as soft as her own, yet the form beneath that thick pelt

 was stiff and alien. She jerked back her hand, hearing a faint, sobbing sound in

 the back of her throat.

 The dead Aarouns loomed above her, dark and menac­ing, their teeth bared in

 eternal snarls. Their sightless eyes glittered in some trick of the pale light

 and seemed to fol­low her as she backed away.

 Suddenly she could not breathe. The room seemed to be spinning around her. It

 was too hot. The Aarouns grew bigger and bigger, their open mouths ready to

 speak.

 She stumbled back, suddenly convinced that if they said her name, she would be

 forever trapped here with them, and just as dead.

 "No!"

 The cry wrenched itself from her throat. Whirling around, she fled, slamming her

 way out of the room and running back into the passageway with all the speed she

 possessed.

 As she ran, arms and legs pumping, her breath rasping in her throat, she thought

 she heard the laughter of the Vüs guards echoing behind her, mocking her and the

 dead.

 CHAPTER UH

 A cold winter rain funneled down the back of Elrabin's collar, plastering his

 fur to the nape of his neck. Muttering to himself and hunching his shoulders

 tighter beneath his new coat, he dashed across the Street of Regard and ducked

 beneath a bright yellow awning that proclaimed the dwell­ing a brothel.

 Three streets over he could hear the hourly chime of a temple bell in the

 historical district. Elrabin sighed to him­self. Feval was the season for

 reflection of one's soul, for renewal of one's conscience, for rest following

 the vigorous celebrations of Hevrmasihd, the winter festival. Or so the

 high-and-mighty Vüs claimed. In reality, the temple prob­ably held about three

 contemplative Vüs in the decrepit stages of otal, their final life cycle,

 looking at their future and finding it quite short. The city itself was all but

 shut down. The Kaa was out of town, with his court scattered to the far

 directions of the planet or beyond. Half the shop­ping district was closed for

 the season, the rest yawning through empty afternoons like this one.

 Feval, the season of slim pickings and boredom, when even the slave labor went

 on half shift. Dozy and slow, many of the abiru races crawled into their cheap

 lodgings for winter hibernation, only venturing out for basic neces­sities and

 work mandates. Gullible marks were hard to find this time of year, making

 grifting almost impossible. Yet here Elrabin was, out in the cold, wet weather,

 scoping the brothels in search of Cuvein.

 Standing under the yellow awning with its discreet black circle that also marked

 it as a gambling establishment, El­rabin shook water from his coat, hoping its

 bright blue dye wouldn't ran and stain his fur. His last coat he'd worn until it

 was threadbare and the sleeves had grown absurdly short. Finally declaring him

 to be an embarrassment, Cuvein had given him some credit vouchers to buy a new

 one. Elrabin smoothed down the front, admiring the metallic thread em­broidery

 that embellished it thickly enough to hide the cheapness of the cloth. It was

 not well-made, but he thought it made him look handsome.

 He needed to look sharp if he was to continue charming the Vüs widow he'd

 discovered in the Keskian district. Keskia was an old part of Vir, a

 crescent-shaped area of crumbling old houses, cramped shops, and a few

 struggling market plazas that bordered the fringes of the affluent Ze-hava

 district. Populated mostly by elderly Vüs, including lun-adults and otals,

 Keskia housed retired merchants and minor aristocracy who had lost both fortune

 and favor at court.

 The widow had caught Elrabin peering in her upper-story windows one day. Trying

 to avoid arrest charges, he'd fed her a glib tale of being a window inspector

 and told her that she had damage from worm rot (this last being pointed out to

 the lady to explain the gouges he'd made in trying to pry the window open). Her

 servants watched him with suspicion, but the lady herself was old, lonely, and

 eager for company, even if in the guise of a shabby Keith grifter. She seemed to

 believe his story, informed him that he re­minded her of a Keith pet she'd had

 as a chune on her father's country estates, and grew worried enough about the

 bogus damage to listen to his proposal to sell her new win-dows (modern, flimsy

 ones that would be easier to pry open later).

 Elrabin himself had never gone in for burglary. But he had a contact on the east

 side, a Keith named Sant, who paid for information on good targets. The widow's

 house stood on a lonely street, jammed between two deserted dwellings with

 inheritance notices pasted to the front por­tals. If the heirs would pay the

 death taxes, they could have access to their property. From the look of things,

 no one was eager to redeem these crumbling edifices. So the widow had no close,

 snoopy neighbors to keep an eye on her. She was old and gullible and half-deaf.

 Best of all, her house was so crammed with goods and furniture that she probably

 wouldn't even notice if some of it got hauled off.

 So Elrabin planned to sell the widow's address to Sant, plus he was hoping to

 sell her new windows. Either way, he stood to earn. He had an appointment to see

 the lady this evening, which was why he needed this fine new coat.

 Except it wouldn't look so fine if the dye ran and the cloth shrank against its

 stitching. Damn Cuvein for making him come out in this weather.

 Shivering, Elrabin rang the brothel's bell for admittance. The cold, moist air

 was clearing his head a bit from the slight buzz that made his thoughts

 sometimes crawl side­ways. That meant the Dlexyline was wearing off: He had

 maybe an hour to be out on the streets with this dose, and then it would be time

 for trouble that he couldn't afford.

 Impatiently he rang again.

 Someone shuffled to the other side of the door and slowly slid it open. Behind

 it a security field shimmered opal white.

 Elrabin squinted, trying to see through it. "Tiff?" he asked, hoping it was the

 owner who stood there. All he could see was a looming shadow. "Is that you? Let

 me in."

 The speaker beside the door spat out a hissing crackle of static. "Get lost,"

 the voice said. "You're underage."

 "I'm legal," Elrabin said.

 "You're under twenty."

 "I'm close enough."

 "Close don't count. What're you doing here? Trying to get us busted?"

 Elrabin recognized the voice now through the hissing static. It belonged to

 Tiff's wife, never easy to charm. He tried, though, baring his teeth in his most

 appealing grin. "Hey, you can tell the patrollers you invited me in for lunch."

 "Get lost." The door started to close.

 "Wait!" He stepped closer, trying reflexively to block it even though the force

 field repelled his hand. "I don't want the wares, Oma, although Tiff did promise

 them for my nameday—''

 ' 'Get lost,'' Oma growled.

 "Wait!" he said sharply, cutting out the patter. "I'm looking for Cuvein. It's

 important."

 The door opened again, and the force field abruptly cut off, leaving the air

 smelling like ozone. Tiff's wife, a chunky Aaroun with brown and fawn stripes

 and a light brown mask across her eyes, stood there with her rounded ears folded

 back against her skull.

 "Come inside before you drown," she said.

 Grinning, he hopped over the threshold into the warmth. The place smelled good,

 with scent cones burning on stands in the corners. Soft music played

 unobtrusively from con­cealed speakers, sounding almost—but not quite—live. The

 interior lay swathed in shadow, dimly lit with tiny, radiant lamps, adrift in

 velvet cushions and plush hangings.

 Elrabin glanced around quickly, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the

 employees, but saw no one.

 "Stop that," Oma said sharply, glaring at him. She pointed at a hallway behind

 her. "You go that way, straight through to the door at the back. He's in there."

 Something in her tone made Elrabin glance at her sharply. "He pay up?"

 "No."

 Shame flashed through Elrabin. Always before, his da only came here if he could

 afford it, out of respect for Tiff's friendship. Now it seemed Cuvein was going

 to treat Tiff like everyone else.

 Rubbing his muzzle, Elrabin dropped his gaze from hers. "I'll make it good," he

 mumbled.

 "When?"

 Irritated, he flashed her a glare in return. "When I can. Maybe a day or two.

 Things're slow."

 She growled something he didn't understand, but the contempt in her tone was

 plain enough to make him cringe.

 He was tempted to boast about the con he had going right now with the widow, but

 superstition held his tongue. Cuvein had taught him a long time ago never to

 brag about a deal until it was bagged. Tomorrow, when he had a fat credit

 voucher in his pocket, he could come back and make Oma's eyes bulge. Meanwhile,

 he kept quiet and took her scorn.

 She pointed again at the hallway. "In there," she said gruffly. "Don't let him

 come back until he's paid up. Don't let him take advantage of Tiff that way."

 Panting with embarrassment, Elrabin hurried past her hostile bulk and went to

 the door she'd indicated. His cu­riosity about what lounged upstairs had been

 quenched by his fresh annoyance with his da. Cuvein was already caus­ing him

 enough trouble without putting them in debt with their only friends.

 The door ahead of him was adorned by the painted gam­bling circle. Tendrils of

 smoke curled around the door's edges, and muted sounds of sour, keening music

 came from the other side.

 It was Pixyl music and made Elrabin's ears hurt. Winc­ing, he flattened his ears

 and knocked on the door, then went inside without waiting for permission.

 A thick haze of smoke and swirling mist engulfed him, and he stopped just inside

 the threshold, blinking until his eyes adjusted to the murky gloom. The music

 wailed and moaned, depressing stuff that could only appeal to stoned patrons.

 The decor was early cave—meaning low ceiling, walls made of faux stone, heavy

 beams, dark corners. A half dozen tables swathed in green baize cloth dotted the

 room. Fake candles flickered on each one. On the opposite side of the room, a

 trio of robots played the music.

 Scowling at them, Elrabin wished he dared switch them off.

 Three prostitutes were seated, maybe to welcome cus­tomers, maybe to conceal the

 fact that there were no cus­tomers. Two of them, both Keiths with their fur dyed

 vivid pink, sat together at a table, chatting in soft voices and playing Junta.

 Every throw of the carved pebbles made their bracelets jingle.

 Elrabin caught himself staring, felt the fur around his neck stand up, and

 realized one of them was stealing glances at him in return over her shoulder.

 She and her companion giggled, and he wanted to writhe in embarrass­ment. Maybe

 it was the coat they were laughing at.

 Fighting the urge to look down and see if the dye was running, Elrabin swung his

 gaze hastily to the third female, sitting alone, drinking alone. She was Vüs, a

 Reject prob­ably. Her skin was mottled in muted shadings of yellow-green. Her

 rill lay flat on her shoulders, smaller than usual and lacking spines. Her eyes

 met his, morose and danger­ous.

 Without a word, she pointed toward the back of the room, where two males sat

 hunched over a table.

 Not daring to speak to her, Elrabin nodded and hurried on by while the pink

 Keiths tittered.

 He had expected to see Cuvein sprawled in a stupor, dusted to the eyes and

 singing bawdy ditties.

 Instead Cuvein sat perched on a wooden stool, bent in­tently over a drawn

 diagram spread out on the green baize tablecloth. Lean and long-necked, with

 dark gray fur marked distinctively with white on either side of his throat,

 Cuvein was a handsome Keith male of middle age, still rakish, still getting by

 on charm and insouciance. The dust was starting to take away some of his looks.

 His memory wasn't as good as it had been, either. He suffered from stiff-joint,

 a progressive bone disease that was a side effect of long-term dust addiction,

 but he wouldn't admit it. He was unpredictable, moody, capricious, and unfair,

 but he'd taken Elrabin in years ago, fed and housed him at least part of the

 time, trained him in a number of trickeries, and sup­plied him with Dlexyline, a

 nonaddictive chemical com­pound that masked Elrabin's registration implant and

 allowed him to venture out publicly without setting off any alarms.

 Now he looked up when Elrabin came to the table, fixed his son with a long,

 unblinking stare of nonrecognition, and returned his gaze to the diagram on the

 table. "Show me again," he said.

 His voice gave him away. He was enunciating slowly, with too much care and a

 slight slur in his words. Elrabin looked at him and saw the telltale streaks of

 dust around his nostrils.

 Dust wasn't as trendy as some of the fancier recreational drugs. It wasn't as

 expensive. As contraband, however, it was the most valuable commodity smuggled

 to every point of the empire. It had been sapping the life force from its users

 for the nearly four hundred years since its discovery, and no amount of laws,

 penalties, antidust campaigns, or slogans had eradicated its simple, inescapable

 lure.

 Being cheap, dust lay within the reach of every laborer, every miner, every

 ship's crew member, every mechanic. One sampling of dust created an instant

 addict, and the habit was nearly impossible to kick. Because it proved fu­tile

 to prosecute the users, patro'lers worked instead to trap and catch the vast

 network of suppliers. Laws were simple and harsh: the sentence for dealing dust

 was death; the sen­tence for delivering dust was death.

 The day he came to live with Cuvein, Elrabin was of-fered a taste. Terrified, he

 refused. Cuvein had never of­fered it to him again. They got along by not

 discussing it. When Cuvein was high, Elrabin tried to stay out of his way. Now

 he looked at his father, feeling both disappointed and resentful, and wanted to

 leave him here.

 But first he had to get what he'd come for. "Cuvein," he said, trying to get his

 da's attention. "Let me talk with you."

 Cuvein flicked his ears and ignored Elrabin. Pointing at the diagram, he stared

 at Tiff, who was sitting gravely next to him, a big old spotted Aaroun run to

 fat, with sleepy brown eyes that hid a brain like a steel trap.

 "So the game is played like this," Cuvein said, tracing a dotted line on the

 diagram. "Piece one goes this way. Piece two here."

 "You make the swap with piece three," Tiff said. His voice was husky and very

 deep. He glanced at Elrabin and jerked his head in invitation. "You come look.

 You should learn this too."

 Intrigued, Elrabin joined them at the table. Tiff explained the game again, and

 Elrabin caught on quickly.

 "I see," he said with excitement. "You palm the piece as you move it—"

 "No!" Cuvein said sharply, glaring at him. "Palm it when it goes up to the next

 level."

 "Like this," Tiff said patiently, showing him again.

 "I've got it," Elrabin said.

 "You sure?"

 He met his da's vague eyes with confidence. "I said I've got it. I'll try it

 tomorrow on—"

 "No," Tiff said in warning. "This game is illegal. Bet­ting on it will get you

 fined."

 Elrabin scratched his ear. ' 'Betting on a lot of things is illegal. So?"

 "So you take heed where you set this up."

 Tiff had more to say, but Elrabin stopped listening. He could feel his skull

 from the inside out. Impatient, he stood up. "Cuvein, we need to go."

 "You go," Cuvein said without looking at him. "I'm busy."

 "Then give me the combination—"

 Without warning, Cuvein kicked the stool Elrabin had just vacated, sending it

 crashing hard into Elrabin's leg. "Get out!"

 Cutting off a yip of pain, Elrabin dodged a second kick and gripped his aching

 thigh. He glared at his da, his temper flaring, and wrinkled his muzzle in a

 snarl.

 Tiff coughed gruffly, catching his attention. Just for an unwilling instant,

 Elrabin shot his gaze to Tiff's. Silently, the Aaroun tapped his nostrils.

 Understanding his meaning, Elrabin felt his temper fade as fast as it had come.

 He nodded to Tiff. If he didn't argue, Cuvein's temper would settle down. Maybe

 in a few minutes he would be happy and singing. In that mood, he might give

 Elrabin what he needed.

 But right now, Cuvein stared at Elrabin defiantly, slyly, meanly, his ears

 twitching for sounds Elrabin didn't hear. "No combination," he said shrilly.

 "Get out."

 "Maybe you better go," Tiff said. "Wait in the galley with—"

 "Thanks, Tiff," Elrabin broke in politely, beginning to pant from the urgency he

 could no longer control. He was running out of time, and today time was

 important. "But I need a pill." Usually he didn't discuss it openly. No one, not

 even a friend, was supposed to know he was wanted by Vüs authorities. Rewards

 for turning in petty criminals were collected every day. Don't throw temptation

 in some­one's way, Cuvein always said when he was sober.

 "It's wearing off," Elrabin said. As he spoke, he refused to glance at Tiff, who

 probably now thought he was ad­dicted to something that would shoot him straight

 to the gutter.

 Stiff-spined and bristling, Elrabin tried to hold his da's gaze. "I need it."

 "Go home," Cuvein said without interest. His eyes shifted in the lamplight, and

 he swayed slightly on his stool. "Wait it out like usual."

 Elrabin glared at him, trying to break through the dust to the reason in his

 da's brain. "I need it," he said, his voice low and almost a growl. "I got work

 in an hour. I got to be out. If you ain't got any pills on you, then I want the

 combination—"

 "No!" Cuvein jumped up, staggered, and nearly lost his balance. Catching himself

 against the table, he lowered his head and fumbled in his pocket. "No

 combination. Rule number one."

 Elrabin mouthed the words, echoing him silently. Rule number one meant Cuvein

 was in charge. Cuvein guarded the combination to their tiny safe as his most

 prized pos­session. He kept everything important inside it: his payment cards

 and credit vouchers, his loaded tri-dice, his lockpicks, a vial of the tiny red

 Dlexyline pills, and his stash of dust. It was stupid of him not to trust

 Elrabin, who would never betray him. Stupid when he was starting to have memory

 lapses and blackouts. Stupid when sometimes he wandered off and couldn't be

 found for days. Rule number one had been established the day Elrabin persuaded

 his da to take him in. It said that Cuvein made the rules. Rule number two was

 Elrabin did whatever Cuvein ordered. Rule number three was Elrabin earned his

 own keep, but Cuvein kept control of the money.

 "It's wearing off," Elrabin said, trying to keep his voice steady. "You didn't

 come home last night. I couldn't take—''

 "I'll come home when I please!" Cuvein shouted. He pulled his dust pouch from

 his pocket and dropped it on the table. "Get out."

 "But—"

 Tiff came around the table and put his hand on Elrabin's chest, gently pushing

 him back. "I'll handle him. He'll be more reasonable in a moment."

 Anger was burning in Elrabin's eyes. "He just took some of that. He don't need

 more. Don't let him take more."

 "Hush, now," Tiff said, still pushing him backward. "Don't watch it. This batch

 is bad dust. Cheap. Poorly cut. He'll be better in a moment. I'll ask him then.

 You go to the galley and get some food."

 "But—"

 Elsewhere in the house came the shrill frizzing sound of a security field on

 overload. Both Elrabin and Tiff froze. The Aaroun's hand tightened into a fist

 around the front of Elrabin's coat. He growled.

 Elrabin heard a loud pop, and the lights went out. A second later they came back

 on, but less brightly than be­fore. There was the sound of a door being slammed

 open and the rapid clump of booted feet.

 Elrabin and Tiff looked at each other, realization dawn­ing in their eyes.

 "Min deith el," Tiff swore in Aaroun. "It's a raid."

 The prostitutes jumped up from their tables and ran past Elrabin in silence,

 leaving a waft of perfume in their wake.

 Before Elrabin could respond, Tiff shoved him backward through the doorway and

 slammed it shut. Elrabin sprang to it, but he heard the locks activate, and a

 force field shim­mered across the door's surface, repelling his hands.

 In the distance, Oma roared something Elrabin could not make out. He whirled

 around and saw six patrollers in hel­mets and black uniforms crowding into the

 short hallway. Each held his stun-stick drawn and charged.

 The prostitutes had already vanished upstairs.

 Elrabin swallowed hard. He felt sick at his stomach, and his knees nearly

 buckled. A terrible rush of hot weakness passed through his body. He stood

 frozen for a split second longer, his mind racing in all directions.

 He'd broken no laws today. He was carrying no contra­band. He had no tri-dice in

 his pockets. But he was wanted for petty thievery, with a ten-year count of

 arrest evasion, and he had Dlexyline in his system. One scan over his body, and

 he would be hanging in a net faster than he could howl.

 Just then he figured the wisest course of action would be to cooperate with the

 patrollers, not resist arrest, stand qui­etly, hope for leniency, and maybe talk

 his way into a re­duced sentence. He had nothing but that one small offense on

 his record sheet. He looked reputable enough. He could, in a pinch, claim he had

 legal employment, and it might be believed.

 Over two meters tall, their black uniforms padded with body armor, crimson

 stripes of rank on their collars and sleeves, the patrollers approached him

 grimly. Their Vüs faces were concealed by the dark tinting in their helmet

 visors. The hum of their activated stun-sticks buzzed through Elrabin's hearing.

 He stood there frozen, unable to think, unable to act. Yes, stay calm, he told

 himself. Act wise. Cooperate.

 Yeah, right.

 Panting hard, he whirled away from them and bolted up­stairs as fast as his feet

 would carry him.

 CHAPTER EIGHT

 Darkness held her in its icy fingers, gripping tight, and would not let go.

 Trembling, too terrified to scream, Ampris tried to pull free of the sticky,

 invisible force which held her, and could not.

 A terrible wailing rose in the distance, chilling her blood. Her heart lurched

 and seemed to stop. Still pinned so she could not run, she opened her mouth and

 panted hard.

 "Go away! Go away!" she whispered, unable even to clamp her ears flat to her

 skull to close out the anguished wails and moans.

 "Ampris?" a voice called. "Ampris!"

 She gasped aloud, terrified to realize that they knew her name. She understood

 now that they were searching for her, getting steadily closer because she could

 not run.

 "Get back!" she shouted. "Get away from me!"

 As though her voice gave them direction, pale, wraithlike forms appeared

 suddenly before her. They surrounded her on all sides, pressing closer and

 closer.

 They were the ghosts of dead Aarouns, some of them carrying their severed heads

 beneath their arms. Their dark eyes held centuries of suffering as they shuffled

 closer, moaning.

 With a howl, she pushed through them, and ran. But this part of the palace was

 strange to her. No matter which passage she took, it always turned into a dead

 end. And the headless Aarouns kept hunting her, following her through the many

 rooms and passages.

 Softly, their haunting voices continued to call her name.

 "Ampris," came their unworldly cries. "Restore us. Give us back our lives.

 Avenge our mutilations. Restore us, Ampris. Only you can bring us life."

 Again she cowered away from them, holding her hands over her muzzle, her ears

 clamped flat. "I can't," she said, sobbing. "I don't know what you want."

 "Avenge us…"

 "No!"

 "Ampris."

 She could not bear their coming closer. They were suf­focating her, so many of

 them, all horrible to see. She cringed back from them, screaming.

 "Ampris! Ampris! Ampris!"

 Blinking, Ampris opened her eyes to find herself being shaken hard. Illumination

 filled the room. Israi was grip­ping her by the arms, shaking her, and someone

 was knock­ing on the door.

 Panting hard, still trembling, Ampris turned her head right and left. The dead

 Aarouns no longer filled the room.

 She gulped in air and pulled free of Israi's grip. It was only a dream, she

 realized.

 Relieved, she buried her muzzle in her shaking hands.

 Israi climbed off Ampris's cot, making it creak. "Go away," she said to the

 person inquiring at the door. "Subi attends me. I do not require your

 attendance."

 The knocking at the door stopped. From the adjoining bathchamber Subi emerged

 with a cup of water.

 The slave would have handed it to Ampris, but Israi took the cup and held it to

 Ampris's mouth.

 "Lap this," she said kindly. "Nightmares always make me thirsty. It will help."

 Ampris drank rapidly, her heart still pounding. Israi was right—the cool water

 did help. She found herself able to breathe more normally. The horror of the

 dream faded. She looked around at the room, seeing the disarray of her blan­kets

 thrown on the floor, the nesting pillows on Israi's large round bed scattered

 and the silk coverlet thrown aside, the lamps burning bright, the disapproving

 impatience on Subi's face, the kind concern in Israi's eyes.

 Israi sat next to her and gave her a hug. ' 'My poor, poor Ampris," she said as

 Subi took the emptied cup away. "You mustn't let things upset you so much. Were

 you dreaming the same dream?"

 Shame overtook Ampris. She found herself on the verge of sobbing, and fought for

 self-control. "Yes," she admit­ted, unable to lift her gaze. "The same."

 "Silly," Israi chided her. "The ghosts can't get you. Put them from your mind."

 "I'm trying," Ampris said. "I thought I had. But every night they come back."

 Subi came stumping back through the room and began smoothing the covers on

 Israi's bed. Her muzzle was gray and her fur dull. She had a hip growing stiff

 with age, and her tall upright ears twitched constantly. Everyone consid­ered

 her too old and too ugly to continue in service, yet Israi refused to dismiss

 her. Subi was grumpy for a Keith, always grumbling beneath her breath, but she

 adored Israi and was fiercely loyal to her charge. Anything that made Israi

 happy, she approved of. Anything that brought even a frown to Israi's face, Subi

 was ready to destroy imme­diately.

 She scowled now at Ampris as she plumped a pillow. "Night terrors, hmpf," she

 said. "Keep your nose where it belongs from now on, won't you?"

 "Don't scold her," Israi said, rubbing Ampris between her ears. "She's had a bad

 enough shock as punishment."

 "Needs more punishment if the sri-Kaa she awakens every night," Subi grumbled.

 Israi straightened, dropping her hand from Ampris's head. "She sat up with me

 every night for a week when I had the sniffing fever. This is the least I can do

 in return."

 Subi plumped another pillow, with even more vigor than before. "Prowling in the

 trophy room where she don't be­long. Hah. She'll end up on exhibit there if her

 ways aren't mended soon."

 "Subi!" Israi cried in distress. "Don't even say such a horrid thing. You may

 go."

 Subi stopped her work and bowed low in obedience, but cast a swift, stern glare

 at Ampris and bared her teeth before she left.

 Israi climbed back in her bed and rearranged the pillows to suit herself.

 Pausing, she listened a moment, then smiled at Ampris and patted the covers in

 invitation.

 Ampris scrambled up to join her, grinning in spite of herself. This was a

 special treat. Together they dived be­neath the covers, leaving the lights

 shining, and snuggled closer together in the bliss of breaking Lady Lenith's

 ex­press rules.

 "You won't have nightmares in my bed, will you, Am­pris?"

 "No."

 Israi smiled and pulled her bead doll from beneath a pillow. As a ta-chune soon

 to be a vi-adult, Israi was too old for dolls, but this one remained her

 favorite. She handed it to Ampris. ' 'You may hold her tonight while you sleep,

 and she'll protect you as she used to protect me."

 Ampris took the doll reluctantly. It was a great honor to be permitted to hold

 the bead doll, but she was ta-chune also and, while she might be younger than

 Israi, considered herself too old to be comforted like a hatchling. Ever since

 she'd entered the trophy room, she'd felt peculiar, as though stretched too far.

 She couldn't seem to snap back to the same Ampris she had been before.

 "Thank you, Israi," she said politely.

 "The sadness is returning to your eyes," Israi said.

 "You promised me you wouldn't think about it."

 "I'm trying, but sometimes I can't help it."

 "Then try harder."

 Ampris snuggled against a pillow, hunching up into a knot around the bead doll.

 "I bet if you saw a room full of Vüs heads that had been preserved, you'd find

 it hard to forget."

 Israi's rill rose to full extension and she slapped her tail hard against the

 bed. "That's a terrible thing to say! You'll get into trouble if anyone hears

 you talk like that."

 "I don't care," Ampris said sullenly. "Why were the Aarouns in there with the

 others? Like animals?"

 "They are animals," Israi said.

 Astonishment flashed through Ampris. She sat bolt up­right with a growl. "They

 are not! I am not! How can you say Aarouns are not people?"

 Israi gripped her arm and pulled her back under the covers. "Hush. Not so loud."

 "I want to be loud," Ampris said. She felt her anger rising, bringing rebellion

 with it. "I want to yell. Who dared do this to them?"

 "It was my grandfather's trophy room," Israi said sternly. "You may not

 criticize it."

 Some of Ampris's defiance faded. "Forgive me," she said more quietly. "I do not

 mean to criticize. I want to understand. Aarouns are people, aren't they?"

 "Yes. Well, almost," Israi amended. "All the abira races are intelligent.

 Otherwise, they wouldn't be abiru. You know this."

 "Yes. That's why I don't understand why Aarouns are in the trophy room." Ampris

 shuddered. "Their heads and hands hanging there, mounted as though they never

 thought or spoke or had feelings."

 "They're there because they were traitors," Israi said. "Insurrectionists who

 broke into the palace and tried to assassinate my grandfather."

 Ampris stared at her. ' 'I saw that word on the inscription. What does

 assassinate mean?"

 "It means to kill someone for political reasons."

 Ampris stared at Israi in amazement and horror. "That is a terrible thing."

 "Oh, yes," Israi said, flicking out her tongue casually even as pride swelled in

 her voice. ' 'No one talks about it because the rebellion was a tiny one, very

 unimportant. The Aaroun traitors were crushed right away, and all the abiru

 races were punished in retaliation."

 Ampris said nothing, but she felt uncomfortable when Israi talked about the

 slave races this way. So offhandedly, as though they barely mattered. "But how

 did the Aarouns get past the palace guards?"

 "They were garden workers," Israi said in a flat voice. "When my grandfather

 went into his private garden for a nap, they attacked him. He defeated them all

 single-handedly. He had nothing except his ceremonial sword, while they had

 tools and bludgeons, yet he came to no harm. He was a very great warrior."

 "He must have been," Ampris said.

 "Yes, and afterward he ordered them all executed. He had their heads and hands

 cut off and brought here as a reminder that—''

 Dilating her pupils, Israi stared at Ampris a moment, then looked away. She

 didn't finish her sentence.

 "A reminder of what?" Ampris asked.

 Israi turned her back to Ampris and slid a pillow beneath her plump tail. "Let's

 go to sleep."

 Ampris poked her spine. "A reminder of what?"

 "It isn't important. It happened a long time ago. You mustn't dwell on it."

 Ampris could hear the discomfort in Israi's voice. She knew Israi was evading

 her, but she didn't understand why. Ampris sighed. She hated it when everyone

 seemed to com­prehend something she did not.

 "Please tell me," she begged. "I want to know."

 "You'll have bad dreams again."

 "No I won't."

 Israi tilted her head to one side, clearly not believing that promise. "You

 won't like what I have to say. I would rather not discuss it."

 "Thank you for sparing my feelings," Ampris said po­litely, "but I do want to

 know."

 Israi's rill rose behind her head in annoyance. "Very well. Since you insist.

 The Aarouns hang there as a re­minder that no one of the abiru can ever be

 trusted."

 Ampris waited a moment, but that was all Israi said. As the silence between them

 lengthened, Israi's words soaked deeper into Ampris's understanding. She

 flattened her ears in hurt. "Ever?"

 "That is the warning," Israi said. She met Ampris's gaze. "I told you that you

 would not like it."

 "Do you distrust me?" Ampris asked in a very small voice.

 Israi sat up and drew her close in a hug. "Silly fur-face," she said with

 affection, tugging on one of Ampris's ears. ' 'If I did, would I share my room

 with you? My bed? My lessons? My toys? You're different."

 "But I am Aaroun."

 "I know, but not really. You've been mine since your first week of life. You

 aren't like the others. You're special. Never consider yourself one of them."

 Some of Ampris's distress faded. She hugged Israi back, closing her eyes. "I

 would never hurt you, Israi. I would never turn against you."

 "Of course you wouldn't," Israi said. She wriggled free of Ampris's strong

 embrace. "Now don't crush me. And don't think about this again. It happened a

 long time ago, and it has nothing to do with you or me."

 "I'm glad," Ampris said in relief. Then another thought occurred to her. ' 'Is

 this why the courtiers do not like me? Lord Fazhmind and the others? Because of

 what those other Aarouns did?"

 Israi yawned. "Fazhmind does not like you because you bit him when you were

 little. Everyone laughed at him be­cause he is such a fool."

 "Yes, but the others—"

 "They are stupid grown-ups, with stupid prejudices. We do not regard their

 opinions," Israi said, sounding very imperial. "Now will you promise to go to

 sleep and have no more bad dreams?''

 "I promise," Ampris said.

 "And you will not think about it, or brood, or let your feelings be hurt?"

 Ampris nodded.

 Israi clapped her hands in satisfaction. "Good. Then let us go to sleep."

 She curled herself on her side around her nest of pillows and closed her eyes.

 Ampris sat there, however. Her thoughts were spinning. There was too much to

 think about for her to feel sleepy.

 Israi poked her. "Go to sleep. That's an imperial order."

 Ampris stuck her head out from under the covers. "Lights, out," she commanded,

 and the lamps dimmed at once.

 In the gloom that engulfed her, however, she shivered, feeling once again the

 ghostly touch of her kinsmen who had died in the Kaa's garden, a garden where

 only a few days before she had played games in ignorance. Under­standing where

 hatred came from did not make it easier to endure. She was blamed by Lady Lenith

 and others for something she had not done. She was amazed that Israi had ever

 been permitted to keep her.

 Israi poked her again, harder this time. "Get settled and go to sleep," she said

 sharply. "Or I'll make you go back to your own bed."

 In obedience, Ampris lay down and snuggled against her share of the pillows.

 Soon she could hear Israi's measured breathing, deep and slow. But Ampris could

 not sleep.

 Every time she closed her eyes, memories came leaping back, too sharp, too

 horrible.

 What had driven the Aaroun gardeners to attack their kaa? What had rilled their

 hearts with so much hatred? What had turned them so far from obedience and

 respect? Ampris had never heard anyone call Israi's grandfather un­just or

 cruel. Had the Aarouns themselves been evil? Had they been insane? What

 political reasons could they have had for trying to kill the Imperial Father? It

 was a shocking, unthinkable, blasphemous act.

 She thought of the present Kaa, who was regal and ter­rifying, yet kind and

 gentle. He was a scholar, a historian, with countless interests and infinite

 patience. He had given Israi permission to keep Ampris. When they were younger,

 he used to come by once a day and watch them playing together. He had permitted

 Israi to teach Ampris the Vüs language. While all the household slaves

 understood Vüs, none of them save Ampris was allowed to speak it. He had

 consented to Ampris's attending Israi's lessons.

 As a result, Ampris could read and write. She knew most of the coordinates of

 the empire, most of the names of the principal inhabited worlds which composed

 it. She even knew which constellation contained the Aaroun home-world, not that

 she had any desire to visit it. And she was beginning to understand the

 connection of mathematics to other things more interesting, such as music and

 the draw­ing of houses. Her life was good, and now and then the Kaa would rub

 her between the ears or smile at her casu­ally. Such moments were blessings that

 she treasured. At times she almost imagined him to be her father too. It was

 good to have a pretend father, good to be praised by some­one so glorious.

 Ampris could not conceive of why anyone would want to hurt the Kaa. Troubled by

 the possibility, she pushed the matter from her mind, unwilling to think about

 it anymore.

 But instead, the ghosts came crowding back inside her thoughts, many more than

 the five mutilated assassins in the trophy room. Hundreds of ghosts, thousands

 of ghosts, all Aaroun, all crying out to her with words she did not understand.

 Was the ghost of her mother among them? The mother she could not clearly

 remember? What did they want from her? Why did they haunt her sleep night after

 night? Why did they cry out for vengeance? And vengeance for what?

 Her thoughts chased diemselves endlessly, but Ampris found no answers through

 the long, empty night.

 CHAPTER HNF

 Elrabin raced up the stairs, his coattails flying out behind him. He wanted to

 howl at his own stupidity, but he knew it would be a waste of breath. Right now

 he had to focus on getting out of this brothel with his hide intact. He wasn't

 too worried about Cuvein downstairs. His da had the gift of getting out of any

 situation, no matter how tight. Long ago the two of them had agreed that if

 trouble came, it was every Keith for himself.

 Shouting, the patrollers came thudding upstairs after him. With every bootstep

 he heard, Elrabin's confidence seeped farther away. Fear squeezed his heart, and

 his ears kept flicking back, swiveling to the sounds of pursuit.

 Never lead the patrollers on a chase unless you know the territory, he reminded

 himself. Well, it was too late to second-guess himself now.

 He gained the landing by leaping over the last two steps, gripping the railing,

 and using his momentum to sling him­self up and around the corner. A rapid,

 whipping sound passed by him, missing him by scant centimeters.

 Elrabin's mouth went dry. He slammed his back against the wall and panted there

 for a second, realizing just how close he'd come to being stunned.

 He'd never been hit, but he knew the sound well enough. Cuvein had described it.

 "Like needing to throw up, only you can't. Like being jabbed all over with

 red-hot needles, itching bad while all your nerves go crazy. Like knowing you

 got to run, got to move, but you just lie there, helpless in the dust like the

 garbage they think you are. And then they drag you off, tank you, sell you to a

 slaver, or give you to the lab creeps for experimentation. Think ahead. Don't

 get yourself into anything where they're going to come after you with

 stun-sticks."

 So much for fatherly advice. If it weren't for Cuvein, he wouldn't be here now.

 Muttering to himself, Elrabin glanced around swiftly to gain his bearings. He

 was in a narrow, gloomy hallway, dimly lit by lamps placed between a double row

 of closed doors. A window at the end of the hallway looked like his only hope

 for getting away. If he could gain that, he had a chance.

 But the patrollers were nearly to the top of the stairs, nearly upon him. He'd

 never get to the window before they rounded the corner and saw him. They'd have

 a clear, easy shot. Already the hide between his shoulder blades was itching.

 Feeling a surge of near-panic, he ran to the nearest door and touched the pad.

 Locked.

 He ran to the next.

 Locked.

 Fighting the desperate urge to pound on the cheap panel, he flung himself

 diagonally across the hallway to another door and touched the pad.

 The door slid open silently, and he stumbled inside, off-balance and nearly

 falling.

 The inside of the room was pitch-black, with a cloying scent choking the air.

 Someone giggled, then twin pairs of hands gripped him and pulled him forward.

 He recognized the giggling, recognized the scent, and his heart skipped a beat

 in a rush of exhilaration mingled with dismay. By luck or fate, he'd found the

 quarters of the pink Keith twins who'd laughed at him earlier. This was the

 opportunity of his life, and he didn't have time to take advantage of it.

 They were laughing now as they tugged him from side to side, reaching for his

 coat, fingers ruffling through his fur, a slim, scented muzzle sliding along

 his.

 He drew back, his heart pounding too fast, trying to keep his head, trying to

 keep his coat on.

 "Wait," he said desperately, his voice two notches shriller than normal.

 One of them was licking him between the eyes, finding a place that made him

 shiver. His senses were swimming. He couldn't think, couldn't get away from

 them.

 "Stop!" he said, his ears straining for sounds of the Vüs patrollers outside. He

 panted for air, then jerked himself free with a violent twist of his shoulders.

 As he did so, he heard a rip of cloth, and his new coat became a casualty.

 "I need a way out of here," he said, his voice low and urgent. -

 Although he half expected them to rush him in the dark­ness, they stayed back.

 "The only way out is the way you came in," one of them replied. Her voice was

 throaty for a Keith. She had a way of speaking that made every word suggestive.

 But he was too worried to think about that now. He had to get out before the

 room became a trap.

 "They're in the hallway, searching the rooms," the other twin said. Her voice

 was thin and high, but she spoke softly. "I can hear them. I think they're

 questioning Tenia."

 Panting, Elrabin listened through the door to the harsh, authoritative Vüs

 voices and soft female replies.

 Dismay leaked through him. He wanted to race around the room, to fight, claw,

 bite. He wanted to howl. He wanted to sink to the floor and curl himself into a

 tight ball.

 But he could do none of those things. He was a male, nearly grown, and supposed

 to be able to handle himself.

 "I'm wanted," he said, spilling his secret. "If they scan me, I'm—"

 "Too young," one of the twins said.

 He bristled at once. "I've been on the streets since I was a lit. I know about—"

 "Illegal, but plausible," the other twin replied as though he hadn't spoken.

 "He's old enough. And what's another minor charge on our record sheets?"

 Elrabin glared, wishing he could see them in the dark­ness. "What are you

 talking about?"

 "A stupid one, but cute," the low-voiced one said with a sigh. Her partner

 giggled, and a flush of embarrassment spread beneath Elrabin's hide. "For

 seventy credits, we'll save you."

 "Done," he said without hesitation. "But how—"

 They swarmed him, giggling in a way that gave him his answer. Pulling off his

 coat and belt, they pushed him into a soft pile of cushions and snuggled up

 against him, just a split second before the door circuits fried and the panel

 was shoved open.

 Light spilled into the room, momentarily dazzling Elra­bin and revealing to him

 how narrow and cramped the space actually was. The bed cushions filled most of

 the area, along with a couple of wooden chests and a small curtained alcove off

 to one side.

 Squinting, he stared at the patroller looming in the door­way. The Vüs seemed to

 go all the way to the ceiling. The black visor of his helmet permitted no

 glimpse of his face. His crimson stripes of sergeant rank stood out boldly

 against his black uniform. Slung about his hips was a heavy belt holding his

 comm, sniffer link, stun-stick, and a stan­dard-issue sidearm. Body armor

 protected his tail, and he held a circuit-cutter in his hand.

 Smoke from the ruined door control pad curled its ten­drils about the patroller,

 who stared down at Elrabin in silence.

 Sprawled on the floor with the twins, Elrabin found him­self frozen with terror.

 "Name!" the sergeant demanded.

 Elrabin opened his mouth. He couldn't speak, couldn't think. At any moment, he

 knew, he would be scanned. Then the patroller would have his identity, his

 record, and full knowledge of the illegal drug in his system.

 The bolder of the twins giggled, and her pink-furred hand gripped him

 unexpectedly in a way that made him yelp. He sat bolt upright, gasping, while

 both of them giggled harder.

 The other one stroked his muzzle, opening a tiny vial under his nostrils with a

 quick, practiced motion. The world suddenly went blue and white. He opened his

 mouth, feel­ing his eyes cross, and his terror floated to one side as though it

 now belonged to someone else.

 He watched the sergeant approach them as if he were covering a great distance.

 "Get away from him," the sergeant commanded. "Now!"

 Someone giggled as the twins complied, and finally El­rabin realized that he was

 the one laughing. He dropped back bonelessly into the cushions and smiled up at

 the Vüs.

 The scan buzzed through his body, and he enjoyed that too.

 "Get up," the sergeant said, kicking him with his boot toe.

 Elrabin waved at him with his foot and let his gaze wan­der appreciatively over

 the pink twins. The light was very strange, making them seem more purple than

 pink, and they shimmered at the edges.

 ' 'What did you give him?'' the sergeant asked.

 The twins circled each other before one stood behind the other and rested her

 chin on her shoulder. "The usual." she replied. "He was nervous, the stupid lit.

 Like they all are their first time here."

 "He's not legal age."

 The twins shared dumbfounded looks. "He's not?"

 The sergeant's tail switched once before he brought it under control. He reached

 for his comm. "Get in here. I've got an underage customer who can't be scanned."

 The other patrollers appeared at the doorway a few sec­onds later. To Elrabin

 they all seemed extremely tall. He wondered hazily how they could fit into the

 room, but when he tried to ask the question his tongue seemed to wrap around

 itself, and nothing came out of his mouth but a giggle.

 "Take him downstairs," the sergeant ordered. He opened a small data screen and

 entered some codes. "I got two Keith females, prostitute grade," he reported

 verbally to it. ' 'Working in the Street of Regard. Owner is an Aar-oun named

 Tiff. License number one-zero-four-four-eight. Violation of city ordinances ten,

 four, seven, and nineteen. Sixty-credit fine for the prostitutes. Eighty-credit

 fine for the owner. Other charges pending against owner. Stand by."

 He closed the data screen and returned his attention to the twins. "You will pay

 those sixty credits within a one-day cycle, or your fine will be doubled."

 The twins sighed. "You make it rough for working fe­males—"

 "Silence! Give your compliance, or the fine will be dou­bled right now."

 Resentment filled their eyes. "We'll comply."

 The sergeant swung away from them to face his squad and gestured at Elrabin.

 "Take him downstairs."

 By the time they carried Elrabin down to the opulent receiving room, the scent

 cones were burning out, the lamps had been switched to bright, and Oma and Tiff

 were stand­ing silently in one corner while a patroller scanned their

 transaction records.

 Elrabin's potion was wearing off. He no longer felt any desire to laugh, and

 nausea boiled in his stomach. Shiver­ing, he lay on the floor where the

 patrollers dumped him and wondered what the twins had given him. While the

 substance had protected him initially, he wasn't sure how long its effects would

 last. The downside felt so bad he almost wished he'd been stunned instead.

 The patrollers herded all the employees downstairs and grouped them in the

 receiving room as well. It was getting crowded, but Elrabin realized he didn't

 see Cuvein any­where.

 Despite his physical misery, he had to admire his da. Obviously Cuvein had

 slipped out during the initial con­fusion. He had a gift for avoiding trouble.

 He could vanish like smoke, without a trace. He knew every side street, every

 back alley, every sewer main access point. He had taught Elrabin how to take to

 the rooftops if necessary. How to blend into a crowd, never running to attract

 atten­tion, always staying calm, always keeping his head.

 Right then, lying on the floor with his stomach cramping and his limbs under no

 control at all, Elrabin felt disgusted with himself. He hadn't kept his head. He

 hadn't stayed calm. Instead, he had run for it, and landed himself deeper into

 trouble.

 The sergeant saluted an officer with a crimson collar of rank and pointed at

 Elrabin. "He was coming out of the gambling end of the establishment when we

 first saw him. When he ran from us, we figured he must be up to some­thing. We

 pursued and made target acquisition upstairs."

 Elrabin groaned to himself. If he'd only stood his ground. If he'd only stayed

 calm. He could have bluffed his way out. Damn.

 "What's his identity registration tell us?"

 "Nothing, sir."

 The lieutenant raised his black visor to reveal dark blue skin and Vüs eyes of

 vivid crimson. His eye color extended on either side of his head in striking

 contrast, blending pur-pie streaks into the shades of blue and dark green that

 marked his rill.

 "Nothing?" the lieutenant repeated. He flicked out his tongue and turned his

 cold crimson eyes on Elrabin. "Is his implant in place?''

 "Yes, sir."

 "Run a drug scan on him."

 Two other patrollers gripped Elrabin by his arms and pulled him to his feet.

 Small spasms of returning life ran through his muscles, but he hardly cared. He

 was finished now. It was all a matter of what kind of sentence they would deal

 him on-site. Wrist cutters would be the mildest fate he could hope for. Being

 sold to hard labor would be worse. The labs, he wasn't even going to think

 about.

 Panting, he tried to face those black visors without show­ing fear, tried to

 look brave, tried to look defiant. But he was whining softly in the back of his

 throat, barely able to keep himself from howling in despair. His bowels were

 water. His legs wouldn't support him. Thumping inside him like his own heartbeat

 were the self-recriminations: you shouldn't have run; you shouldn't have come

 here; even high on dust, Cuvein is smarter than you; he's free and you're

 doomed.

 "Lieutenant," Elrabin said, gasping out the word.

 The Vüs didn't even glance at him in response.

 The sergeant struck Elrabin across the muzzle with the grip of his stun-stick.

 "Silence!"

 Reeling back from the blow, Elrabin bit off a yelp of pain. The patrollers

 lifted him higher on his sagging legs, forcing him to stand. Gasping, he

 struggled to master the pain and ran his tongue gingerly along his mouth where

 blood was trickling, hot and salty.

 He couldn't give up, he told himself. He had to think of something. And he

 would.

 The scanner buzzed across him, making him dizzy. The sergeant looked at the

 readout. "Traces of Venoyl and Dlexyline."

 "Illegal," the lieutenant snapped with harsh satisfaction. "Venoyl rates a fine.

 Dlexyline usage is a major offense, meriting sale to hard labor." His gaze bored

 into Elrabin, who had forgotten to breathe. "I could change that sentence if you

 tell me the name of your supplier."

 Elrabin nearly blurted out Cuvein's name, then bit it back, horrified at his own

 weakness. He wasn't going to betray his da, who'd given him a home of sorts,

 raised him, taught him how to make his own way. It was what the Vüs always

 wanted, he thought bitterly, trying to turn abiru against abiru, trying to keep

 them divided and suspicious of each other.

 "You have one chance," the lieutenant said to him sternly, flicking out his

 tongue. ' 'Who is your supplier?''

 Elrabin's gaze shifted around wildly before he mastered himself. He shivered in

 the patrollers' hold and forced him­self to meet the lieutenant's gaze. "Go

 fertilize a Toth," he said.

 Someone in the crowded room gasped. The lieutenant's gaze grew still and cold.

 Because of the confines of his helmet, he could not extend his rill, but its

 folds turned a bright crimson that matched his eyes.

 The sergeant drew his sidearm, but the lieutenant stopped him with a gesture.

 "Do not waste your ammunition," he said, and his voice was very calm and

 brittle.

 Elrabin swallowed, flicking his ears back, aware that at any moment the

 patrollers would beat him to a pulp.

 "Run the scanner again. Burn through the Dlexyline on maximum setting if you

 must. I want this creature's iden­tity."

 Elrabin cursed silently to himself. The lieutenant could not be rattled or

 deflected, it seemed, not even with insults.

 "I will have your name," the lieutenant said coldly to him. "I will have your

 lodging address. I will locate every friend, every acquaintance, every contact

 you—"

 "Save the speech," Elrabin said rudely. "My registra-tion code will tell you my

 name and not much else. Most of your central data banks are old, out-of-date,

 corrupted, or not working. So why not charge me, give me my fine, and let me

 go?"

 He was struck again, hard enough to make his ears ring. Sagging back, he let his

 head loll on his shoulders while little black dots bounced across his vision.

 By the time he could blink, remember his name, and determine which way was up,

 the scanning was over. His skin itched under his fur. His mouth felt dry, with a

 queer, metallic taste. His eyes burned, and he had a headache.

 "His name is Elrabin, sir," the sergeant reported. "Born to Keith registrants,

 Cuvein and Magathin. No known street address. Magathin is listed in the dead

 registry—"

 "No!" Elrabin burst out, too shocked to keep quiet. "She—"

 "Silence!"

 His protest stopped, and Elrabin lowered his head with his ears flattened.

 Inside he had to fight an unexpected surge of grief. He hadn't seen his mother

 in years, not since the day he'd walked out and abandoned her and the younger

 lits. He hadn't called her in all this time. Hadn't spoken to her. Hadn't sent

 her a single message. Now he felt ashamed of himself, realizing he had been

 cruel to leave her that way. Had she worried about him? Had she searched for

 him, walking the streets until hope left her? Or had she been relieved that

 there was one less mouth to feed?

 A burning sensation filled his throat. He wanted to tip back his head and

 unleash the grief howl, but he choked it back.

 The lieutenant was watching him like a predator, mer­ciless and intent. "What

 else?" he asked.

 "Wanted for petty theft. Arrest evasion at least ten years."

 The lieutenant's thin tongue flickered out, and his cold, crimson eyes dilated

 slightly. "Ah. That alone warrants the wrist cutters. Take him outside to the

 street, where he can be an example."

 Elrabin's ears roared, and all the strength melted from his body, along with his

 defiance.

 Someone else in the room spoke out, and the lieutenant turned sharply to sweep

 the room with his gaze. "Vüs jus­tice is swift," he said to everyone. "Vüs

 justice will not be mocked." His gaze flicked back to Elrabin and lingered there

 just long enough for Elrabin to see the cruel satisfac­tion in his eyes. "The

 arrest evasion plus usage of Dlexy-line indicates a hardened criminal mentality.

 He cannot be reformed, but he can be stopped. Sergeant."

 "Yes, sir?"

 The lieutenant's gaze remained on Elrabin's face as though waiting to see his

 reaction. "Take off both hands."

 The sergeant saluted and made his response, but Elrabin could barely hear the

 words for the increased roaring in his ears. His heart pounded like thunder in

 his chest. He could not feel his hands, could not feel his feet. Panting in

 fear, he tried desperately to think of something he could do, something he could

 say, but his throat choked up and he could utter nothing.

 They dragged him around, and he had one glimpse of the gathered prostitutes,

 huddled as far from him as they could get. None of the females would meet his

 eyes, not even the twin Keiths with their dyed pink fur. He would never be able

 to pay them their seventy credits, and they all knew it. The Reject had hooded

 her face in the presence of the Vüs males. She stood apart from the others, in

 the corner, with her back to everyone.

 Elrabin understood, even in the throttling grip of his fear. He was sentenced

 and doomed. No one could help him.

 How would he live? How could he work with no hands? How could he feed himself?

 He would be forced to beg, a disgusting cripple holding an alms bowl in his

 mouth, drooling for mercy. He would never be able to afford syn­thetic

 replacements for his severed appendages, not that marked thieves were allowed to

 own prosthetics anyway.

 Or maybe he wouldn't live at all. Maybe he would bleed to death out there in the

 gutter outside Tiff's establishment.

 The whining started in the back of his throat. It shamed him, but he couldn't

 control it, couldn't stop it.

 The patrollers heard him and laughed.

 Tiff stepped forward. "Wait."

 "Stand back, you," the sergeant said harshly. "Interfer­ence will cost you

 additional fines."

 "Have mercy," Tiff said, ignoring the warning. Oma glared at him as though he

 had lost his mind. Even Elra-bin—although grateful—was astonished that Tiff

 would risk himself like this. "This Keith is underage, not even fully adult yet.

 Do not maim him for such a small crime, committed so long ago. What did he

 steal? A trinket or two? Some food perhaps? Is that all you can find on his

 record sheet? Is it worth this terrible penalty?''

 The sergeant hissed behind his visor, but the lieutenant stepped forward to gaze

 at Tiff.

 "What is your interest here?"

 "Elrabin is the son of a friend," Tiff said without flinching.

 "Do you supply him with Dlexyline?"

 Aghast that Tiff had brought himself under suspicion, Elrabin opened his mouth,

 but the chunky old Aaroun lifted his sleepy eyes to meet the lieutenant's. "I

 know nothing of such a drug," he said, honesty firm in his voice. "I keep a

 clean establishment. There has never been trouble with drugs here. This is

 known."

 The lieutenant gestured impatiently. "Then keep quiet. This is no affair of

 yours."

 "Have mercy," Tiff said again, while Oma growled in her throat at him. He

 ignored her, his gaze steadfast on the lieutenant. "I will pay his fine, and

 Elrabin will not steal again. I give you my word."

 Several of the patrollers laughed inside their helmets. The lieutenant inflated

 his air sacs, saying, "The word of an Aaroun? Do you dare equate yourself with

 the Vüs, that you think your word is valid?''

 His scorn was brutal. Shame flashed across Tiff's spotted face, and he glanced

 down submissively before stepping back.

 Oma grabbed his arm and growled something in his ear. He didn't look up.

 "Enough of this place," the lieutenant said, glancing around impatiently. ' 'It

 stinks of cheap scent and meat. Our tip was a false one. We have netted nothing

 but this one pathetic thief. Take him out, and let us be done here."

 Panic filled Elrabin. He struggled with all his might, but the patrollers held

 him easily. They forced him outside into the twilight. Cold rain still fell in a

 steady downpour, wash­ing across the street and gurgling in the drains. No

 traffic passed by. The other brothels had lit their yellow lamps over their

 doors, but otherwise looked closed. No one took chances with two patroller

 skimmers hovering on park in the street, lights flashing in broken refractions

 through the rain.

 "Put a restraint bar on him," the sergeant ordered. Little droplets of rain

 beaded and ran down his visor. Behind them, the lieutenant lingered under the

 awning, as though reluctant to get his uniform wet.

 Or maybe, Elrabin thought with scorn, he was afraid Keith blood might spurt all

 over him.

 While a patroller brought a restraint bar and the wrist cutters from one of the

 skimmers, the others surrounded Elrabin, each taking firm hold. He panted hard,

 unable to believe it was happening. He had feared this so long, yet he'd never

 actually believed he would finally get caught. Not like this, not today.

 They weren't going to be kind enough to give him a sedative first. Laughing

 among themselves, they spoke in Vüs as though believing he couldn't understand

 their words.

 He didn't care what they said. The wrist cutters filled his attention. Even in

 the gloom of approaching night and the steady patter of rain he could see that

 the steel blades were stained with blood dried black, except at the edges, which

 had been freshly ground and sharpened. The metal there gleamed bright.

 "Pull his hands forward," the sergeant ordered. "Then lock his elbows with the

 bar. I don't want it getting splashed. If blood corrodes its finish, Supplies

 will insist on docking our wages."

 Elrabin fought and struggled with all his might, but they were too strong for

 him. One of the patrollers held his stun-stick to Elrabin's throat, and Elrabin

 froze in mid-struggle, breathing hard and keening in his throat.

 He no longer cared if they saw his fear. He no longer cared if they laughed at

 him.

 When the wrist cutters did their work, his life would be over.

 The restraint bar was fitted across the inside of his el­bows, but before it

 could be locked on, a shout came from down the street.

 The sergeant turned, and even the lieutenant stepped out into the rain as an

 additional squad of patrollers came marching up. Their uniforms were

 mud-splattered, and they came dragging a prisoner in an arrest net, floating on

 its antigrav field.

 By the time they arrived, Elrabin recognized the pris­oner's gray fur with the

 distinctive white markings along throat and muzzle.

 His heart sank with fresh dismay. So Cuvein's luck had also run out. Truly, this

 was an evil night.

 The lieutenant bent down to peer at the prisoner, ignoring the salutes. "Is this

 the one?"

 "Yes, sir."

 "Good work."

 "We found him hiding in a ventilation tunnel. We also found this." The patroller

 making the report produced two dust pouches, one the slim one Elrabin had seen

 his da using earlier, the other larger and fatter. "And this." The patroller

 held out a data crystal, which the lieutenant took eagerly.

 "A list of his network?"

 "We think so."

 "Excellent."

 Astonished, Elrabin stared at Cuvein, unable to believe it. Since when had his

 da become a supplier? And who had laid the tip, bringing the patrollers here

 tonight for this raid? What was going on?

 "Cuvein?" he called.

 "Shut up," his da said, growling. "It's planted evidence, every bit of it. Run

 if you can."

 The lieutenant was laughing. He tossed the data crystal in the air and caught it

 before tucking it safely away. "That promotion is now mine," he said in triumph.

 "See that the Aaroun female gets her reward."

 Rage burned in Elrabin. Oma had betrayed them. Why? Just because Cuvein hadn't

 paid for a few bad throws of tri-dice? Just because his bar bill was bigger than

 his purse? Elrabin wanted to throttle her. He'd promised he would settle his

 da's debt. He'd given his word.

 But promises meant nothing. He knew he wouldn't have paid it, not all of it, not

 unless forced to. It seemed Oma understood the rules of the street too.

 The sergeant snapped to attention. "Do you want an execution on the spot, sir?

 Or an arraignment at head­quarters?"

 "Don't be a fool," the lieutenant said sharply. "Mark the death penalty on the

 official report, but don't ask me to waste good money when he can be sold to a

 labor camp. Fear not. You will all get a share," he added, glancing around at

 the patrollers.

 Elrabin snorted to himself. Vüs corruption. You could count on it like the rain

 of winter.

 Then he realized no one was paying him any attention. Even the patrollers

 holding him were watching the officer and the new prisoner. Elrabin had made

 plenty of mistakes tonight, but he didn't intend to make any more.

 Swinging around, he twisted sharply to break himself free of their grip. One of

 them reached for him, but Elrabin rammed the Vüs in the midriff with the end of

 the restraint bar clamped on his arms. The patroller went staggering back, and

 Elrabin swung around just in time to duck the grab of the other one.

 Crouching low, he scuttled away a few steps, dropping to his knees and skidding

 around. As he did so, he pressed the end of the restraint bar against the

 rain-slick pavement and used the leverage to pop it off his arms. He thanked the

 gods that it hadn't been locked yet.

 Vüs fingers grabbed at him from behind, scratching through his wet fur without

 much purchase. Elrabin picked up the restraint bar and swung it around like a

 club.

 It cracked across a patroller's legs and brought him down with a bellow of pain.

 Staggering to his feet, Elrabin nearly lost his balance, but managed to get

 upright. He started toward the patrollers with the club upraised, intending to

 rescue Cuvein, but the sergeant aimed his stun-stick at Elrabin and fired.

 It clipped him on his right side, making him feel as though he had been cut in

 half. Dropping the restraint bar with a clatter, he fell heavily, landing on his

 stunned side and never feeling the impact.

 His right side was dead. Nothing worked, no matter how much he struggled.

 Floundering desperately with his left arm, Elrabin got to his hands and knees,

 tried to crawl forward, and fell again.

 He could hear bootsteps, and fear drove him up once more. This time he half

 crawled, half dragged himself into the gutter. Water swept along its channel,

 icy cold and mak­ing him gasp. With his good fingers, he felt along

 desper­ately, seeking a grating that he could pull up.

 "Get him!" the sergeant ordered.

 He fell again, facedown in the water, and the mild current swept him along the

 gutter, faster than he could drag him­self. Bumping and sputtering, he lifted

 his muzzle from the water and glanced back at his pursuers. He didn't have a

 chance.

 "Let the creature go," the lieutenant said. "I have what I need. Our night is

 proving profitable enough without hunt­ing down one worthless thief in the

 dark."

 Relief sagged through Elrabin. Lowering his head almost into the filthy water,

 he used his left arm to guide and pull himself along, buoyed by the gutter

 current. Behind him, he could hear muted sounds in the distance as the skimmers

 were loaded up. They flew off in the opposite direction, searchlights stabbing

 the darkness briefly before they were gone.

 Elrabin bumped against a heavy grating. The water rushed over and beneath him,

 sucking itself down into the sewer main below. He clung there, braced half out

 of the water, and tipped up his face to the still-falling rain.

 Only then did he cry out, his grief and anger throbbing harshly from his throat.

 A fit of coughing interrupted his howl of mourning and brought him back from the

 dangerous edge of his emotions. He knew he couldn't afford to give way, not

 here, not now.

 He was free, and he was alive. But he felt far from lucky. For now, he had to

 hide himself, avoiding anyplace those who knew him would think of looking. That

 meant he couldn't go home, couldn't go to any of the usual haunts. Oma's

 betrayal meant his da's cronies might also sell El­rabin out, now that they knew

 he had a record.

 It was a cold thought of no comfort.

 Shivering, Elrabin swallowed his grief and pulled open the heavy grating. He

 hesitated there, a hunched figure in the rainy darkness, fearing to lower

 himself into a still-greater darkness. Skeks lived in the tunnels beneath the

 streets, along with other creatures. But Skeks were merely scavengers, no matter

 how loathsome, and he knew he could fight them off if necessary. Tonight, the

 only pred­ators he knew about were aboveground. And they all wore the name

 friend.

 vIlHa I Ell

 In the morning, Ampris awakened to find herself back in her own cot, snugly

 tucked beneath her blankets. Subi had put her there, she supposed. Subi always

 did, so that Lady Lenith would not catch them.

 Israi sat up in her nest of cushions, yawned hugely, and stretched her rill to

 its maximum extension. "The sun is shining," she said. Bright-eyed and cheerful,

 she was al­ready brimming with plans. "Let's have a picnic."

 Ampris panted with excitement. She loved it when Israi planned a special

 occasion. "When?"

 "Today. We'll make it a grand, outdoor luncheon. By midday the sun will be warm.

 And I know the perfect spot."

 "The clearing by the stream," Ampris guessed.

 Israi laughed with approval. "Of course! I shall wear fur robes, and you wool.

 There are those old costumes in the storage rooms that we can dress up in. We'll

 pretend that we are grand court ladies in the old dynasty of Ruverl."

 "Who?"

 "My great-grandfather. He who built this lodge," Israi said impatiently. '

 'Because we are having a historical pic-nic, we must not ride up to the clearing

 on skimmers. In­stead we will walk."

 Ampris blinked. "It's a long climb."

 "Don't be lazy. We will walk," Israi said. "We will take thick blankets to

 spread over the ground, and only one slave to serve us."

 "Let's take Moscar," Ampris said. "He's strong enough to carry everything."

 Israi's green eyes gleamed. When she emerged from her morning ablutions, her

 skin oiled and glowing, her fur-lined tunic cut loose in the back to conceal her

 tail as modesty required, she grabbed Ampris by the hand and went dashing down

 the corridor to the central section of the lodge.

 There, they halted by the main staircase, breathless and giggling. Israi

 beckoned for a page to approach her.

 He came at once, bowing low. "Yes, highness?"

 ' 'Take a message to the cook. I wish a picnic feast pre­pared for today. I

 shall want carnela cream, plenty of fruit tarts, candied granapes, and spiced

 antas."

 The page bowed again. "Forgive me, highness, but it is supposed to rain."

 Israi eyed him coldly. "Did I request your opinion?"

 "No, highness."

 "Then be quiet." Israi turned to Ampris. "You may pick two of your favorite

 foods as well."

 Ampris beamed eagerly. ' 'Thank you. I want—''

 "But no meat," Israi said sternly. "I refuse to watch you gnaw on bones."

 "Spicemeats?" Ampris asked hopefully.

 Israi flicked out her tongue. "That's slave food."

 Ampris lowered her gaze to mask her disappointment. Spicemeats were delicious,

 but she knew when Israi would not relent. "May I have civa cakes?"

 Israi laughed. "You always want civa cakes. What else?"

 Ampris thought hard but she couldn't think of anything permissible she wanted

 besides those tiny, mouthwatering confections. They melted on the tongue with

 the most ex­quisite flavors. She swallowed, already longing for them.

 "Lots of civa cakes," she said.

 Israi sighed indulgently and returned her gaze to the page. "You heard that."

 "Yes, highness."

 Israi flicked her fingers in dismissal. "See that it is done."

 "Yes, highness." The page hurried away, and Israi turned to Ampris with an air

 of satisfaction.

 "There," she said. "I like my idea very well."

 "I like it too," Ampris said.

 "Then let us go and select our costumes."

 Together they started upstairs, but a voice called them back.

 It belonged to a ta-chune Vüs male, scrawny and with skin variegated in tones of

 bright blue and green. He was one of Israi's egg-brothers, named Oviel. Both

 Israi and Ampris despised him.

 "Where are you going?" he demanded.

 Israi lifted her head very haughtily. ' 'I do not answer to you."

 He frowned. "It was a civil question. You could at least be polite to me, Israi.

 After all, one day I shall be your chancellor."

 "Not while I live."

 The two Vüs siblings glared at each other. Ampris, feel­ing uncomfortable with

 the argument, tried to edge past Israi and keep going up the stairs, but Israi

 stopped her.

 "Go and bite him, Ampris," she commanded. "Bite him and shake him hard enough to

 snap his skinny neck."

 Ampris stared at Israi in surprise, even as her fur stood on end in mingled

 embarrassment and annoyance. She did not like it when Israi used this tone with

 her. It was rare, and done only in public, but it made Ampris feel as

 insig­nificant as dust. It was the tone all Vüs nobles used with their slaves,

 creatures who were ignored and used like fur-niture was used. The command itself

 was in poor taste, not even funny, and that embarrassed Ampris even more.

 Ampris said nothing.

 After a moment, when Ampris made no move toward him, Oviel managed to stop

 looking alarmed. Ignoring Am­pris, although his gaze flickered to her more than

 once, he gave Israi a thin smile. "I am glad your pet does not always obey you."

 "The taste of your flesh would poison her teeth."

 He frowned. "You are unkind, my sister."

 "You are ambitious, my brother," she retorted. "I have been warned about you."

 "By whom?"

 "I know that you are hoping to get the throne for your­self. You think I am weak

 because I am female, but you forget the examples of history. We have been ruled

 by three other female kaas, all of whom were ruthless, bold, and courageous.

 None of them were deposed by their male rel­atives. Nor shall I be."

 Courtiers were approaching. Pages went by on errands, glancing at them in

 curiosity. The lodge was stirring in the new day, and this argument could not

 continue.

 Oviel seemed to sense this, for he backed up a step and bowed. "I only asked

 where you were going today, Israi. Nothing more. You need not be so defensive,

 you and your pet."

 "I am not defensive," Israi replied coldly, "but I am on my guard against you."

 His eyes glittered in response, but although a tremor passed through his rill he

 did not extend it. "I will discover who has dripped this poison into your mind.

 I do not like to find I have enemies."

 "You should concentrate on growing your battle teeth, brother. You'll need

 them."

 Flicking her tongue, Israi turned her back on him and continued upstairs. Ampris

 followed her, glancing over her shoulder in time to see Oviel's rill turn bright

 crimson as he walked away.

 "Why did you speak to him like that?" Ampris asked once they were safely out of

 earshot. "Why did you make him angry on purpose?"

 Israi glanced at her as they entered the storage room, with its musty shadows

 and draped cobwebs. The sri-Kaa did not immediately answer. Instead, she opened

 a chest and started pulling out quaint old garments that smelled of dust and

 camphan preservative.

 Ampris sneezed. "Israi, please explain," she said.

 "Very well, but it is a secret I tell you."

 "I understand."

 Israi cast her a sharp glance. "You will chatter about this to no one. Is that

 clear?"

 Hurt, Ampris widened her eyes. ' 'But I never share your secrets. Never. Do you

 distrust me now?"

 "No, but you must be careful."

 "I promise."

 ' 'Then I will tell you that my father has been giving me special lessons of

 late."

 Ampris nodded. She knew about those sessions, from which she was excluded.

 "These are lessons which a ruler may share only with one who will one day rule."

 A shiver passed through Ampris. She said, ' 'Sometimes, when we're playing, I

 forget how important you are."

 "How important I shall one day be," Israi corrected her. "Yes. I am old enough

 now, my father says, to begin to study politics and intrigue. It is my father

 who has warned me to beware of Oviel. His tutor is ambitious, my father says,

 and the tutor has taught Oviel of the old custom of an egg-sibling serving as

 primary chancellor of state. This is dangerous for me, and my father says I must

 not allow it."

 "Oh," Ampris said, impressed by such adult talk. "Couldn't the Imperial Father

 just dismiss the tutor?"

 Israi laughed and tilted her head from side to side. "How simple that would be!

 Ampris, you are priceless."

 Ampris swelled with pride, until she realized that Israi was laughing at her.

 Backing her ears, Ampris asked, "What is wrong with my suggestion?"

 "It's too simple. Too obvious. My father says it is better to keep a known enemy

 nearby where you can watch him than to send him away, where he can work his

 mischief unobserved."

 "Oh," Ampris said again. She thought about this, un­derstanding that complexity

 was always desirable to a Vüs, even Israi. Ampris herself preferred things kept

 simple and direct. If the tutor was imprisoned or even put on a labor gang for

 his wickedness, he would have no opportunity to cause mischief. But she did not

 utter this thought aloud. She had no desire to be laughed at again.

 By the time they selected their costumes and came down­stairs, the morning was

 well-advanced. A page came to tell Israi that Lady Lenith wished to see her.

 "My compliments to the lady," Israi replied, "but in­form her I am otherwise

 engaged and not at liberty this day."

 The page backed away to deliver her message.

 Israi caught Ampris's eye and giggled. "Come," she said, gripping Ampris's hand

 in hers. "Let's go before she finds a way to stop us."

 They ran headlong through the lodge, sending servants, advisers, and courtiers

 backing out of their way. According to court protocol, Israi's personal guards

 were supposed to accompany her outdoors, but the sri-Kaa was in a mischie­vous

 mood today. She and Ampris slipped down the servant stairs into the vast kitchen

 complex. A place always boiling with frenetic activity, the kitchen provided

 perfect cover for two youngsters to escape outdoors without being noticed. In

 the stables, they dug out old Moscar—a massive Aaroun whose spots had faded on

 his dull fur. A gentle creature, slow of wit and harmless, Moscar could not

 speak, but he bent willingly to the task of carrying their blankets and food

 baskets. Silent and steady, he trudged behind them up the long, steep trail that

 led higher into the mountains.

 Ampris loved being outdoors. The wintry sunshine warmed her shoulders,

 offsetting the chilly air. She lifted her nostrils to the breeze and inhaled a

 myriad of scents, all intriguing and fresh. Overhead a pair of raptuls sailed

 and circled on the wind currents. Their wingspans were enormous, casting swift

 shadows across the steep ground. Now and then they uttered a cry that echoed

 down the mountains, a cry so savage and primitive it sent shivers through

 Ampris.

 Tossing back her head, she threw up her hands to the sky and tried to roar.

 The cry came out thin and guttural, embarrassing her.

 Israi glanced back. "Stop that. Why are you making such an ugly sound?"

 "I don't know. It felt natural."

 "It is hideous. I don't wish to hear it again."

 Ampris frowned beneath Israi's rebuke. "Forgive me," she said politely. "I'm not

 doing it right. Perhaps if I prac­ticed—"

 "No."

 Ampris's gaze met Israi's. She saw only unyielding sternness in Israi's green

 eyes. Sighing, Ampris bowed her head.

 "Yes, Israi," she said in obedience. "I won't do it again."

 "You are a lady of court," Israi said, struggling not to trip on the hem of her

 long robe as the trail grew more rocky and steep. She paused, panting in the

 thin air, and gripped the trunk of a narpine sapling. Her rill lay limp and

 wilted over the edge of her collar. "Help me here."

 "Maybe if we took off these costumes until we get to the picnic spot," Ampris

 suggested. She was finding her robe cumbersome and hard to manage. It also

 reeked of camphan, clogging her nostrils so much she couldn't stop robbing her

 nose.

 "No," Israi said. "I don't want to take off the robe. It's part of the game,

 remember? We are fine ladies of the court, and we are climbing to a proper

 vantage point to watch the lodge being built."

 "We may break our necks," Ampris grumbled, boosting Israi forward, then

 clambering awkwardly over the rocks herself. She pulled up the hem of her robe

 and tied it in a knot out of her way.

 "Hurry," Israi said. "And stop complaining. You are spoiling the game."

 "Yes, Israi."

 "Help me over this rock."

 "Yes, Israi."

 Again Ampris gave her friend a boost from behind. Both of them were panting

 loudly. Hunger rumbled inside Am­pris's belly, and she thought about the feast

 that was soon to come.

 "It's not far now," she said with satisfaction, looking ahead up the trail.

 "Thank the gods," Israi said, puffing hard. She yanked at her dragging hem once

 again, and nearly lost her balance. "This is the shortest way up, but I didn't

 realize it was so steep."

 Above them, the huge old narpine with its wind-twisted trunk and spreading

 branches stood in welcome, waiting for them to take their favorite spot among

 its gnarled roots. There was one last climb over a jumbled pile of rocks

 be­tween them and their objective.

 "We shouldn't be court ladies coming this way," Am­pris said as they paused to

 rest. "We should be invaders, trying to breach the palace walls."

 Israi flicked out her tongue, too winded to speak.

 From below them came a shout.

 Startled, both Ampris and Israi looked.

 "Oh, no," Israi said.

 Ampris saw a small contingent of guards and courtiers about halfway up the

 mountain trail. The person in front was waving at them. Another shout echoed up

 the mountain and sent the wheeling raptuls flying away.

 Ampris flattened her ears and growled. "Fazhmind," she said in disgust.

 Israi leaned against her, peering into the distance. "Are you sure?"

 "Yes."

 Israi blew a most nonroyal snort through her nostrils. "That toad. What does he

 want?"

 Ampris sighed. "He wants us to go up the ordinary trail. To ride in a skimmer.

 To take your ladies in waiting along. To wear our cloaks against the cold. To

 have your guards in attendance."

 "To be utterly and completely bored," Israi finished. ' 'Why must he always ruin

 our games? Who asked him to interfere?"

 "Come down!" came the call, rising to them while ech­oes tumbled off the rocks

 and gullies.

 Shoulders drooping, Ampris turned to obey, but Israi gripped her arm. Israi's

 green eyes were flashing. "I shan't," she said defiantly. "Who is he, to give me

 or­ders?"

 "But, Israi—"

 "Quickly," Israi commanded, turning Ampris around and pushing her toward the

 rocks. "We'll keep going. We can hide from them, and it will be a better game

 than be­fore. If he has to spend the whole day searching for us in the

 mountains, won't he be tired and filthy and put out when he gets back?"

 She laughed unpleasantly, a calculating expression in her eyes. "Let's make him

 run off all the stored fat in his tail. That will teach him to interfere."

 Ampris liked the idea, but she was busy thinking ahead. "What if your father has

 summoned you?"

 "No, he hasn't," Israi said. "Besides, I hardly care. I

 shan't have my fun spoiled like this. Come, Ampris. You stand there and boost me

 up."

 Ampris looked at the rocks they had to climb and pulled off her costume. ' 'It

 would be better if I went first and gave you a hand."

 "Then do it quickly," Israi commanded.

 Already Ampris had evaluated the climb. She started up, finding hand- and

 toe-holds quickly. Ahead of her was a ledge where she could lie flat and extend

 her hand to Israi. But even as she reached it, she heard scrambling sounds and

 Israi's quick panting. Glancing back, Ampris saw Israi climbing right behind

 her.

 She started to tell Israi to wait, then held her tongue. When Israi lost her

 temper, she listened to no one.

 Ampris hauled herself onto the ledge and knelt there in time to grip Israi's

 reaching hand. She heaved, and Israi came scrambling up in a flurry of long

 legs, tail, and the cumbersome fur robe that she refused to take off.

 Streaked with dirt, Israi closed her eyes and gasped for breath. Below them, old

 Moscar stood at the base of the rocks and shook his shaggy head slowly from side

 to side.

 "He can't make it," Ampris said.

 Israi opened her eyes and flicked out her tongue. ' 'Then send him back. He'll

 only slow us down."

 "Will the Imperial Daughter please return!" came an­other shout from the group

 farther down the trail.

 Israi muttered something beneath her breath and started climbing again.

 Ampris leaned down toward Moscar. "Go back," she said in the abiru patois he

 understood best. "Go back. Fol­low us no more."

 Puzzlement filled his dull eyes. He stood there, swaying back and forth, then

 finally turned and started back down the steep trail.

 "Ampris, come on!" Israi called.

 Ampris rose to her feet and turned around just as Israi screamed. Suddenly Israi

 came tumbling down the rocks, skidding and flailing. She rolled past Ampris and

 went tum­bling toward the ledge.

 Horrified, Ampris threw herself bodily after the scream­ing Israi and just

 managed to clutch her leg. Israi hung there, half on the ledge and half off. For

 a dazed moment there was only silence.

 Ampris lay there, feeling bruised and stunned, astonished that she had managed

 to catch Israi at all.

 "Israi?" she whispered. "Are you hurt?"

 Israi did not answer at first, then moved slightly in Am-pris's grasp. "Help

 me," she said, her voice muffled and afraid.

 Gripping Israi's leg with both hands, Ampris pulled with all her might and

 finally managed to drag Israi back to safety. The sri-Kaa lay there, streaked

 with mud. Her cloth­ing was torn. Blood smeared her head and hands. She lay

 unmoving, her breathing shallow, her eyes half-shut, little pulses jumping

 beneath her ear dimples.

 Terrified, Ampris stroked her rill. "Israi," she said in rising alarm. "Are you

 badly hurt? Israi!"

 The sri-Kaa's eyes fluttered open and her gaze fastened on Ampris. "You saved

 me," she whispered. "You didn't let me fall."

 Ampris gripped her hand tightly and licked it. "Of course not," she said, hardly

 paying attention to what Israi was saying. "You could have gone down the whole

 moun­tain. You could have died."

 "Saved me," Israi whispered, and fainted.

 Fear formed a lump in Ampris's throat and would not let her swallow. Certain

 that Israi was badly injured, Am­pris tried to rouse her friend, but could not.

 Dropping Israi's slack hand, Ampris scrambled to the ledge and looked down at

 Moscar, who had stopped and was staring at them transfixed.

 The guards and Fazhmind were waving and coming as fast as they could, but they

 were still too far away to help.

 Ampris beckoned to Moscar. "Come," she said ur­gently. "Hurry."

 The old Aaroun shuffled forward, and at Ampris's bid­ding he put down the food

 basket and climbed up to the ledge where Israi lay unconscious.

 "Hand me one of the blankets," Ampris commanded. "We must wrap her in it so that

 she doesn't grow cold. Careful. She may have broken bones."

 Moscar nodded his shaggy head. His hands were gentle as he lifted Israi and

 pulled the blanket around her.

 "Can you carry her down the mountain?" Ampris asked.

 Moscar gathered Israi into his powerful arms. He moved slowly, with infinite

 care, while Ampris scrambled down off the rocks so fast she nearly lost her

 balance.

 In agony she watched him climb down, never putting a foot wrong, never slipping.

 He was steady and sure as he carried his precious burden.

 Once he was safely off the rocks, Ampris could contain her impatience no longer.

 "Come," she urged him. "Hurry as fast as you can. I'll get the others."

 Leaving him, she headed down the steep trail, skidding and dropping to her

 haunches more than once. Going down was much harder than going up. She paid no

 attention to her recklessness, however. Her heart was slamming hard in her

 chest, and in her mind ran a continual prayer.

 Please don't let her die. Please don't let her die.

 When she reached Fazhmind, she stumbled and nearly fell into his arms. He fended

 her off roughly with a hiss.

 "Get out of the way," he said, and gestured for the guards to precede him.

 "She's hurt. She's fainted," Ampris said breathlessly, gulping for air. "There

 is blood—"

 "Great gods," Fazhmind said in horror, and rushed past her, leaving her behind.

 The guards took Israi's limp form away from Moscar, one carrying her down the

 trail with rapid strides while the other grimly shepherded Moscar along as

 though the acci­dent had been his fault.

 Ampris went with them, feeling very small and young now, more frightened than

 ever at the grim adult faces around her. Seeking reassurance, she looked up at

 Lord Fazhmind. "Will the sri-Kaa be all right?" she asked.

 "Silence!" he snapped without even glancing at her. "This is all your fault."

 "But—"

 He turned on her and struck her across the muzzle. "Si­lence!"

 Ampris pressed the back of her hand against her quiv­ering mouth and stared at

 him, her ears flat to her skull. Holding back a hot rush of tears, she followed

 him down the mountain and through the towering gates of the walls.

 Inside, impatient hands shoved her aside when she would have followed them into

 Israi's quarters. The doors were shut firmly against her, and Ampris was left to

 hunker on the floor, heedless that her muddy fur was streaking the priceless

 carpet. She waited for word, and prayed that all would be well.

 It was nearly dark, and long purple shadows filled the corners of the corridor

 when at last Subi came to find her. Growling to herself, Subi pulled Ampris to

 her feet without a word and marched her off for a bath, then a hot supper that

 Ampris would be too miserable to eat.

 ' 'Is the Imperial Daughter all right?'' Ampris asked.

 Subi's gruff expression never softened. Her eyes were hostile and worried, and

 she looked ready to bite. ' 'Better you keep quiet and ask no questions," she

 said as she took a clean Ampris down into the oppressive warmth of the kitchens.

 There, the air was redolent with the scents of the feast being prepared for the

 Kaa's evening meal. Baking ovens stood open, and fresh breads and pastries were

 being pulled out by perspiring cooks.

 Subi seated Ampris on a stool in a quiet corner out of everyone's way and

 ordered a plain dinner for her. In minutes it was brought, and a tray was set up

 on legs to form a small table.

 Ampris barely looked at it. Her eyes beseeched Subi. "But she's hurt. She—"

 "Big trouble for you. Keep quiet," Subi said, her upright ears twitching

 nervously. "You eat now."

 Wretchedly, Ampris picked up her spoon and toyed with her food. Every bite she

 swallowed felt as though it might come up again. After a moment she put down her

 spoon and shoved her bowl away. The cold lump of worry inside her kept growing,

 sharp-edged and painful. Why wouldn't anyone tell her what was happening? The

 evasions and grim looks frightened her.

 The constant babble of noise in the kitchen hushed mo­mentarily. Looking up,

 Ampris saw Lady Lenith standing on the stairs, looking over the room.

 Ampris's heart stopped. She couldn't breathe.

 Lady Lenith was attired in a glittering court gown, too formal for the lodge,

 and all the more imposing because of it. Jewels winked in her rill collar, as

 well as in her necklace and many rings. A long scarf of sheer silk gauze trailed

 from her shoulders. Her rill stood at full extension and was stained a dark

 indigo. Her eyes were cold with disapproval.

 Her gaze traveled across the room and its many workers. Subi pinched Ampris, who

 rose to her feet.

 Lady Lenith gave Ampris a long hard stare. There was something so implacable in

 her gaze that Ampris was cer­tain Israi had died. The room started to spin

 around Ampris, and her head grew so cold it no longer seemed to be hers. She

 blinked, feeling strange and hollow. Her ears roared as Lady Lenith beckoned to

 her. Somehow she pushed herself forward, walking in jerky motions as though

 detached from her feet.

 The workers stepped out of her path, but Ampris did not notice them. Nor did she

 hear the silence. There was only the fateful ka-boom of her own heartbeat and

 the tense rasp of her breathing in her ears.

 She reached Lady Lenith and stared up at her, so tall, so angry. The world

 seemed to be ending.

 Dry-mouthed, Ampris had to swallow twice before she could manage the words. "Is

 Israi dead?"

 Her voice came out a tiny squeak, sounding nothing like her own.

 Lady Lenith's fierce expression did not change. She flicked out her tongue once,

 twice, then said, ' 'The Kaa has summoned you to his august presence. Come."

 Ampris followed her out of the kitchen, up to the main floor, up the grand

 central staircase. When they turned onto the second floor, Ampris expected to be

 taken to the state receiving room, but instead Lady Lenith walked to the door of

 Israi's quarters.

 A Vüs page running ahead of her knocked softly at the door, which was opened

 before Lady Lenith reached it. She walked inside, the hem of her long gown

 brushing the car­pets. Ampris followed, gripping her jaws together tightly to

 keep herself from growling nervously. She could feel the hair standing up along

 her spine. The door shut behind her with a firm snap that made her jump.

 Inside Israi's sitting room, the lamps were dimmed to a low level that filled

 the chamber with shadows. Myneith, the First Wife, and two others sat there with

 their ladies in waiting. They talked in hushed voices that fell silent as Ampris

 entered. They stared at her with cold Vüs eyes, accusing her with silence.

 Chilled, Ampris felt more wretched than ever. She tried to imagine a world

 without Israi in it and couldn't. She tried to think about what she would do and

 couldn't. Her heart was breaking. She wanted to howl and weep, but she did

 neither. Instead, she panted for air, her eyes hot and her tongue dry, and

 walked past them in Lady Lenith's wake.

 Imperial guards stood before the double doors leading to Israi's bedchamber.

 Lady Lenith paused and gestured to her page, who told them, "Lady Lenith's

 compliments to the

 Imperial Father. She has brought the creature, as re­quested."

 Ampris flinched at that single word, creature, as though a whip had been laid

 across her shoulders. Behind her, she could feel the hatred in the room from the

 other females, a hatred that pounded into her back from every pair of eyes.

 Her bottom lip trembled, and she sank her incisors into it to make it stop.

 Inside, she had begun to grieve for her friend with a misery that had no

 boundary. Israi, she thought. Oh, Israi.

 The guards permitted Lady Lenith's page to step between them and tap very softly

 on the door. It opened a crack, and no more. The page murmured to someone on the

 other side, then the door was closed.

 Returning to Lady Lenith, the page bowed and said qui­etly, ' 'Your ladyship is

 asked to wait until the physician is finished with his examination."

 Lady Lenith nodded and stood in place, motionless, her back ramrod straight, her

 rill half-extended. Behind her, Ampris closed her eyes and found that she could

 breathe again.

 Not dead, she thought as joy spiraled into her heart, thawing it. Not dead. Not

 dead. Not dead!

 But her joy and relief proved short-lived as the silence wore on. Worry returned

 to Ampris once more. Everyone was acting too serious for Israi to be all right.

 She must be badly injured, perhaps near to dying.

 Clearly, the blame for this had been assigned to Ampris. She wanted to deny it,

 to explain what had happened, but she dared not open her mouth. She knew no one

 would listen, no one would permit her to speak, no one would believe her. Their

 minds were already made up. Without Israi to speak up for her, what would

 happen?

 The door opened, and a tall green-skinned Vüs in a phy­sician's cloak emerged.

 He passed Lady Lenith without a word, and Chancellor Gaveid himself beckoned to

 Lady Lenith from the doorway.

 Ampris blinked. She knew that the chancellor was not staying here at the lodge.

 He must have flown in by shuttle this afternoon from Vir or his own estates. Her

 fear came back, stronger than ever.

 Lady Lenith glanced down at Ampris. Normally she would have fussed over Ampris's

 appearance, given her several last-minute instructions and reminders about how

 to behave. Tonight, however, she said nothing.

 Her gaze raked across Ampris with contempt, and her tongue flicked out once;

 then she walked forward.

 Ampris followed, wishing she could run, wishing the floor would simply swallow

 her up.

 The door swung open, and Ampris walked between the guards into Israi's

 bedchamber. The lamps here were very dim, casting out a feeble glow that made

 everything shad­owy and unreal. Israi lay nestled on her side among the pillows

 beneath a silk coverlet, a small, still figure swathed in bandages.

 Drawing in a quick breath, Ampris wanted to run to her side, but she dared not.

 A crimson ribbon of carpet stretched across the floor, leading past the foot of

 Israi's round bed to a tall-backed chair flanked by four imperial guards in

 green cloaks.

 The Kaa himself sat there, bronze-skinned with green shadings along his jaw and

 throat, glittering in a magnifi­cent coat made of cloth of gold and jewel dust.

 His slightest motion, even his breathing, set the coat reflecting the light in a

 thousand winking refractions. His rill collar rose very tall at the back, very

 formal. Fashioned of gold, the collar was studded with a solid array of yellow

 tafirs that flashed as though containing fire.

 Stern-faced, the Kaa narrowed his cold, space-blue eyes to slits when Ampris

 entered, and his extended rill turned an ominous crimson.

 Lady Lenith made deep obeisance. The Kaa's gaze flick­ered to her in brief

 acknowledgment, but he did not speak.

 "I have brought Ampris, as the Imperial Father re-quested." Lady Lenith's voice

 quavered slightly as she spoke.

 Chancellor Gaveid walked forward with stiff, slow movements. Handsome still

 despite his very advanced age, he gestured to her as protocol demanded.

 "Thank you, Lady Lenith. That will be all."

 Lady Lenith hesitated, glancing down at Ampris, then to the chancellor, then to

 the Kaa. ' 'I wish to say… if I may be permitted to speak… I had nothing but

 misgivings from the first as to—''

 ' "Thank you, my lady,'' Gaveid said smoothly. His yel­low eyes held no mercy.

 "That is all understood. Nothing else is required of you."

 She bowed, looking stricken. Again she started to speak, then pressed her hand

 to her ear dimple and rushed out.

 The door was closed behind her by a guard, who then walked over to one side of

 Israi's round bed and stood there at attention.

 Ampris, left on her own, remained on the crimson carpet, which made her think of

 a stream of blood across the floor. The silence grew more ominous than ever. The

 chancellor's yellow gaze was like stone. The guards stared beyond her, as though

 she did not exist. The Kaa's eyes held nothing at all—no affection, no

 gentleness, no memory of past days when he had smiled at Ampris.

 She watched him, her heart hammering wildly inside her, and felt the awful

 weight of his majesty and power as she never had before.

 For an eternity he said nothing, did nothing except stare at her. She thought

 she would faint beneath his gaze. He seemed to probe to the depths of her, this

 Vüs whose em­pire spanned an entire galaxy. Surely he was all-wise and

 all-knowing. Surely the gods had granted him special wis­dom, so that he would

 know she had done nothing wrong. She hadn't caused Israi to fall. She had tried

 to save the sri-Kaa's life. Certainly the Kaa had enough mercy and pity in his

 heart to listen to the truth.

 Ampris's ears flattened, and she felt a slight tug on her ear as Israi's

 cartouche swung on its ornate chain. She tried to find the courage to speak, to

 make an appeal.

 But he was the Kaa, and she dust beneath his feet. She stood there trembling,

 and dared do nothing unbidden.

 Finally, his gaze shifted, releasing her from that terrible stare. He sighed and

 looked infinitely weary, as though fac­ing a task he dreaded.

 Lifting a single digit from the arm of his chair, he crooked it, beckoning to

 her.

 Afraid, Ampris felt her feet root in place. She could not move.

 Chancellor Gaveid prodded her in the shoulder with the tip of his staff of

 office. "Approach his Imperial Majesty, cub. Do as you are told."

 Gulping, Ampris walked along the crimson carpet, one slow, frightened footstep

 at a time, until she stood before this personification of supreme power. She

 knew better than to meet the Kaa's gaze this close. Instead she stared humbly at

 his feet, and even that seemed a sacrilege.

 "Kneel!" Chancellor Gaveid barked the single word, making it a harsh command.

 Ampris lost her breath. She sank to her knees, trembling, and bowed low, certain

 she was doomed.

 CHAPTER LEVEN

 Elrabin moved slowly to one edge of the thronged plaza outside the gladiator

 arena. He took care to bring no atten­tion to himself, to stay on the fringes of

 the crowd. He always kept a group of people between him and any pa-trollers

 stationed there for crowd control.

 It was opening day of the games, the first of the winter fighting season that

 would last until Sahvrazaa Festival. The marquee above the ticket booth was

 flashing the names of popular champions. Famous schools of gladiators such as

 the Bizsi Mo'ad and Utar Dan flew their pennants above the arena. Hucksters

 called out prices for souvenirs. Open­ing day brought big crowds of spectators,

 many of whom had fat credit lines. Elrabin ignored the aristocrats, with their

 retinues of family, friends, attendants, and body­guards. Anyone clad in

 expensive clothing would be wear­ing body alarms. Instead, Elrabin searched for

 much smaller game, the gawking country visitor fresh off a small estate, one who

 had never been to court, one without city ways or city wariness.

 Trying to look casual, Elrabin leaned against a stone pil­lar away from the

 bookmakers and illicit dust dealers. His elbow brushed against the stone, and he

 winced. Swiftly he cradled his swollen elbow in his hand, flexing his arm in an

 effort to null the flare of pain. Three days ago he'd had his registration

 implant cut out in a back alley shop. The illegal operation had been an

 expensive butcher job, per­formed fast and without any anesthesia. Now the

 incision was infected, bringing fever with it. Elrabin fought off a wave of

 dizziness and forced himself to concentrate.

 Since escaping arrest a few days past, he'd been living like a Skek, scavenging

 through garbage, stealing food when he could, starving when he couldn't. Afraid,

 trusting no one, he'd kept low, rarely venturing out during the day, sleeping in

 the sewer tunnels. He'd sold scrap, fighting Skeks for the best of it. He'd

 stolen anything he could find, taking more risks than he should have. Finally

 he'd man­aged to scrape together the fee for the implant removal, but it had

 taken everything he had.

 Now he was truly illegal, a ghost in the registration sys­tem, able to walk into

 public areas freely. Of course, if a patroller saw him and grew suspicious, a

 quick scan would betray him as a ghost. But he couldn't be tracked with a

 sniffer for his past record, and hiding became easier.

 A ghost… yeah, he would be a real one soon enough if this fever didn't clear up.

 Fighting off the shivers, Elrabin straightened again and moved to another

 pillar. More peo­ple were arriving, but the crowd was starting to line up

 outside the entry. They were going in. From inside the arena, a fanfare of

 trumpets sounded and cheers went up.

 Desperation curled through Elrabin. He hadn't seen the kind of target he was

 looking for. The more organized the crowd grew, the smaller his chances. He

 needed a hit today. He was so sick and hungry he couldn't think. He couldn't

 hang on without something to eat or somewhere warm to go. Merciful gods, he

 pleaded, let him find an easy mark.

 As though his prayer was heard, there came a sudden commotion a short distance

 away. A battered, dusty litter pulled up at the steps leading from the street to

 the plaza, and a Vüs family climbed out. Arguing and complaining among

 themselves, they issued contradictory instructions to their driver, collected

 wraps and a food basket as though unaware that concessions were sold inside the

 arena, and came hurrying across the plaza to join the line.

 Elrabin forgot his misery and grinned to himself. Exactly what he wanted. The

 family patriarch was very tall and thin, dressed in outdated fashions, and

 oblivious to the stares and snickers of city-dwellers. His gawking, half-grown

 sons pointed at the gaudy marquee and colorful flags. The wife fussed with her

 rill collar and skirts, talking nonstop. The young daughter didn't even bother

 to look around. She was too busy sneaking food from the basket and popping it

 into her mouth while no one was looking.

 Elrabin let them walk past him, then followed in their wake, taking his time,

 although it was tempting to grab the food basket from the Vüs female's hand and

 run with it.

 They moved with the line, the father busy counting up the admission price, the

 sons nudging each other and whis­pering sly remarks. Elrabin caught up with them

 and moved closer, bowing several times, until the father's eye noticed him.

 At once the Vüs scowled and made a shooing motion with his hand. "Begone,

 beggar!" he said sharply. "You'll not find me softhearted."

 Elrabin bowed again but didn't step back.

 The father glanced at his sons. "You see? You must take an authoritative tone

 with these inferiors."

 "Shoo," the mother said to Elrabin, shuddering as she averted her gaze from him.

 ' 'Such a dirty, tattered creature. Aethea, don't look at him."

 The daughter stared right at Elrabin, chewing fruit with her mouth open. "You

 stink," she said.

 The mother grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her close as though she

 expected Elrabin to steal the chune.

 "I told you to go," the father said. "We have no money for you."

 "Please, sir," Elrabin said in his most obsequious man-ner. "I am no beggar. The

 arena employs me to assist its spectators, those who come attended by no

 servants. I will carry your basket, your wraps, your cushions. If you wish, even

 your bets I can lay for you."

 The father's eyes flashed. "Hah, I'm sure you'd like to. But would my money ever

 reach the booth? Eh? No, I'm sure it would not."

 The Vüs sons nudged each other and snickered.

 "This basket is heavy," the mother said, then slapped at her daughter's hand.

 "Aethea, stop nibbling. You've eaten too much already."

 The repellent brat went on chewing, staring at Elrabin the whole time. He

 swallowed and tried not to think about food, although the smells coming from the

 basket nearly made him swoon. But he had to concentrate, had to keep his wits on

 what he was doing.

 "We'll manage our own belongings, thank you," the father said sharply. ' 'I

 carry a payment card only, which is secure for travel. I have no coins for

 tips."

 "Kind sir," Elrabin said with another bow, "no tip is necessary. The arena

 employs me. I require nothing except to serve you."

 "Hmm." But the father was caught by the bait. Stingy to a fault, he couldn't

 resist the chance to get service with­out paying for it. ' 'Very well, take the

 basket and our cush­ions. Wife, watch him closely. I shan't have anything

 stolen."

 The family piled him up with belongings, so many he staggered to hang on to

 everything. It was all he could do not to run with it, but he was too smart for

 that.

 Instead, he stood patiently in line behind the family, ig­noring their stupid

 chatter and rude remarks. He waited until the father had paid admission at the

 ticket booth and was turning around. No patroller was paying attention. An­other

 group of late arrivals were walking up, making the opportunity perfect.

 Without warning, Elrabin heaved his armful at the father, forcing the male to

 take the things or have them dropped.

 "What the—"

 Elrabin stepped closer, juggling the handle of the food basket over the Vüs's

 wrist and bumping into him as he did so. "Service ends here," he said over the

 Vüs's startled protests. "Go in quickly. The games are starting."

 "But—"

 "I must attend to other people."

 "But you were to carry our things inside," the father called after him.

 Successfully having lifted the Vüs's card from his pocket, Elrabin barely

 glanced back. ' 'Not part of my job,'' he said, and threaded his way quickly

 into the crowd.

 He milled around the spectators for a few minutes, re­sisting the urge to run.

 He knew to stay calm and casual. But he was panting with excitement. His

 unsuspecting marks had gone inside the arena. With any luck, they wouldn't miss

 the stolen card for hours. By then it would be fenced, and his stomach would be

 full.

 A hand came out of the crowd and gripped his injured arm like a vise. The pain

 was instant—hot and debilitating.

 Close to panic, Elrabin bit off a cry and kicked out blindly. But the fingers

 holding him tightened so hard he nearly blacked out from the agony. All he could

 think of was patrollers… arrest… disaster.

 "No," he said, gasping. "No!"

 "Shut up," growled a voice in his ear. "Make no sound and come this way. Fast,

 now."

 Elrabin realized it was no patroller's voice. Reeling and half-blinded with

 tears of pain, he staggered along as he was pulled through the crowd. A Keith

 gripped his arm, a grim-faced youth about his age who was missing one ear. White

 fur grew along the scar, which ran down his head beneath his eye and under his

 jaw. Scar tissue had twisted his lip on that side, revealing strong yellow

 teeth.

 The pain in Elrabin's arm throbbed hard, but he was over his initial fright now.

 He gauged his moment, and when the scarred Keith paused at the top of some steps

 leading away from the plaza, Elrabin set his feet and jerked hard.

 He nearly freed himself. Even as the Keith turned on him, Elrabin reversed

 tactics and pushed with all his might. The Keith went sprawling down the steps

 with a muffled grunt.

 Elrabin spun around and ran, angling down the steps and heading for the street.

 But seconds later he was tackled from behind with a force that knocked the wind

 from him. Stunned, Elrabin found himself wrestled around and dragged to his

 feet.

 The scar-faced Keith glared at him. "Stupid, that. You come now, fast, before

 the patrollers get wind of us."

 Before Elrabin could try another trick, or even retort, his captor twisted his

 bad arm behind him in a ruthless hold that made resistance impossible.

 Gasping in agony, burning with fury, Elrabin found him­self marched along toward

 an underground service access leading beneath the arena. It was a delivery area,

 busy with activity, but lacking any patrollers.

 On the other side, they entered an alley, then cut across several streets until

 they reached a dead end littered with garbage. Tall, windowless buildings

 surrounded them on three sides.

 There, the scar-faced Keith stopped, spun Elrabin around to face him, and hit

 him hard.

 Reeling from the blow, Elrabin staggered to one side and barely kept his

 balance. Before he could recover, he was hit again, then shoved hard against the

 wall. Expert hands patted him down, fingering both pockets and lining of the

 coat he'd bartered for yesterday from a ragpicker, plucking out the card he had

 just stolen from the Vüs.

 Released, Elrabin dragged in a deep, unsteady breath and managed to straighten.

 He was shaking with humiliation and rage. Who did this nolo think he was?

 The scar-faced Keith stood a short distance away, hold-ing the card up to the

 sky while he read the numbers em­bossed on it, mouthing them to himself.

 Glaring at him, Elrabin clenched his fists and started to launch himself, but

 just as he moved, the other youth drew a sticker and pointed it straight at him.

 The sticker's blade was long and needle-thin, fashioned of blue steel, and quite

 deadly. The sight of it stopped El­rabin in his tracks. For a moment he couldn't

 take his eyes off it. He forgot to breathe, forgot how angry he was.

 Instead, he shifted his gaze to the other end of the alley, the only way out.

 "Stand still," the youth said curtly. He was still exam­ining the card and

 didn't even glance at Elrabin. He didn't have to.

 The sticker held Elrabin in place as effectively as a side-arm would have.

 Elrabin knew the streets, knew the thugs and punks who prowled them, knew they

 had territories, knew they liked to steal from the independents, like himself.

 Elrabin real­ized he'd better forget his rage and fear and concentrate on using

 his wits. This Keith might just decide to kill him, either on a whim or to

 enforce a lesson.

 "Please," Elrabin whispered. "Take it, okay? Let me go. I got nothing else—"

 "You got no tongue, you, if you don't be quiet."

 Elrabin shut up, his mouth dry, his heart pounding.

 Finally, the Keith quit looking at the card and shoved it in his pocket with a

 scowl. "Stupid," he said flatly. He was lean and fit, with light tan fur that

 darkened on the back of his skull and single, upright ear. His stony eyes held

 all the age he hadn't lived yet.

 "This card you stole from the Vüs, you. Got a limiter on it. Got an encoder on

 it. A fence wouldn't pay two city credits for it. Junk."

 He snarled in Elrabin's face, making him flinch.

 "Okay," Elrabin said, trying to find enough air to keep his voice steady. "So

 it's junk. You got it. Now let me go."

 "Why? So you can go back and hang around the arena for the crowd turnout? Who

 you with?''

 Elrabin blinked at him and didn't answer.

 The youth stepped closer, the sunlight harsh on his white scar, his revealed

 teeth glinting. ' 'Who you with? Who sent you to our territory?"

 Elrabin drew a sharp breath. Maybe it would help if he claimed to belong to a

 gang. A powerful gang, bloody and violent enough to frighten this menace away.

 But Elrabin's mind went blank. He couldn't think of any names. His wits all

 seemed to be hanging on the sharp tip of the sticker.

 Finally he shook his head.

 Anger flared in the scarred youth's eyes. He moved fast, crowding Elrabin back

 against the wall and holding him pinned there with the sticker at his throat. "I

 got no time for you, stupid. You talk fast, or die here, die now."

 The tip of the sticker pressed against Elrabin's throat. He couldn't even

 swallow against it. Panting for breath, he tried to speak and couldn't.

 "Well?"

 "No one."

 "What?"

 "No one! No one sent me," Elrabin said, babbling now. He despised himself but he

 couldn't help it. "No gang. By myself. Just trying to survive."

 The scarred Keith frowned. "Expect me to believe that? Huh!"

 "True!" Elrabin said as forcefully as he could. "I've got no scars, no tattoos.

 I don't belong to—"

 "Shut up."

 Elrabin snapped his teeth together and said nothing else. He wished he knew more

 about fighting, wished he could throw off his captor and pound him into the

 dirt, wished he could just twist free and run for it.

 But he hurt too bad, and his stomach was flapping empty against his spine, and

 his knees kept going weak and wob­bly on him. His heart pounded too fast, making

 him dizzy. He shivered, feeling the heat run down his arm, followed by a chill

 that shook his bones.

 His captor stepped back from him so suddenly Elrabin nearly fell. "You sick?"

 Elrabin slumped to his knees, shivering and trying not to moan. "Yeah."

 Alarm filled the scarred youth's eyes. He backed away. "What kind of sick? Dry

 cough? Street pox? Quivers?"

 Elrabin shook his head. He was tired, but he couldn't give way to his misery. He

 had to speak up or he might find himself executed because of misguided mercy.

 "No," he said, dragging his head up to meet the other youth's eyes. "My arm. I

 had my implant removed. It's infected."

 The Keith whistled through his teeth in sudden respect. Coming closer again, he

 dropped to his haunches in front of Elrabin. "You cut it yourself?"

 "No. Behind Commerce Street."

 "Bad place, that. Bad move. Stupid move."

 Elrabin cradled his aching arm in his lap. "Yeah."

 "Maybe your arm'll fall off, if you don't take care of it."

 "I could have gotten some medicine if you hadn't stolen that card from me. I was

 going to fence it and—"

 The Keith scratched his ear, unmoved. He'd called the card junk, but he didn't

 give it back. "Where you from? What street?"

 "Nowhere," Elrabin said bitterly.

 "You got no gang, you?"

 "No. I work alone."

 "You a babe, that's what you are. You a citizen." He made it sound like a

 disease.

 Elrabin bared his teeth. He wasn't going to take that kind of insult from

 anyone. "Wrong on both counts."

 "Maybe. You wanted? Gotta be, you taking your implant out. What you wanted for?"

 Elrabin looked away. He wasn't going to explain. "Does it matter?"

 "No. What's your name?"

 "Elrabin."

 The Keith nodded, mouthing it to himself as though com­mitting it to memory.

 "Yeah, a citizen name, all right. You talk fancy, like a grifter. You look like

 a grifter, except for that coat. Even a Zrhel wouldn't wear a rag like that."

 Elrabin said nothing.

 "Got family?"

 "No."

 "Okay. I'm Scar."

 The two youths looked at each other. Elrabin wasn't sure this sharing of names

 was a friendly overture. Maybe Scar just wanted his name so he could turn him

 in. He was nosy enough to be a snitch.

 "You're a bad thief, you know that?" Scar continued. "I spotted you easy. The

 patrollers, they be too lazy to care around the arena, most days. Barthul's got

 them paid off, yeah. So you're lucky today."

 "Yeah, really lucky," Elrabin said, averting his gaze. The afternoon was wearing

 on, and he had no hope now of getting anything to eat. He shivered and squinted

 his eyes, feeling too miserable to care.

 Scar tapped his shoulder. "I'll give you advice, stupid. The way you work,

 you'll lose a hand soon."

 Elrabin rolled his eyes. This was advice? "Thanks."

 "Shut up," Scar said. "Listen good. The arena is Bar­thul's turf, see? Stay away

 from it. This crowd belongs to Barthul. You can't steal here."

 "So where do I go?"

 Scar shrugged. ' 'Nothing to me, where you go. Just get away from our turf. And

 stay away."

 Elrabin frowned. He wasn't afraid now, but he was feel­ing hopeless. He'd pretty

 much cleaned out the area where he'd been staying, and knew he had to keep

 moving around. Although this wasn't the first time he'd had to avoid gang

 territory, it was the first time he'd been robbed and nearly had his throat cut.

 He shivered, knowing he wasn't doing a very good job of making it on his own,

 not in this end of the city, far from the districts he knew best.

 "All the turf around here's been staked out," he said. "Where do independents

 go?"

 Scar laughed harshly and backed his single ear. ' 'Elrabin, you are so stupid,

 you got to be likable. Independents? That's a word, that is."

 "So where do they go, the ones like me, who don't be­long to gangs?"

 The friendliness in Scar's eyes faded. He rose to his feet and turned away.

 Desperate for help, Elrabin staggered upright also. "Please!" he cried. "It's

 just a question. Can't you tell me something?"

 "I'll tell you," Scar said unpleasantly. "Independents go to the arrest tank,

 that's where. Independents get their hands cut off, or they go into hard labor.

 How you lived this long, you being so stupid?"

 "Could I be in your gang?"

 The request popped out of Elrabin's mouth before he knew he was going to ask it.

 He waited, feeling this might be his last hope.

 Refusal filled Scar's face. Even before he started shaking his head, Elrabin

 stepped forward.

 "I'll learn anything I have to. I'll do anything I'm told. I need a place to go.

 I'm too sick to keep going on my own. I need help."

 "Ain't no help," Scar said flatly. "By the law of the streets, you live or you

 die."

 "But your gang, you hang out together. You belong to­gether. You have a place, a

 hole—"

 "You wired?" Scar asked with fresh suspicion.

 "No! You searched me, remember?"

 The alarm faded from Scar's eyes. "Yeah, okay."

 "Please. I have a lot of skills, not just grifting. Just let me—"

 "Not my decision," Scar broke in. "Not my gang."

 "This Barthul, then. Where is he? Will you take me to him and ask?"

 "No."

 "Scar, please! You took my card. I have nothing left. I haven't eaten in—"

 "Shut up!" Scar said, and turned away. He strode down the alley without looking

 back.

 Elrabin watched him go, feeling all his hope drain away. He hated begging, but

 he had no other option. The last thing he wanted was to belong to a gang, but he

 needed help. There had to be some way to get it, some way to reach this Scar,

 who seemed half-sympathetic at times un­der his rough exterior.

 After a moment, Elrabin forced himself to stagger after Scar. But he couldn't

 find the strength to run and catch up, and when Scar turned the corner and

 disappeared from sight, panic filled Elrabin's throat.

 Shouting, he stumbled into a shuffling run, feeling his knees wobble under him,

 feeling the fever burning hotter in his blood. He made it to the corner before

 he fell, drop­ping to his knees and slumping with his shoulder against the wall.

 He was shaking all over, and his breathing came harsh and uneven. His strength

 failed him, and he knew he couldn't go any farther. He lay shivering and

 helpless, his strength leaking out of him and taking his will with it. He would

 lie here until someone killed him or until a patroller picked him up. Either way

 he was finished.

 With his last ounce of strength he lifted his head and looked down the street in

 hopes of seeing Scar coming back for him.

 But Scar was gone as though he had never been. Another thief, faster, bigger,

 and more ruthless. The predators al­ways won.

 Shivering, Elrabin let his head slump to the pavement and lay there. It was

 over.

 CHAPTER fl/ELl/r

 Elrabin roused to the feel of rough hands searching him. Groaning, he grabbed

 for the edge of consciousness and tried to roll over.

 Thin, high-pitched voices squeaked in alarm. "Quick! Quick!"

 The hands ripped out his pockets and shucked him out of his tattered coat,

 rolling him across the ground.

 His swollen arm whacked against something hard and seemed to explode. Sucking in

 a breath, Elrabin held on to the agony, using it to drive himself up from the

 mists.

 Blinking, he came fully to and found himself kneeling on the dirty pavement,

 clutching his arm and gritting his teeth. Realizing he'd been robbed, he swore

 long and low to himself.

 "Damned, dirty Skeks."

 He could still smell their stink on him. Disgusted, he pushed himself to his

 feet. It took three tries before he made it upright; then he stood swaying with

 his head down, hang­ing on by sheer grit.

 He wasn't giving up, not for anyone.

 Drawing in a deep breath, he forced his head up and staggered forward. He wasn't

 certain where he was going yet, but he knew he had to keep moving. He didn't

 want to be picked up in a vagrant sweep and sold.

 It was dark, but how late he did not know. Most of the streetlights in this

 district were burned out, which suited him fine. He staggered along slowly,

 weaving his way and keeping to the shadows. Whenever he heard footsteps, he

 froze and hid in the darkness, refusing to move until the pedestrian walked on.

 Occasionally a skimmer flew by, sometimes a litter, but traffic was light. That

 told him the hour must be late.

 He made it back to the plaza which skirted the arena and found the area

 deserted. Only the wind remained, playing with trash among the benches,

 lampposts, and small, or­namental trees. Elrabin paused there to rest, leaning

 against a pillar. He could smell the burned remains of concession food still

 lingering on the air.

 His hunger rose up inside him like a wildness. Dropping to his knees, Elrabin

 scratched in the trash until he found a greasy food wrapper. He unfolded it with

 trembling fin­gers, licked the wrapper ravenously, then ate it.

 A light snapped on, dazzling his eyes.

 Blinded, Elrabin lifted his arm to shield his vision and squinted. He glimpsed a

 shape coming toward him, and tried to flee.

 But he was too slow and too weak to run.

 He was caught before he even gained his feet.

 "What you got?" a familiar voice demanded. "What you eating, you?"

 "Scar!"

 Elrabin gazed up at the silhouette standing over him and felt a rush of fresh

 fear. Scar had warned him away once. This time he might kill.

 The light clicked off. Scar kicked him in the haunch, nearly knocking him over.

 "You again," he said in disgust. "The down-luck grifter."

 Elrabin tried to answer, but Scar leaned over him and grabbed the remnants of

 the food wrapper from his hand.

 "What you eating?" he demanded a second time. "The wrapper? Huh? You eating

 that, stupid?"

 The scorn in his voice was like a whip. Elrabin hunkered down in raw humiliation

 and could not answer.

 "It's cold tonight. Where's your coat?" Scar asked him, throwing the wrapper

 away. The wind caught it, sending it pinwheeling across the plaza. "You sell

 your coat, stupid?"

 "Skeks took it," Elrabin answered sullenly. He knew now that Scar wouldn't help

 him. He was done asking. "Robbed me while I was passed out."

 Scar growled without sympathy. "What you expect, ly­ing in the gutter?"

 "What's it to you?" Elrabin retorted. "What do you care?"

 "Don't care. You're trespassing again."

 Fury gave Elrabin the strength to climb to his feet. He faced Scar in the

 darkness. "So now I can't even walk across a public plaza? Do the stones belong

 to you? Does the air? Excuse me, but I didn't know. I thought you just owned all

 the marks that come here in the afternoons—"

 Scar flipped him to the ground before Elrabin realized what was happening.

 Throwing himself on top of Elrabin, Scar pinned his throat with a forearm and

 growled long and low.

 Feeling Scar's hot breath ruffle his fur, knowing Scar's teeth were just

 centimeters away from his throat, Elrabin froze. He didn't even breathe.

 "So you can be quiet," Scar said finally. "And here I thought you didn't have no

 sense at all. You be too stupid to live, you know that?"

 "Yeah, and maybe I don't care," Elrabin shot back.

 Scar growled again, and Elrabin figured he was finished now. But instead of

 taking out his throat, Scar uttered a strange low laugh and rolled off Elrabin.

 "Get up."

 Racked by fresh shivers, Elrabin lay there. "What for? I haven't got anything

 else you can steal."

 Scar kicked him hard, making him yelp. "Shut up and get on your feet. Get up!"

 He kicked Elrabin again, and with a groan Elrabin dragged himself upright. Scar

 gripped him and marched him forward.

 "Where we going?" Elrabin asked.

 ' 'What do you care?'' Scar replied grimly, marching him along. ' 'You wanted me

 to take you someplace, yeah, you wanted that. So I'm taking you."

 Suspicion flared inside Elrabin's chest. "You turning me in? Or giving me a

 home?''

 Scar's laugh was unpleasant. "Yeah, a home. You call it that, stupid. You call

 it anything you want."

 Elrabin planted his feet, halting so abruptly that he nearly threw Scar off

 balance. "If you turn me in, I'll turn you in," he said desperately. "I'll tell

 the patrollers that you work for—''

 "Shut up!"

 Snapping, Scar lunged for him, but Elrabin dodged. He got two steps before Scar

 caught him and gave him a shak­ing that made him dizzy.

 "Keep walking," Scar said gruffly. "You threaten me or Barthul again, yeah, I'll

 use my sticker on you."

 "Quiet! Maybe Barthul can use you as a runner."

 Fresh alarm filled Elrabin. This wasn't what he'd had in mind when he'd asked

 for help. "Dust? No way!" he said sharply. "I won't risk the death penalty for—"

 "You'll risk anything you're told to risk. You'll do what you're told."

 "But I—"

 Scar nipped his ear, sending a sharp flare of pain into Elrabin's skull. "First

 thing you learn, stupid, is you keep quiet when you're told, and maybe you won't

 get your tongue cut out. You do what you're told, and you do it quick. No double

 action on the side. No pulling in the pa­trollers. You stay in the territory

 you're told to stay in."

 Elrabin tried to shut out the gruff lecture, without suc­cess. He was being

 given the rules, whether he liked them or not. But strict rules, strictly

 enforced, were a way of life he understood. Cuvein's simple ones had provided

 him with structure these last ten years. Despite his fear of Scar and gangs in

 general, Elrabin felt something inside him re­sponding to what Scar was saying.

 Less than an hour later, Elrabin found himself being dragged down a short flight

 of crumbling steps into deserted basement lodgings.

 Inside, a rickety set of wooden steps led even lower be­neath the ground. At the

 bottom, Scar eyed a bulky Aaroun standing guard with an illegal sidearm and

 spoke a single word that was incomprehensible to Elrabin.

 The Aaroun sniffed Elrabin suspiciously but let them pass. They walked over a

 magnetic plate, and the scan reg­istered nothing on Elrabin. Scar's tense

 shoulders slumped a little.

 "So you ain't wired after all," he said, and gave Elrabin a grudging little

 twist of a grin. ' 'Guess you be what you been saying."

 "Of course." Elrabin glared at him. "If I'm running a scam, no one catches—''

 "Sure." Scar narrowed his eyes. "Bragging don't mean dirt here. You keep your

 scams to yourself."

 They walked on along a roughly hewn tunnel, their foot­steps barely echoing.

 ' 'Patrollers train undercover agents all the time and send them in," Scar said.

 "We always catch them. We're care­ful, see?"

 Elrabin nodded. After a moment, Scar pulled out a food bar from his pocket and

 handed it over. Elrabin snatched it without even a word of thanks and wolfed it

 down in three bites, barely chewing as he gulped it. Then he licked the wrapper

 to get every last crumb.

 Scar watched him eat from the corner of his eye but said nothing. Pausing before

 a door, he opened it and shoved Elrabin inside.

 The tiny room contained nothing save a dim light globe in the ceiling overhead,

 a stool, and a small cabinet. Elrabin looked around, then glanced over his

 shoulder at Scar.

 "What—"

 But Scar retreated without a word, slammed the door shut, and bolted it,

 effectively locking Elrabin inside.

 Alarmed again, Elrabin pounded on the door and shouted, but Scar was gone.

 After a moment Elrabin gave up calling to him. He cir­cled the small room and

 thumped the cabinet, which was locked. How stupid could he be, telling a

 stranger his real name, letting himself be led right into a trap. Now he was

 locked in, and all Scar had to do was sell him down the—

 The door opened without warning. Scar stood there. With him was a short, rotund

 Myal with a shaggy black and gold mane that hung over his dark, beady eyes.

 "Barthul," Scar said by way of scant introduction.

 The Myal advanced bowlegged into the room, sticking out his paunch, and cocked

 his head as he looked Elrabin over. His eyes were cold and shrewd, utterly

 without mercy. "What's your real name?" he asked at last. "What's your

 registration number?''

 Elrabin met his gaze with all the defiance he had left. "If I'd wanted that

 known, I wouldn't have had my implant cut out."

 "Try again," Scar said quietly. It was a warning.

 Elrabin said nothing.

 Barthul croaked out a laugh and curled his prehensile tail tightly against his

 backside. "He's useless. Too old for training. Too sick. Look at his eyes. He's

 no fighter."

 Elrabin squared his shoulders with his last remnants of pride. "I can run any

 gambling table you got. I can mark Junta cards. I can work the—''

 "Useless." Barthul turned his back on Elrabin and started to walk out.

 Scar was leaning against the wall, cleaning his claws with the tip of his

 sticker. He let Barthul get to the doorway before he said, "How about a dust

 runner?"

 Barthul halted on the threshold and stared at Scar in­credulously. "A runner?

 Him?"

 "Why not?"

 "He's got worker grade stamped all over him. Look at him. He couldn't fool a

 patroller one minute."

 "Doesn't have to. Clean him up. Put him on the citizen run, yeah, and let him

 work that route. He looks employed, acts honest, blends right in with the rest

 of the citizens, only he's out in plain sight. Might work. The patrollers ain't

 expecting that."

 It was the most Scar had ever said at once since Elrabin had met him. Elrabin

 stared at the youth, astonished that Scar was actually speaking up for him,

 trying to get him a job. Not that it mattered.

 "I'll do anything but sell dust," Elrabin said. "I can get you into any dock

 warehouse you—''

 "Nah," Barthul said, cutting him off with a gesture. "Docks ain't my turf. Stay

 away from there." He stared hard at Scar. "You think so?"

 "Sure," Scar said easily, still cleaning his claws. "Worth a try, once he's

 straightened out."

 Elrabin glared at them both. "Look. I asked for a job, but not—"

 Barthul grimaced, making a curt gesture. "Too much trouble. Kill the nob."

 "Wait!" Elrabin said, lifting his hands even as Scar's eyes went intense, cold,

 and scary. Inside, Elrabin was curs­ing himself for getting into this. ' 'My

 apologies. I can learn your rules. Selling dust is better than starving. And I

 need your protection."

 Barthul and Scar stared at him a long, tense moment. "Glad you see it our way,"

 Barthul said. Peeling up his broad lip, he dug out a string of food from between

 his teeth and flicked it away. Then he gestured at Scar, who went back to

 leaning against the wall.

 Elrabin stared at the youth doubtfully. Could he just switch it on and off-—the

 willingness to kill? Did taking life mean so little to him that he actually

 didn't care one way or another?

 Elrabin panted. "I'll follow orders," he said, feeling ashamed of himself. But

 desperation canceled out good in­tentions every time.

 "See?" Scar said.

 "Nah," Barthul replied. "This one's a nolo, a fool."

 "So?"

 Scar grinned in his lopsided, insolent way, and after a moment Barthul tilted

 back his head and guffawed, holding his round sides. "I got you," he said in

 approval. "Run a double blind and bluff them."

 "Yeah."

 Barthul nodded and slapped Scar on the shoulder. "Good, good," he said. "Train

 him and put him on the run."

 He handed Scar a slim pouch of something, and Scar slipped it out of sight fast

 into his pocket. Satisfaction gleamed in Scar's eyes and he went on smiling to

 himself as Barthul walked out.

 Elrabin watched Scar warily. "So I'm in?" he said.

 The smile faded from Scar's eyes. He looked almost an­gry again. ' 'Yeah, no

 thanks to you,'' he said with a growl. "You really that stupid or is it fever

 you got?"

 Choosing not to answer that one, Elrabin glanced around. "Do I stay here?"

 "No." Scar walked over to the cabinet and unlocked the top drawer with a quick

 punch of numbers on the keypad that he concealed from Elrabin with his body.

 The drawer popped open, and Scar pulled out a basin and a couple of medical

 packets in bright pink foil.

 Seeing them, Elrabin's eyes widened. Those were med­ical packets from an actual

 Vüs clinic, the kind of place he couldn't afford back in good times, even if

 they admitted abiru, which they didn't. He watched Scar's nimble hands break the

 seals and spill out the stolen contents.

 "Real medicine," Elrabin breathed, impressed. This wasn't the synthetic, cheap

 stuff. This would do him good. He couldn't believe Scar's generosity. "Thank

 you."

 "Don't thank me," Scar said irritably. He slapped a medicine patch onto

 Elrabin's left shoulder with more force than was necessary for it to stick.

 The effect on Elrabin's bloodstream was immediate and soothing. He stopped

 bracing himself against the pain, feel­ing it fade, and let out his breath in a

 long whoosh.

 Scar put the basin in Elrabin's lap and draped his septic arm across it. "Hold

 still. This ain't pretty, but it works."

 He swiped the needle-thin blade of his sticker with dis­infectant and slashed

 down the infected streak in Elrabin's arm. Despite the painkiller, Elrabin felt

 the cut burn through him.

 He jerked in a breath, but Scar glared at him and after his initial flinch

 Elrabin didn't move again.

 Blood, bright and filled with angry pus, splattered into the basin. Scar opened

 the infected incision with another quick, sure slash of his blade, as delicate

 and precise with it as a surgeon. Then he uncapped a bottle of brown liquid and

 poured it liberally over the cuts.

 Elrabin expected that to hurt like fire, but it didn't. The liquid felt cool and

 soothing. He relaxed again as the drugs took hold in his system, and without

 concern watched him­self bleed into the bowl.

 After a short time, Scar bandaged him, ripped off the painkiller patch, and

 applied something else instead. He emptied and cleaned the basin, and threw out

 the used foil packets. Locking the cabinet once more, he hoisted Elrabin to his

 feet.

 "You come," he said, supporting most of Elrabin's weight.

 Elrabin was floating. If his feet moved at all, he couldn't feel them. They went

 along the tunnel to another room, a larger one fitted with several bunks. Most

 of them were occupied. Snoring buzzed in the room.

 Scar lowered Elrabin to a bunk and tossed a blanket over him. "You sleep," he

 ordered. "In morning, no fever. You be ready to work, yeah?"

 "Yeah," Elrabin mumbled drowsily. He wanted to find the words to thank Scar for

 his help, but his tongue felt too large and clumsy to talk now.

 Scar stood over him a moment longer, a silent, slim shadow in the gloom. "Yeah,"

 he said softly, his tone low and grim. ' 'Stupid little citizen. Think you found

 a home. You ain't found nothing but trouble."

 Elrabin heard Scar's voice from far away, a sound too distant to listen to.

 "Scar?" he said, seeking reassurance.

 Scar leaned over him and put his hand briefly on Elra­bin's brow, where Magathin

 used to lick him when he was little. "Sleep," Scar said gruffly, and walked

 away.

 CHAPTER

 The Kaa shifted on his high-backed chair and sighed. Kneeling at his feet,

 Ampris dared steal a quick peek at his face, then quickly looked down again. He

 looked so bleak, like a stranger. With all her heart she wanted to ask about

 Israi, but she dared say nothing. Without turning her head, she tried to look

 toward Israi's bed to see how her friend was doing, but the angle was all wrong.

 "Ampris." The Kaa's deep voice made her jump. "This is a terrible day."

 Gaveid prodded her again with his staff, and Ampris bowed lower until her head

 nearly touched the floor. ' 'Yes, sire," she whispered. Because she was Aaroun

 and not Vüs, she could not call him Imperial Father as the others at court did.

 "A very terrible day."

 "You are beloved of the Imperial Daughter," the Kaa said. "For her sake, we will

 allow you to tell us what oc­curred on the side of the mountain."

 Although stern, his voice held no anger, no accusation. Relieved, Ampris looked

 up. ' 'Will she be all right? Is she badly hurt?"

 The Kaa's rill lifted, and Chancellor Gaveid cleared his throat in hasty

 warning.

 Ampris gulped and lowered her eyes at once.

 "It is the Imperial Father who asks the questions," Gav-eid told her. "Not you."

 She nodded, keeping her gaze down. "I'm sorry," she whispered, trying not to

 whimper.

 Silence fell over the room, and the chancellor sighed. "Perhaps another approach

 is needed, sire."

 The Kaa gestured assent and leaned his head back wear­ily against his chair.

 "Ampris," Gaveid said in a gentle voice, "why did you and the Imperial Daughter

 avoid the main trail?"

 It was easier to talk to the chancellor than the Kaa. In relief, Ampris turned

 to Gaveid. "The shortcut is quicker and more fun."

 "It is dangerous."

 Ampris shrugged. "We've been up it before."

 The Kaa made a faint sound but gestured for the chan­cellor to continue.

 "Was it your idea to take the Imperial Daughter up this trail?"

 "No," Ampris answered honestly. "We were trying to hurry to avoid Lady Lenith.

 We were going on a picnic, you see, and she would have had us spend the

 afternoon doing needle art or something boring."

 ' 'Why did the Imperial Daughter not take her guards as she was supposed to?"

 Ampris backed her ears, wondering how to explain the obvious to an adult. "We

 were pretending," she said at last. "It's hard to do that with them along."

 ' 'Why did you urge the Imperial Daughter to keep climb­ing when Lord Fazhmind

 called out to her to return?"

 "But I didn't."

 Gaveid's cynical yellow eyes grew quite cold, and he inflated his air sacs. "On

 the contrary, cub," he said very gently. "Lord Fazhmind witnessed you doing

 exactly that."

 "I didn't."

 "Denial does not alter what he has said. The Imperial Daughter walked before you

 up the trail, as was proper, until Lord Fazhmind called out. Then you pushed

 ahead of her and pulled her onto the rocks after you."

 "Oh, that," Ampris said, comprehending now. "We were wearing these silly old

 costumes, as part of our pre­tending, but they were too long and awfully in the

 way."

 "Most unsuitable garments," the chancellor agreed. His eyes watched her like a

 raptul's.

 ' 'So I took mine off, but Israi—the sri-Kaa—kept hers on. I'm a better climber

 than she is, so I climbed to the ledge first so I could pull her up after me.

 She knows I am stronger and said it would be easier for me to assist her that

 way than to boost her from behind."

 "I see. And again, you did this by the sri-Kaa's order?"

 "Well…" Ampris frowned, trying to remember. "Yes, or perhaps I suggested it and

 she agreed to it. All I know is, we didn't want to go back down. We were going

 to hide from Lord Fazhmind."

 The Kaa flicked out his tongue, and both Ampris and Gaveid glanced at him.

 He gestured impatiently. "Continue."

 Gaveid bowed. "Now, Ampris, about the—"

 ' 'But if Lord Fazhmind says that I made Israi climb up the rocks, that isn't

 so," Ampris said hotly. "He was too far down the mountain to see everything that

 happened. He couldn't hear what was said—we wanted to get away from him, so we

 were hurrying too fast. The sri-Kaa started climbing above the ledge by herself,

 without waiting for me to help her. I didn't see how she slipped, but suddenly

 she was falling. If I hadn't—"

 She stopped, panting and near tears, reliving the horror of that moment in her

 mind.

 "Yes?" the chancellor prodded. "If you hadn't what?"

 "If I hadn't caught her by the leg, she would have gone over the ledge and maybe

 been killed. When she fainted, I thought she was dead." Tears choked Ampris's

 voice, and she could no longer hold them back. "I got Moscar—"

 "A servant, sire," Gaveid said in a quick aside.

 "We wrapped her in a blanket, and he started carrying her down the mountain.

 That's all that happened. It wasn't anyone's fault. She slipped." Ampris sniffed

 and licked away the tears dampening her muzzle. ' 'If Lord Fazhmind wants to

 blame anyone, let it be himself for following us—''

 "Silence," Gaveid snapped. "You are here to give an account of yourself, not to

 accuse your betters."

 From the bed, Israi moaned.

 At once the Kaa shot from his chair and hurried to her side. He bent over her,

 stroking her rill as he murmured to her.

 "Ampris," Israi called.

 Ampris ran to her, eluding the chancellor's grab at her shoulder.

 Israi lay curled among her nest of pillows, looking the color of dust beneath a

 bandage across her left temple. Her arms and hands were bruised and scraped. Her

 green eyes were heavy with drugs, but she smiled when she saw Am­pris crowding

 next to the Kaa's side.

 "Ampris," she whispered again, and tried to stretch out her hand.

 Ampris would have moved closer to touch her fingers, but the Kaa gripped her

 shoulder, holding her back.

 "You must rest, precious one," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Go back

 to sleep."

 Israi looked at him, blinking slowly, her green eyes clouded and dull. "I heard

 you talking. Don't be angry. I didn't wait for her to help me. I didn't take off

 the robe like she… urged me to." Israi's eyes drifted closed. "My fault," she

 murmured, and fell asleep.

 The Kaa bent over her and blew gently across her ear dimple, then straightened

 and stood staring down at Am­pris. This time she met his gaze without fear.

 He stared at her for what seemed like forever before something indefinable

 shifted in the depths of his brilliant blue eyes. "We see," he said. "Very

 well."

 Turning from the bedside, he walked away. Ampris took a step after him.

 ' 'May I stay with her, sire?''

 The Kaa paused in mid-stride and glanced back. "It is what she would wish."

 He walked on, and his guards hastened to open the doors for him. In the outer

 sitting room, muffled commotion rose up as the ladies jumped to their feet and

 asked questions. The physician returned to Israi's bedside, and the doors were

 closed, shutting out the noise.

 Gaveid stood on the crimson runner of carpet and beck­oned to Ampris, who joined

 him.

 "As faithful as ever," he murmured. "You have been a good companion for the

 sri-Kaa, despite all the consterna­tion you have caused."

 Ampris grinned.

 "But it is not enough to be a simple follower," he ad­monished her. ' 'Doing

 whatever she suggests, and agreeing to her schemes. The sri-Kaa is headstrong

 and impetuous. She runs with a very light rein indeed, and in his devoted love

 for her, the Kaa has perhaps been too lenient. I believe you have some common

 sense in that Aaroun head of yours. Do you?"

 Perhaps a hundred years spanned between their ages, yet at that moment Ampris

 felt in complete accord with the chancellor. "I think so, Lord Gaveid," she

 said.

 "Time you both grew up a little. The freedom of tas-chunenhal is passing."

 Ampris backed her ears. She didn't want to hear what he was saying, yet at the

 same time she knew he was right. It was frightening, but Israi's injuries were

 frightening too.

 "Lord Fazhmind has no influence with the sri-Kaa, and Lady Lenith very little,"

 Gaveid continued. "You, on the other hand, are her most intimate companion. And

 although you are young, I believe you capable of using good sense when it comes

 to these escapades. Persuade her toward more caution, toward safer adventures."

 "But she says what we will do—"

 "Does she?" Lord Gaveid flicked out his tongue. "Does she think of everything?''

 Ampris met his wise gaze and could not lie. Reluctantly she shook her head.

 "Ah," he said. "Then you understand me."

 He turned to go, and Ampris looked from him to the physician, who was running a

 scanner over Israi. She ran after Gaveid. "Please, my lord. Is she going to

 die?"

 "Hmm?" He paused reluctantly and raised his rill when he realized she was

 clutching his sleeve.

 Ampris released him and stepped back. ' 'Please. No one will tell me anything."

 "No, of course she isn't going to die. She has a broken rib and some painful

 cuts and scrapes. According to the physician, her beauty will not be marred by

 these injuries." Gaveid's cynical eyes softened a moment and he patted Ampris on

 the head. "You weep for the sri-Kaa, little one?''

 Ampris wiped her eyes, too overwhelmed with relief to speak.

 "Ah," he said, his tone strange. "In all the imperial court, who cares more

 deeply than a half-domesticated Aar-oun? Truly, the Imperial Daughter chose well

 in you, cub. I trust she will always remember your value."

 "Of course." Ampris didn't understand him. It was as though he spoke with hidden

 meanings to his words. "I will always be her friend. Always. And she mine. We

 promised."

 "Ah." He patted her head again. "Stay with her, cub. She calls for you every

 time she wakes."

 Israi recovered very quickly, while everyone spoiled her and brought her

 presents as tokens of their good wishes. The Kaa visited her twice daily. Lord

 Fazhmind and Lady

 Lenith were banned from the sickroom, and Israi gloated over this.

 "They have been dismissed from my service," she said. "I am sure of it. Don't

 you think so, Ampris? Oh, I hope so. They are tedious, both of them."

 This hope proved to be unfounded. But it was the phy­sician's recommendation

 that Israi be released from her les­sons and responsibilities until summer, to

 ensure a complete recovery of both body and spirit. Thus, Lady Lenith was given

 leave to visit her family. Lord Fazhmind remained at court, but without assigned

 duties.

 When Israi was deemed well enough to travel, the Kaa returned to the imperial

 palace at Vir. By then, the buds were beginning to swell in the palace gardens

 as harbingers of spring. All talk focused on the coming Festival. Ladies at

 court grew absentminded and silly, neglecting their du­ties and giggling at the

 least provocation. Ambassadors brought new wives to the Kaa, who made his

 selections and sent the others to his country estates.

 Ampris and Israi ran free, roaming the palace at will, keeping whatever hours

 they chose, eating whatever they liked, doing what they pleased. They had no

 routine, no lessons, no one to hinder their fun.

 Subi, the old Keith nursemaid, grumbled and tried to impose order, but they only

 laughed at her.

 The physician's methods apparently worked. Israi not only healed without a

 blemish, but she blossomed as well. She grew several inches that spring, and her

 coloring ac­quired a new glow that gave her beauty a hint of coming maturity.

 She was at the age where most adolescent Vüs females become gawky and

 impossible. But Israi remained graceful, slender, and lovely. Her voice deepened

 slightly, becoming more melodic than ever. The slope of her jaw, the brightness

 of her teeth, the brilliance of her eyes, the arch of her throat arrested the

 gaze of everyone who saw her. New courtiers, upon catching a glimpse of her,

 often lost the thread of their conversations. Older courtiers gazed at her with

 knowing looks, murmuring behind their fans.

 The sri-Kaa was growing up.

 But neither Israi nor Ampris were ready to acknowledge that. They had these last

 few months of freedom, as though tas-chunenhal and all its magic had been given

 an exten­sion, and they were determined to make the most of it.

 They played harder than ever, giggling and pulling pranks on everyone in the

 palace except the Kaa and Chan­cellor Gaveid. Even the lesser chancellors and

 ministers were not exempt.

 Visitors of minor importance discovered unpleasant sur­prises in their beds. Hot

 water was mysteriously cut off from all the bathing chambers for an entire day.

 Wives found bitter salt in their desserts because pranksters had substituted it

 for sweetener in the kitchens. Lord Fazhmind found soilworms in his drinking cup

 and exploding powder in his kerchiefs. Bizarre, alien music was piped into his

 bedchamber in the dead of night, giving him nightmares.

 The majordomo of the palace, in charge of the immense and complex preparations

 for Sahvrazaa, lived in agonized fear that the pranksters would sabotage the

 banquets and ruin his life.

 Complaints ran rife in the palace, yet no one dared de­mand punishment. The Kaa

 himself, vaguely aware that Israi was up to considerable mischief, merely

 remarked that it was splendid she felt so energetic. Therefore, nothing could be

 done to stop her, and everyone prayed that she would soon tire of these games

 and leave them in peace.

 Then Lady Zureal arrived at court, and the pranks stopped cold.

 Ampris and Israi were lying idly in the shade near the garden pool one day when

 Ampris heard a commotion from inside. She sat up, listening.

 "More new candidates for the wives court have ar­rived," she said eagerly. "Do

 you want to go and look at them?"

 Israi rolled onto her side and draped her arm across her eye. "No," she said,

 sounding bored. "I am sleepy."

 "May I go?"

 Israi lifted her arm just enough to shoot Ampris a look of exasperation. ' 'Why

 do you care about them? New wives are always silly. They overdress and wear too

 much per­fume. All they can do is giggle and stare at themselves in the

 mirrors."

 ' 'I want to see what they are wearing. I want to see their jewels," Ampris

 said.

 Israi flicked out her tongue and said nothing.

 Ampris stared at her a moment. Israi had been in a strange mood all day, grouchy

 and lazy. All she wanted to do was lie by the pool, and Ampris was bored.

 Anything, even staring at fine court ladies, was preferable to this.

 "Please?" Ampris asked.

 "Yes, yes, go," Israi said with irritation. "At least then you will be quiet and

 I can nap in peace."

 Her words were unkind, for Ampris had not been chat­tering to her. Ampris let it

 pass, however, and bounded up before Israi could change her mind.

 She trotted through the loggia and its welcome shade, then entered through open

 doors into the long gallery. Her feet made no sound on the polished stone

 floors, and she hurried to catch up with the courtiers gathering in the main

 audience hall to observe the official arrival and presentation of this last

 batch of imperial brides.

 Ampris elbowed her way through the crowd, and the onlookers reluctantly made way

 for her to edge to the front, where she could see without hindrance. In the past

 month Ampris had suddenly shot up in height, growing gawky and ill at ease with

 her changing body. She found herself clumsy when she had never been so before.

 Her hands and feet did not seem to belong to her. She had outgrown her clothes

 twice, making Subi grumble about the cost and bother of replacements. And she

 was hungry all the time, constantly craving meat, which was not allowed her.

 Lady Lenith said she was getting too big. Feeling ugly and in-creasingly

 self-conscious, Ampris sometimes worried that Israi would send her away for

 having changed so much.

 Now, she took care not to venture too near the most important courtiers or to

 stand too close to the carpet runner stretching from the main entrance to the

 Kaa's throne. She ignored the whispers from those who disapproved of her

 appearing in public when Israi was not present to command her.

 However, the imminent presentation of the brides created a general air of

 excitement that soon eclipsed Ampris's presence. The hall filled with whispering

 and speculation, and as always Ampris enjoyed watching and listening. She didn't

 understand why Israi wanted to miss the fun.

 New spring fashions among Vüs females dictated a fuller sweep in the skirts of

 court gowns, creating an angular line in the back that completely concealed

 their tails and made their upper bodies look slender and long. Ampris liked the

 new style, although she was grateful she didn't have to dress in such a way.

 The hall smelled of fragrant white flowers, the Kaa's favorite, and soft ftyta

 music played in the background. Then ceremonial chimes sounded, and a procession

 of sing­ers in green cloaks entered, tossing flower petals as they came. Behind

 them walked the brides, veiled and gowned in breathtaking regalia. Each female

 was escorted by her sponsoring ambassador, in full court uniform.

 One by one, they were led to the foot of the throne. A page uttered each lady's

 name, and the ambassador un­veiled her before the Kaa. She bowed low and

 presented a small gift token, then stood with blushing rill and downcast eyes

 while the Kaa scrutinized her. Beside the Kaa stood a minister with a data

 screen of bloodlines and family his­tories, constantly murmuring information to

 the sovereign.

 The Kaa never hurried his selection, allowing anticipa­tion to fill the hall as

 everyone watched breathlessly. All the brides were here as the result of long

 and delicate ne­gotiations that went on throughout the year. However, those

 personally selected by the Kaa today would remain at court with the supreme

 standing of favorite wife. Each would be specially courted by the Kaa in the

 next few weeks as Fes­tival approached, and on the special day, the favored few

 would go to the sacred Chamber of Hatching to lay their eggs. Those not smiled

 at today would be taken away from court, forever to live pampered, secluded

 lives, but far from the Kaa and his circle.

 The last bride was presented and unveiled. A collective aah rose from the

 watching courtiers.

 "The Lady Zureal," announced the ambassador, and she bowed to the Kaa.

 Even Ampris caught her breath, for Zureal was lovely. Green-skinned with

 delicate bone structure and graceful movements, she possessed large, tilted eyes

 of an exotic shade of amethyst. As the Kaa stared at her, she extended her rill

 above its jeweled collar, and it blushed a matching hue of delicate purple.

 "Lady Zureal is newly adult, sire," the ambassador said. "She begs you to accept

 this token of her devotion."

 The Kaa rose to his feet—a sign of great honor—and smiled at the lady. He took

 her gift with his own hand, making the spectators gasp and nudge each other. His

 gaze never left the lady's sweet countenance.

 "We are well-pleased," he said, and her rill blushed again.

 Taking her hand, he led her away without warning. He did not bother to dismiss

 the courtiers, to take his farewell from the ambassadors, or to give even a

 second glance to the other brides, who stood stricken with drooping rills.

 Stunned silence filled the hall, then as the Kaa vanished with his new favorite,

 a loud buzz arose.

 "Well," said a courtier near Ampris. "Well."

 "Indeed," agreed another. "Have you ever seen her equal?"

 "She almost rivals the sri-Kaa's beauty."

 "Almost! I would venture that she surpasses it."

 Ampris waited to hear no more. Bursting with the news, she went rushing back to

 the garden to tell Israi all that she had seen.

 "Oh, hush," Israi said, still bored and cranky. "I told you I care nothing for

 these creatures. There is a new fa­vorite every year. It means nothing."

 "But Lady Zureal is beautiful," Ampris said in excite­ment. "Such coloring.

 Everyone is talking about her. And the Kaa could not take his gaze from her.

 Truly, she is exotic. She blushes purple, not indigo."

 "Purple!" Israi sat up and flicked out her tongue in dis­gust. ' 'I have never

 heard of something so silly. Who could be enchanted with that?"

 "But it matches the color of her eyes. She is different."

 Israi's rill darkened. "How different?"

 "Like nothing ever seen. Everyone—"

 "I am not interested in the opinions of the court," Israi said sharply. "Is she

 really beautiful?"

 Ampris sighed and nodded. "Breathtaking."

 A strange light appeared in Israi's eyes. "More beautiful than I?"

 Ampris had not foreseen that question. She hesitated, warned too late by Israi's

 darkening rill. "Well, she is dif­ferent," she said clumsily.

 "As you said."

 "No one could be more beautiful than you, Israi," Am­pris said out of loyalty,

 yet… "It is hard to explain. She moves like she's gliding on water. When you're

 adult, you'll also—"

 "Also!" Israi said in a huff, jumping to her feet. She kicked her pillows into

 the pool, where they bobbed and floated like fat, blood-red water blossoms.

 "There is no also! How dare you compare her to me!"

 "That isn't what I meant," Ampris said hastily, trying to avert the coming

 tantrum. ' 'I was trying to explain that she's—"

 "I don't wish to discuss her further," Israi said. "Which is better, a lady who

 walks like she's gliding on water—or me, when I have been compared to the

 lightness of a sum­mer's breeze?"

 "You, of course. You're magnificent," Ampris said, try­ing to soothe her. "After

 all, you're golden-skinned and she's only—"

 "What?" Israi demanded. "What is her color? Blue?"

 "Green," Ampris said, and waited.

 Israi's eyes widened, then narrowed. She tilted her head to one side. '

 'Green?'' she asked smugly.

 Ampris nodded. "Green."

 Israi hooted in triumph. "The most common hue! Then she is nothing compared to

 me. Nothing!"

 "Well, no, but her combination is striking," Ampris said.

 "Phoo," Israi said, dismissing this quibble. "Striking combinations fade. In a

 year, she'll be nothing at all out of the ordinary. I'll even wager that she's

 had her rill altered, for it to turn such a hue."

 Ampris gasped in shock. "Would she dare?"

 "Oh, yes, she would," Israi said with all the wisdom of being both older and

 more sophisticated. "I've heard how the wives talk. There is so much competition

 among brides to be selected as favorites that they'll do anything, submit

 themselves to any procedure, in order to enhance their looks. When my father

 finds out, she'll be exiled faster than she can blink."

 It seemed a shame to Ampris, for Lady Zureal really was pretty, but she wasn't

 about to say so to Israi. The near-tantrum had been averted, and Ampris wasn't

 going to risk another.

 "Come on!" Israi grabbed Ampris's hand, and together they ran from the garden.

 "Where are we going?" Ampris asked, taking care not to outrun Israi.

 "Somewhere different to think. I need a plan."

 "What sort of plan?"

 "I want to play the ultimate prank, and I need inspira­tion."

 Ampris couldn't keep herself from sighing. "Haven't we played enough pranks?"

 "But this one will be supreme," Israi said, her green eyes glowing.

 "Fazhmind isn't even funny to watch anymore," Ampris said, bored with the idea.

 ' 'He just yells and his rill turns red."

 "We aren't going to bother with Fazhmind," Israi said with scorn.

 "Who, then?"

 Israi laughed and yanked Ampris to a halt behind a carved stone pillar. She put

 her finger between her nostrils in warning and glanced around to make sure no

 one could overhear.

 "The Lady Zureal," she whispered.

 "What?"

 "Don't look so shocked. She's the perfect target."

 "But—but she's a bride. Festival is coming!"

 "Yes, isn't that perfect? No one will expect us to pick on her."

 "But that's unkind."

 Israi stared at her. "Ampris! Are you on my side, or hers?"

 "Yours, of course."

 "Then stop objecting. I want to think up something that will drive her away."

 "But if she's the new—"

 "Hush! We'll make her hysterical and silly. She'll plead to be sent away. It

 will be wonderful!"

 Ampris didn't like what she was hearing. She looked at her friend in dismay. '

 'You mean, just because Lady Zureal is beautiful, you want to drive her away

 from court? You don't want her to be a possible rival to you in looks? Is that

 why?"

 Israi's rill snapped up. "How dare you say such a thing to me. You are not

 allowed to question me."

 Ampris flinched, but she didn't back down. "Then who will, if I do not?"

 "You are on her side," Israi said in outrage. "You like her better than me."

 "Of course not. I couldn't," Ampris said. "It's just that if you pick on her,

 you make her important. And you're the sri-Kaa, while she's only a wife.

 Shouldn't you be kind, if you're-—"

 "Get away from me," Israi said, furious. "You've turned against me. You think

 I'm wrong. You won't help me. Then go fawn over her, if that's what you want.

 Go!"

 "But, Israi—"

 Israi snapped at her blindly, and missed. Hissing, the sri-Kaa pushed away from

 Ampris and ran off, leaving Ampris to stare after her in dismay.

 "You argue with sri-Kaa?" Subi said from behind Am­pris. "Bad, you are."

 Ampris turned to the old nursemaid, whose fur smelled of cleaning powder and

 age. "You overheard us?"

 "I hear enough."

 Frustration welled up inside Ampris. "I don't understand her. She doesn't have

 to be jealous of Zureal. It's silly."

 ' 'Nothing is silly when you are young Vüs female, grow­ing up."

 Shocked, Ampris stared wide-eyed at the old Keith. "She isn't growing up. Not

 yet!"

 "The time is coming. She is not of age yet to have eggs, but she feels the urges

 of Festival this year. They confuse her. She does not understand what she feels

 yet, but next year or the year after that, she will. It will be better then."

 "I don't feel any urges," Ampris said. Yet even as she spoke she wondered, for

 she was much bigger than she used to be, and more impatient. Sometimes she ached

 and felt restless. Was this growing up? "Festival is just a time to dress in

 fancy clothes and have fun," she insisted.

 Subi bared her yellowed teeth. "That is because you are not Vüs."

 "Well, I'm glad. If you have to throw fits and yell at people and hate everyone,

 I'd rather be Aaroun and never grow up," Ampris said. "I don't see why she has

 to act this way."

 Subi gave Ampris a little push. ' 'You go find her. Play with her. Make her

 happy again. This anger, it will pass."

 "She doesn't want to be my friend anymore. She's angry with me."

 "Not with you. At what she feels. Make her happy, Am­pris. That is your

 responsibility."

 Backing her ears, Ampris struggled to make Subi under­stand that things weren't

 that simple. Israi was acting like a stranger, and Ampris didn't think she could

 reach her.

 "Agree with her. Play her games," Subi said, almost as though she could read

 Ampris's mind. "Let her run free. Don't stop her in whatever she wants to do."

 Ampris blinked. "You're always saying we should have rules."

 "This is her last spring to be ta-chune," Subi said. "When she becomes vi-adult,

 all will be different."

 "But—"

 ' 'Run after her, now, and play what she wants. It is not your place to be her

 guide or conscience."

 That was just the opposite of what Chancellor Gaveid had said. Ampris didn't

 bother trying to sort it out. What mattered was that Israi was angry with her.

 Subi's advice made sense, and soon Ampris was running through the pal­ace to

 catch up with her and try again to be the faithful, unquestioning companion that

 Israi wanted her to be.

 CHAPTER OURTEEN

 Israi wasn't in sight. She could have gone anywhere within the vast palace

 complex. She was adept at following old passageways, sneaking along the servant

 routes, and evad­ing just about anyone who wanted to find her. But she could not

 hide from Ampris, who tracked her scent from the wives court, through the main

 public section, and on along the old concourse that led into the original

 structures, where restoration work was now in progress.

 Slaves of all races hammered, cut, carved, and polished in a ceaseless

 cacophony, punctuated by shouted instruc­tions from supervisors and the

 architects.

 The area smelled of paint, heated metal, and laborer sweat. A fine coating of

 white dust covered everything. Two specialized construction robots worked

 independently, hoisting support beams and soldering bolts into place. But Ampris

 saw a line of dead robots stacked in a discard heap along one wall. She wasn't

 surprised. Most machinery like that was antiquated and failed to work well. The

 Vüs, es­pecially the Kaa, preferred hand labor. It provided a special quality to

 whatever was being constructed. Indeed, the res­toration process seemed to

 require extensive amounts of skilled handcrafting, for Ampris saw such workers

 every­where.

 At present, most of the work was focused on what had been the original throne

 room. As she scurried past, Ampris caught a glimpse of a vast chamber every bit

 as large as the audience hall currently in use. Scaffolding filled the throne

 room from floor to ceiling, and workers swarmed up and down with buckets and

 tools. Plasterers and carvers crouched at the very top of the scaffolding with

 their shoul­ders hunched against the vaulting beams, busy restoring the ceiling

 to its former magnificence. At a distance from the scaffolding, a Myal balanced

 on tall stilts with his prehen­sile tail stuck out behind him for balance was

 skillfully applying gold leaf to the delicate leaves carved into a wall panel. A

 Vüs architect stood in the center of the room, wearing the white cape of his

 profession and pointing to a holographic schematic as he explained something to

 a sec­ond Vüs in an artist's sash. The two were arguing vehe­mently, frequently

 stabbing their fingers into the holo image or making sweeping gestures at the

 ceiling far overhead.

 Israi was not in there. Sneezing against the dust, Ampris hurried on.

 It was hard to follow Israi's trail through the construction zone. Chemical and

 construction smells overlaid Israi's scent, and Ampris found it difficult to

 imagine why the sri-Kaa would come to such a dirty and noisy section of the

 palace.

 She turned a corner and saw Israi standing next to a pillar swathed with drop

 cloths. The sri-Kaa had her back par­tially to Ampris and did not see her

 approach. Israi was scowling into the distance, and her green eyes held deep

 unhappiness.

 Remembering what Subi had said, Ampris walked up to her and nuzzled the back of

 her rill with simple affection.

 "I'm sorry," Ampris said. "I was wrong to argue with you. Please forgive me."

 Israi flashed her an angry glare and turned away. Her slender back was rigid,

 her rill dark indigo.

 "Please," Ampris said, anxious to make amends. "I shall do anything you say.

 Let's think up a way to really ruin Lady Zureal's happiness."

 Israi glared at her again. "Don't say it like that," she said. ' 'Why must you

 sympathize with her?''

 "I don't," Ampris said, holding back a sigh. She'd erred again, but she wasn't

 sure how. "I'm on your side. I prom­ise. Maybe we could put dye into her

 cosmetics and turn her face a strange color."

 Israi released a gusty sigh and walked on without looking back.

 Ampris frowned, patiently following at Israi's heels. Israi said nothing, but

 that was all right. If she was still angry, she would have ordered Ampris to

 leave her. It took time for Israi's temper to cool. Soon she would be full of

 smiles and mischief again, and all would be well.

 The farther they walked, the cleaner and quieter the pas­sageway became. The

 construction noise faded behind them, and there was only the smell of clean,

 polished stone and new plaster. Relieved, Ampris blew through her nostrils to

 clear them.

 Ahead, the passageway ended at a closed set of doors beneath an archway of

 dressed stone. Above it hung an inscription that Ampris could not read.

 Israi paused, tipping back her head to look at it. ' 'Knowl­edge is for the

 many," she read aloud. "What a quaint saying."

 "What language is it?" Ampris asked.

 "Vüs, silly."

 "But I can't read it."

 "Old Vüs," Israi said impatiently. "Two thousand years ago. When this palace was

 first built."

 "Oh."

 Ampris squinted at the letters, but they were no more decipherable than before.

 "The year four hundred ninety-five, in the third dynasty of the Vrahd," said a

 quiet voice from behind them. "That's when that quotation was chiseled into the

 stone and a library was established to hold the palace records."

 Ampris and Israi turned, and found a Myal standing there with a neatly wrapped

 package in his hands.

 Ampris sniffed and knew the package held his lunch. She could smell a fruit

 medley tossed in a light vinaigrette mixed with stouraseeds and honey.

 He was short, coming no taller than her shoulder, al­though he was adult. He had

 stippled black and silver fur, very distinguished, and a full silver mane

 floated in silky strands about his intelligent face. Something alert and kind in

 his black eyes made Ampris like him immediately.

 He carried his long prehensile tail neatly curled and tucked up against his

 hindquarters. His short, bowed legs and soft pouchy belly made him look like a

 scholar.

 Israi wore her haughty expression, standing straight and tall with her head held

 high. Her green eyes glittered in sudden tension.

 Ampris took one look at her and stepped quietly between her friend and this

 stranger. Although he was only a Myal, and probably harmless, Ampris found her

 heart beating fas­ter.

 It was one thing to run freely about the safe confines of the new palace, with

 guards stationed at the doors to pro­vide unobtrusive protection and courtiers

 and attendants al­ways nearby. It was another thing to venture here, deep into

 the old palace, with its unknown corners, construction laborers, locked-away

 sections that were completely fallen into ruin and disuse, and lack of security.

 Ampris found herself very conscious of Israi's vulnerability. Without

 at­tendants of any kind, the sri-Kaa had only Ampris as pro­tection.

 The fur on Ampris's neck bristled, and she stood ready to defend her friend.

 "Who are you?" Ampris asked, making the question a challenge.

 The Myal smiled in a gentle, friendly way. He made no threatening moves, and

 seemed either unaware of or unin­terested in their alarm. "Bish is my name," he

 said. "Chief archivist of the libraries and records."

 He spoke his answer in the Vüs language, not in slave patois. Ampris thought she

 was the only abiru allowed to speak Vüs. She took immediate offense.

 "Bow when you speak," she said sharply. "Are you Vüs, to speak in the tongue of

 your masters? Keep your eyes down. Show respect to the sri-Kaa!"

 Bish's dark eyes widened. He gasped slightly and gave Israi a deep bow. "Forgive

 me," he said with the utmost respect in his tone, although he still spoke Vüs.

 "The sri-Kaa I did not recognize. No one informed us of an official visit."

 Ampris's temper grew hot. From deep in her throat came a rumbling growl.

 "Ampris!" Israi said in swift rebuke. "Stop that. He is an archivist and

 researcher. He has the right to use our language."

 Ampris blinked, feeling both undermined and foolish. "Why?"

 Israi flicked out her tongue, and Ampris bowed her head, letting the question

 drop at once.

 Already she knew the answer. Bish could speak Vüs be­cause it was allowed by the

 complexities of court protocol. Archivists, whatever they were, clearly had

 privileges.

 "Well, Bish," Israi said, doing her best to achieve the lofty tones of ennui

 affected by so many courtiers, "we have come unannounced in an unofficial

 capacity. What in the Archives will you show us?"

 Bish bowed low again. ' 'The sri-Kaa honors me with the presence of herself and

 her golden pet. Of course. I should have immediately recognized the golden pair

 of such re­nown. For such an error, may I be forgiven? As for the

 Archives, the entire collection stands at the Imperial Daughter's disposal. All

 can be seen, if the Imperial Daugh­ter has time."

 Israi gave him a dignified gesture, and Ampris struggled to hold back a giggle.

 She knew how much Israi loved to play the grand lady, and this silly Myal

 believed every bit of it. Ampris knew Israi would let Bish chatter on with his

 boring lectures until the tour was actually started, then she would back out and

 leave him standing there looking fool­ish, puzzled as to how he had offended.

 Stepping around them, Bish approached the doors and spoke a clear command in

 coded words.

 A light flashed upon him from overhead, scanning him. Then the doors unlocked

 and swung slowly open.

 Bish hurried inside and bowed to Israi again. "Please enter."

 Ampris met Israi's eyes and saw the mischief gleaming there. Again, she stifled

 a giggle. "Isn't he boring?" she whispered. "Are you actually going in?"

 Israi blinked at her in their secret look. "Yes," she whis­pered back. "I want

 ideas for our next project."

 They laughed together.

 "Please," Bish said. "Come inside."

 Another worry touched Ampris, and she tugged at Israi's sleeve. "Is it safe?

 Without your guards?"

 "Don't be so protective. Of course it's safe." With her head held high, Israi

 swept inside.

 Ampris followed, and the doors swung shut automati­cally behind her.

 ' 'The Archives were the first part of the restoration pro­ject to be

 completed," Bish said proudly. He gestured at the room around them. "This main

 exhibit chamber and two other areas are redone. Our offices have been updated,

 and my staff is busy cataloging an incredible warren of old materials. It will

 take us years to sort through everything. A fabulous opportunity for study lies

 here."

 At first Ampris wondered when they planned to fill this empty room, then as Bish

 and Israi walked on, with Bish chatting and pointing out various items to the

 sri-Kaa, she realized the room was supposed to be empty. Only what hung on the

 walls held any importance.

 She glanced around and caught her breath. Panel after panel of constellation

 maps depicted various populated worlds within the far-flung Vüs empire. Despite

 the politi­cal and civics lessons Ampris had yawned her way through, for the

 first time she received a very clear, graphic grasp of just how immense the Vüs

 holdings were.

 Beyond the constellation panels hung holograms of plan­ets rotating in midair,

 delineated perfectly to scale, with continents and oceans sliding beneath the

 clouds of atmo­sphere.

 Israi stopped between two spinning planets and laughed. "Rogis Four and

 Mynchepop… Father loves Mynchepop. He speaks of it often. He has promised me

 that when I reach adulthood I may travel there."

 "From all accounts it is a world of breathtaking beauty," Bish said agreeably.

 He glanced at Ampris and pointed at another planet, a small, dusty brown world

 that spun slowly as though tired. A slender band of water encircled its equator.

 The rest was solid landmass.

 ' 'Homeworld of the Aarouns,'' he said quietly to Am­pris, his black eyes bright

 and watchful. "The origin point of your race, young cub."

 Startled, Ampris frowned at him, then stared at the planet in curiosity. It was

 an ugly world, especially when com­pared to others with interesting continents

 mottled green between large blue oceans.

 She wondered what it had been like to live on such a small, brown world, and

 could not imagine it. Still, Aarouns had come from it. Her ancestors had once

 walked its ground and breathed its air. The idea of it intrigued her. For the

 first time, she could visualize the homeworld as an actual place.

 "What is it called?" she asked.

 "Bish!" Israi said imperiously before he could reply. "I wish to examine the

 jewelry collection. My father has told me much about the old State jewels, but I

 have never seen them."

 Bish bowed to her at once. "Yes, of course. They are locked in the special

 vaults on a floor below this one. Let us go down."

 But as he spoke, he glanced at Ampris again and touched a button on the

 projector base beneath the planet hologram. Aaroun homeworld vanished and in its

 stead appeared a vista of open sky tinged a pearly-gray hue with wide

 grass­lands spread beneath it. Hot, dry wind gusted into Ampris's face, and she

 smelled a mingled wealth of new scents: the bitter, herbal scent of the tall

 grass, the hot arid ground, and an animal scent—perhaps that of a small fearful

 rodent. Instincts inside her quickened automatically. Her mouth watered with an

 unfamiliar anticipation. Her nose twitched, attuning itself as she located the

 rodent nibbling at the roots of the grass stems. She focused on it, feeling her

 muscles ripple across her back. It was prey.

 "Ampris!" Israi said sharply. "Have you gone deaf? Come at once."

 Startled, and with a feeling of disorientation, Ampris came back to the here and

 now.

 Bish pushed a button, and the grasslands vanished, leav­ing only the spinning

 planet in their place.

 Ampris frowned in disappointment, finding herself yearning to see more.

 "Come," Bish said gently to her. "There are other things to show you."

 Again she followed Israi and Bish, this time down a nar­row spiraling staircase

 into a darker, more cramped region of small exhibit rooms, offices, and cleaning

 chambers that held long tables stacked with rotting fabrics and rusted

 ar­tifacts. They walked past a library holding scroll cases, bound volumes,

 fragile tape spools, disks preserved in clear cases, and endless racks of sivo

 data crystals.

 Ampris's head swiveled constantly as she stared, fasci­nated by the wealth of

 things here. She expected Israi to stop at any moment and turn back. That was,

 after all, the game. But Bish was still chattering about the jewels, de­scribing

 them and their vivid histories, along with accounts of the imperial personages

 who had worn them. Israi was rapt, as though she had forgotten the prank she

 wanted to pull.

 Just before they reached the vault, Bish paused and opened a door that revealed

 a dim, shadowy room. "Per­haps you would care to look inside here," he said to

 Am-pris in his gentle way.

 His eyes, however, bored into her with an intensity she did not understand.

 "What is there?" Israi asked sharply, her rill half-raised. "Why do you send my

 Ampris there?"

 Bish turned back to the sri-Kaa and bowed. "I thought she might find it

 interesting. It has information on her peo­ple. Why should an Aaroun care about

 the jewels which will one day be the exclusive property of the sri-Kaa?"

 Israi lowered her rill and flicked Ampris a casual glance of permission. "Go in

 there, and see your history," she said, and turned away.

 There was a derisive, almost contemptuous note in her voice as she spoke. Ampris

 did not mind it. She knew that none of the slave races had illustrious

 histories, nothing to compare with the advanced Vüs civilization and its glory.

 Still, perhaps there might be something as interesting as the hologram of the

 grasslands had been. Obediently Am­pris stepped into the room.

 At first it looked dusty and poorly lit. She saw a jumbled stack of things on

 the long table. Sighing, she walked over to look at the pictures on the wall.

 Some were authentic paintings. Others were computer-generated reconstructions.

 She saw portraits of Aarouns of all ages and colors, their long-lashed eyes

 staring gravely at her from the past. There was something unusual about them,

 something she could not quite define.

 Unless… She suddenly realized how bold their eyes were, how free. They stood

 straight, without the hunch of submission. They looked fearless and content.

 A lump filled her throat, choking her before she swal­lowed it away. She looked

 at other pictures, seeing settle­ments, towns, and individual houses. The

 architectural styles seemed simple—squares and rectangles, mud brick and stucco

 construction, natural shelters both functional and efficient that were

 appropriate to the landscape. She found herself studying one house that was

 larger and far more elaborate than the rest. Low to the ground, it surrounded a

 courtyard and loggia. A simple pool of water adorned the courtyard. Aaroun

 youngsters crouched there among clay pots of flowers. She could see the carved

 pebbles in the cubs' hands, and the game board they played with.

 Again a lump filled her throat. All her life she'd believed her people to be

 nothing. She'd never understood that once they had been separate and independent

 of the Vüs empire, with their own lifestyles and their own customs.

 She moved on to another display, and learned about birth celebrations, adulthood

 rituals, wedding ceremonies, and funerals. Then she came to a display case that

 lit automat­ically when she approached. Within, a necklace hung sus­pended. At

 first she saw nothing special about it, for compared to Israi's jewelry this

 piece looked simple and plain. A leather thong, brittle with age, was strung

 through a small disk with radiating points, like a sun. The center of the disk

 held a smooth, clear stone—almost as clear as glass, except she could see minute

 flecks and inclusions within it. Squinting for a closer look, Ampris thought for

 a split second that she saw a spark of radiance come to life in the transparent

 stone's center. Her heartbeat quickened in response, and she felt suddenly

 breathless, although she knew not why. Then the fleeting radiance vanished, and

 it was just an old amulet hanging on an age-worn thong of leather, nothing

 special at all.

 "That is an Eye of Clarity."

 Ampris turned and saw Bish standing in the doorway, alone.

 ' 'The sri-Kaa occupies herself in trying on necklaces in the vault," he said

 before Ampris could ask. He walked into the room on his short bowed legs, his

 black eyes intent on her. "Have you ever seen an Eye of Clarity before?"

 Feeling overwhelmed and confused by all she'd seen in this room, Ampris shook

 her head. "It looks like an old amulet. Why—"

 "Ah, but it is so much more. In centuries past, our greatest, most visionary

 leaders all wore Eyes of Clarity."

 "Myal leaders?"

 He shook back his mane. His dark eyes glowed, lumi­nous and intense. "Not just

 Myals, but Aarouns as well. And others. The Eyes of Clarity belong to no single

 culture or race."

 "I've never seen one before or even heard of them," she said, wondering why he

 spoke so passionately about the old artifact. "The Vüs courtiers in the palace

 don't wear them. Nor do the chancellors, and they are very important."

 Bish snorted. "No Vüs can wear this."

 "You mean no Vüs would wear it," she said, turning her gaze on the simple

 necklace again. "It's not pretty enough."

 "Pretty?" he echoed, affronted. "Alas, young cub, have the Vüs corrupted you so

 that you judge value by superfi­cial standards? Rub the age-tarnish from its

 surface, and it will shine as much as any Vüs trinket. Exchange the leather cord

 for a delicate chain of gold, and would it not look fine?"

 "I guess so," Ampris said, not sure why he was so of­fended.

 He stared at her long and hard. "How the Vüs have clouded your young mind."

 She stared right back. ' 'I have been trained to appreciate art and aesthetics.

 I meant you no insult. All I said was it wouldn't appeal to a Vüs."

 "It is not meant to," he said with some asperity. "No Vüs can wear one, even if

 its appearance did not offend Vüs aesthetics."

 "Why not?"

 ' "That is a mystery. I cannot provide you with an answer. But it is so. And

 what the Vüs themselves cannot use, they never value."

 His criticism made Ampris uneasy. She glanced at the door and tried to change

 the subject. "What was the Eye of Clarity used for?''

 "Ah," Bish said, and his voice held a tinge of awe. "It holds great power and

 wisdom. When a wearer proves him or herself worthy, an Eye of Clarity will share

 its secrets."

 Ampris frowned at the old amulet, not certain she be­lieved anything he was

 saying. ' 'How do you become wor­thy?"

 Bish spread out his expressive hands in a slight shrug. "Alas, such knowledge is

 lost."

 "I thought so." Bored, Ampris headed for the door.

 He blocked her path, however. "Please, young cub. Do not be so skeptical, so

 impatient. I can teach you much about your kind, if you will allow me."

 "I take my lessons with the sri-Kaa," Ampris said haughtily, then felt a rush of

 shame at having spoken so rudely.

 He regarded her a long moment in silence, with his hands folded over his rounded

 belly. Ampris was the first to drop her gaze.

 "I ask pardon," she said quietly. "I have spoken to you with disrespect."

 "You have much spirit, much fire in your soul, young cub. Even if it sometimes

 leads you to speak rashly, at least it has not been crushed." Bish smiled at her

 in forgiveness. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her around to once more

 face the display case containing the Eye of Clarity.

 "The oldest writings indicate that the key to understand­ing its power lies

 inside each wearer," he said as though they'd never gotten off the subject. "A

 journey of sorts."

 Ampris swallowed a sigh. Bish was just like Israi's tutor, dull and persistent,

 lecturing on forever. But having apol­ogized once for showing bad manners, she

 forced herself to be polite this time. "What kind of power?" she asked. "Do you

 mean it can make things blow up? Can it start fires?"

 "To be great or powerful is not always to be destruc­tive," Bish replied

 patiently. "According to the legends, the Eyes of Clarity were once pathways to

 the very center of that which powers the universe. Can you tame that?''

 She blinked at him and did not answer.

 "Well," he said and smiled in his gentle way. "So little is now taught, handed

 down in song from Aaroun mother to daughter. Did your mother never sing to you,

 golden one?"

 Ampris's eyes widened. No one had ever called her that before. Or had they? A

 whisper of memory brushed through her mind, elusive, resisting capture. She

 backed her ears, shaking old thoughts away. She wasn't going to think about the

 Scary Time if she could help it.

 "I have no mother," she said, and even to her ears her voice sounded harsh and

 flat. ' 'The sri-Kaa raised me. I am forever indebted to her for her kindness

 and benevolence."

 "Yes," he said, his voice softer and more gentle than ever. "Then it is good you

 have come here to learn your heritage." He gestured at the exhibits filling the

 room. "You are heir to all this, and much more."

 Ampris backed her ears in puzzlement. "This belongs to the Kaa."

 "To you, Ampris. Your heritage belongs to you and to all other Aarouns," he

 said. "The artifacts the Kaa may own, but your history, your ancestry, and your

 lost culture he does not own. Such intangibles can be the richest pos­sessions

 of all. They are yours."

 She said nothing. Such words were intoxicating, yet they sounded like treason.

 He walked over to one of the history panels and pointed at a name. ' 'Read here

 about Zimbarl, leader of the Heva clan in the northern hemisphere. He was

 responsible for pulling the scattered Aaroun tribes together into a unified

 nation. He created a country, established laws, civilized people into working

 together instead of against each other. Under his leadership and vision, your

 people took giant strides forward. For centuries Zimbarl was a hero. Have you

 ever heard of him?''

 Ampris shook her head. She drank in what Bish was telling her, and was suddenly

 eager to hear more. ' 'Zimbarl was a hero," she echoed. "Like Havlmehd the

 Great."

 Bish laughed, curling back his broad lips and shaking his mane. "Yes," he said.

 "You know only the typical Vüs heroes, and none of your own?''

 Shame filled Ampris. Although his voice held no cen­sure, she felt as though

 she'd been judged and found want­ing. "Why shouldn't I know about the Vüs

 heroes? They are great legends. I hear about them all the time. They have

 accomplished much that is worthy."

 "Of course. But look here." He pointed at another panel. "Read about Nithlived,

 an Aaroun priestess. In the final Aaroun uprising, she rallied her people. They

 would have thrown off the Vüs yoke forever had the Vüs not cracked open their

 sun's center. The Vüs starforces directed the sun's terrible energy against the

 Aaroun homeworld."

 Appalled, Ampris stared at him. She could not believe such a terrible story was

 true. "The Vüs would not do such a thing."

 Bish's eyes were grave. "But they did. Your people make proud fighters, young

 cub. They resisted and would not surrender themselves, as other races did. They

 did not fall prey to the trickery and lies that brought the downfall of my own

 kind. No, the Aarouns wanted to remain free and independent. They fought, but

 they could not win. Their world of grassland and hunting was laid waste. Every

 living thing not evacuated from the planet was destroyed. Now it is bare,

 blasted rock, spinning in erratic orbit around its dead sun. This the Vüs did to

 your homeworld, golden one."

 Ampris tried to imagine it and couldn't. She tried to sort out what she felt and

 couldn't. She had never been to the homeworld of her ancestors. She had never

 walked it, had never breathed its scents… until a few minutes ago, when she had

 experienced the hologram in the exhibit room. Still, to think about the

 obliteration of an entire living world chilled her. There could not exist such

 cruelty, yet into her mind came the dreadful memory of the trophy room in the

 Kaa's mountain lodge, where Aaroun heads hung mounted as grisly reminders of

 another uprising, and another failure.

 Shaken, Ampris glanced around and once again saw the portraits of Aarouns long

 dead. Their eyes seemed to look right into her, seemed to be pleading for her to

 do some­thing, as the ghosts of her nightmares pleaded.

 The room was suddenly too hot, too close. She backed up a step, the fur on her

 neck bristling.

 Bish seemed unaware of her distress. He gestured at an­other exhibit. "But there

 are other things to learn besides events of politics and war. See this? Did you

 know that an Aaroun female named Lutishan invented the flyta? That is a very

 great accomplishment indeed."

 "Impossible!" Ampris said in instant objection, dis­tracted from her distress,

 as perhaps he had intended. ' 'The flyta is a Vüs musical instrument."

 "Oh, yes, it features in most of today's music. It is very popular at court,"

 Bish agreed mildly. "But the Vüs did not invent it. They found it when they

 discovered your homeworld. Like many things from many worlds, the flyta was

 absorbed into the culture of the empire."

 She still wasn't sure she could believe an Aaroun had actually created the

 flyta. And yet, a sense of pride surged through her. She stared at Bish, almost

 smiling. "Really?"

 He smiled back. "Really."

 So it was true. She hugged the knowledge inside her, thrilled by it. That meant

 her people were intelligent, ac­complished, and cultured too. Like the Vüs,

 only…

 "Why isn't this known?" she asked. "Why is it kept secret?"

 "It is not secret," he replied. "Few Vüs know the ori­gins of what they borrow

 and assimilate into their everyday lives. Even fewer care. The empire conquers

 many worlds, taking the best they have to offer and discarding the rest." He

 straightened his tail momentarily, then coiled it around his left leg. "This is

 the way of tyranny."

 Her eyes widened, and again she backed away from him. She did not like him, she

 decided. Each time she began to find his information interesting, he pushed some

 treasonous or disconcerting statement at her. She could get into trouble

 listening to him. "I should go now," she said. "I must not stay absent from the

 sri-Kaa's side."

 "Will you return?"

 "I don't know. The sri-Kaa doesn't—"

 "By yourself, will you return?" he asked.

 She stared at him, slightly alarmed by his question. Why did he study her so

 intently? He seemed to expect some­thing from her, something she did not

 understand.

 "Have you any periods of freedom? Time of your own, apart from the sri-Kaa's

 activities?" he persisted. "Axe you not interested in learning more about your

 people? The Aar-ouns have been a conquered race for less than two hundred years.

 Before that, they were independent and progressive, inventing their own

 technology, advancing at their own pace. Are you not curious about them,

 Ampris?"

 "Yes," she said warily, and it was the truth. None of this had ever been told to

 her before. She'd always thought Aarouns had been slaves forever. Now her mind

 felt ex-panded by this radical new information. She needed to get away and think

 it over.

 "Then come back," he urged her. "By yourself. I can teach you much."

 "You are Myal," she said. "Not Aaroun. Why do you care about my race instead of

 your own?''

 Impatience flickered in his eyes before he smiled again. ' 'The history of my

 race is not lost. Nor should the history of other races be lost. You are

 special, Ampris. The first Aaroun, the first of any of the abiru, to be raised

 in the imperial household. You, alone of all Aarouns, are permit­ted to speak

 Vüs because you belong to that household."

 "You can speak Vüs," Ampris protested.

 "Because of my position, because of my work," he said. "Not because of who I

 am."

 "But—"

 "You are a special friend to the next ruler of the em­pire," he said, his gaze

 boring into her. "This gives you great opportunity. Your influence, used wisely,

 could be of great help to your people, my people, all the abiru races. Think of

 it, Ampris. To you, so much is available."

 His eyes were blazing with a fervor that alarmed her.

 She hurried toward the door. "I must go," she said.

 "Ampris," he called after her.

 She wanted to rush out, but something in his tone made her pause. She glanced

 back reluctantly.

 "Come again," he said, gesturing at the room. "There is so much more to show

 you, so much more than you can imagine."

 She backed her ears.

 "Please," he said. "Will you return?"

 "Perhaps," she said, unwilling to promise.

 "Ah." He smiled as though satisfied, and the intensity in his gaze faded.

 Folding his hands together over his little paunch, he gave her a slight bow.

 "For now, that is suffi­cient. Knowledge cannot be forced upon another. What you

 have learned today, you will think about. When you are ready to learn more, you

 will come back."

 She stared at him, uncertain of what to say, then turned and fled.

 Israi was emerging from the vault, looking pleased and content. A pendant of a

 pebble-sized Gaza stone hung on a gold chain about her neck.

 "Ampris, good," Israi said. "I was just about to call you. See what I am

 wearing?" she asked.

 Ampris obediently admired the fiery green facets of the jewel. "But are you

 allowed to take it?" she asked.

 Israi's eyes flashed. "Of course. Am I not sri-Kaa?"

 "But does not everything here belong to the Kaa your father?" Ampris asked. "I

 do not wish you to be pun­ished."

 Israi sighed and stamped her foot. "I hate this," she said, and yanked off the

 necklace. "How long must I wait until I can do as I please?"

 She tossed the necklace on the floor and walked past Bish, who stared at the

 discarded jewelry with astonished eyes. He hurried to scoop it up and handed it

 to another Myal, who had appeared with a folded paper in his hands.

 Taking the paper, Bish caught up with Israi and bowed. "For the Imperial

 Daughter, as requested."

 She nodded at Ampris, who took the paper for her.

 "Thank you," Ampris said for her.

 Bish's black eyes shifted to Ampris. Again he seemed to want to say something to

 her, but he merely bowed. "To serve has been an honor. The Imperial Daughter and

 her companion are always welcome."

 Israi left the Archives in haughty silence, her expression petulant. Ampris

 walked beside her, saying nothing. She wasn't sure if Israi was annoyed with her

 specifically or just put out because she couldn't keep the necklace.

 Right then, Ampris hardly cared. She was too busy think­ing about the things

 Bish had told her. All her life, she had believed that Aarouns were barely

 useful barbarians able to do manual labor and not much else, less-than-bright

 crea­tures tolerated for their strength and stamina alone.

 For the first time she realized she didn't have to feel ashamed of being Aaroun.

 Her people had once had their own culture, their own art, their own

 intelligence, and their own future, before the Vüs had conquered them and robbed

 them of everything, even their memories.

 Ampris glanced at Israi, bursting to tell her friend of what she had discovered.

 "Israi," she said at last, her voice swelling with excitement, ' 'I have so much

 to tell you about what I saw."

 Israi took the paper from her hands. "Hmm?" she said absently, unfolding it as

 they hurried through the construc­tion zone without pausing. "The Aaroun

 exhibit? Poor Am­pris, I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have let him put you in

 that room by yourself. Were you bored? Are you upset because you didn't see the

 jewels?"

 "No, I—"

 "They were boring too," Israi said, cutting off Ampris's answer. "Old,

 uncleaned, and out-of-date." She crumpled the paper in her hands and tossed it

 on the floor. "That was an inventory list of them, prepared especially for me."

 She laughed with scorn. "How silly."

 Ampris refrained from mentioning the necklace Israi had wanted. "Why did you

 look at them so long?"

 Israi flicked her tongue and changed the subject. ' 'Could you believe that

 Myal? What a strange one! He actually thought we were interested in his ancient

 information. How useless to preserve such things. And you, sweet Ampris, you

 didn't even complain about being stuck in there with bits of old grass and mud."

 Ampris blinked. "There wasn't—"

 ' 'After all, there is nothing to learn from the ancient pasts of the abiru

 races," Israi continued. "Nothing! The notion of the Archives is quaint, but I'm

 sure only my father and the Myals care anything about it. I certainly don't."

 "Some of it was interesting," Ampris said in a small voice.

 "Was it?" Israi paused to stroke her rill and rearrange its folds above her

 collar. "Perhaps as a curiosity. Wasn't the Aaroun homeworld ugly? I could

 barely stand to look at it. Now Mynchepop is reputed to be lovely. Fortunately

 we weren't forced to destroy entire landmasses in order to gain their

 cooperation." She laughed. "They are—"

 "What do you mean?" Ampris asked, feeling the hair stand up along her spine.

 Bish's words about the fate of her homeworld came back to her, and she felt

 suddenly desperate to silence her friend. "It isn't so. Landmasses—

 continents—can't be—they wouldn't be—"

 Pride filled Israi's face. "Yes, of course it can be done. My father explained

 it to me only a few days past. Really, the procedure is a very simple matter,

 especially with our advanced technology."

 "Israi, I would rather not—"

 "Don't be squeamish," Israi said, not heeding Ampris's protest. "Why should it

 matter to you? That planet was destroyed centuries ago, and it was never your

 home. My father says that our fleet comes up to a world, surveys it to see if it

 has anything useful to offer us, then we request their surrender. If they

 refuse, we can attack them from space. You know, slag continents with such

 intense heat all the vegetation is burned off and nothing can grow or live

 there. We also decimate entire populations, although that isn't cost-effective

 if the people can be used in some man­ner. We can poison the oceans, or even rip

 away their atmo­sphere. Usually they surrender when we threaten them. Only the

 stupid ones resist."

 "I understand," Ampris said quickly, anxious to stop the explanation. She

 thought of the Aaroun portraits she had seen—intelligent, happy faces of purpose

 and vision—and felt sick to her stomach. How could the Vüs be so arrogant, so

 dismissive of others? How could Israi be proud of it?

 Israi squeezed her arm and gave a little skip. ' 'I am glad we came down here.

 Ampris, I have a brilliant idea of what we can do to Lady Zureal. Listen…"

 She pulled Ampris close and whispered plans in her ear. Ampris listened and

 smiled, but her heart was not in it. All she could think about were the proud

 faces in the pictures, faces that had been burned to dust and ashes.

 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 That night, while Israi slept soundly in her nest of cushions, Ampris crept from

 her cot and left the bedchamber. On silent feet she moved past the dozing

 attendants and slipped into the narrow study alcove where Israi usually worked

 on her lessons. Pulling the door shut silently, Ampris felt her way through the

 shadows, taking care not to stumble over the chairs, and opened the tall window

 by the desk.

 Moonlight streamed in, bathing the alcove in its pearly luminescence. In the

 distance Ampris could see the fat, pale orb shimmering its reflection on the

 river's surface, but she was not interested in the view.

 Instead, she turned on the data screen and called up In­formation. At night she

 often used Israi's study tools to privately supplement her own education. As

 long as no one caught her, she could study what she liked, as thoroughly as she

 wished, without being interrupted and directed by Israi's whims.

 Her favorite subject was Architecture, with Mathematics and Natronics running a

 close second and third. But tonight she called up History and sought the entry

 for Aaroun.

 The screen shimmered a moment, then displayed in vivid graphics a male of her

 species. Impatiently skipping this subentry, Ampris cross-indexed her request to

 Aaroun homeworld. As she entered the request, it occurred to her that she did

 not know the planet's name. She felt ashamed of her ignorance.

 An astronomy map shimmered onto the screen with an arrow pointing to where the

 planet should have been, /ar-roun homeworld,'t read the caption across the

 bottom of the screen, /location in sargas solar system, galactic

 CENTER SEVEN POINT NINE NINE BY SEVEN. THIRD WORLD IN SYSTEM. INCAPABLE OF

 SUPPORTING LIFE.'t

 Anger slithered through her heart, but she ignored the emotion and asked for a

 cross-reference to Sargas III.

 No response registered from the equipment for a long time. Then finally, a new

 caption crawled across the screen. /information deleted by order of high

 councilA

 Frustrated, Ampris glared at it, but she knew an infor­mation deletion could not

 be countermanded. Trying to dig further might even alert Security, although she

 doubted they would dare to shut down any activity requests that came from the

 sri-Kaa's data screen.

 Instead, she requested information on Zimbarl. Again there was a long pause.

 Again the answer came: /infor­mation DELETED BY ORDER OF HIGH COUNCIL.'t

 She requested information on Nithlived, and received the same reply. Snarling to

 herself, she asked about the Heva clan.

 This time, she received a split screen of captions and new graphics of a

 fawn-colored Aaroun female with brown spots and a light brown mask across her

 eyes. The female was mature, well into her middle years by the heavy bulk and

 musculature of her neck and shoulders. Her eyes were keen and far-seeing.

 /heva clan,'t read the caption on the right side of the screen, /tribal

 designation for the species arroun,

 CARNIVORES ORIGINATING IN SARGAS SYSTEM, TECHNOL­OGY GRADE THREE. SOCIOLOGICAL

 PATTERN INDICATES

 THIRTY CLANS WITHIN FIVE PRIMARY TRIBES. HEVA CLAN IS 't

 Ampris frowned when the screen failed to automatically scroll. She touched it

 with her fingertip, but it did not re­spond. She touched it again. The screen

 went blank, except for one blinking message:

 /information deleted by order of high councilA

 Growling to herself, Ampris tried every cross-reference in the index she could

 think of, and came up with nothing else. Then she heard a faint sound outside

 the door.

 Swift as thought, she shut off the screen and closed the window. Blanketed by

 the resulting darkness, she crouched on the floor with her back against a

 cabinet.

 The door swung open.

 Ampris drew in a swift breath and held it, feeling her heart thump harder. The

 shadows were thick. She could not see who stood at the doorway. No light shone

 for either of them. Neither breathing nor moving, Ampris let her nostrils widen

 to take scent.

 She smelled skin oil, a special blend of cynribal, koi-kai, and ohl favored by

 Lady Lenith. But the chief lady in wait­ing usually retired to her own

 apartments at night, leaving lesser attendants to guard the sri-Kaa's sleep.

 That meant someone else had been dipping into Lady Lenith's perfume pots.

 Who would dare?

 No one, save Israi herself.

 Relieved, Ampris caught the sri-Kaa's true skin scent beneath the cloying

 perfume and started to speak.

 But an instinctive sense of caution held her silent. She realized that as long

 as the lights stayed off, she could not be seen in the thick pool of shadows

 where she was hiding. And although Israi probably would not punish her for using

 the data screen without permission, Ampris did not want to explain what she had

 been looking up or why. And so she ed silent on her haunches, while the memory

 of Israi's -arelessly cruel words in the Archives throbbed through her mind.

 It was all true, Ampris thought. Everything Bish had told her was true. The Vüs

 had captured, plundered, enslaved, and conquered the Aarouns. They had destroyed

 everything they did not take, leaving nothing for the Aarouns to go home to.

 They had even taken the planet's name.

 Israi did not care.

 No Vüs cared.

 For the first time in her life, Ampris felt a gulf widening between her and her

 friend. For no matter how true and wonderful a friend Israi was, she would

 always be Vüs, a descendant of atrocity and conquest. And no matter how long

 Ampris lived in the palace, favored, and pampered, and loved, she would always

 be Aaroun, descendant of slaves.

 "Your heritage is here," Bish had told her in the Ar­chives. "It belongs to you,

 Ampris."

 She crouched in the shadows, waiting for Israi to speak her name and demand she

 come forth. But although Israi's scent altered slightly with heat, indicating

 she sensed that Ampris was in there hiding from her, Israi said nothing. After a

 long, long moment, she softly closed the door and went away.

 Ampris let out her breath, but felt no relief. Something was happening between

 them. She did not know what it was. She did not want to know what it meant.

 Perhaps Israi had always known she sneaked in here to use the data screen at

 night. Perhaps not. Ampris realized, however, that she would never dare slip in

 here again. Israi's very silence was a warning.

 But I will know the answers to my questions, Ampris thought. / must learn more

 about my people.

 The next day, when Israi joined the Kaa for a private lesson, Ampris stole away

 to the Archives. She found Bish bent over a table of dirt-encrusted artifacts,

 carefully clean­ing an object with a tiny brush.

 "Teach me," she said without even a greeting, making him start and whirl around.

 "I want to learn more about my people. When did we come to be slaves? Two

 hundred years ago? What did we do before then? Did we have our own space travel,

 our own technology? What happened to—"

 "Gently, young cub," Bish said, holding up his hands. "Gently. So many

 questions. So much impatience. Let us deal with one subject at a time."

 "I don't have much time," Ampris said impatiently. "I must go back soon or I

 will be missed. Almost every entry in the data screen has been deleted. I can

 find out nothing about—"

 Bish's lips parted in a broad smile. He drew a small object from his pocket and

 handed it to her.

 It was a sivo data crystal. Ampris hefted it on her palm, then curled her

 fingers around it. She felt as though she had been handed a treasure trove. '

 'How much information does it contain?'' she asked.

 "The crystal is full," he replied, shaking back his mane. "You have many days'

 worth of learning in your hand, golden one. Learn it well—"

 "I'll listen to it tonight—"

 "Slowly," he said in warning, his tail whipping out be­hind him in alarm.

 "Listen to it slowly, in small bits. Do not rush your lessons."

 "Butl—"

 "Honor your people's history," he said, his voice sud­denly stern. ' 'Treat this

 with care. Do not tell anyone I have given this to you. Do you understand?"

 His tone and the fierce look in his eyes alarmed her. She blinked at him,

 clutching the crystal in her hand. "Is it forbidden for me to have this?" she

 asked in a small voice.

 "It is."

 Her mouth went dry, and she found herself panting. She wished she had never come

 back, had never let her curiosity carry her past common sense. She tried to

 return it to him. "I will commit no treason."

 "But you already have," Bish said, very softly. He looked at her with

 compassion, seeing the fear that dawned in her eyes. ' 'When you sought deleted

 information on the data screen. When you came here just now, asking ques­tions.

 Even when you listened to me uttering forbidden names yesterday."

 She gasped and turned her back to him. "I didn't know they were forbidden. I

 didn't—"

 "Ampris," he said. "Fear is not for one such as you. Look at me."

 She froze, her heart hammering hard. She would be ar­rested, dragged from

 Israi's side, and thrown into the Pit of Questioning. She would be slaughtered,

 her head and hands cut off, and—

 "Ampris," Bish said more forcefully, "turn around."

 She complied with great reluctance, tempted to dash the sivo crystal on the

 floor and break it into pieces. Already Israi knew. She had to know. She had

 come to the alcove door, but she had not spoken. Yet if she had not spoken, what

 did that mean? Was it a warning, as Ampris had first thought? Or did it mean she

 gave her permission for Am­pris to learn?

 Relief swept Ampris with such intensity it was almost painful. She met Bish's

 eyes and saw open concern in his gentle gaze.

 "Ah," he said with a blink. "You have found your cour­age again."

 Ampris nodded. "I think so."

 "That is well. Take care with this. Show it to no one, not even the sri-Kaa."

 Ampris nodded again. ' 'When must I return it? Tomor­row?' '

 ' 'No. Do not come again so soon. I told you to study the contents slowly. Take

 your time, young cub. Impatience is no virtue."

 She frowned at the crystal within her fist. "Are you say­ing this is all the

 information you have?''

 "Study that, then come for more." Bish sighed. "You must learn not to make

 assumptions, golden one. You must learn wisdom if you are to save your people."

 Her ears snapped forward, and she stared at him. "What?"

 "A great opportunity is yours," he said. "You are rare and unusual. You are

 surely our hope."

 "What do you—"

 "You have been raised with the sri-Kaa herself," he said as though she hadn't

 interrupted. "One day when she as­cends to the throne, perhaps you will be there

 with her."

 "Of course," Ampris said blankly. "I shall always be with Israi."

 "Never, in all the long mingled histories of the abiru folk, has something like

 this happened," Bish said, his dark eyes glowing. "You will one day be in a

 position to give much help to your people, and to all the abiru folk. Perhaps

 you are Zimbarl or Nithlived come again."

 She shivered at his words. "I don't understand."

 "Perhaps in you the abiru races will find a new symbol of hope. Perhaps in years

 to come you will rally them for rebellion."

 Fresh alarm flared inside her. Ampris backed up a step. "I am not a traitor,"

 she said angrily, and shook her fist at him. "If this contains only lies to

 twist my thinking, I will surely throw it in the river. No matter what you tell

 me, I will never turn against Israi or the Kaa—"

 "This has not been asked of you," Bish replied, just as sharply. "We do not seek

 war, Ampris. We want freedom. Freedom as a gift one day from the sri-Kaa. You

 can per­suade her, Ampris. You must."

 "But—"

 "Not now, little one. Not now," he said, spreading out his hands in a calming

 gesture. "Forgive me for speaking about that which must wait for the future. You

 are very young. There is time for all that must be learned first. Free-dom is

 not gained in an instant. Nor is it ever granted eas-ily."

 He seemed to be talking to himself more than to her. Ampris stared at him,

 swallowing an involuntary growl of unease in her throat. His words both

 exhilarated and fright­ened her. She wished she had never come here, never

 fol­lowed Israi here yesterday, never returned on her own today. But her feet

 seemed to have taken to a path that she could not step away from. She wanted to

 jump back, to keep things as they had always been. But already every­thing

 seemed to be changing.

 "I should not have come," Ampris said, backing away now. "I think you have

 misinterpreted my interest in old history." She laid the sivo crystal on the

 corner of the ar­tifact table and turned away. "I must go."

 "Afraid to see if destiny's hand lies on your shoulder, young cub?"

 His question came at her in mocking challenge. She stiff­ened her spine and spun

 around with her teeth bared.

 "I am not afraid," she said, squaring her shoulders in­stinctively to make

 herself look bigger.

 His dark eyes flashed, and he pointed at the crystal with the tip of his tail.

 "Then take it and make use of it. Or live in ignorance, like the Aaroun slaves

 outside the palace. It is your choice."

 Anger filled her, and with it came defiance mixed with a rush of arrogance. She

 was nothing like the slaves. She was friend of the sri-Kaa. He had no right to

 compare her to those lesser creatures.

 Huffing to herself, she hesitated a moment, longing to leave and never come

 back. But he had piqued her curiosity too much yesterday. She wanted to know

 more. She craved it as she craved cool water on a summer's day. And she had come

 here to get it, after all.

 In the end, she gave up struggling with herself. Darting forward, she grabbed

 the crystal off the table and tucked it into her pocket.

 Bish smiled and bowed to her. "Excellent. Go forth and study, my young cub. I

 look forward to the moment you return with more questions."

 Ampris shot him one last look and rushed out, heading back to the part of the

 palace where she belonged. When she reached Israi's quarters, she prowled around

 until the cleaning maids left the bedchamber, then pulled out her small chest of

 belongings from beneath her cot and con­cealed the sivo crystal among her pebble

 collection. As she closed the pouch containing them and tucked it back be­neath

 her other meager treasures, Ampris growled thought­fully to herself. She would

 study the contents of the crystal, to assuage her curiosity, but she did not

 think she would go back to Bish again.

 The old Myal was half-crazed, no doubt from too many years of breathing dust and

 studying the ancient texts of dead people.

 And yet… destiny? To lead the abiru folk to freedom? What if Bish's words were

 true?

 Considering this, Ampris smoothed her palms across the lid of the chest and

 shoved it back into place. For a moment she dreamed of the fierce priestess

 Nithlived, rallying the people, leading them in a great march…

 To where?

 Sargas III was a bare, blasted rock spinning in space. They could not go back to

 it.

 The visions faded from her head, and Ampris rubbed her muzzle with a sigh over

 her own foolishness. Perhaps mad­ness was contagious. If she wasn't careful, she

 might catch some of it from Bish.

 "Ampris!" one of the ladies in waiting called to her from the sitting room.

 "What are you doing in there? The sri-Kaa awaits your presence immediately. Come

 at once."

 And she forgot her dreams in running to do as she was bid.

 • • •

 Hours later, Bish left his worktable and descended deeper into the oldest, most

 shadowed passageways of the Ar­chives. Stretching for klick after klick, the

 underground sec­tions of the Great Library of the Kaas now held row after row of

 crumbling documents, priceless treasures of knowl­edge fading to dust before it

 could be transferred to new, more stable media of data storage. He could work a

 lifetime here and never save more than a fraction of it.

 But tonight Bish's thoughts revolved around another matter. When he reached a

 small conference chamber where only antiquated torches burned to provide

 illumination be­cause to use modem sources of light would have alerted Security

 to the chamber's existence—and use—he found a quiet gathering of six other Myals

 waiting for him.

 Their muted conversations faded at his arrival. Antici­pation filled the air.

 Bright-eyed and smiling, they watched him take his seat. Bish stared at the

 floor, unable to meet such eager gazes.

 "Well?" Prynan, the youngest, asked. He was forever impatient and usually the

 first to speak on any matter. "Did she come back? Did she listen?"

 "She came." Bish swallowed a sigh.

 Around him, they broke into exclamations of triumph and excitement.

 Old Lomat raised his hands in the air. "At last. At last it can begin," he said.

 "I have lived to see its beginning. Now I can face the end of my life's journey

 without re­gret."

 "Wait!" Bish said sharply, unable to let them celebrate unchecked. His sense of

 guilt weighed heavily on his shoul­ders. "My brothers, it is premature to

 rejoice yet. I fear I have spoiled everything."

 Silence fell upon the shadowy room like a thudding weight. The torchlight

 flickered unevenly across their faces, shining reflections in their eyes.

 ' 'What happened?'' Lomat asked, the quaver of old age heard plainly in his

 voice. "Bish, you must tell us."

 Bish lowered his gaze from theirs, remorse bitter in his throat. "I spoke too

 much too soon. In my excitement, I said she was surely destined to free us. I am

 sorry, my brothers. My unbridled tongue has frightened the cub. I fear we have

 lost her."

 The others exchanged glances while Bish berated himself internally once again.

 He wanted to cut off his mane in shame. They had trusted him to speak to the

 golden one, believing in his judgment, but he had blundered like an untried

 novice. Prating of destiny and freedom, leading her straight into the jaws of

 treason.

 He groaned aloud. "This required delicacy and tact. I wished to entice her along

 the path of knowledge, but in­stead I dumped everything at her feet. I said too

 much. I frightened her away."

 "But she came to you alone, did she not?" Prynan asked, breaking another

 silence. "She came. That shows the cub has courage."

 "Yes," Lomat agreed. "She listened, did she not?"

 "She listened," Bish said bleakly. "To too much."

 "The truth may frighten, but it never does lasting harm," Lomat said.

 "Did the cub take the crystal?" Avnal asked from the back.

 Hope touched Bish's heart, the only hope he had left after his mistakes. He

 straightened his shoulders. "She did. But not without much coaxing on my part.

 Will she ever—"

 "It is in her possession. She will use it," Lomat said with certainty. "Let us

 not fear. The seeds have been planted. If our cause is favored, those seeds will

 grow." He came and linked his long tail with Bish's, coiling them tightly

 together. "You did the task allotted you, Brother Bish. The rest is up to her

 now, if she is the one."

 CHAPTER IXTIIN

 Twelve sunsets thereafter, the bells of Sahvrazaa Festival began to toll across

 the city. A glorious blaze of coral, green, and dusky lavender filled the sky,

 and the setting sun turned the surface of the Cuna Da'r River to molten copper.

 Melodious and loud, the bells pealed joyously from the spires. The Vüs populace

 came pouring from shops and houses to cheer, to fling silk scarves in the air so

 that the wind caught them and sent them sailing forth. They greeted the vüs

 males from other communities arriving on foot in large ceremonial processions.

 In the palace, all was merriment and excitement. Fragrant festoons of flowers

 draped across every doorway and win­dow in the wives court, and there was much

 hastening to and fro, much calling to attendants, much slamming of doors and

 giddy laughter and even arguments of excite­ment.

 Gowned in green silk and wearing a rill collar studded with delicate river

 pearls, Israi tiptoed across her bedcham­ber in her new sandals and listened at

 the door, then nodded at Ampris.

 Her golden fur cleaned and fluffed to perfection, Ampris wore a scratchy garland

 of fragrant yellow lileas around her neck. At Israi's signal, Ampris rolled back

 the rag on the floor and opened the secret hiding place. She withdrew a slender

 crystal vial with a stopper carved in the knot that symbolized love.

 Ampris could not help but sniff at the stopper, inhaling the musky fragrance of

 the perfume inside. The scent of it was intoxicating, overwhelming. It made

 Ampris's tongue curl against the roof of her mouth and her eyes roll back in her

 head.

 "Ampris!" Israi whispered angrily. "Stop that! I have told you several times. I

 shall not tell you again."

 Abashed, Ampris lowered the vial and came hurrying to Israi with it. She handed

 it over, panting with anticipation. Israi carefully placed it inside the tiny

 wrist bag that matched her gown and that was supposed to hold her fan, her gold

 toothpick, and any dainty gifts that might be given to her this evening at the

 banquet.

 Tonight was the first time Israi would be sitting at the table with her father,

 a public announcement to the court that she was now to be considered vi-adult,

 old enough for inclusion at select functions. It was a heady time, the mo­ment

 every young Vüs female dreamed of, when she offi­cially stepped onto the

 threshold of adulthood and waited poised to cross it.

 Israi was glowing with excitement, her rill flushed, her breathing rapid, and

 her vivid green eyes brighter than the stars just starting to appear in the

 evening sky.

 "Don't let it spill," Ampris said as she watched her friend's unsteady fingers

 fit the perfume vial into the wrist bag.

 "Gods, no," Israi breathed. She secured it and drew the cords to close the top

 of the bag.

 Her eyes flashed at Ampris, and they held not just antic­ipation but triumph as

 well. "The moment is at hand," she said breathlessly. "Within hours, my enemy

 will know how I can strike."

 Ampris nodded, her own heart thumping fast with ex-citement. "She will never

 live down the embarrassment."

 Together they gripped hands and laughed.

 "Now," Israi said quickly. "Remember to stay alert and watch for my signal. If

 my father will allow me to approach his precious favorite, I shall give her the

 gift with my own hand. But if not, then you must slip it from my wrist bag

 during the dancing and smuggle it into her bedchamber. Can you do it?"

 Ampris drew a deep breath, ready to take on any task Israi set for her. "Yes."

 "Good." Israi ran to activate the wall mirror and swiftly checked her appearance

 one last time. Her eyes were glit­tering with more malice than mischief. "Have

 you heard the latest gossip? It seems the Master of the Hatching has been

 instructed to allow Zureal to lay her eggs in a separate place from the others.

 That way my father will know which are hers." Israi slapped her palm against the

 mirror, making its energy field bulge and crackle. Fury blazed across her rill,

 turning it dark blue. "Imagine it! If he should choose a new sri-Kaa from her

 brood, I could be ripped from my place in an instant."

 Dismayed, Ampris ran to her and stroked her rill, trying to make it lower. "No,

 no," she said, trying to soothe Is-rai's distress. "It cannot happen. It will

 not happen. You are his favorite. He has named you so. He will not change."

 "But she fills his eyes now," Israi said, making a rasping sound in the back of

 her throat. The variegated skin of green and blue around her eyes turned pale.

 "It is she he sends for. I have not spoken to him since she came."

 "That will soon change," Ampris assured her. "We have seen to that."

 Israi nodded, trying to control her breathing. She gripped her wrist bag

 fiercely. "This has to work," she said. "It has to!"

 "It will. Compose yourself. You mustn't let anyone see how much you care."

 "No, you are right." Israi dabbed at her face and low-ered her rill in a visible

 effort to achieve calm. "My dearest Ampris, what would I do without you?"

 Ampris grinned at her. "Just keep thinking about how this potion is going to

 work. That will support your com­posure."

 Israi burst into laughter and finished repairs to her com­plexion. "Yes,

 indeed."

 They were still giggling when the doors opened and Lady Lenith swept inside.

 Gowned in resplendent magenta and dripping with numerous jeweled necklaces and

 bracelets, Lady Lenith bowed deeply to Israi.

 "By the Imperial Daughter's leave," she said. "A gift-bearing messenger has come

 from Lady Zureal."

 Israi's eyes dilated, and Ampris barely suppressed a gasp. She watched Israi,

 seeing a blush spread up her rill. Keep your temper, Ampris thought, never

 taking her gaze off her friend. Do not spoil this chance.

 "How—how delightful," Israi said, layering honeyed tones over the constraint in

 her voice. "Permit the messen­ger to enter."

 Lady Lenith turned aside and clapped her hands. At once a servant entered,

 cringing low in respect, eyes carefully averted. The servant carried a package

 in festive wrapping.

 Israi glanced at Ampris and gestured imperiously. Am­pris went and took the

 package.

 "Compliments of Lady Zureal," the servant said.

 Israi smiled. She nodded again to Ampris, who opened the package. Inside was a

 holographic cube filled with pretty but juvenile images. Ampris held it up.

 Israi's smile suddenly looked as though it had been set in plaster. "How

 pretty," she said in a flat voice. "Please convey my thanks to Lady Zureal."

 The servant bowed and hurried out. For a moment there was only taut silence in

 the room. Then Lady Lenith walked over to Ampris and took the cube from her

 hand.

 She held it up, turning it this way and that. "It was well-meant," she said.

 Israi whirled around and took it from her, smashing it to the floor in fury.

 "Well-meant!" she shouted. "I am vi-adult, and she knows it! I'm not a

 hatchling, to be given something like this."

 "It was the gesture of the gift which must be held charm­ing," Lady Lenith

 corrected her. "A most agreeable revival of an old custom, this exchange of

 gifts between moth—''

 "Mother?" Israi said with a dangerous flash of her tiny, razor-sharp teeth.

 "Zureal is not my mother. She may have displaced Lady Myneith as First Wife, but

 she will never be—"

 "Still," Lady Lenith interrupted in her cool manner, "no insult was intended,

 and the Imperial Daughter should not lose her temper. Instead, why not consider

 the intent behind the gesture and respond to that?"

 "Intent?" Israi stood there with her eyes narrowed, breathing hard as she

 visibly battled her temper. ' 'Oh, yes, Lady Lenith. I think I understand the

 intent very well."

 "It is perhaps unwise to read too much into this," Lady Lenith said mildly. '

 'Zureal is not a complex person. I am sure her motives are kind generosity,

 nothing more."

 "Yes," Israi said flatly. "No doubt." Her gaze went to Ampris. ' 'Then I should

 give her a gift in return, should I not?"

 Lady Lenith gestured approval. "Why, Israi, that is splendid of you. Very grown

 up."

 Still looking at Ampris, Israi flicked her tongue in and out rapidly. "I meant

 to give her something at the banquet, but this is better. Don't you think?"

 Ampris's eyes widened as she understood.

 Lady Lenith, oblivious to the hidden meaning beneath Israi's words, replied,

 "Why, yes. It is charming to exchange gifts of affection in private before the

 festivities officially commence. So very appropriate. I am proud of you."

 Israi drew the vial from her wrist bag and held it up carefully. "Ampris," she

 said.

 Hardly daring to breathe lest she burst into gleeful laugh­ter, Ampris walked

 forward and took the vial from Israi's slender fingers. The light shone through

 its clear sides, bur­nishing the pale amber liquid inside. What they had gone

 through to get it—petitioning for permission to leave the palace and setting out

 with guards and escorts to an obscure little shop just off the Avenue of

 Triumph. The potion had been prepared for a very generous sum. Israi had spent

 her entire allowance for the quarter on this, and she was count­ing on it to

 work.

 Now, Israi's gaze bored into Ampris. "You will take this straight to the

 chambers of Lady Zureal," she commanded. ' 'Give it to the lady herself and no

 other. Make her under­stand that it comes from me."

 They had argued about this before, with Ampris insisting that the perfume should

 be an anonymous gift. But Israi considered the rivalry she felt with Lady Zureal

 to be war, and she would not heed caution. She wanted Zureal to know they were

 enemies, and after tonight that would cer­tainly be very clear.

 "Ampris," Israi said sharply. "Put it directly into her hands."

 Ampris took a deep breath. "Yes, Israi," she said.

 "And hurry. You must catch her before she leaves for the banquet."

 Ampris nodded and went out the door with the precious weapon, while behind her

 she overheard Lady Lenith prais­ing Israi again for her courtesy and generosity.

 Stifling a snort of laughter, Ampris hurried out into the corridor and headed

 straight to the chambers of Lady Zu­real.

 There, the attendants stopped her, flicking out their aris­tocratic Vüs tongues

 with disdain.

 ' 'What do you want here?'' one asked.

 "I am sent by the sri-Kaa," Ampris said with dignity. She had dealt with

 disdainful courtiers and ladies in waiting all her life. "I bring the Imperial

 Daughter's compliments to Lady Zureal in the form of an advent gift."

 "How nice," the female said, holding out her hand. "I shall give it to her."

 Ampris clutched the perfume vial firmly. "My instruc­tions are to give it to the

 lady personally."

 They all laughed.

 "Nonsense," the female in charge said, spreading her rill. ' 'You are an

 unworthy slave. Give it to me, and I shall see that Lady Zureal receives it."

 Ampris growled at her. "You insult the sri-Kaa! You would keep her gift for

 yourself."

 Anger filled the female's eyes. "You little—"

 "What is it, Mavia?" a melodic voice asked from the other room in the suite. '

 'Who are you talking to?''

 The doors opened, and Lady Zureal stood revealed in the soft lamplight. She wore

 a loose dressing robe that did not conceal the swelling in her body from the

 eggs she carried. Her pale green skin was radiant, and her amethyst eyes gazed

 upon Ampris with kindness.

 "Oh," she said, and smiled. "Are you not the pet of the sri-Kaa?"

 The lady's charm was irresistible. She had a trick of fas­tening her tilted eyes

 on someone and making them feel they were the only creature in the universe at

 that moment. Ampris found herself smiling back, then realized what she was doing

 and hastily walked forward with a bow.

 "Yes, my lady," she said politely. "I bring greetings of Festival from the

 sri-Kaa. She sends you a gift tonight in hopes that you will lay many eggs."

 Pleasure sent an amethyst blush up the lady's rill. "How charming! That dear

 chune. I am as enchanted with her as is her esteemed father." She held out her

 hand with a grace­ful droop to her wrist. "Please bring it to me."

 Ampris obeyed, concealing her glee at how well the plan was working so far. And

 yet, as she handed over the per­fume and received yet another smile from Zureal,

 Ampris felt a quiver of regret pass through her.

 Zureal really was nice, she thought. Not conceited or temperamental at all, like

 so many of the wives. Although she had become an instant favorite, clearly

 besotting the Kaa and creating much gossip thereby, she did not seem vain about

 it. She had not given herself airs or tried to place herself higher than her

 position allowed. Ampris wished that Israi did not hate Zureal so much. She

 almost found herself warning Zureal not to wear the perfume, and had to bite her

 tongue.

 Meanwhile, Zureal was sniffing the stopper. Heady fra­grance filled the room,

 and she quickly replaced it. With little exclamations, the others gathered

 around her.

 "What is it? I have never smelled anything quite like it."

 Ampris met Zureal's gaze with growing discomfort. "The sri-Kaa had it specially

 formulated for you," she re­plied. "I must go."

 "Thank her," Lady Zureal said with sincerity. "This is a lovely gift indeed."

 Ampris bowed, suddenly desperate to get out of there. But Lady Zureal reached

 out to stop her and stroked Am­pris''s head between her ears.

 "You are lovely too," she said kindly. "What are you called?"

 "Ampris."

 "You look very pretty tonight, with your collar of flow­ers. Will you be

 permitted to see any of the banquet?''

 Ampris drew herself up with pride. "I am attending," she said. "The sri-Kaa will

 recline tonight at the table as a vi-adult, and I am permitted to stand behind

 her."

 Zureal's lovely eyes dilated in dismay. "Oh, dear," she said, letting her rill

 fall. "I had not realized. That is—I am pleased at such an honor for the

 sri-Kaa. But I thought her younger."

 "No," Ampris said flatly, enjoying Zureal's discomfi­ture. "She is not."

 "Then I have erred with her Festival gift," Zureal said.

 ' 'Mavia, we must find something else. Was the sri-Kaa in­sulted by the cube? I

 have seen her so little, and everyone talks so indulgently about her pranks and

 immature behav­ior. I'm afraid I thought her quite a chune."

 Embarrassment flooded Ampris. She dropped her gaze, understanding how a stranger

 might misconstrue Israi's re­cent wild behavior. Yes, Israi had been running

 about the palace as free and wild as she pleased. But that was over. As soon as

 Festival ended, lessons and the old routine would recommence. But Ampris did not

 know how to ex­plain all of that to Zureal, who was directing Mavia to look for

 a pretty scarf or bracelet.

 "Here," she said, pressing a crimson and blue scarf into Ampris's hands. "Give

 her this, and ask her to come to me when Festival is over. We must talk, she and

 I, must come to know each other and understand each other better. I want to be

 friends with her. And she is now at the age when she may wish to be friends with

 someone a little older. Tell her these things, Ampris, and give her my apology

 for the mis­take."

 Horrified, Ampris stared at the scarf in her hands. It was beautiful, costly,

 exactly the sort of thing Israi would love. And yet, that hateful bottle of

 perfume was being carried away to a place of honor on Zureal's dressing table.

 Ampris stared at it, wishing she could find a way to run after Mavia and knock

 it from her hand.

 She was ashamed of herself and more ashamed of Israi, who had judged this female

 with prejudice and meanness of spirit. Israi was acting from petty motives,

 exactly like a selfish hatchling. And Zureal did not deserve her spite. "I__j__"

 "Yes, Ampris," Zureal said with a dismissive gesture. "I know I have given you a

 long message, but do try to convey as much of it as you can to your mistress.

 Run along now. I have much to do to get ready."

 Ampris bowed and backed away from her, wanting to tell her the truth, yet not

 knowing how.

 "Oh, and Ampris?"

 Ampris glanced up. "Yes, my lady?"

 Zureal beamed at her. ' 'Tell the sri-Kaa that I shall wear her lovely perfume

 tonight. In fact, I'm going to put it on now."

 Heat flashed through Ampris. She opened her mouth to protest, but Mavia and the

 other attendants shoved her out­side into the corridor. The door shut firmly,

 and the chance was lost.

 Ampris stood there, clutching the fine scarf, knowing it would never be worn.

 Israi was going to get into such awful trouble.

 Worried, she debated what to do. It was too late now to stop Zureal from putting

 on the potion. That meant Israi's only hope was to confess everything

 immediately to the Kaa, explain why it had all come about, and ask for his

 pardon, as well as the forbearance of the Lady Zureal.

 Growling to herself, Ampris hurried away. Israi was go­ing to get into terrible,

 terrible trouble.

 "Apologize?" Israi's voice rose sharply, causing several courtiers to glance in

 her direction. Spreading her rill and turning her back on them, she bent low and

 whispered fu­riously in Ampris's ear, "Never! Never! Never! You have lost your

 wits."

 "But, Israi—"

 The sri-Kaa turned away from Ampris and walked deeper into the crowded audience

 hall. The entire court was slowly assembling there, waiting for the signal to

 enter the banquet chamber. Courtiers bowed to Israi as she walked past them, and

 Ampris hurried in her wake.

 Finally Israi paused near a column, poising herself with her head held high. Her

 eyes were glittering, and her rill extended far above its collar. Despite her

 youth she looked magnificent, and formidable.

 "She didn't understand," Ampris said, catching up. "She sent me back with a

 beautiful gift, and—"

 "I don't want to hear this," Israi said, her voice em­phatic and flat. "You were

 seduced by her charm, as is everyone. But I refuse."

 "Israi—"

 Israi turned on Ampris with a flash of her eyes. "Si­lence!" she commanded.

 "Keep your place."

 The harsh rebuke stung Ampris deeply. She clamped her jaws shut and said nothing

 more. Her eyes reproached Israi for being so unjust. After all, she was only

 trying to help.

 Then Israi gazed at the assembly and did not look at Ampris again.

 Trumpets sounded in a fanfare that stopped the general babble of conversation.

 Courtiers turned to face the tall open doors where guards in green cloaks were

 filing through to stand in a double row. A command rang out, and the guards drew

 ceremonial swords, holding them in an arch.

 The Kaa appeared, tall and resplendent in a rill collar of solid gold and a coat

 of myriad colors that swirled and changed with his every movement. His bronze

 skin gleamed with supple health, and if the lamplight caught it just right it

 looked iridescent. Never had he looked more virile or magnificent.

 A sigh of reverence passed through the crowd, and everyone bowed low.

 The Kaa walked beneath the arch of swords, followed by Lady Zureal, Lady

 Myneith, Lady Abiya, and the other favorite wives. The trumpets sounded again,

 and the crowd surged forward to follow them into the banquet chamber, their

 chatter swelling up and drowning out the music that began to play.

 Heralds and stewards scurried in all directions to guide banqueters to their

 correct places. Circular arrangements of reclining couches filled the room, with

 the most important circles being closest to the Kaa's.

 On a spacious dais at one end of the banquet chamber, the couches for the

 imperial party were arranged around a low, round table of costly wood. The Kaa's

 couch was draped in crimson velvet bound at the corners with fat bul­lion

 tassels. Israi was positioned on the Kaa's right; Lady Zureal took her place on

 his left. Lightly rubbing her jaw with a delicate motion, Lady Zureal allowed

 her attendants to arrange the folds of her gown, then sent a smile in Israi's

 direction.

 Israi nodded to her and sent a perfunctory smile back.

 The other wives took their places with much giggling and rustling of their

 elaborate gowns. They were all swollen with eggs, slow-moving, and treated with

 extra solicitude by attendants, servers, and the Kaa himself.

 Ampris stood at the foot of Israi's couch, both proud at the privilege of being

 present at such an important occasion and deeply apprehensive of what was about

 to occur.

 She let her gaze stray to Lady Zureal, wondering if the potion was working yet.

 "Ampris," Israi said.

 At once Ampris hurried to take a small dish from the sri-Kaa's hand.

 "These spiced antas are particularly good," Israi said, her eyes dancing. "See

 that Lady Zureal tries them."

 Ampris presented them to Lady Zureal with a bow. She couldn't take her eyes off

 the lady's jaw, where her delicate skin was beginning to mottle yellow and pale

 green.

 "Antas?" the Kaa said with interest, taking a morsel off the dish Ampris held.

 He popped it into his mouth and gazed at Zureal with deep tenderness in his

 eyes. "Deli­cious. Try it, our dearest."

 Lady Zureal seemed distracted and uncomfortable, but she inclined her head to

 the Kaa and took an anta. More yellow splotches were breaking out across her

 forehead and below her ear dimples. Her wrists looked puffy and splotchy as

 well.

 The Kaa stared at her. "Are you feeling unwell?"

 Lady Zureal murmured something inaudible and rubbed at her wrist and then her

 face. The rubbing seemed to make the breakouts worse. "I don't know," she said,

 rubbing harder. "I feel very strange."

 Watching in horrified fascination, Ampris stepped back. She glanced at Israi,

 who flicked out her tongue in satis­faction.

 The Kaa continued to stare at his favorite, who was now making soft little cries

 of distress and constantly rubbing her face and throat. ' 'What is wrong?'' he

 asked her.

 "I don't know!" she cried.

 He gestured, and attendants hurried forward. "Assist Lady Zureal. She is ill."

 The courtiers had begun to notice. Several were staring, and someone pointed.

 "Look at her face!"

 Lady Zureal gasped and put her palms against her jaws.

 Israi buried her face against her cushions for a moment, then looked up. "How

 ugly!" she said in a loud voice. "What a dreadful rash. It quite destroys her

 beauty."

 Lady Zureal began to rock from side to side, making a rasping sound in the back

 of her throat.

 Her attendants hurried to surround her, assisting her to her feet and leading

 her away.

 Also standing, the Kaa summoned a steward. ' 'Send for the physician,

 immediately."

 "At once, sire." The steward vanished at a run.

 The whole banquet chamber filled with buzzing specu­lation. Courtiers stopped

 eating and rose to their feet be­cause the Kaa was standing. They stared as Lady

 Zureal was ushered out.

 "Cover me," she kept saying, her voice raw with shame. "Cover me."

 Murmuring soothing platitudes, her ladies veiled her face with scarves and

 vanished with her.

 The Kaa stood there, puffing his air sacs in and out, until Chancellor Gaveid

 approached him.

 ' 'It would be best, sire, to resume the banquet as though nothing is wrong."

 The Kaa made an impatient gesture. "She is ill. Disease has struck her on the

 eve of Festival. Her eggs could be in jeopardy."

 "A small rash, sire," Gaveid said soothingly. "Let us not overreact and cause

 unseemly gossip."

 The Kaa nodded reluctantly and glanced at Ampris, who froze in place. Her heart

 suddenly pounded, and she was certain he was going to accuse her then and there.

 But his gaze shifted away, and he returned to his couch. The other wives plied

 him with questions and speculations, their chatter serving to distract him.

 Israi kept on eating, keeping her gaze away from her father, but Ampris could

 see the grin that kept straying across her face. Beneath her gown, her tail

 switched from side to side.

 Ampris wanted to nip her. She was going to give every­thing away if she didn't

 master her composure. The rash had been everything the potion maker had

 promised. Those large yellow blotches were perfect. Lady Zureal had been

 publicly humiliated, but Ampris felt no satisfaction. Instead, she felt shame

 and worry, and she wished Israi would not gloat so much.

 After several minutes word was brought to the Kaa that the lady was not

 seriously ill. The cause of the rash re­mained a mystery, but it accompanied no

 fever. Perhaps too much excitement had distressed the lady.

 "The lady is resting now. Her physicians have given her a sedative. All is

 well."

 Israi glanced at Ampris and smiled in satisfaction, then turned to the Kaa and

 touched his sleeve.

 "There, Father," she said brightly. "All is well. You know how high-strung and

 delicate some of the southerners can be."

 He was still puffing his air sacs. "It would seem so."

 ' 'Put it from your mind this evening. She is comfortable now. Tomorrow all will

 be well," Israi said. "I want to ask you about the processional and what

 surprises have been planned."

 Her chatter went on, occupying the Kaa's attention and distracting him from

 fretting over Lady Zureal. Several times during the long evening Ampris caught

 Chancellor Gaveid looking at Israi in approval.

 Ampris had to admit that her friend was in perfect form tonight. Gone was the

 wild behavior and rudeness that Israi so often exhibited. Tonight she appeared

 poised, accom­plished, articulate. Her comments were witty and displayed her

 educated mind well. She acted mature for her years, and only Ampris knew the

 truth.

 Israi was happiest when playing a role, as she did to­night. When she had

 charmed and impressed everyone, in­cluding her preoccupied father, she finally

 took her leave at the proper time, heeding Lady Lenith's discreet signal without

 any protests.

 "It is the hour of my retirement," she announced with a pretty little sigh,

 tilting her head to show the Kaa her regret before she rose from her couch with

 lithe grace. ' 'En­joy the remainder of the revels, Father."

 She leaned over and blew in his ear canal, and he patted her hand in return.

 "Well done, Daughter," he said with pride. "You have comported yourself well. We

 are most pleased with how much you have grown up."

 Israi glowed at his praise, and a blush colored her rill. She bowed low, then

 with shining eyes turned to the wives and wished them well on the morrow.

 Then she hurried out, with Ampris faithfully at her heels. Many of the courtiers

 bowed to her in open admiration, and Israi's eyes glittered with satisfaction.

 Israi's ladies in waiting had to trot to keep up with her. As soon as the tall

 doors to the banquet chamber closed, Israi tipped back her head and unleashed a

 peal of laughter.

 "We did it, Ampris. It was perfect!" she crowed.

 Mortified, Ampris longed to shush her.

 Naturally Lady Lenith's suspicions were immediately aroused. ' 'I suspected the

 Imperial Daughter was too well-behaved tonight," she said, eyeing them both.

 "What prank have you pulled now?"

 Israi threw up her hands and spun around and around until her gown belled around

 her legs. Without answering Lady Lenith, she laughed again and then ran to her

 cham­bers, leaving her attendants far behind.

 Slamming shut the door, Israi whirled around and gripped Ampris by both hands.

 "We did it!" she said. "Public humiliation and embarrassment for that silly,

 vain puff of nothing! Ha!"

 Giving Ampris a swift hug, she pushed away and began to dance across her sitting

 room.

 Lady Lenith entered with the attendants and saw Ampris pulling off her scratchy

 flower garland while Israi danced in glee.

 "Undress me!" Israi commanded even as she eluded the attendants' approach. "I am

 ready for bed. It has been a perfect day, and a splendid evening."

 The attendants looked at each other, and even Subi— standing in the doorway of

 the bathing chamber—shook her head.

 "Too much wine," someone said.

 They surrounded Israi and eventually managed to un­dress, bathe, and bed her.

 When the lamps were turned down low, and Ampris lay curled on her cot at the

 foot of Israi's round bed, she could still hear Israi humming and chuckling to

 herself. Ampris closed her eyes, trying to shut out the sound. She wished she

 could join in Israi's happi­ness, but her feeling of guilt and shame wouldn't go

 away. It was one thing to pick on Fazhmind, who was pompous, horrid, and

 deserving of what he got. But Lady Zureal hadn't deserved this, and Ampris felt

 cruel. They had gone too far tonight, and she wished she knew how they could

 undo it.

 CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

 The doors crashed open with a loud bang, awakening Am-pris.

 She sat bolt upright, alarmed and blinking, trying to claw her way awake.

 In the dim gray light of dawn that illuminated Israi's bedchamber, a tall figure

 in long robes stood silhouetted in the doorway.

 An instinctive growl rumbled in Ampris's throat even as she recognized the Kaa.

 Horrified at herself, she clamped her hands over her muzzle and scrambled out of

 bed as he came striding forward.

 He didn't even appear to notice Ampris's presence. His whole attention was

 focused on Israi, who sat up and yawned.

 "Father?" she said drowsily.

 The Kaa's eyes blazed at her, and his rill stood at full extension without the

 support of a collar. It glowed a dull crimson, and Ampris's heart sank.

 He had found out.

 "Israi, get up," he said. Every word was terse and cold.

 His tone got through to Israi. Yawning and rubbing her head, she obeyed him and

 stood there in her sleeping robe, disheveled and half-awake.

 ' 'What did you give her?'' he demanded.

 Israi blinked at him and finally focused. She opened her mouth, and for a moment

 Ampris thought she was going to be evasive or at least pretend not to know what

 he was talking about.

 But he was too angry. Towering above his daughter, he stood there with his air

 sacs inflated, his rill at full exten­sion, and his tail switching from side to

 side beneath his robe. Pouches of exhaustion bagged beneath his eyes, which

 never left Israi's face.

 Meeting that furious gaze, Israi slowly drew herself up­right and squared her

 shoulders.

 "I gave her perfume," she replied.

 He snarled an oath that made Israi's rill go pale. "What was in the perfume?

 Encetylide," he said, answering his own question before Israi could. "An

 odorless compound that reacts chemically with the skin, causing swelling,

 dis­coloration, and severe itching."

 Israi dared smile. "Yes, like itching powder, except it blotches the skin."

 "How much did you pay the perfumer for this illegal transaction?''

 "Twenty imperials," she said.

 Ampris couldn't believe how unconcerned, how confi­dent she was. Israi stood

 there, impervious to the Kaa's anger.

 "Rather a stiff price to pay for a prank," he said.

 She shrugged. ' 'Perhaps. It took all my allowance to per­suade him."

 "You didn't pay him enough," the Kaa said in a voice so low it was almost a

 growl.

 "Why do you say that?"

 ' 'Because we ordered his neck broken this morning when he confessed. And twenty

 imperials is a very small inher­itance for his wife and family to console

 themselves with."

 Ampris's jaw dropped open, and she felt cold inside with shock.

 Israi stared at her father, her rill flat on her shoulders. Finally she said, '

 'You killed him? For a silly prank? I don't believe it."

 "Believe it!" he roared, his voice rising suddenly in vol­ume. "You caused

 Zureal distress—'•'

 "Her own vanity caused the distress," Israi said dismis-sively. ' 'All the court

 does is talk about how beautiful she is, and she believes every word. Take away

 her beauty for a few hours, and she is reduced to a crying, pathetic heap. She

 is nothing but a vain and silly creature."

 The Kaa's hand shot out and gripped Israi by the shoul­der. He shook her, hard.

 "Father!" Israi said in alarm, gasping in pain. "You're hurting me."

 "Are we?" he said through his teeth. "And what of Zureal's hurt, our daughter?"

 "She'll get over it as soon as the blotches go away—"

 "Will she? Will she get over the loss of her eggs in the night?"

 Israi stared at him, looking stunned. ' 'What?''

 He released her, giving her a little shove against the bed as he turned away.

 Back and forth he paced, his tongue flicking rapidly, his rill redder than ever,

 his eyes raw with rage and grief. "Yes, Israi, yes!" he said. "She miscar­ried."

 Israi stood in silence, several expressions chasing them­selves across her face.

 "Oh, Father," she said quietly at last.

 ' 'Do you know how dangerous it is to miscarry this late in term? The physicians

 worked for hours, trying to save them… and her."

 Israi's eyes dilated, but it was Ampris who asked in a shaky voice, "Is she

 dead?"

 He didn't look up, didn't appear to notice who it was he answered. "No," he

 said, still pacing. "But she is gravely ill. The eggs could not be saved. They

 raptured inside her and—''

 Breaking off abruptly, he turned and strode to the win­dow.

 Ampris's heart grieved for him and the lost hatchlings. She was well-aware of

 how precious offspring were to the Vüs, who had fewer and fewer every year. The

 dropping birthrate concerned everyone, and now this tragedy had struck on the

 opening day of Festival, a time when every­one should have been rejoicing as

 eggs were laid both here in the palace and out in the public hatchery in the

 city.

 More than that, Ampris felt sorry for lovely Zureal, who was young, kindhearted,

 and caught up in the joy of her first days at court. Zureal hadn't deserved this

 tragedy.

 "But it's all so silly," Israi said into the silence. Her voice was cool and

 unconcerned. "Such a terrible, tragic response to a simple prank—&#9632;"

 "It was not a simple prank!" the Kaa said, turning on her so violently she

 shrank back. "Above all else, Daugh­ter, do not lie about that."

 "But—"

 ' 'You have been jealous of Zureal since the day of her arrival. You have

 refused to greet her, to speak to her, or to be kind to her. Simple courtesies

 are part of your re­sponsibilities. You know that!"

 "I was courteous," Israi said, blinking rapidly as a blush deepened in her rill.

 ' 'I exchanged gifts—''

 "You set her up for intense public humiliation at her first official function."

 ' 'If she is going to be at court, she must learn—''

 "Silence!" the Kaa roared.

 Eyes dilated, Israi stood there, breathing hard with shock. "You are angry with

 me," she said in astonishment.

 Even Ampris stared at him, amazed. She had never seen the Kaa lose his imperial

 composure. She had never heard him raise his voice, and certainly he had never

 spoken to Israi like this before.

 "It is not your place, Israi, to dictate what our wives will and will not

 learn," he said, raging. "You are sri-Kaa, but that does not set you so high you

 are above every conse­quence. You will be punished, Daughter. It is you who will

 learn."

 "Father, no!" Israi protested in dismay. She held out her hands. "I meant no

 harm to the eggs. For this, I will apol­ogize—"

 "For that, but nothing else," he said flatly, glaring at her.

 Israi blinked at him. "I don't understand."

 "We think you do."

 "The blotches are not permanent," Israi said finally. "She will recover her

 looks in a day or two."

 Disappointment filled his eyes. "Is this our beautiful daughter?" he asked. "Is

 her heart so cold, so petty, that she feels neither pity nor remorse?''

 Israi flicked out her tongue. ' 'Very well, Father, if you wish I will speak to

 Zureal personally—"

 "We think not."

 ' 'Then what is it you wish from me?''

 The Kaa allowed his rill to lower. "All your life you have been spoiled and

 indulged. We loved you, Israi, so very much. Too much, it seems. We have given

 you every­thing, and you repay us with behavior unworthy of even a barbarian."

 Her rill flushed, and anger touched her eyes. "Father, that is very harsh."

 "Harsh?" he repeated in a mild voice that sent a shiver through Ampris. "We have

 never shown you harshness. Perhaps it is time we did. The Imperial Daughter has

 been shielded from grief and loss such as that which she has inflicted. Now that

 will change."

 Israi looked uneasy. "It is unfair to punish me for her overreaction."

 The Kaa lifted his hand to silence her. ' 'Never again will we hear you assign

 blame to Lady Zureal. The blame is yours, and you will learn what it means to

 feel sorry. You will suffer as Zureal has suffered."

 Israi backed away from him. "Father!" she said in pro­test. "Surely you aren't

 going to make me wear that per­fume."

 "Guards!" he shouted, and they appeared at once from the sitting room. The Kaa

 swung around and pointed straight at Ampris.

 ' 'That Aaroun is the only thing you appear to care about besides yourself," he

 said while Ampris gasped in dawning horror. "You will lose her as we have lost

 our unborn eggs. Grieve for her as we grieve for them."

 Fearfully Ampris backed away, but the guards pounced on her before she could

 elude them. Growling, she snapped and struggled, but they held her firmly.

 Israi stared. "You wouldn't take Ampris away from me," she said in disbelief. "I

 don't believe it."

 The Kaa's face might have been carved from stone. Grief raged unchecked in his

 eyes. He pointed at the door and said to his guards, "Dispose of her at once."

 Ampris howled in fear, and Israi surged forward, scream­ing.

 The guards, however, held the sri-Kaa back as Ampris was carried out, kicking

 and struggling. She could hear Israi pleading, could hear her cries, but more

 guards came to shut and bolt the doors to Israi's bedchamber, locking the

 sri-Kaa in.

 The reality of their separation sank in. Yet Ampris re­fused to accept it. No

 one could take her away from Israi. No one.

 Ampris loosed a guttural roar from deep inside her throat and lunged at the

 guard on her left. Her teeth snapped closed on his rill and she shook her head

 with all her might, ripping the flesh with a spurt of blood that tasted sour and

 alien on her tongue.

 The guard screamed, and his companion hammered a blow across Ampris's shoulders

 that drove her to her knees.

 With her ears flattened to her skull, she hardly felt the blow and heeded

 nothing save the fury pounding through her. Pivoting on her knees, she swiped

 with her claws, going for the guard's tail. Body armor protected it, however,

 and they dragged her upright, one holding her while the other hit her

 repeatedly.

 Stunned, her wits spinning, Ampris lunged again with her teeth bared, but missed

 this time. They dragged her out bodily into the corridor, where courtiers had

 begun to ap­pear, gawking in curiosity.

 Lady Lenith emerged from her own small quarters, swathed in robes and looking

 bleary-eyed.

 Ampris surged toward her, only to be pulled back by the guards. "Lady Lenith!"

 she called out. "Have mercy on me!"

 Lady Lenith came hurrying forward. "Ampris? What is this?" she demanded. "What's

 amiss?"

 A sergeant at arms stepped between her and Ampris. "We're acting on the Kaa's

 direct order, my lady," he said. "Do not interfere."

 Another guard rushed up with a restraint bar and muzzle. The latter he rammed

 down over Ampris's head. Whirling, she butted him with her skull before he could

 switch on the restraint field, and ripped at his body armor with her claws.

 "Get back, my lady!" the sergeant said, sweeping Lady Lenith aside. "Guards,

 restrain this savage at once!"

 Battered to the floor, Ampris snarled and struggled with all her might, but she

 was no match for the training of palace guards. Within minutes the restraint bar

 was clamped across her wrists and a control on her muzzle was switched on. A

 force field shimmered around her, engulfing her. Her muscles spasmed and then

 locked up. Immobile, she lay there helplessly, unable to even speak.

 The guard she'd wounded swabbed at the blood dripping from his rill and swore,

 low and furiously.

 Behind them, Israi was still pounding on her locked doors and shouting. Hearing

 her muffled cries, Ampris struggled to rise, but the restraints held her fast.

 Fear re­turned to her as the guards dragged her upright. Her gaze went to Lady

 Lenith, beseeching her silently for aid. But Lady Lenith said nothing in

 Ampris's defense.

 Fazhmind came up, robed in vivid purple and fanning himself. A little purple cap

 of silk perched atop his head. It looked so ridiculous Ampris wanted to laugh,

 but she couldn't. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She wished

 now she'd never played any tricks on him. She wished she'd never bitten him when

 she was little. Maybe then he would have had pity on her now.

 "The mercy of the gods befall us!" he said, extending his rill. "This creature

 has finally turned on her illustrious mistress like the savage beast she is.

 Hear the wounded cries of the sri-Kaa."

 Around him the courtiers murmured in outrage and shock, while fresh fury filled

 Ampris. Glaring at Fazhmind, she strained against the force field which

 imprisoned her, longing to sink her teeth into his sour old hide. How dare he

 say such lies. She would never harm Israi—never.

 "The sri-Kaa is well," the sergeant hastened to an­nounce before the crowd could

 panic. "Step aside, and let us carry out our orders."

 The courtiers parted, and Ampris was dragged bodily away. No one spoke in her

 defense. No one protested this cruel separation ordered by the Kaa.

 Ampris wanted to cry out, to call to them again for mercy. These were people

 she'd known all her life. People who had trained her and helped raise her. Even

 if she didn't like them, they were family. And now they refused to save her.

 Bitter tears stung Ampris's eyes. She couldn't believe it. And yet, the guards

 were carrying her away like garbage to be thrown out.

 "From the first day I predicted this trouble," Fazhmind said loudly. "Did I not

 say she would grow up into an unruly beast? Yes, I said it. I warned the Kaa

 repeatedly, and now I am proven right. Good riddance!"

 Ampris shut her eyes, hating him, hating the Kaa, hating everyone who stood in

 the palace corridors and watched her go by. But even those who stared and

 whispered could not distract her from the awful words that kept echoing in her

 head: Dispose of her at once.

 Cold words, uttered without mercy by the Kaa, whom she had reverenced and

 admired with all her heart. She had been a loyal, faithful subject. She had been

 petted by him, had received his smiles, had benefited all her life from his

 kindness. And now, he had turned on her, without justice, without regard for

 anything except his own loss.

 She wanted to cry, to howl, to empty herself in her terror. Yet the restraint

 field kept her from doing any of those things. There was only her pounding heart

 and the shortness of breath in her lungs as she was carried into the service

 area behind the palace.

 A transport waited there, already loaded with slaves deemed too old, too stupid,

 or too untrainable. A Gorlican slave merchant stood next to it, studying a

 manifest. The torso shell beneath his tunic was mottled orange and brown, and

 beneath his mask, his beaked mouth opened and closed while he counted to

 himself.

 "One more for the load," the guards called to him.

 The slaver glanced up, took a second look at Ampris, and came forward with a

 sudden gleam of interest in his yellow eyes. "This one sure?" he asked.

 The guards removed her earring of ownership and the restraints, then tossed her

 onto the transport. She fell bodily against a whimpering Myal and was thrust off

 with a sharp elbow.

 "She goes," the guards said, and walked away without looking back.

 The slaver slammed the hatch shut and peered in at Am­pris. "Very pretty," he

 said in approval. "Very good qual­ity. You must have been a bad Aaroun, to get

 yourself thrown out, eh?"

 Racked with misery, Ampris averted her gaze from him and wished with all her

 heart for Israi to come running to get her. The sri-Kaa would not let this

 happen to her. She knew Israi would find a way to appease her father and make

 him relent.

 She watched the rear entrance, certain that it would open and the guards would

 return for her. Or that Subi would come. Or—

 With a whine of its engines, the transport lifted above the ground and swung

 around, laboring beneath the load it carried. It flew away, and Ampris's hopes

 were left behind in the deserted service alley.

 The first time Elrabin made a dust run he was so scared he thought his fur might

 fall out. The next time he found the danger a thrill. After that, it fell into

 an easy routine.

 Elrabin was offered a taste his first day. Like they thought him so stupid he

 didn't know what it was. He never explained that he hated the sight and smell of

 it, or that he knew every grade on the streets and half the suppliers in the

 ghetto network. He was too relieved at not having to sell it himself. Delivery

 wasn't so bad, although the risks— and the penalties if caught with it—were

 plenty.

 Scar's training was simple. "I give you these credit vouchers, see?" he said,

 handing over four thin disks, each one smaller in diameter than Elrabin's palm

 and in four different colors that signified numerical amounts.

 Elrabin stared at them, trying not to gasp out loud. They represented more money

 than his da had won in a lifetime's gambling and grifting. Elrabin had never

 dreamed there could be so much money, at least not resting in his hand.

 "They're marked," Scar said sharply, watching him. "You take off with them,

 you'll be dead in two hours. You follow?"

 Panting, Elrabin nodded. He did not ask how he would be watched. He believed

 what Scar said.

 "Good. You go to the Street of Two Faces, down on the south side. You know where

 that is?"

 "I can find it."

 "You go straight there, to the tattoo shop called Feilee's. Say it back to me."

 "Feilee's," Elrabin repeated impatiently. "On the Street of Two Faces. I've got

 it."

 "You go in, ask for Feilee in the back, and don't flash those disks! You'll get

 your throat slit quicker than you can blink, see?"

 Elrabin's ears twitched nervously. He nodded.

 ' 'Go in back and talk to Feilee. No one else. Show him the disks. Tell him

 you're from Barthul. If he don't believe you, tell him the password I gave you

 this morning. You remember it?"

 Elrabin repeated the strange words, feeling his fur prickle as he said them. He

 knew running dust could get him killed if a patroller spotted him. He still

 wished he'd never agreed to this. Like he had a choice. Like he would ever have

 a choice again. He belonged to Barthul now, and he might as well be a slave.

 "You give Feilee the disks," Scar said, "and take what­ever he gives you. Bring

 it back here tonight."

 Elrabin blinked in surprise. ' 'Tonight? Why not as soon as I get it?"

 Scar bared his yellowed teeth. "Stupid! You think pa-trollers don't watch

 Feilee's? They know it's a drop-off point. You got to lose the tail you'll be

 picking up as soon as you walk out."

 Fear filled Elrabin's entrails, making them burn. For a moment he thought he

 would be sick. He thought of the patrollers he had escaped in the Street of

 Regard, not be­cause he was clever or slick, but because they had let him go. He

 remembered Cuvein's face, defeated and afraid. He remembered his own humiliation

 and helplessness when he'd faced the wrist cutters. How well would he face a

 death penalty?

 Scar nipped his ear. "You listening, fool? Hey!"

 Elrabin blinked away his memories and rubbed his smarting ear. "Yeah, I'm

 listening," he said. "I'm sup­posed to lose the patrollers. Any instructions on

 that?"

 "You figure it out. That's your job," Scar said, swiv-eling his one ear. "Just

 don't bring them here."

 "I won't," Elrabin said, but he was tempted to do ex­actly that.

 Scar stared at him a moment, evaluating him, looking doubtful. "You goof this,

 you're dead. You follow me?"

 "I follow."

 "Then go."

 His mouth dry and his ears burning with determination, Elrabin left Barthul's

 stronghold and set out through the city streets. It took him half the day to

 find Feilee's grubby little shop. Once he had the dust bags weighing down his

 pockets, he stepped out feeling as though he wore a sign that said arrest me!

 He found his tail immediately. It was a surveillance scan­ner that floated along

 after him in plain sight. Elrabin nearly panicked and ran for it, but he knew

 that would be stupid. He kept cool, strolling along in crowds of other

 pedestrians. After two blocks, the scanner reached the end of its signal tether

 and dropped him to float back to its post.

 Elrabin managed to breathe slightly easier, but in a few minutes he discovered

 another tail, one far less obvious than the first.

 He lost it with a couple of tricks. After that, he figured he was clear, but he

 took every precaution he could think up. He came back to Barthul's at dark,

 exhausted and stressed from dodging all day. He wasn't followed, and he faced

 Scar triumphantly, his chest bursting with pride at his accomplishment.

 Scar took the bags from him and tossed them in the trash.

 Elrabin stared in dismay. "What're you doing?"

 Scar laughed at him. "Just a test run, fool. Nothing but dirt you been carrying

 all day."

 Elrabin took a step back, trying to understand. Dirt? He had been carrying dirt

 all day? He had been worrying him­self gray trying to do a good job, and for

 nothing?

 Furious, he glared at Scar and started to speak, but Scar grabbed him by the

 front of his new coat and yanked him close.

 Scar's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and he bared his teeth. "You got

 something to complain about, stupid?"

 The threat, unspoken, hung clearly between them. Elra­bin swallowed his anger,

 although it pained him all the way down. Panting hard, he struggled with

 himself, then said in a meek voice, "No, I got no complaint."

 Scar shoved him away, nearly making him stagger. "That's good. Get out of my

 way. You'll make a real run tomorrow."

 "Maybe," Elrabin shot off as Scar started to walk away. "And maybe you'll set me

 up to be a fool again."

 Scar turned on him fast and slammed him against the wall so hard all the breath

 was knocked from Elrabin.

 Wheezing for air, he found Scar's teeth on his throat. Terrified, Elrabin froze

 a moment, then stretched out his fingers in hopes of grabbing Scar's sticker. He

 never reached it, however.

 Scar released him with a growl, his eyes holding cold, flat death. "Never

 question me," he said in a voice that made Elrabin shiver. ' 'If I send you out

 every day to bring home rocks, you'll do it. If I tell you to drink from the

 sewers, you'll do it. I saved your puny life, and you owe me. You are mine. You

 follow?"

 Choking with anger and fear, Elrabin heard Scar's words through the roaring in

 his ears. He made a strangled sound, not trusting himself to say the correct

 thing.

 Scar punched him in the stomach with his fist, doubling him over.

 Coughing and gasping, Elrabin sagged to his knees. His stomach hurt, and he

 couldn't do anything but fight against throwing up. His whole body was

 trembling, and it took him a while before he was able to pull himself together.

 Finally he looked up, but Scar was gone. Some of the others were watching him,

 grinning and nudging each other.

 Humiliation made Elrabin swing his gaze away. He stag­gered upright and thought

 about leaving. He could take their precious dust and sell it on the black

 market, then turn in Barthul's location to the patrollers. Sure, the gang would

 come after him, but he figured he could hide. He wasn't as stupid as Scar

 thought.

 But at the same time he remembered how close he'd come to starving on his own.

 Maybe he wasn't as clever as he thought. The smell of hot food filled the air,

 and he dropped his idea of running away. It wouldn't prove any­thing to Scar,

 and it would only leave him without a place to go. He wasn't ready for that. Not

 yet. He figured to­morrow had to get better.

 It did.

 Soon Elrabin had a regular collection of delivery routes. He did whatever Scar

 told him, and soon Scar stopped threatening him and picking on him. Scar even

 occasionally dropped him a word of praise or a little nod of approval.

 Such rewards made Elrabin swell with pride. He found himself increasingly eager

 to please Scar. The other thieves and runners in the gang stayed aloof,

 insulting him when­ever he tried to join their tri-dice games in the evenings.

 Lonely, missing his da and the old life, Elrabin kept to himself and tried to

 believe things would get better. At least he had food and shelter. He had a job,

 although he wasn't paid. Scar told him he had to pass his apprenticeship first

 before he could take a cut. Elrabin even gathered his cour­age and asked Scar

 one day to teach him how to handle a sticker.

 Scar laughed at him, but obliged with a lesson.

 Elrabin was too eager and too clumsy. He ended up cut. Yelping, he jumped back,

 giving up the fight.

 Scar cleaned his sticker and put it away with a little snarl of disgust.

 "Hopeless," he said, and walked off.

 Dejected, Elrabin wrapped up his bleeding hand. He wasn't really cut out to be a

 fighter, he admitted to himself. No matter how much he wanted to be like Scar,

 he knew that surface imitations were all he could achieve. He would never have

 the other youth's killer instincts or steely ruth-lessness. He didn't have what

 it took, and he didn't know how to acquire it.

 But the next day Scar sought him out. Expecting to get his orders, Elrabin faced

 Scar and tried to look ready and competent. At least he could run dust. Maybe,

 if he ever gained acceptance, he'd ask Barthul to let him open a gam­bling shop.

 "Which route today?" he asked.

 Scar shook his head. "Something different. Come with me."

 With no more explanation than that, Scar led him across the ghetto. Then they

 slipped through the gates and headed toward Keskia and the better districts of

 the city. Elrabin was bursting with a mixture of curiosity and pride. For the

 first time he and Scar were working together. Elrabin knew Scar could never be

 his friend, but at least he had compan­ionship. He was tired of solitude and

 loneliness.

 Happy, he bounced along beside Scar. "I figured you were mad at me after

 yesterday," he said.

 Scar kept up a fast, ground-eating stride. He grunted.

 "Will you give me another lesson sometime?" Elrabin asked.

 Scar backed his one ear.

 Elrabin strode along beside him for a few moments, then tried a different tack.

 "Where we going?"

 Scar growled. He refused to look at Elrabin. "Big job today."

 "Yeah, I guess so. You don't go along on runs much, do you, Scar?"

 Scar dodged a female Vüs pedestrian who had stopped to rummage in her market

 basket. He didn't reply to Elra-bin's question.

 "So how big a job we got?" Elrabin asked. "What are we going to do? Where are we

 going?"

 Scar stopped so abruptly Elrabin had to skip sideways to avoid crashing into

 him. Scar glared at him. "Shut up," he said. "Just shut up."

 He walked on, and Elrabin rushed to catch up with him. Elrabin was used to

 Scar's unpredictable moods by now, so he didn't let today's bad temper upset

 him. He was just glad to be along, and proud that Scar had chosen him as his

 helper. Maybe after today, the others wouldn't be so hard to get along with.

 Maybe this was a big part of passing his apprenticeship and soon he'd be

 accepted by everyone in Barthul's gang.

 Leaving the broad avenue, they turned into a series of alleys that grew

 increasingly narrow and dilapidated. Skek eyes glowed in the shadows behind

 sewer grates, watching them walk by. Seeing the old loading zones, rusted bars

 across doors that looked as though they hadn't been opened in years, decayed

 pavement, crumbling bricks, and trash blown aimlessly by the wind, Elrabin kept

 his senses alert and drew closer to Scar's heels. He saw the gang symbols

 painted on a corner and shivered. They were intruding into someone else's

 territory. Not for the first time he wished he carried a weapon like Scar.

 The other Keith turned a corner and stopped with his back pressed to the wall.

 Elrabin copied him, and they stood there, silent and listening, for several

 seconds. Scar gestured for Elrabin to follow, and they moved on in silence until

 Scar came to a door no higher than his knees.

 Crouching before it, he knocked once, twice, three times in a distinctive

 pattern. Then he glanced up at Elrabin. "Keep watch."

 Elrabin drew a deep breath and swung around to face the way they'd come. His

 ears shifted constantly, alert and nervous. He was scared, and he wanted to

 whine deep in his throat.

 The small door opened from inside, and Elrabin jumped. He turned around, trying

 to hide his nervous reaction.

 A slender Vüs with mottled blue and green skin and no more than a vestigial rill

 crept out and straightened to face them. He was one of the Rejects, the subclass

 of Vüs deemed too ugly or malformed to live in normal Vüs so­ciety. The Rejects

 existed on the fringes, scavenging, scrounging, competing with the abiru for

 scarce food and unsteady work.

 Elrabin didn't like the Rejects, finding most of them bor­derline psychotic and

 sour. They hated everyone, including themselves, for they had to cope with the

 abhorrence they received from all privileged Vüs. A few were decent, but even

 they thought themselves superior to the abiru. Elrabin had watched little bands

 of Rejects begging near the glad­iator arena. They were pathetic, cringing up to

 people with their tattered hoods drawn closely about their faces. Most normal

 Vüs wouldn't even toss them a transit token.

 Scar murmured something too soft and quick to catch. The Reject looked at him

 and Elrabin, then replied. Scar nodded, and handed over credit vouchers.

 The Reject palmed them swiftly and crawled back through the low door.

 Scar waited a second, then reached inside the cavity. Drawing out a bag, he

 tossed it to Elrabin, who barely caught it in time. He tossed a second bag to

 Elrabin, then drew out two more and tucked them into his own pockets.

 The door slammed shut, and Scar climbed to his feet. He glanced at Elrabin. "You

 ready?"

 Elrabin felt breathless. He stuffed the bags into his pock­ets. "What do I do?"

 "Double blind," Scar replied, glancing around. "We're running a bluff, see?''

 Elrabin didn't understand, but he knew Scar hated to be asked too many

 questions. "What do I do?" he asked again.

 Scar met his eyes a moment, then slid his gaze away. "We leave this alley and

 split up. You take your usual precautions. Circle around, then drop the dust at

 Feilee's, see?"

 Elrabin panted in excitement. "Sure," he said eagerly. "This time I'm

 delivering—"

 "Yeah, you got it." Scar touched his shoulder with a rare sign of affection. '

 'Now, try to look casual. Try to look the same when you go in. Don't tip off the

 surveillance, you. Don't be stupid."

 Elrabin scratched his ear. "I understand. I'll do it exactly right. I'll wait

 until they are changing the signal loads in the scanners, and then I'll go in.

 Surveillance always gets fuzzy about then. I'll—"

 "Yeah, you'll be fine." Scar checked his pockets. "I'll go to that corner there

 and wait. You go out of the alley first, ahead of me. See?''

 Elrabin bared his teeth, feeling the chance of a lifetime in his pocket. If he

 wanted to betray Barthul's gang, this was the day to do it. Or he could wait.

 Maybe he didn't want to put himself back on his own dodge just yet. He waved at

 Scar. "See you tonight."

 "Yeah, fool. Tonight. Go."

 Elrabin trotted away, then steadied himself down to a normal stride. He glanced

 back once at Scar, flashed him another grin, then moved out into the alley,

 keeping alert, feeling competent and sure of himself. For a few seconds he could

 hear the quiet echo of Scar's footsteps behind him. Then the sound faded.

 Elrabin glanced back and did not see Scar.

 Admiration swelled through him. Scar was definitely good, almost as good at

 vanishing as Cuvein had been.

 "Stop right there!"

 The voice, stern with authority, came blaring at Elrabin from nowhere. Startled,

 he whirled around and found him-self staring up at a sniffer floating over his

 head. Elrabin couldn't believe it. Where had that thing come from? How had it

 found him so fast?

 Knowing he didn't want to find out, he dodged to one side and started to run.

 "Stop! Do not resist arrest!"

 The mechanized voice called after him, but Elrabin ig­nored it. He streaked down

 the alley, determined to break free before patrollers could catch up with their

 toy. Under his breath he was cursing. He glanced back once, wonder­ing if Scar

 had been netted in a similar trap.

 The sniffer blared a siren, its shrill sound making him yelp and run faster. It

 was following him, all right, keeping pace easily. He swore at it, knowing he

 had to lose this thing and fast. It couldn't lock onto his implant, but it could

 sight-follow him.

 Worse, the large streets of this district were fairly re­spectable. He couldn't

 go running through groups of pe­destrians without bringing too much of the wrong

 kind of attention to himself.

 Skidding to a halt, Elrabin crouched and scooped up some broken chunks of

 pavement. He hurled one at the sniffer, missed, and hurled another one. This

 time his mis­sile hit the sniffer squarely, knocking it off-kilter. The siren

 faltered, then resumed. Elrabin hit it again, knocking it into a building. The

 machinery belched smoke and crumpled to the ground.

 Running to it, Elrabin stamped on its delicate casing, cracking it and crushing

 the parts inside.

 Then he hurried on, telling himself to be scared later. He had to think now. He

 had to move.

 But just as he reached the mouth of the alley, three pa­trollers in black

 uniforms stepped across his path. Elrabin whirled to double back, but something

 hit him between the shoulder blades with enough force to knock him off his feet.

 Crying out, he skidded across the pavement and found himself lying facedown

 beneath a crashing weight. He couldn't move. His muscles were stiffening,

 becoming par­alyzed. Elrabin groaned to himself. He'd been stunned. He was

 helpless now, with no hope of moving at all, much less getting away. They had

 him, and he was carrying two full bags of dust. That meant death, with no appeal

 and no reprieve.

 He was too frightened to even yelp when the patrollers reached him and dragged

 him upright. They patted him down roughly for weapons, found none, and pulled

 the bags from his pockets. Elrabin stopped breathing. The patrollers had the

 right to shoot him here and now. Possession of this much illegal substance

 marked him as a supplier.

 Sometimes, though, the patrollers wanted to toy with their victims first. They

 might torture him. They might drag him off to prison or—

 The patrollers slit open one of the bags, and black soil poured out. The

 patrollers stared at it, and Elrabin stared at it. He started breathing again,

 started hoping.

 ' 'Gods, what is this?'' one of the patrollers asked in dis­gust.

 "It's dirt, ordinary dirt," another one said.

 The first crouched and pinched some in his gloved fin­gers. He opened his visor

 and flicked out his tongue to it. "Dirt," he confirmed.

 Relief swept through Elrabin. "Nothing illegal about carrying dirt, is there?"

 he asked, his voice groggy and garbled by the stun effect.

 One of them struck him. "Silence!"

 They searched him again, and this time one of them picked a tiny transmitter off

 the back of his shoulder. "Look at this. He was marked for us."

 The others swore, and Elrabin's relief came crashing down. He stared at it,

 refusing to believe his own suspi­cions.

 "A double blind," one of the patrollers said in disgust.

 "We were bluffed as neat and slick as though we just hatched out of the egg.

 Damn."

 Elrabin backed his ears. He remembered how grouchy Scar had been today, how Scar

 had refused to meet his eyes for very long. Scar had planned this from the

 first, had set him up to be caught. That unexpected pat on the shoulder had

 concealed his planting of the transmitter. Scar had be­trayed him, had intended

 to betray him from the hour he'd persuaded Barthul to let Elrabin join the gang.

 Elrabin re­alized he had stupidly allowed Scar to make him into an expendable

 tool—one used and then discarded.

 Bitterness soured his mouth. He should have betrayed Scar first, only—

 "Where did you get this?" the patrollers asked him. "Who gave you these bags?

 Who put this transmitter on you?''

 Elrabin clamped his jaws shut and refused to answer. If he mentioned Barthul's

 name here, the patrollers would take it as proof of his guilt, nothing more.

 They shook him hard enough to rattle his teeth.

 "Don't be stupid," the patrollers told him. "You're caught, either way. You

 might as well talk. Protecting your partner won't help you now."

 "I have nothing to say," Elrabin muttered. "Carrying dirt is not illegal."

 "Working as an accomplice to a dust runner is."

 Elrabin's gaze flashed up in mock outrage. "You can't prove that."

 "We don't have to prove anything. You resisted arrest. We received word a drop

 was going down in this alley, and out you came like a Skek. You also destroyed

 patroller property, and that is a Class F felony."

 "Nothing," Elrabin said in defiance, trying to bluff. "I've done nothing."

 The patrollers looked at each other. "We can kill him anyway, then say it was a

 mistake," one of them suggested.

 "Too much paperwork involved," another said.

 The third one stared at Elrabin without mercy. His Vüs eyes were cold. ' 'Put

 him in the slave market. Sell him to labor and recoup our expenses that way.

 It'll pay for a new sniffer and we won't have to file a loss-of-equipment

 form.''

 Desperate, realizing his da's fate was happening to him, Elrabin tried to

 struggle, but the stun effect still held him pinned. He could do nothing but

 wriggle slightly. "You can't sell me!" he said. "I got rights as a grade-two

 citizen. I'm free."

 "Yes, free to starve. Free to steal and cause trouble. Even hard-labor slaves

 eat better than you, little grade-two citizen." The patroller flicked his

 fingers at the others. "Sell him."

 CHAPTER HTEEN

 With its engine rumbling loudly, the transport lurched and veered through

 sluggish traffic. Other newer, sleeker trans­ports passed it on all sides. Their

 cargo was secured beneath opaque bubbles, sometimes with force fields shimmering

 over them for extra security. The Gorlican slaver's old transport, however, had

 cheap crates stacked behind the driver's seat, while in the back cargo area,

 wire mesh served as sides and top.

 Wedged between several bodies and the side of the cargo hold, Ampris gripped the

 rusting mesh and stared bleakly at the passing streets. Any chance to leave the

 palace was rare. Ampris had always been curious about the city, won­dering how

 many people lived in it, and what they did all day. From hints and passing

 comments, she realized that common folk must lead lives far different from those

 at the palace. But today, she took little interest in the sights around her.

 The transport flew down one block of the famous Ze-hava—the richest shopping

 district of the galaxy, renowned for its floating walkways and multileveled

 shops containing priceless wares of every description—before a traffic mon­itor

 blew a siren and warned it off.

 Accordingly the transport veered sharply away and lum­bered through less

 affluent, more industrialized streets. Traffic congestion grew steadily thicker.

 Horns blared at slim racing skimmers that flitted illegally in and out,

 nar­rowly missing the slower litters and transports, and creating havoc as they

 went.

 Ampris turned her head to watch a pair of them dart by, racing for a few meters

 only to separate to avoid an on­coming transit module. Horns blared again, then

 the skim­mers were gone, leaving only a curling wake of jetted exhaust behind

 them.

 Israi would have admired them. Of late she had men­tioned that she would like to

 have a skimmer of her own, something small and sleek. She had said that perhaps

 she would even teach Ampris to fly it.

 Now such plans were like smoke, vanishing before they could be grasped. It was

 impossible to believe this was happening. Ampris kept telling herself this was

 reality and no dream, but it was too awful to comprehend.

 An elbow dug into Ampris's ribs, prodding her from her thoughts.

 "Look!" said a jeering voice in the slave patois. "It be the pampered pet

 herself. Ain't so pampered now, be you?"

 Ampris turned around to meet the scornful eyes of an Aaroun male. Striped in

 shades of beige and brown, he held his right hand cradled protectively against

 his midriff. A clumsy splint and bandage covered the appendage.

 When he caught her staring at it, he lifted his hand and waved it under her

 nose. She caught a sickly-sweet smell of rotting flesh.

 "Won't heal, will it?" he said. "Had me a good spot in the gardening corps. Did,

 till a scythe near cut it off. Now I'm useless. Cripples can't work. Some

 high-and-mighty Vüs lord or lady might see me and be offended."

 He stuck his furred face close to Ampris's and glared at her. His breath stank

 of meat. "What'd you do, you, to make offense? Threw you out with the rest of us

 garbage, didn't they?"

 Fresh sorrow welled up inside Ampris. "It's a mistake," she said. "They have to

 relent."

 He drew back and bared his teeth, while some of the others laughed bitterly.

 "Have to relent," he said, mocking her. "Relent? What kind of uppity Vüs word is

 that, you?"

 Ampris said, "It means to—"

 He nipped her ear, and someone laughed.

 Shocked, Ampris stared at them.

 The Aaroun leaned closer. "Don't teach me nothing, you! Got no place over me,

 now. Be garbage like the rest of us. You learn to keep quiet."

 Looking at their hostile faces, Ampris trembled and re­sisted the urge to rub

 her aching ear. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd hurt

 her. As for the others, now staring at her, why did they all look so angry and

 bitter? Why did they resent her? She wasn't to blame for their troubles.

 When she said nothing, did nothing in response, the Aar­oun bared his teeth

 again, looking more scornful than ever.

 "Fancy pet," he said, making the word sound dirty and vile. "But you be pet no

 more, you."

 "Yeah!" put in a Keith female, so old one of her eyes had filmed over and her

 muzzle had turned gray. ' 'No more pet you be, eh? No more fancy food. No more

 fancy treats or fancy clothes or fancy life, no!" She laughed gleefully, her one

 good eye glittering with malice.

 Ampris stared at her, then at all of them. ' 'Why are you all so angry at me?"

 she asked. "I've done nothing to any of you—''

 They roared and surged toward her, making the transport dip to one side.

 Pummeled and bitten, Ampris crouched low with her hands folded over her head as

 protection.

 "Done nothing, that be right," the Aaroun male said.

 "Lazy pet!" the old Keith added.

 "Never worked a day," said someone else.

 "Never known a kick in the ribs," said a fourth voice.

 "Or how it hurts, goin' without that supper."

 They went on hurling accusations at her, and their rough, angry words hurt. The

 slaves closed in on her, dragging her upright and pounding on her again.

 Growling in her throat, Ampris tried to fight back, but there were too many of

 them.

 Then the transport lurched to a violent halt that threw several of them off

 their feet. The Aaroun male landed on top of Ampris, his heavy weight nearly

 squashing her.

 She grunted and flailed, but he took his time getting up and made sure he

 stepped on her fingers and kicked her in the process. Curling up in pain, Ampris

 lay on her side while the others were herded off by Gorlicans. Their cruelty

 left her dazed. All she wanted to do was hide from everyone and be left alone.

 But Gorlicans wearing stained leather jerkins over their torso shells and masks

 came stepping inside the cargo hold, their eyes glowing yellow as they shouted

 at her in ill tem­per. Using their long staffs, they prodded Ampris upright and

 sent her staggering down a loading ramp and into a narrow chute at the rear of

 an assorted group of slaves. There were four times the number that had been on

 her transport.

 Ampris tried to hang back from anyone she recognized, but the Gorlicans kept

 prodding her hard with their staffs, snapping and grumbling at her as they

 forced her into the group.

 Everyone was shoving and pushing, packed too close in the chute, shuffling

 forward yet unable to move fast enough to avoid the staffs and shock-whips of

 their handlers.

 Bruised and jostled, Ampris concentrated on keeping her balance. She was afraid

 if she fell down she would be tram­pled to death.

 Behind her another load of slaves came rushing down the loading ramp and into

 the chute, packing her in even more tightly. Her fear increased, but there was

 nowhere to go except forward.

 Gorlicans stood lined up on either side of the chute, pok­ing the slaves through

 the slats. Other Gorlicans paced overhead on a metal catwalk, their bootsteps

 making the mesh ring out.

 The noise was deafening—-all shouts and confusing com­mands. The stench nearly

 choked her. She had never smelled such filth in her life. Dust hung in the air

 like a fog, choking them, and the handlers kept shouting and pushing, confusing

 Ampris and making her panic.

 A shock-whip lashed across the shoulders of a slave jos­tling next to her.

 Ampris heard the sizzle of impact and smelled his singed fur and flesh. The

 slave yelped and dodged sideways into Ampris, nearly knocking her down.

 She grabbed at the slats of the chute for balance, but a Gorlican on the other

 side of it snarled at her and rapped his staff across her fingers.

 Pain flared through her hand, and she snatched it back, whimpering. Cradling it

 against her stomach, she fought back her tears. It felt broken, the pain pulsing

 fire in the delicate bones of her hand. Thinking of the Aaroun gar­dener who'd

 been so bitter over his infected hand, Ampris gritted her teeth and flexed her

 fingers. So her hand was not broken, but, gods, how it hurt.

 A staff thudded against her shoulder biades. "Move on!" came the command, and

 Ampris shuffled forward.

 Ahead, the Gorlicans were opening small gates in the sides of the chute. With

 whips and shouts, they sorted through the jostling slaves, dividing them by

 size, breed, and age.

 A staff struck Ampris in the back again, driving her for­ward with three others,

 but almost immediately a gate snapped across the chute in front of her, blocking

 her path. The yells increased in volume, and the slaves with Ampris milled

 around her in growing confusion.

 "Her! Her!"

 A Gorlican stood over her on the catwalk above her head. He poked his staff down

 to tap her on the shoulder. Ampris glanced up and froze in her tracks.

 "Tell me what you want me to do!" she yelled in ex­asperation.

 He didn't answer. The handlers on the ground thrust their staffs through the

 sides of the chute, separating the other slaves from her.

 The gate blocking the chute snapped out of the way, and Ampris was prodded

 forward.

 She ran, panting for breath and hearing the shouts of triumph. The gate slammed

 quickly behind her, cutting her off from everyone else.

 For a few seconds she was alone in this section of the chute, alone except for

 the Gorlican who ran along the cat­walk overhead, keeping pace with her easily.

 He was chant­ing something and tapping his staff on the mesh above her. The

 noise and rhythm jangled her nerves. She wanted to scream at him to stop.

 Instead she halted abruptly, letting him run a few paces ahead of her. Gasping

 for breath, she whirled around and tried to run back the way she'd come, but the

 Gorlican overtook her in moments. His shock-whip lashed out ahead of her,

 sizzling and snapping centimeters from her nose.

 Terrified, Ampris turned back and ran in the direction he wanted. He kept pace

 with her, yelling as though to urge her on faster.

 More Gorlicans were waiting a short distance ahead, perched on the top rail in a

 huddle, making tallies on hand­held data screens. At her approach, they

 scattered and ran to open another gate.

 Going through it, Ampris turned and ran down a smaller chute, then through yet

 another gate, and another, until she was driven out into a large circular pen of

 smooth welded mesh topped with the same material.

 Behind her the gate slammed shut and was bolted. The

 Gorlicans yelled in satisfaction and ran back toward the chutes.

 Breathing hard—more from fear than from exertion— Ampris realized they were

 through with her for the mo­ment. She looked around, trying to steady herself,

 and saw that the pen held a central mound of fresh straw and a few scattered

 pails of water. Around the perimeter stood five benches cut from heavy blocks of

 stone and carved with graffiti. A few of the pen's occupants sat on them. The

 rest stood huddled in small groups at the opposite side from Ampris.

 No one looked at her.

 Finding this odd, she frowned and started to walk toward them. Then she stopped

 herself and veered away toward a deserted section of the pen. She remembered

 what had hap­pened to her in the transport. It was better if she kept to

 herself.

 Her legs were trembling. Crouching with her back to the fence, Ampris hugged

 herself and fought back her tears. She sensed this was not a place to show

 vulnerability. And yet, again and again through her mind flashed images of

 Israi's pretty apartment in the palace, the soothing, distant splashing of the

 fountains, the clean, polished stone floors, the well-trained slaves that were

 unobtrusive and silent, the fragrant scents of flowers and perfumes. How long

 had it been—an hour, two hours since she'd been ripped from her safe world?

 She'd lost all track of time.

 Here, a foul stench hung over the chutes and pens that stretched on one side as

 far as she could see. On the other side, gray stone walls rose in a grim, solid

 barrier. Cries of misery rose from the other pens. In the distance, the

 Gor­licans yelled and banged their staffs ceaselessly.

 Surveillance scanners swiveled constantly from every an­gle, keeping watch. A

 Gorlican handler walked diagonally across the top of her pen, alarming Ampris

 until she real­ized he was just a guard.

 More slaves came through the chutes. Most of them surged past the pen containing

 Ampris. She didn't want to watch, and yet she couldn't help herself.

 The sorting and unloading went on all day. Now and then, the gate to Ampris's

 pen opened and a slave or two were pushed inside, but most of the new arrivals

 went into other pens farther down the row.

 As the day progressed, the noise grew louder. Clouds of dust left a haze in the

 air. The slaves either stood quietly, their heads low in subjection, or paced

 restlessly, shouted, and banged on the fences.

 No one came with food until sunset. By then Ampris was so ravenous she abandoned

 her sense of caution and rushed forward with the others to a long metal trough.

 Gor-licans dumped pails of food into the trough and jeered while the slaves

 jostled and fought over the best pieces.

 Ampris, being younger and smaller than most, had trou­ble elbowing her way

 through the crowd, but she finally reached the trough and peered into it

 eagerly.

 It held scraps of half-rotted food, produce past its prime, hunks of stale

 bread, and meat globes.

 Repulsed, Ampris drew back. A Zrhel pushed her aside with a greasy wing and

 began to pick over the food rapidly, nibbling a sample, then tossing it back

 into the trough. He picked up something else and tasted it, swore, tossed it

 back in, and reached for another piece.

 Ampris stared in disgust, losing the rest of her appetite. "Must you do that?"

 she asked.

 The Zrhel ignored her, nibbling and scratching itself. It dropped a few feathers

 in the trough and did not pick them out.

 "Get away!" Ampris shouted at him. "You're ruining the food. Have you no

 manners?"

 The Zrhel turned his head to stare straight into her eyes. Beneath a bald, domed

 head his face was pinched and in­telligent, with keen, defiant eyes above a

 hooked nose. Still meeting her gaze, he belched loudly, then turned his

 atten­tion back to picking through the food.

 Ampris backed away, leaving the Zrhel alone at the trough. She crossed the pen,

 and some of the others laughed at her.

 One female Keith was gnawing on a rock-hard crust of bread. She grinned at

 Ampris. "Get your food before the Zrhel reaches the trough. You'll learn."

 Ampris returned to her solitary spot, her stomach growl­ing in frantic

 insistence. Trying to ignore her misery, she sank down and stared at the stars

 beginning to twinkle in the spring sky overhead.

 It was a long, lonely night.

 The next day, more slaves arrived and were crowded into the pens. Ampris watched

 the proceedings, telling herself this nightmare had to end soon. Surely the Kaa

 would relent and allow her to go home.

 But every time the gate to her pen opened, it was to push in more arrivals. No

 one came for her.

 Ampris's spirits drooped, but she told herself to trust in Israi. Surely the

 sri-Kaa would find a way to get her back.

 By afternoon, however, she wasn't quite as sure. Ex­hausted and hot from sitting

 in the relentless sun, Ampris watched yet another batch of newcomers come

 stumbling into her pen.

 It was getting very crowded now. She kept to herself, grateful to be left alone.

 Then a group of three Aarouns with spotted fur and heavy shoulders gathered

 around her. Their eyes held only hostility, and their short round ears were flat

 to their skulls.

 The one in the center gestured at her. "Clear out, fe­male," he said.

 Ampris bared her teeth. "Why should I—"

 They grabbed her and shoved her away bodily, causing her to stumble into a

 nearly grown Keith, who growled in warning.

 Ampris moved back swiftly and turned on the Aaroun males who had taken her

 place. Angry, she started toward them, but the Keith gripped her arm.

 "Don't," he said in quiet warning. "You can't take them."

 The idea of fighting them fueled her anger. ' 'They have no right to—''

 He pulled her away. "Come over here."

 She tried to twist free of his grasp, but he tightened his hold.

 She struggled harder. "Let go of me."

 "Don't cause trouble. Stay quiet," he told her.

 "Let go of me!"

 He glared at her. ' 'You cause trouble, you cause a fight, the handlers'll take

 you out and flay you. Want that, Gol-die?"

 Shocked, Ampris didn't know whether to believe him or not. "How do you know?"

 He rolled his eyes at her, a dirty youth with brindled, matted fur, alert,

 upright ears, and streetwise eyes. He seemed to know everything, and she knew

 nothing.

 On the opposite side of the pen, a short distance from the benches, he elbowed a

 way for them next to the fence and crouched there.

 "Here is better," he said. He tugged at her wrist. "Sit. Make yourself slack."

 His coat was made of cheap, shiny cloth. It looked new, yet it was already

 fraying at cuffs and collar. One sleeve was torn. A curious odor hung on him,

 something spicy and attractive, but somehow repellent. She had never smelled

 anything like it before. Her instincts told her to avoid him.

 Yet, his light brown eyes held a hint of kindness, the first she'd encountered

 in this place.

 She sat on the ground beside him, a little wary of her newfound friend.

 He was looking her over too, his gaze keen and apprais-ing. "You look pretty

 pampered, Goldie. Ever been in the slave market before?"

 "No."

 "Knew it." He rubbed his muzzle in a quick nervous gesture. "Me neither."

 The confession made him somehow more likable. Am-pris edged closer. "This is a

 horrible place."

 He glanced around. "Yeah, maybe. I'm called Elrabin. How about yourself?"

 "Ampris."

 "Suits you, Goldie. Kind of fancy and… pretty," he added almost shyly.

 Ampris smiled.

 He smiled back. "When do they grill the grub?"

 She stared at him without comprehension. "I beg your pardon?"

 "Food," he snapped in exasperation. "You understand that?"

 "Oh. We're fed at sunset." Ampris wrinkled her nose. "It's terrible."

 He grunted and didn't seem to believe her.

 "I'm telling the truth," she said. "It's like garbage thrown away from the

 kitchens. Rotted, molded, stale—"

 "Sounds like a feast," he said, and made smacking sounds.

 She couldn't tell if he was joking or serious. "I couldn't eat it last night.

 Now all I can think about is food. I've never been this hungry before."

 The sympathy died in Elrabin's eyes. "Hungry? You been without food how long? A

 day? That's nothing, Gol­die."

 "It's horrible!" she said. "You know nothing about how it feels to be—''

 "Shut up," he said fiercely. "Don't look down your nose at me! You're fat and

 sleek. You—"

 "I am not fat!" she said with indignation. "I am in per­fect condition."

 He scowled, unimpressed, and flung open his coat. ' 'Feel my ribs."

 She hesitated, staring at him.

 With a little growl of impatience, Elrabin seized her hand and thrust it against

 his side. She felt knobby ribs under his pelt of rough hair, with practically no

 flesh in between.

 "Yeah," he said, "and I been eating regular since I be­came a runner. Before

 that, I picked up garbage off the streets, fighting Skeks for it."

 "Skeks!" she said in horror.

 He tilted his head to one side. "Where do you come from? You don't know nothing.

 You don't look like you've worked."

 "Worked?" She shook her head. "Of course not."

 "In this life, you either work, Goldie, or you steal."

 She straightened in indignation. "I am no thief. I would never take—''

 "Stuff the howl," he said in sharp scorn.

 "What?"

 "Be quiet." Elrabin glanced around swiftly to see if any­one was paying

 attention to them. ' 'You better learn faster, Goldie, or you're finished. You

 follow?"

 She frowned. "I'm not going to be here long. They'll send for me."

 "Who? The fancy Vüs family that owned you?"

 Ampris lifted her chin with pride. ' T am Ampris, closest friend and companion

 of the sri-Kaa."

 She expected him to be impressed, but his expression didn't change.

 He didn't say anything either.

 His refusal to believe her was an insult. "I lived in the palace," she insisted.

 "All my life I have been at the sri-Kaa's side."

 "So?"

 She drew an impatient breath. "I have permission to speak Vüs. I can read and

 write. I have—"

 "So what'd you do?"

 She stopped her boasting and blinked at him. ' 'Do? Why, whatever the Imperial

 Daughter wanted to do. We—"

 "No, stupid. You must have done something wrong. Something to get you sent

 here."

 Ampris felt fresh sorrow turn over inside her. She backed her ears.

 "Just another of life's injustices," he said. His words were sympathetic, but

 his tone came out raw with anger. "You do your best and you still get slagged.

 You think you know someone, but you never do. It's all a lie, Goldie. Everything

 is a lie."

 The bitterness in his voice was belied by the apprehen­sion she saw lurking in

 his eyes. She understood then that his words were mostly bravado. Underneath his

 roughness, he was just as scared as she.

 ' 'Why are you here?'' she asked.

 The faraway look in his eyes faded, to be replaced by anger. "I'm here on an

 arrest charge."

 Ampris had never talked to anyone who'd been arrested before. She stared at him.

 "Are you a thief?"

 Elrabin bared his teeth. "Nah. I'm above that, unless forced to it. I've played

 the cons and the scams with the best. Then I got in a spot, had to fall in with

 a gang, see? Had to work for them. So I became a dust runner."

 Ampris found him very strange, and not at all under­standable. "Why would you

 run with dust?"

 He threw back his head with shrill yips of laughter. "Gods, you're no more

 streetwise than a newborn lit. How've you survived this long, not knowing

 anything?"

 Then his eyes narrowed, and he gave her no chance to answer. "You honest?" he

 asked. "You talking straight about living in the palace, and all that?"

 She nodded. "Everything is so different here."

 "Yeah, I guess it is." He looked at the crowded pen, at the milling, uneasy

 occupants, at the filth, at the fence.

 Overhead, a group of Gorlicans walked across the top of the pen, pausing to

 point and gesture in earnest discussion.

 Elrabin watched them a moment, then lowered his gaze to meet Ampris's. "Those

 are buyers," he said grimly. "They're looking us over before the auction."

 "What auction?" Ampris said. "I don't understand any­thing here. Please explain

 it to me."

 He shifted his gaze away from hers and started drawing aimlessly in the dust.

 "Never been sold before," he mut­tered, and his voice sounded scared now. '

 'Never worn an ownership number."

 She thought of her pretty ownership earring with Israi's cartouche. Her ear felt

 naked and light without it. "It doesn't have to be bad."

 He made no answer.

 His fear increased Ampris's own. She reached out and gently took his hand in

 hers.

 "What's going to become of us?" she asked.

 Elrabin wouldn't look at her, but he didn't draw his hand away. "We'll go in the

 sale," he said, his voice tight and low. "We'll be sold in the common market.

 They have different auctions for house slaves and highly skilled work­ers like

 that Zrhel over there."

 Ampris's fingers tightened on his. "I remember being taken from my mother when I

 was very young, just a few days old. Now it's like that is happening all over

 again. Israi is my family. I thought she would have come for me by now."

 Panting, he sent her a glance of pity. "So you're really the one," he whispered.

 "The one I've heard talked about. I even saw you once on the vid broadcast,

 riding in a parade or something. You're the Imperial Daughter's pet."

 "I am ha friend," Ampris said with pride.

 "So why did she get angry at you and throw you out?"

 "She didn't. It was the Kaa."

 "So what did you do to the Kaa?"

 "Nothing," Ampris said with a sigh. "I was taken away to punish Israi for one of

 her pranks."

 Elrabin pricked his ears at her. "So they punished you for something she did?"

 Ampris dropped her gaze. "I—I guess so."

 "That stinks."

 Agreement made Ampris's ears droop. "Yes," she said, very softly.

 "Still think she's your friend?"

 She didn't like his criticizing Israi. "It wasn't her fault. The Kaa decreed the

 punishment."

 "So why didn't he punish Israi?"

 The hair rose on the back of Ampris's neck. "Don't call her that. You do not

 have permission to—"

 "Oh, slag that," he said rudely. "She's the one who should be punished, not you.

 She did the prank, so what good does it do to be rough on you?"

 Ampris found herself agreeing, and that scared her. ' 'If anyone hears you

 speaking against the Kaa, you will lose your tongue. Maybe your head." She

 thought of the trophy room at the mountain lodge, and shuddered.

 "So I lose my tongue," he said with scorn, although his ears swiveled nervously.

 "Is that worse than having my hand cut off if I'm caught stealing? Or being sold

 into hard labor tomorrow at auction? I'll spend the rest of my life hauling

 stones until my back snaps and I'm thrown into the sewers to rot. And for what?

 The Kaa owns machines that could rebuild his precious old buildings in a few

 months. But, no, he wants everything done by hand the way it used to be. So he

 enslaves entire races to do the work. He tears families apart, the way he tore

 apart yours. He walks on our backs and crushes the life from us. He lets transit

 sys­tems decay and buildings fall down and jump gates fail, all because he cares

 more about the past than he does the pres­ent."

 "Stop it!" Ampris cried, horrified by what came spew­ing from Elrabin. "You

 don't know what you're saying. I know that past kaas have been cruel, but this

 one is good and kind. He cares about his subjects."

 Elrabin yipped with derision. "He cares nothing! Before she died, my mother

 worked herself to a shadow for sub-grade wages and low food allotments that

 wouldn't feed the lits. My da—"

 "That is a problem of society," Ampris said, quoting a courtier she had once

 overheard. "Chancellor Gaveid says that—"

 "Him? All the commentators on the vids say he's against abiru reforms. He's our

 enemy."

 Ampris drew back. "You don't know him. You've never met him."

 Elrabin stared at her as though he could not believe what he saw. ' 'You sit

 here, in the dirt, in an auction pen where they sent you, and you defend them.

 Worse, you talk like a Vüs—all pride and emptiness, blind to the way things

 really are. What kind of Aaroun are you?''

 Ampris felt as though all the wind had been crushed from her. Speechless, she

 stared back at him. Her mind wound back to the data crystal Bish had given her

 about the once-proud history of her people. She thought about the fate of her

 ancestors, how they had been torn from their homes and made into slaves to serve

 Vüs society. She thought about her own trust and security, shattered in a moment

 by the Kaa's terrible wrath. Not even Israi had been able to save her from this

 place.

 "You're right," she said softly, bowing her head so that Elrabin could not see

 her shame. Retracting her claws, she curled her hands into fists. "I just want

 to go home."

 Despite the sympathy in Elrabin's eyes, his expression remained bleak. "That

 will never happen, Goldie. You might as well face it. Aarouns are meant for

 labor. No mat­ter how pretty you are, your easy life is over."

 She turned away from him, her heart pounding. "I won't believe that. They have

 to relent. They have to!"

 "Why should they?"

 Battling her tangled emotions, she couldn't answer.

 He touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry to carry you the bad news, Goldie, but you

 have to face it. Sooner or later we all come to the wall."

 She shook her head. "I have lived all my life with them. They treated me like…

 like a part of—''

 "You're not Vüs," he said firmly. "You know that. No matter if the Imperial

 Daughter played with you or how many privileges you enjoyed, it's over. Gods, I

 can't even imagine the life you've led. Everything you wanted. Food every day.

 Jewels to wear. Some slave waiting on you hand and foot. But it's not real,

 Goldie."

 He gestured across the pen to where the Zrhel was scratching his feathers and

 belching as a way of passing the time. "This is real. This stink hole is where

 you belong, and I belong, and all of us belong. Anything else is a dream, a

 cloud in the mind."

 Tears welled up in her eyes, hot and stinging. "I want the dream," she

 whispered. "I've lived in it too long. I want to go back."

 "You don't belong there. You never did. And now they've put you out and closed

 the gates. Accept it—"

 "No!" she said. She glared at him, furious now. "I will never accept it. Israi

 will send for me. I know she will. She promised to always take care of me, and

 she will keep that promise."

 "Believe in nothing, Goldie. The Vüs keep only the promises they want to keep.

 They are liars, tyrants, and users. Everything they do is a lie. Everything

 you've always known is a lie."

 "You're wrong," Ampris said. "They're not all like that."

 "Sure," he said, swiveling his ears and moving away from her. "So tell me again

 why you're here."

 And Ampris was left with nothing else to say.

 CHAPTER INETEEN

 At sunset, Ampris stayed crouched beside the fence while the others crowded and

 fought at the food trough. Ampris refused to fight over the bad-quality food.

 She certainly had no intention of eating it, no matter how strongly her stom­ach

 gnawed against her backbone. She was beginning to feel dizzy sometimes, but she

 didn't care. In the morning, she told herself, the palace guards would come for

 her. They would take her home, and Subi would feed her civa cakes and

 spicemeats, as much as she wanted, and then she would have a bath. This place

 would be a forgotten night­mare, fading swiftly from her mind.

 If only she could drive it away now. She turned her back to the pen, staring

 through the fence at the walls beyond. The squabbling, the screeching, the

 stench of too many un­washed bodies too close together… she hated all of it.

 A claw-tipped hand gripped her shoulder, startling her to such a degree that she

 cried out. She whirled around, her heart pounding, then saw it was only Elrabin.

 She relaxed, letting out her breath in a rumble. "You scared me."

 "You're like a cub," he said gruffly, placing a chunk of greasy meat in her

 hand. "Never turn your back on folk. Always keep watch."

 "I have no enemies here," she said, and then thought of the palace slaves who

 had beaten her during the ride in the transport. She was glad none of them were

 in this pen.

 Elrabin dropped to his haunches beside her and pulled a second chunk of meat

 from his pocket. He sniffed it, then started gnawing on it. "Enemies can come

 from nowhere," he said, and shot her a sideways look. "So you're speaking to me

 again?"

 "Not willingly." She tried to hand him her piece of meat. "No, thank you."

 "Don't be stupid. Eat it before someone takes it from you." He bit off another

 piece, chewed, and swallowed. "Sniff it for maggots, then eat around them. Don't

 look at it."

 Ampris stared at the meat in disgust and dropped it on the ground. "It has

 maggots in it? I can't eat such a thing."

 Swearing, Elrabin snatched the meat off the ground and thrust it deep in his

 pocket. "That was stupid," he said angrily. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. Never

 refuse food. Never. If you want to live, then you got to learn."

 "I will eat tomorrow when I go home," Ampris said.

 Elrabin scowled at her, then went back to eating. He ate his piece and hers,

 hunched up and wary as though he ex­pected someone to take it from him.

 Ampris listened to her stomach growl and decided per­haps he was right about her

 being stupid. He had been kind to bring her food, and she'd insulted him with

 her refusal.

 Sighing, she finally said, "I'm sorry."

 He licked his mouth and belched. "No good being sorry now. I ate your share."

 "Never mind that. It was very kind of you to try and help me. Really it was. I'm

 sorry I didn't thank you prop­erly for your care and concern."

 Still he wouldn't look at her. "It's gone. Too late to get more, no matter how

 sorry you are."

 "I know. I'm not asking for the meat." She looked at him with exasperation. "I'm

 apologizing, not begging."

 "Yeah." He turned to face her. "Never met anyone like you. Abiru but not abiru.

 You got education. You talk fancy. You're special, Goldie."

 She felt suddenly shy and embarrassed, yet warm inside. "Thank you."

 "I got no one now," he said as the twilight shadows closed around them. "My

 family's gone. As for my friends, they're nothing. Never were my friends. Never

 were." He scowled. "Don't want no more friends."

 "You've been a friend to me today," Ampris said shyly. "Thank you for that."

 "Quit thanking me," he said gruffly. "And I ain't your friend."

 She didn't want to argue with him, so she changed the subject. ' 'What will

 happen tomorrow?''

 "You got to be ready for the auction," he said. "You got to find a way to take

 the shame of it, Goldie. Otherwise, you won't make it. You follow me?"

 Dread rose inside her, and she tried to ignore it. "I think so. Only maybe—"

 "Stop it!" He reached out and gripped her hand hard. "Stop thinking maybe.

 There's only now—what is right now. You follow? You got to be strong inside

 yourself. You can't let them break you. You can't let them beat you. Not inside,

 where it counts." He pressed his fist against his heart. "It's the only way to

 survive."

 "I'm afraid," she said with a shiver, thinking about his words.

 Around them, the other captives were talking among themselves or pacing. It was

 a restless night; tension could be felt in the air. Someone wailed in a distant

 pen, and was silenced.

 Ampris realized that Elrabin was right. She'd been fool­ing no one but herself

 with her optimism.

 "I'm afraid too," Elrabin admitted softly. "I always said

 I was too smart to get caught. Only, I was wrong. I let myself trust again, when

 all the time I knew better. Now I get to pay for that. Sold out. The law of the

 streets. Sell out someone before they sell you." He glanced at her. "Maybe it's

 the law of the palace too."

 "No! Israi stood up for me."

 "But she didn't rescue you."

 Ampris backed her ears and said nothing else. She couldn't keep denying it

 forever.

 "When you're sold to someone," she said in a soft voice, ' 'what happens?''

 "Depends. What kind of labor you go to. What you're trained for.'' Elrabin drew

 on the ground for a few seconds, although it was too dark to see the pattern.

 "The auction ain't a good place, Goldie. Good places are private mer­chants,

 private sales. The auction ain't good."

 She wanted to ask more, but Elrabin abruptly turned his back on her and curled

 himself on the ground. ' 'Get some sleep," he said.

 In the morning, the Gorlicans, yelling and snapping open gates, had them up at

 dawn. Whips cracked and sizzled on all sides. They were prodded back into the

 chute, urged along at a swift trot and crowded too close together.

 Ampris stumbled and would have fallen had Elrabin not steadied her.

 She was dizzy with thirst and hunger, feeling light­headed and frightened.

 Colors and shapes looked alien to­day. Noises were too loud or too soft. Her

 knees felt unable to support her, yet she forced herself to keep up.

 Elrabin kept shaking his head and muttering gloomy things about being the first

 lot on the block. Ampris tried to hang on to her failing courage.

 She didn't know what to expect, but the humiliations she'd encountered up till

 now—being treated like a non-sentient animal, being forced to live dirty, being

 forced to eat garbage—were nothing compared to what lay ahead of her.

 When she came staggering up a ramp onto a tall stone platform surrounded by a

 gallery of seats filled with spec­tators, her hide felt too tight for her body

 and her skin began to burn beneath her fur.

 Surveillance cameras mounted on the walls swiveled this way and that. The top of

 the market was open to the sky, and the newly risen sun shone dazzling light

 over Ampris.

 Gorlican buyers and agents whistled when they saw her. They stamped their round

 feet and began talking rapidly into their comms.

 Shoved into a single-file line behind Elrabin, Ampris walked across the platform

 with the other slaves in her lot. They were forced to stop and face the

 spectators, then were prodded into a narrow holding pen on the other side.

 The handlers used staffs to separate one reddish-gold Myal from the others and

 sent him shuffling back onto the platform alone. The auctioneer opened the

 bidding while buyers crowded around the holding pen with avaricious eyes.

 Every few minutes, the auctioneer cried, "Sold!" The handlers would select

 another slave from the pen, and the process would start again.

 Appalled, Ampris watched each slave go through humil­iating physical

 examinations. Some submitted tamely, standing with faces averted in shame.

 Others fought and were whipped. The speed and efficiency of the handlers and

 auctioneer kept everything moving fast, too fast.

 Elrabin stood beside Ampris, close enough that she could feel him trembling. She

 saw that his eyes were wet and shiny.

 He panted, and his ears moved constantly.

 When Ampris touched his arm gently in reassurance, he jumped.

 Embarrassment clouded his eyes, and he dropped his gaze from hers.

 "Why are they so cruel?" Ampris asked in a soft voice.

 "Why do they take so much joy in hurting, in shaming us?"

 Elrabin shrugged. "My father was sold into hard labor," he said in a low voice.

 "I swore to myself that I would never share his fate. I thought I was too smart,

 too clever to get caught. Now…" He let his voice trail off.

 The handlers opened the holding pen and a long hook reached through the milling

 slaves to catch Elrabin's collar.

 "No!" Ampris cried out, and reached for him.

 Another handler struck her in the stomach with a staff, knocking her off her

 feet.

 Winded, she rolled onto her knees and wheezed for breath. She felt nauseated,

 and she couldn't straighten from the pain in her stomach.

 By the time she staggered to her feet, Elrabin was being forced from the pen. He

 fought every step of the way, panic and fury mingling in his howls. The handlers

 put a restraint noose around his throat and another around his arms, bind­ing

 them. Still, it took three Gorlicans to push him onto the block.

 "Hey, hey!" the auctioneer said loudly, his voice ech­oing over the speaker

 system. He waved his flag for the spectators' attention. "A fine young Keith,

 full-grown or close to it. A lifetime of work in his muscles, eh? Bids are

 open!"

 The bidding went swiftly, too much so for Ampris to comprehend.

 "Sold!" the auctioneer said a few seconds later. A price flashed on the

 information board above his head. "To Utar Dan Gladiator School."

 The handlers shoved Elrabin off the block, pushing him from Ampris's sight. She

 realized suddenly that she would never see him again. She hadn't even thanked

 him again for his kindness. She hadn't even said good-bye.

 Grief swelled inside her. Frantically she threw herself against the mesh side of

 the pen. "Elrabin!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Elrabin!"

 But he was gone from sight, already whisked away by the efficient system.

 Ampris clung to the fence, still calling his name.

 The auctioneer glared at her and gestured for the handlers to bring her out.

 Ampris tried to run from them, but a shock-whip flicked across her shoulders.

 The sizzle of pain locked her in mid-step, and she stumbled to her knees with

 her mouth open in a silent cry of agony.

 They grabbed her by her arms and dragged her upright, slinging her around and

 pushing her from the pen. At the steps leading up to the block, one of the

 handlers pushed his masked face close to hers.

 She smelled his hot, fetid breath as his glowing yellow eyes bored deep into

 hers. Repulsed and frightened, she tried to draw back, but he leaned closer.

 "You good property," he said in a hoarse, guttural voice. "You bring good price.

 Walk straight. No cry. No show pain. No cause trouble."

 She quivered in his hold, wanting to spit in his face, wanting to claw and bite.

 His eyes glowed brighter.' 'Good look. Spirit raise value.''

 "You—"

 But they shoved her up the steps onto the block and fitted her feet into two

 depressions that locked onto her with vise-like strength, holding her fast. The

 handlers vanished, and the spectators shouted with interest and questions.

 The auctioneer's voice boomed over the speakers: "A fine specimen of the Aaroun

 breed. Young enough to be trained. Strong and straight. We can certify no bones

 have been broken. Complete health and a high level of intelli­gence. Regard the

 quality of this grade-twelve pelt, how thick and lustrous it is. Unusual

 coloring, with no spots or stripes. This young female can be used to infuse your

 breeding stock with new vigor."

 Ampris shut out what he was saying. It was too awful, too embarrassing. Drenched

 with shame, she stood there before the tiers of spectators with her ears flat to

 her skull and her claws digging into her palms. She wanted to die.

 She had never been put on display like this before, had never been stared at

 this way. They did not treat her as a person, but instead as a piece of property

 to be bought or sold. In their eyes, she was only goods, priced merchandise. For

 the first time in her life, she knew what it meant to be a slave.

 Humiliation burned inside her. She wanted to throw back her head and roar at

 them. She wanted to break free of her bonds and attack the auctioneer, to bite

 him until he was silenced. She wanted to charge at the agents who were put­ting

 in swift calls to potential buyers over their comms. If she were grown, bigger

 and stronger, she thought, she could get loose somehow and make them all sorry.

 Then, just when she thought things couldn't get worse, the auctioneer activated

 a control at his podium and sent her turning slowly around and around like wares

 on display in a shop.

 Both shamed and furious, she fought back tears and in­stead held herself proudly

 in defense. She reminded herself that she was the friend of the sri-Kaa. She had

 eaten from the Imperial Daughter's plate, had walked everywhere the Imperial

 Daughter walked, had spent her life in the palace as one of the favored. She had

 sometimes been permitted to lean against the Kaa's knee when he read to his

 young daughter. In these things, Ampris took her pride and her identity. Even if

 she had lost everything else, even if she had been turned against by all those

 whom she loved, she could at least cling to the court protocols that she had

 been so rigorously taught.

 Thus, she stood straight and tall, holding her head high. She stared at no one,

 and let nothing cross her face despite the pounding of her heart and the dryness

 on her tongue.

 Murmurs of appreciation ran through the crowd. The auctioneer beamed.

 Gorlican handlers came forward to hold up Ampris's arms, calling out

 measurements of reach, then of height and weight. One blew on her fur to certify

 its quality. Although Ampris resisted, they forced open her mouth to examine her

 teeth.

 "None missing," the auctioneer reported to the crowd. "None rotted."

 Then she was spun around again, rotating until she had to close her eyes to keep

 from getting dizzy.

 "A prize of the very highest quality," the auctioneer boomed over the speaker

 system. "Such an opportunity comes to the market rarely. As you know, the best

 slaves are usually sold through private agents. But she—"

 "What is her provenance?" shouted someone.

 "I certify her as a legal acquisition," the auctioneer said smoothly. "Now,

 let's open the bidding at—"

 "Stop in the name of the sri-Kaa!" called out a stern voice in ringing tones.

 Ampris opened her eyes as the spectators craned to look. The auctioneer's voice

 faltered.

 Ampris saw a squadron of Vüs guards wearing palace green come striding into the

 market. Their captain swept one glance around the place, then trotted up the

 steps and went straight to the auctioneer.

 The loudspeakers were snapped off. The information board went blank. Amid the

 buzz of speculation, Ampris went on rotating around and around. Her hopes rose

 like bubbles. She had known all along that Israi would find a way to save her.

 "We're in the middle of a sale," the auctioneer com­plained. "Bidding is at—"

 "I am not interested in your activities," the captain said in a sharp voice. He

 produced a gold disk of authority, and the auctioneer froze in place at the very

 sight of it.

 ' 'Yes, of—of course,'' the auctioneer said.' 'Whatever—''

 ' 'This Aaroun is the property of the sri-Kaa, wrongfully taken from the palace.

 She is to be released at once."

 The auctioneer's mouth fell open. "But, Captain, I must protest this

 high-handed—''

 "Do you dispute the sri-Kaa's authority?"

 The auctioneer quailed. "No! Not at all. Not in the least. Please do not

 misunderstand me. But—but are you certain this Aaroun is the one you seek? Her

 value is extremely high, and a mistake of identity could cost me thousands of—"

 "I am not interested in your costs. This Aaroun is the property of the sri-Kaa.

 It is a Class A felony to sell her without authority. Do you wish to be arrested

 for theft and—''

 "No!" The auctioneer made placating gestures. "Not at all. I will make no

 protests. Such a fine young creature, but alas, some mistake must have been

 made. I do not under­stand how she came to be here. There is no ownership

 earring, no means of—Please, take her. Take her!"

 He said the last sentence almost as an oath, snarling as he spoke, and pushed

 the controls that stopped Ampris from rotating. Her foot restraints released

 her, and she stumbled across the platform to the captain, eager to be taken

 away.

 "The sri-Kaa has sent for me?" she asked.

 The captain's glance was cursory. "Come at once."

 Intense relief swept Ampris. Israi had not failed her after all. She was saved.

 Turning to join the other guards, Ampris saw the world suddenly tilt and spin

 around her. Everything went blank, and when she blinked back to consciousness it

 was to find herself aboard a skimmer with its siren blaring. They surged through

 the open traffic lane that other vehicles cleared for them.

 Ampris blinked and sat up, holding her head, which felt very strange and light.

 She had the feeling that if it weren't attached, it might float off and be lost.

 Worse, a restrictive tug of cable hampered her movements. She discovered that

 she was wearing a broad collar around her throat, and a wide cuff around each

 wrist and ankle. Restraint cables, inactivated, snaked between each point,

 effectively binding her.

 Jerking the cable between her wrists, she sat bolt upright, fighting a fresh

 bout of vertigo. "What happened?" she mumbled. "Why am I restrained?"

 The captain sat next to her, his cloak fluttering in the wind. His attention

 seemed focused on the driver of the skimmer, as though he would have preferred

 to pilot it him­self. At her question, he turned his brilliant Vüs eyes upon

 her. "Aside from a routine beating, what special injuries have they inflicted on

 you?"

 "I don't know," Ampris said in confusion. Her head ached, and she felt terrible.

 "I'm hungry. I—"

 The captain flicked his fingers, and an underling opened a compartment from

 which he produced a bottle of puriska fruit juice and a packet of wafers.

 Ampris consumed the food avidly, ignoring the fact that such snacks were usually

 denied her. Although everything tasted too sweet, she was too hungry and thirsty

 to care. She licked every crumb and finished the juice to the final drop.

 Only then did she happen to glance up and see the palace spires in the distance…

 behind them. Her head swiveled around in alarm. ' 'Where are we going? Why am I

 bound like this? I wish to be taken to the sri-Kaa at once."

 "Silence," the captain snapped. "You do not give the orders here."

 Ampris glared at him. "And you will treat the compan­ion of the sri-Kaa with

 respect."

 His rill reddened, but his gaze did not shift from hers. "It is beneath me to

 argue with a half-grown Aaroun. Keep silent as you have been commanded, or I

 will muzzle you."

 She was already bound like a criminal. The muzzle would be the final

 humiliation. She had no desire to wear one. Still, she did not understand where

 they were taking her. Unless… "Am I being stolen?" she asked, backing her ears.

 The captain uttered a Vüs laugh, so contemptuous it cut like glass, and flicked

 out his tongue at her. The other guards laughed too.

 Ampris swallowed a growl and glared at the passing buildings. "Where are we

 going?" she demanded, sitting erect in her seat. "Why do you not return me to

 the sri-Kaa?"

 The captain's look of amusement faded. Again he flicked his fingers, and a

 muzzle was taken from a storage com­partment. Seeing it, Ampris stiffened and

 howled in protest, but the muzzle was crammed on her head and switched on. She

 opened her mouth, panting hard, but she could not utter a sound. Her throat felt

 as though it was being squeezed, although she could still breathe. Miserable and

 frightened, she no longer knew what to think as the skimmer flew farther and

 farther from the palace.

 Still blaring its siren, the skimmer crossed traffic lanes and dipped beneath a

 congested snarl at an intersection. Looking down, Ampris saw a district of faded

 glory. Houses of great age, with outdated architectural details, stood crammed

 together along narrow streets. Clusters of shops filled little squares. Ampris

 saw a tiny public garden surrounded by a security force field. Vüs chunen played

 there under the casual watch of their nursemaids.

 The skimmer veered again, just as a loud boom rattled the buildings and made

 Ampris jump. A gleaming shuttle launched into the sky, and to her horror Ampris

 realized they were approaching one of the terminals. Incoming shut­tles circled

 far overhead, and the boom of takeoffs came almost constantly.

 Ampris panted harder, unable to scream her protests. She couldn't believe this

 was happening. How could these guards steal her so openly? Why should they dare?

 Did they not fear the wrath of Israi when this crime was discovered? She jerked

 at her bindings until the captain glared at her and threatened to activate the

 entire restraint field. Glaring back, Ampris tried to stand up, ready to hurl

 herself bodily off the skimmer as it entered the approach-traffic channel that

 led into Vir Station Four, the cargo terminal that served both domestic and

 offworld flights.

 Swearing, the captain grabbed her by her collar and hauled her back into her

 seat so hard it jolted her bones. "Be still," he said, his rill a deep red. He

 yanked her close enough for her to see the finest pebble-grain of his facial

 skin, and his eyes bored into hers. "You will cause no trouble," he said in a

 low, furious voice for her ears alone. "You are here because the sri-Kaa has

 commanded you to be here. Why she cares about your fate, no one knows, but she

 wishes you to have a good home with a worthy fam-fly."

 Listening to him, still unable to speak, Ampris felt her eyes fill with tears.

 She did not believe him. She could not. Israi would not give her away. What was

 he saying?

 "She has braved the wrath of the Kaa on your miserable behalf," the captain

 said. "She has persuaded him to relent, and she even abased herself to present a

 formal public apol­ogy to the Lady Zureal for what happened."

 Ampris closed her eyes a moment, awash with feelings of relief and bewilderment.

 If Israi had done all that, why then was Ampris here?

 "Now, will you behave?" the captain said sternly. "I do not wish to beat you,

 but I will if you do not remember your training and act in a subdued manner."

 Opening her eyes, Ampris felt a shuddering jolt pass through the skimmer as it

 was locked into a tractor field and pulled through the approach channel into the

 terminal itself. Spans of trium alloy vaulted high overhead, sup­porting panels

 of tinted glass through which the sky looked green. The terminal echoed with

 noise as robots labeled cargo pods and tossed them onto moving belts.

 Ampris forced herself to meet the captain's merciless eyes. She still did not

 understand.

 He switched off the restraint field on her muzzle, and she sagged, coughing in

 relief.

 "You will be treated better if you arrive looking and acting like a slave of

 refinement and proper training," he said to her. The skimmer halted with a bump,

 and the other guards jumped off onto a dock platform. The captain rose to his

 feet and stared down at her. "Or you can remain savage, clamped in a restraint

 field, and find yourself sold as soon as you arrive."

 Ampris held out her bound wrists. "Take them off, please," she said, forcing her

 voice to be meek.

 He flicked out his tongue. "You must wear the cables during the shuttle flight.

 Regulations," he said. "My advice is to act as though they are unnecessary. It

 is to your ad­vantage."

 She realized he was trying, in his own way, to be kind. Her heart lurched inside

 her, and she found herself still unable to believe this was happening. "She is

 sending me away from her?" Ampris asked plaintively. "I do not un­derstand."

 The captain raised his rill with visible impatience and looked past her at the

 other guards. They had secured an empty cargo pod and were waiting.

 The captain handed Ampris a holocube. "This will ex­plain," he said. "Now get in

 the pod and behave. It's a short flight to Malraaket. You will prosper there if

 you use good sense."

 Clutching the holocube, which bore Israi's seal, Ampris started to speak, but

 the captain gave a signal and the guards hauled Ampris off the skimmer and

 pushed her into the pod.

 She howled, trying to climb out, but a ruthless hand shoved her down and the two

 halves of the pod were snapped shut around her, closing her in.

 Furious and frightened, she pounded on the sides, but it did no good. In

 seconds, she felt a thump from outside as her pod was labeled, then she was

 bounced onto a belt and borne away into the controlled chaos of the cargo hold.

 She could not escape the pod, and Ampris stopped pound­ing on it as she was

 jolted along. Instead, she switched on the holocube, desperate for answers.

 A second later, Israi's lovely face shimmered in the air before her. Israi's

 radiant eyes were dimmed with sadness. "My dearest companion," she said, and the

 sound of her voice made Ampris weep in longing. ' 'I have pleaded long and hard

 for your return, but your own treachery has made my efforts futile. I thought I

 knew you, my golden Ampris, but I was mistaken. The guards found a sivo crystal

 of forbidden information in your belongings chest, and my duty is clear."

 "No!" Ampris cried aloud as though the image of Israi could hear her. "I didn't

 listen to all of it. I never took the time."

 "Chancellor Gaveid says you cannot be trusted close to my imperial person,"

 Israi continued. "But because I loved you once, I—"

 "You love me still," Ampris said. "You must!"

 "—I cannot allow you to be destroyed as the Imperial Father commanded.

 Therefore, I have arranged for you to be placed in the home of a family of Lady

 Lenith's distant acquaintance. Perhaps there you can begin again. Enclosed with

 this message is a token of my regard. It has no real worth, but comes from the

 Aaroun culture, which you ap­parently value more than my company. Shame be on

 you, Ampris, for breaking our happiness. Good-bye."

 "No!" Ampris cried, but the image vanished.

 She played it again while her pod was being loaded onto a shuttle. And again

 during the flight. And again upon ar­rival while her pod was unloaded. By then

 she had mem­orized every word of Israi's parting message. Israi's tone held a

 finality that crushed Ampris's heart.

 But it was so unfair. Ampris had done nothing wrong, nothing treacherous. The

 crystal's information held only history about the Aarouns. What harm lay in

 that? How could Israi say she was no longer faithful, no longer to be trusted?

 Worst of all, how could Israi blame her for what had happened, when the prank

 against Lady Zureal had been Israi's idea in the first place? Ampris had tried

 to stop her friend and failed. Why, as Elrabin had pointed out, should she be

 punished? Why should she carry sole blame?

 Twisting the bottom of the holocube, she opened its com­partment and withdrew a

 necklace on a cheap metal chain. She held it up, and recognized the disk-shaped

 amulet with its distinctive center of clear stone.

 "An Eye of Clarity," she said aloud in astonishment.

 Worthless, according to Israi. Precious beyond all mea­sure, according to Bish.

 Holding it in her hand, Ampris bowed her head in bit­terness and thought of what

 she'd lost—the way of life she'd always known, the friend she'd loved from her

 ear­liest memories. For all of that, the Eye of Clarity seemed a very poor

 exchange.

 And Ampris wept.

 CHAPTER VENTY

 The port of Malraaket was capital of the southern continent, smaller than Vir

 and lacking both the imperial city's size and galactic importance. Located on a

 wedge of land be­tween a wide, sluggish river and the broad sweep of sea beyond,

 Malraaket rose in a glittering jumble of spires and domes painted every bright

 color imaginable. Balconies jut­ted out beneath the windows, many of them lush

 with blooming, vining plants that spilled vivid hues of pink and magenta down

 the sides of buildings. Seabirds wheeled around the eves of houses. Fat poufers

 strutted on the roof­tops, cooing to themselves. Bells rang, traffic blared,

 in­coming sea vessels whooped approach sirens to warn off outgoing barges. The

 activity never seemed to slacken.

 Uninterested in politics or the governance of a vast em­pire, and therefore free

 of a heavy bureaucratic burden, Malraaket supported a flourishing trade center

 for mer­chants of all kinds. Importers and exporters of exotic goods thronged

 the vast complex that was its cargo terminal. Doz­ens of dialects and languages

 filled the air with a racket that punctuated the general noise of the city

 itself—all of it making Ampris's head spin. Parked on a pickup dock beside an

 impressive stack of crates that smelled of spices, her restraint cables fastened

 to a bolt clip stout enough to hold tonnage, Ampris sat in the broiling sun,

 panting in the heat, and unsure of what was to befall her next. She'd been

 waiting two hours, with nothing to do but count incoming shuttle flights, and it

 looked like the family Israi had sold her to had no desire to come fetch her.

 From her vantage point, she could glimpse the sea through a gap between distant

 buildings. But although she was awed by its vast size—it stretched to the

 horizon and beyond—its scent impressed her more. She had never be­fore smelled

 such a briny fragrance, or one so mingled with the odor of fish and other sea

 creatures. Oh, she was used to the strong scent of the Cuna Da'r River, with its

 muddy, reed-strewn banks. But the sea… inhaling deeply, Ampris closed her eyes

 and felt her senses surge toward the glit­tering water. It was raw, primitive,

 elemental. It drew her in some mysterious way, awakened strange urges inside

 her, made her blood throb heavily in her veins. She wanted to roam. She wanted

 to explore. She wanted to hunt.

 But the cables held her in place. She was tied too short to allow her to stand

 and stretch her legs. And there wasn't a finger's breadth of shade.

 Periodically a Vüs dock guard swathed in a white robe of strange coarse-woven

 fabric would walk past her and make a notation on his manifest. This time,

 Ampris gazed up at him. "If no one comes to pick me up, what will happen—"

 With a wordless exclamation, the guard undipped a short bar from his belt and

 struck her with it. Knocked flat on her back, her chest and shoulder burning

 with pain, Ampris struggled for breath.

 The guard stamped his booted foot on her wrist, pinning her there. His rill,

 bright red, stood out in a broad flare around his face. "Abiru trash," he said

 in a voice hoarse with anger. ' 'Defile my language again with your unworthy

 tongue, and I'll cut it out."

 She lay there, shocked and fighting back tears, and with a mutter the guard

 strode on. Slowly Ampris righted herself and brushed off her fur. She swallowed

 her whimper of pain, refusing to surrender to it, and told herself she must

 remember not to speak Vüs again. Only it was more fa­miliar to her than the

 abiru patois that the slaves spoke. She had spoken Vüs all her life, privileged

 by the wish of the sri-Kaa, and it was ingrained in her.

 Yet she knew she must break the habit, or suffer more beatings and attacks. She

 had to remember that Israi no longer protected her. She was simply a slave now,

 and she belonged to someone else.

 Fresh grief welled up into her throat, and she had to struggle to control it.

 Her pride would not allow her to sit out here on display, weeping openly and

 feeling sorry for herself. If this was her fate, then she must cope with it and

 find what good she could in the situation. She was certain Israi had found kind,

 decent people to take her in. There had to be a reason why they had not yet come

 to get her.

 The sun had begun to sink beyond the outermost flank of the city, a great fiery

 orb that still radiated heat, before someone came striding onto the dock and

 stamped to a halt before her.

 Ampris gazed up, squinting into the stern visage of an aging Vüs male, surely a

 lun-adult in his sixth life cycle, garbed in pale coarse cloth and carrying a

 claims tag that he matched to the one dangling from Ampris's collar. Two bulky

 Aaroun males in loose sleeveless jerkins stood behind him.

 "Stand up," the Vüs said to Ampris in strangely ac­cented patois.

 "I cannot," she replied.

 Red darkened his rill and he whipped her across the chest with a slim baton that

 stung. "Obey me at once, you both­ersome creature! I will have none of your

 foreign inso­lence."

 Swallowing a growl, Ampris backed her ears and rose to a semicrouched stance

 which was as far as her cables would allow.

 "Straighten up," he snapped at her. "Are you crippled, you wretched beast? Stand

 straight before me, that I may see you properly."

 Ampris shifted her feet, trying not to lose her temper. ' 'I cannot," she said.

 "The cable is too short."

 From behind the Vüs, one of the Aarouns looked at her and silently shook his

 head. But his warning came too late. The Vüs whipped her repeatedly with short,

 stinging blows until she was shuddering from both pain and the effort to hold

 herself back from biting him.

 "Insolent and disobedient," he said at last, stopping his attack while she stood

 crouched before him with her head held low and her breathing harsh and ragged. '

 'Small won­der you were thrown out of the palace."

 Ampris's head snapped up and she opened her mouth, only to stop herself from

 speaking at the last instant.

 The Vüs glared at her, his air sacs inflating. "Improperly trained as well," he

 said at last, looking disappointed when she said nothing. He slashed the air

 with his baton, then put it away and curled his green-skinned, bony hands into

 fists. ' 'Can you serve table?''

 "Yes," Ampris mumbled, aching from his blows. Her pride revived within her, and

 she lifted her head to meet his gaze. "I served the sri-Kaa at—"

 "Silence! None of your boasting will be tolerated here. You serve the Hahveen

 family now. Your loyalty will be to them. Your thoughts will be to please them.

 None but their wishes matter to you. Do you understand, you sim­pleton?"

 "Yes," Ampris said, pushing down her seething resent­ment. He was every bit as

 petty and horrid as Lord Fazh-mind, and there was nothing she could do to escape

 him.

 "Better," he said grudgingly, and drew himself erect. "Remember your place. Keep

 silent unless you are ad-dressed directly. Answer only what you are asked. Do

 pre­cisely what you are told."

 She said nothing in response, and he flicked out his tongue in displeasure and

 swung away from her. Gesturing at the two Aarouns, he said, "Bring her," and

 strode away.

 In the gathering twilight, she could see neither Aaroun clearly, except that

 they were full-grown adults. One of them held her arm while the other one

 unsnapped her tether. Ampris straightened fully with a soft groan of relief.

 "That is Kevarsh, steward of the household," the largest Aaroun told her in a

 voice as soft as the evening breeze. He spoke the patois in a peculiar singsong

 rhythm that was far different from the way it was spoken in Vir. "He will punish

 you with great pleasure if you do not learn your duties quickly."

 "How will I—"

 "Hush," the Aaroun warned her, his voice so soft now she could barely hear it. '

 'I am called Fain, but we are not permitted to chatter while on duty."

 Ampris backed her ears, unaccustomed to taking orders from anyone but Israi and

 Lady Lenith. She didn't like it, but she realized Fain meant well.

 He pointed at his silent companion, who opened his mouth. In the shadows Ampris

 could not see anything clearly except a faint gleam of light reflecting off his

 teeth.

 "Gur has no tongue," Fain told her. "Always talking, this one, until they

 silenced him for good. Now come."

 The Hahveen family lived in a narrow, three-storied house jammed between similar

 dwellings on the Street of Thoughts. Arriving in darkness, Ampris received only

 a confused impression of lights blazing from tall, rectangular windows before

 she was shoved through a side entrance on the ground floor, whisked down a

 narrow hallway smelling of cleanser and stored food, and placed inside a tiny

 cell containing a sagging cot, a peg with a servant's tabard hanging on it, and

 a small three-legged table supporting a bowl of cold mush. Gur removed her

 restraints, and while

 Ampris was flexing her arms in relief, her escorts slammed and locked the door

 to her quarters, leaving her in solitude.

 She was glad to be alone. Hungry, she ate the mush, even though it was tasteless

 and congealed into a cold lump. Once more she played the holocube with Israi's

 parting message, aching to be home with her beloved friend. If only she could

 reach Israi, could somehow explain about the crystal, she was certain she would

 be forgiven and allowed to return.

 The cot provided no comfort, despite the fact that she kept telling herself it

 was better than sleeping on the ground in the auction pens. She slept fitfully

 and awoke stiff-necked and sore from her beatings. Muffled noises in the

 distance told her the household was up.

 Minutes later, her door opened without warning and a female Keith stood there,

 clad in a yellow servant's tabard, teeth bared impatiently, ears pricked

 forward. "Aren't you ready?" she asked without preamble. She pointed at the

 tabard hanging on the peg. "Put that on, and look sharp. Kevarsh allows no

 tardiness."

 Ampris grabbed the article of clothing and pulled it on over her head. "My name

 is Ampris," she said. "What is—"

 "No time for chatter," the Keith broke in, glancing over her shoulder. She

 beckoned impatiently. "Quickly."

 Emerging from her tiny cell, Ampris was grabbed by her elbow and hastened into a

 spacious, low-ceilinged room that held the kitchen, stored casks of wine with

 import marks stamped on their sides, long worktables, and an ac­counts office.

 It was from the latter that Kevarsh emerged scant sec­onds after the Keith

 shoved Ampris into line with the other servants. Rowed in front of the ovens,

 they stood in silence for the Vüs steward's scowling inspection. Counting from

 the corner of her eye, Ampris saw six servants all together, including herself.

 There was a short Myal female, bowleg-ged and swathed in a cook's apron. She

 stood at the head of the line, probably as servant of highest rank. Her red mane

 floated silkily about her face, and she endured Kev-arsh's inspection with her

 tail coiled tight against her leg. Kevarsh eyed her closely but said nothing to

 her. Next stood two Keiths, one the female who had fetched Ampris this morning,

 the other a half-grown lit male, thin and silver-furred. He reminded Ampris of

 Elrabin. Kevarsh rep­rimanded the female Keith sharply for some ill-completed

 task, calling her Hama, and berating her until she stood with head bowed and

 ears flat. The youth's tabard sat crooked on his shoulders. He took a scolding

 for that.

 Standing at the end of the line next to Gur, Ampris sur­reptitiously

 straightened her own tabard. She caught the mute Aaroun watching her from the

 corner of his eye. He gave her a tiny, gentle smile that made her smile back.

 By now Kevarsh stood before Fain. He and Gur were clearly used for outside,

 heavy work. ' 'The master has need of you to unload the new spools of cloth that

 arrived in yesterday's shipment," Kevarsh said. He glanced at the timekeeper on

 the wall and extended his rill. "See that you work quickly and finish the task

 by midday. It will please the master if the cloth is ready for the dye vats by

 the time he returns. Also, the mistress still wants the nursery painted, and

 that must be finished by the time she returns today from the hatchery. You are

 fools, both of you, but surely you can accomplish these simple assignments."

 Fain bowed his head respectfully, and Kevarsh moved to stand before Ampris, his

 scathing old glare raking her up and down before he produced an ownership

 earring and fastened it through her ear.

 Ampris held herself stiffly, not flinching despite his roughness. She thought of

 how proudly she had worn Is-rai's pretty gold cartouche. This ring was made of

 plain iron, with her new master's name inscribed on a tarnished tag. She knew,

 without being told, that this ring had been worn by other slaves before her. The

 thought of it made her nauseous, but she held herself under control.

 "This is the new addition to our household," Kevarsh announced. '' Ampris, she

 is called. She is vain and a boast­ful liar. You are not to believe what she

 says."

 Backing her ears at his unjust charge, Ampris opened her mouth to protest, then

 remembered she was not permitted to speak unless directly addressed. Prickling

 with resent­ment, she held her tongue, but Kevarsh's sharp eyes did not miss her

 inner struggle.

 "Lazy and insolent as well," he continued. "Hama, you will be in charge of her

 training."

 Hama's head snapped up, and she bared her teeth. "If I may remind the steward—I

 am to be nursemaid to the new hatchling. My duties are—"

 "There will be time for you to train her," Kevarsh broke in, his rill flaming

 red at the interruption. "Jenai will be more than adequate to handle the new

 hatchling in addition to the other chunen."

 "But the mistress said that I should—"

 "Silence!" Kevarsh shouted. He pulled out his baton and whipped her with it.

 Watching, Ampris flinched in sympathy, but none of the others watched. When the

 whipping was over, silence hung thick in the kitchen. Hama stood with her gaze

 lowered and her ears flat. Only a ridge of hair standing erect on her neck

 betrayed her emotions.

 "You will train Ampris in addition to your other duties," Kevarsh said. "The

 family wishes her to serve at table, but start her on cleaning detail. She looks

 too clumsy to be entrusted with goblets and fine plates." Swinging his baton

 through the air hard enough to make it whistle, he stepped back and glared at

 all of them. "Get to work."

 The servants dispersed, each heading to his or her as­signed tasks. Hama gripped

 Ampris by the front of her tab­ard and pulled her over to a stone vat. She

 showed Ampris how to take a pail from the neat stack next to the vat; how to

 hold it beneath the spigot, which spewed water auto­matically; and how to use

 the pail to fill the floor-sweep, an antiquated, dented machine blackened with

 tarnish and soap scum. Switching it on, she clamped Ampris's hands around the

 grips, and the heavy vibration shook Ampris all the way to her shoulders.

 "Sweep it back and forth," Hama instructed her. "Use steady strokes. Make sure

 you don't miss any spots. Do the entire ground floor, except for the food

 storerooms. And don't go into the hallway that leads to the courtyard. You are

 not permitted outside yet. When you are finished, we'll see what's next for

 you."

 Ampris stared at her in amazement, not at all certain she wanted to be turned

 loose with this heavy old machine that gurgled and churned internally as it

 heated the cleaning water. "But when will we have our breakfast? I—"

 Hama's eyes narrowed, and she bared her teeth. "Break­fast?" she repeated as

 though she didn't know what the word meant. ' 'You will be fed at midday, with

 the others. Truly did Kevarsh speak, in saying you are spoiled and lazy. Only

 the family eats breakfast. Now get to work, and make sure you don't let the line

 feed too much water onto the floor at once."

 By midday, however, Ampris had not come close to be­ing finished with her

 assignment. The kitchen floor was but half-done. Puddles dotted the pavers where

 she'd spilled too much water. She'd left haphazard streaks in the corners, and

 was still trying to get the machine to suck up a tangled pile of wet lint that

 it had unexpectedly belched out. Her hands were swelling from the heavy

 vibration of the ma­chine, and her shoulders and back ached from the work. She

 was starving and sore, and when Kevarsh saw what she'd done, he flew into a rage

 and screamed at her in a tirade that left her shaken and trembling.

 "Fool! Incompetent idiot! No food for you today until this is done properly."

 Red-rilled and swearing, he stamped away. Ampris stood there, feeling

 humiliated, while the other servants refused to look at her. Silence fell over

 the kitchen, broken only by

 Hama's sigh as she wiped her hands on her tabard and came forward.

 ' 'Already you are causing us trouble,'' she muttered. She took the floor-sweep

 from Ampris and demonstrated again how to use it. "Fill it with clean water and

 start over. Maybe while you watch us eat, you will be inspired to do your work

 properly."

 Ampris swallowed back her disappointment. She was so hungry she wanted to beg

 Hama to relent and slip her food against Kevarsh's orders, but caution warned

 her to stay quiet. Still, there was no ignoring the delicious scents com­ing

 from the large ovens. And she was so tired she could not think.

 "I'm sorry," she said, knowing from her training at court that excuses could not

 be offered. ' 'I will learn to do this, Hama."

 The Keith barely glanced at her, but Ampris thought for a moment she detected a

 faint softening in Hama's gaze. "You had better," Hama said in warning. "There

 are worse jobs than cleaning floors. And I must go upstairs this afternoon to

 receive the new hatchling."

 Ampris smiled, thinking of the little one's arrival. "Did the mistress lay many

 eggs during Festival?"

 Hama's eyes widened, and she nipped Ampris on the ear. "Hush, you fool! Never

 say anything about the mistress!"

 Rubbing her smarting ear, Ampris stared at Hama in puz­zlement. "But I—"

 "She cannot lay eggs at all," Hama said in a fierce whis­per, her ears swiveling

 nervously as she glanced around to be sure Kevarsh was not in sight. "You will

 be flogged if anyone hears you refer to her tragedy."

 ' 'Then the little one is adopted?'' Ampris persisted.

 Hama stared at her in astonishment. ' 'All hatchlings are shared, without

 knowledge of who actually laid their egg. Where have you lived, that you do not

 know the custom?''

 "In the palace of the Kaa, things are done differently."

 Hama's ears flattened to her skull. "Keep such com-ments to yourself," she said

 angrily. "We care nothing for how things are done in the palace of the Kaa."

 "Hama!" called the cook. "Come and eat your por­tion."

 Hama glared at Ampris. "Get back to work. Do not let me see you staring at us

 while we eat. And I warn you, if I am punished because you cannot perform a

 simple clean­ing task, I will beat you worse than Kevarsh will beat me."

 It took Ampris until nightfall, but she finally finished the floors. By the time

 she swished water through the floor-sweep to clean it and put it in its place,

 she was trembling so from weariness that she could hardly stand upright. Her

 shoulders felt as though they'd been wired to a block of wood. She could barely

 lift her arms, and her hands were swollen and aching.

 Without asking permission, she drank deeply from the spigot, earning herself an

 outraged swat from the cook's ladle. When Hama handed her a plate of cold

 leftovers, she nearly dropped it.

 "Eat quickly," Hama said impatiently. "It is almost time for lights out."

 The Myal cook opened the oven doors to allow them to finish cooling, gave an

 order to the lit who was hanging up the freshly scrubbed pots, and came over to

 stand beside Ampris.

 Coiling her tail against her leg, the cook glared at Am­pris. "Eat faster," she

 said. "I want that plate clean and shelved. My old feet are ready for their

 rest."

 Ampris choked down the rest of her food. She was still chewing the last morsel

 when the cook grabbed her plate and handed it to the lit to clean.

 "Now get to your room," the cook said to Ampris. "We're too tired to wait for

 you all night."

 Ampris trudged out, too exhausted to argue, and Hama and the cook followed. The

 lights faded on the room— scrubbed, shining, and everything in perfect order. At

 the door to Ampris's tiny cell, Hama paused beside her and put her hand on

 Ampris's aching shoulder.

 Appreciative of that small gesture of comfort, Ampris dragged out a smile for

 the Keith. But Hama's grip changed to a shove that pushed Ampris inside.

 Stumbling in sur­prise, Ampris turned back, only to see Hama grip the door and

 slam it closed. The lock turned, and Ampris was left alone and friendless in her

 quarters.

 After that, her days passed in a weary blur. Buried in the constant learning of

 new tasks, Ampris scrubbed and fetched and carried and polished. She knew

 nothing about work, and Hama and the others grew increasingly annoyed with her

 for being so ignorant and untrained. Ampris learned to master her temper, to

 hold her tongue, and to do as she was told. She learned to ask no questions, to

 keep her gaze down submissively, to make no protests.

 Yet she made constant mistakes, which brought her beat­ings and skipped meals.

 When she was fed, she never got enough. As a young, growing Aaroun, she required

 double the quotient an adult female would eat, and Kevarsh com­plained

 unceasingly about the expense of feeding her.

 "The mistress wanted an Aaroun raised in the imperial palace," Kevarsh would say

 shrilly, puffing out his air sacs. "The mistress must have an Aaroun from Vir.

 Never mind that it is a useless sack of flesh and fur, hopelessly stupid,

 endlessly hungry, and impossibly untrainable."

 Hama, bustling up and down the stairs between her dou­ble tasks as new nursemaid

 and Ampris's keeper, grew thin and short-tempered during the passing days. She

 demanded all kinds of tempting delicacies from the cook to feed the hatchling,

 who was said to have a delicate stomach and fretful appetite.

 "I will not let this one die, like the last new one put in Jenai's care," Hama

 declared. She was ambitious to suc­ceed Jenai, who had been chief nursemaid

 since the arrival of the oldest daughter in the household.

 "Make tiny civa cakes," Ampris suggested. "Flavor them with nectar and honey

 instead of the usual spices. Make them only the size of your fingertip. That

 should tempt him to eat."

 Both Hama and the cook stared at Ampris in astonish­ment. Ampris bent her

 attention back to her scrubbing. As punishment for having broken a tray, she was

 doing scul­lion duty today. The lit, whose name was Ralvik, had been taken

 outside with the Aarouns to unload a new shipment of cloth for the master's

 warehouse. Ampris expected Hama to scold her for speaking without permission,

 but, neither of them seemed to have much imagination and she was tired of

 listening to them dither over a problem that seemed so easily solved.

 "Can you bake some, as Ampris suggests?" Hama asked.

 The cook curled her broad lips down thoughtfully, hes­itated, then slid her gaze

 over to Ampris. "They would be too moist without the usual spices."

 Ampris went on scrubbing, although inside she was pleased that for the first

 time she was being included in a conversation. "Bake them longer, keeping the

 heat low so they do not cook too fast and become tough. The extra moisture will

 make them tender, which is what the hatch-ling should like."

 "This I will attempt," the cook said. Turning away on her short, bowed legs, she

 began rummaging for bowls and ingredients, humming to herself with her tail

 coiled happily.

 Hama rubbed her muzzle and stared at Ampris a moment in silence. Finally she

 came over and stood beside the vat filled with steaming, soapy water and stacks

 of pots. Wield­ing her whirring scrubber with newly acquired skill, Ampris went

 on working, taking care not to splash Hama.

 "How do you know to try this?" Hama asked, her tone grudging.

 Ampris glanced at her, wondering if a truthful answer would bring more

 punishment for boasting.

 ' 'A trick of the palace?'' Hama said.

 Ampris nodded. "I saw it done in the imperial nursery. They also use kivini

 fruit, very ripe and mashed, to tempt the finicky ones."

 "Kivini is very expensive."

 Ampris had no idea of what things cost, so she said noth­ing.

 "I will suggest it to the mistress," Hama said. "We can­not bring home such an

 expensive item from market with­out her permission. Kevarsh would never

 authorize it if I ask him." She bared her teeth and glanced warily at the closed

 door of the steward's office. Ampris knew that he napped inside it every

 afternoon instead of overseeing the work as he was supposed to. "He is such a

 fool."

 Ampris grinned, and Hama gave her a brief smile in re­turn.

 "Thank you, Ampris," she said.

 "When will I be allowed to work upstairs?" Ampris asked, hoping that Hama was

 softening toward her at last.

 But Hama's expression closed at once like a slammed door. "You are not ready to

 be seen by the family. Your training is not good enough."

 "But I—"

 "Get back to work," Hama snapped, and hurried away.

 Sighing, Ampris rinsed another pot and set it aside. She was determined to get

 upstairs, because she wanted to find the opportunity to call Israi on the

 linkup. It was the only way she could think of to reach her friend and beg for

 mercy. She knew that if she could only talk directly to Israi she would be able

 to persuade her beloved companion to relent and let her come home.

 But first she had to reach the equipment, and to do that she had to be allowed

 inside the family's quarters. If the mistress wasn't so besotted with her new

 hatchling, she mused, probably she would have sent for Ampris by now, just to

 see what she looked like.

 Work harder, Ampris told herself. Keep finding ways to be useful to Hama. She

 has to relent eventually.

 The specially made civa cakes pleased the hatchling, who began to eat more and

 thrive. Hama bustled back and forth, grinning to herself. Ampris waited for a

 sign of gratitude, but Hama gave her nothing.

 As Ampris settled into the routine of the household, she soon saw how

 inefficiently Kevarsh ran things. The amount of waste in food, materials, and

 labor appalled Ampris. He forgot details, could not schedule duties efficiently,

 made poor decisions or procrastinated until a crisis was created. Then he

 screamed and whipped and punished, blaming the servants for his own mistakes.

 Because of this, the servants usually listened to his orders, then waited until

 he was out of sight before trying to do their tasks differently. Even so, Ampris

 often saw ways to streamline their tasks.

 "If Ralvik set out the ingredients ahead of time, group­ing them next to the

 correct pot, here, here, and here, in a line in the order that you would need

 them, could the prep­aration for the family's dinner not be shortened?" Ampris

 asked the cook one evening during general cleanup.

 The cook glared at her. "Who asked for your interfer­ence? Are you trained as a

 cook? Do you know how to tempt Vüs appetites?"

 "No," Ampris said quietly. "Forgive me for my inter­ference."

 But the next day while she was carrying out rolled rugs into the courtyard to

 beat the dust from them, she saw the cook instructing Ralvik to group pots and

 foods ahead of time as Ampris had suggested. Smiling to herself, Ampris went

 outside with her heavy load.

 Now that she was allowed outdoors occasionally, she felt as though her dreary

 life had improved greatly. The court­yard was a utilitarian square lacking any

 ornamentation, a space to buffer the back of the house from the cloth ware­house

 behind it, where the master's business was con­ducted. Although the warehouse

 was sealed, with all its equipment carefully vented, now and then a noxious odor

 escaped from the dyeing vats to poison the air and cause some member of the

 family upstairs in the house to slam the windows shut.

 Today as Ampris finished carrying her rugs outside, she saw Fain and Gur at work

 in the courtyard, unloading long, massive spools of cloth from a cargo flat

 floating on its antigrav unit and fitting the spool bolts onto robot carters

 that lumbered back and forth between the courtyard and the warehouse.

 Spying her, Gur waved and ambled over to grin widely in greeting.

 "Hello, Gur," Ampris said shyly. Although the big Aar-oun was much older than

 she, he was always kind. She considered him her only friend in this place.

 He gave her a friendly rub between the ears and tapped her amulet with his

 fingertip. She held it up on its chain, making the sunlight flash through the

 clear stone in the center, and Gur watched it in simple delight. He never lost

 his fascination with the Eye of Clarity. She had asked him once if he knew what

 it was, but he'd shaken his head.

 "Gur!" Fain called impatiently. "Do you want a flog­ging? Come back to work."

 Gur waggled his broad rump in cheerful insult and fin­gered the amulet a moment

 longer. Then he gave Ampris his gentle smile and by way of thanks shook out the

 largest of her rugs with an effortless snap that made dust fly in all

 directions.

 "Gur!" Fain shouted again, but Gur ignored him.

 Fain switched off the robot and came hurrying over. Grabbing Gur's muscular arm,

 he pointed at their load of cloth. Gur ignored him and went on shaking the rug.

 Fain turned to Ampris in visible disgust. "A mountain I might as well ask to

 move. You come and help in his place."

 Ampris stopped grinning and blinked in dismay. "But I can't lift one of those

 spools."

 "Try then. It's the only way to get him back where he belongs, the oaf."

 Hoisting her end of the spool with a grunt, Ampris found that it weighed as much

 as she feared. Her shoulder joints popped with the strain, but she was able to

 handle her end without dropping it. They got it fitted onto the robot, which

 Fain switched on and sent lurching into the warehouse.

 While they waited for the other robot to return, he gave Ampris a nod of

 approval. "See? You can do more than you think, golden one. You are growing

 fast. This kind of work will make you grow more."

 Basking in his praise, she reached more readily for the next spool of cloth,

 although its weight made her muscles shake.

 "Good," Fain said while she panted and blinked the dizzy spots from her vision.

 "One more—"

 "What is this madness?" Kevarsh shrieked across the courtyard. He came striding

 toward them, his rill a crimson frame around his face, his hands uplifted to the

 air. "The gods take my reason before the lot of you drive me to madness! Gur

 shaking rugs like a housemaid, and the table server unloading cloth? Stop it!

 Stop it at once!"

 Ampris came around the robot and stood beside Fain, silent and with lowered

 eyes. Kevarsh grabbed her by the arm and yanked her away from Fain.

 "I knew you would be trouble," he muttered as he pushed her back across the

 courtyard. "Were it up to me, that golden hide of yours would be hanging on the

 wall as decoration right now."

 Ampris glared at him, but kept silent. This old Vüs was a fool, and every day he

 proved it more.

 "Get inside," he said. "Report to Hama at once."

 "Hama is upstairs in the nursery," Ampris said. "It is her time with the—''

 "Silence!" he said, striking her with his baton. "Did I request your opinion?

 Will you never learn obedience? Go! Go!"

 Ampris hurried past Gur, who still stood in the midst of the rugs. Behind her

 she heard Kevarsh scolding him, then the angry whistle of the baton striking him

 again and again. Her heart burned with anger against this petty tyrant, and she

 wished Gur would pick him up and break him in half as he deserved. But she knew

 Gur would stand there, docile under the abuse, offering no resistance. Without

 looking back, for she could not bear to see the beating, Ampris ran inside.

 Much to her surprise, however, Hama was downstairs looking for her. Ampris had

 finally received her summons to the upper floors of the house.

 "Here," Hama said, rushing about to thrust a clean, em­broidered tabard at

 Ampris, who came to a halt, thrilled to the tips of her ears by the chance of

 finally being taken to the family.

 At last everyone would see that she wasn't stupid and untrained. No indeed.

 Ampris understood how to be a com­panion, how to fetch pretty cushions for a

 lady's back, how to applaud the efforts of musicians, how to follow discreetly

 during strolls in the gardens. Not that the Hahveen family had a garden really

 large enough to stroll through. But at the moment, nothing mattered except the

 chance to return to a form of life that was familiar.

 "Hurry! You must not keep Sana Mashaal waiting," Hama ordered, and with a

 thumping heart Ampris changed tabards and smoothed her golden fur.

 She couldn't stop herself from grinning, and she barely listened to the stream

 of instructions coming from Hama. No one had to teach her etiquette or protocol.

 She had mas­tered those intricacies in the imperial palace, and now all her

 recently lost confidence was returning to her.

 Holding her head high, she rejoined Kevarsh, who had finished beating Gur and

 come inside. He glared at her, inspected her tabard just to delay matters, then

 finally led her upstairs.

 If the first floor of the house held workrooms and ser­vants' quarters, the rest

 of the house was reserved exclu­sively for the family. The second floor held

 public rooms where guests were received and family members spent their leisure

 hours. The third floor held the private baths and bedchambers.

 Kevarsh walked proudly before her, his rill extended high and his fat tail

 swaying slightly from side to side be­neath the long hem of his coat. As she

 followed, glimpsing rooms through open doorways, some of Ampris's initial

 excitement began to fade at the obvious and surprising lack of taste,

 refinement, and wealth.

 The displayed art was mediocre at best. Carpets under­foot were faded, worn, and

 far from the best quality. The furnishings, of great age and thus clearly

 inherited, stood about in gloomy rooms. The hangings were out-of-date, in colors

 that made Ampris wince. Flower bouquets made a pretty detail, except that they

 should have been changed daily and clearly had not been.

 Ampris looked at her surroundings in disappointment that quelled her excitement.

 It seemed that Kevarsh was as incompetent at running the household abovestairs

 as he was below. Had he been a steward at the palace, he would have been

 dismissed long ago.

 Their gazes met and locked. Hers must have revealed her thoughts too much, for a

 red stain crept up his rill. Hatred puckered his face, and he flicked out his

 tongue.

 "Come at once," he whispered in a scornful tone. "Do not dawdle when the

 mistress is expecting you."

 Ampris walked forward, following him into a receiving room where three adult Vüs

 females and one vi-adult fe­male all reclined on couches around a tray of sweets

 and tall drinks of fermented melon juice. This room was bright­ened by a tall

 window overlooking the street, opened to let in a warm breeze that stirred sheer

 gauze hangings in a pleasing way. The furnishings here were more delicate and

 modern than what Ampris had seen before, yet her dis­cerning eye detected cheap

 construction disguised with faux gilt.

 Kevarsh made his obeisance to the gathering while one female—blue-skinned with a

 rill in variegated hues of green, blue, and lavender—broke off her conversation

 and deigned to look at him.

 "Ah, my steward," Mashaal said. She spoke Vüs in the accent of the southern

 continent, reminding Ampris of Lady Zureal. "You have brought our new

 acquisition? Good. Come forward."

 Still bowing, he sidled forward, beckoning for Ampris to follow. She approached,

 head erect and shoulders straight in the court fashion. Meeting Mashaal's

 startled yellow eyes directly, Ampris smiled and made her obeisance with

 perfection as Lady Lenith had taught her.

 "Ah." A sigh circled the Vüs females, and Mashaal preened and flicked out her

 tongue with pride.

 "As Aarouns go, she is a beauty," Mashaal pointed out. She gestured to Kevarsh,

 who in turn whispered to Ampris.

 "Turn around for the mistress," he said. "Display your­self."

 Ampris blinked, and a hot tide of humiliation surged through her skin beneath

 her fur. In silence, she pivoted as directed, then stood there with her gaze

 lowered while Mas­haal boasted.

 "She was the pet of the sri-Kaa, you know. Quite spoiled, I am sure, but my

 husband spares no expense to please me, and when she was put into private sale,

 I had to have her."

 "But she looks nearly grown," one of the guests ven­tured, fanning herself. '

 'Is it wise to have an adult female Aaroun on the premises? You know how they

 can be."

 Mashaal shrugged and smoothed a fold of her garish pink gown of synthetic silk.

 Her jewels were real, but of very poor quality, glittering cheaply in the

 sunlight. "I am as­sured that she is large for her actual age. When she matures,

 we will test her temperament then. Should she cause trou­ble, she can always be

 sold."

 The vi-adult female, as slender as Israi but with skin a dark shade of green

 streaked with yellow, left her couch and approached Ampris to examine her more

 closely with spoiled, petulant eyes.

 Her gaze shifted to Kevarsh. "Will she bite?"

 He bowed. "No, indeed, Misa Lameel. She is most gen­tle."

 Lameel smiled and extended her slim fingers to give Am­pris a tentative stroke.

 Ampris did not move, and Lameel's caresses grew bolder. She wore a gown of plain

 cloth that was fashionable but poorly cut. Her rill collar was imitation gold

 and far too ornate for one her age. She wore skin oil perfumed with cheap

 synthetics, a copy of one of the fash­ionable fragrances. The smell tickled

 Ampris's nostrils, and she struggled not to sneeze.

 "Her fur is pretty," Lameel said. "She shall be my pet."

 Ampris's heart sank a fraction. Companion to this ill-dressed, gawky female, who

 couldn't approach Israi's per­fection no matter how much she tried? The Hahveens

 were nothing but middle-class Vüs lacking rank or taste. They pretended to have

 the wealth and sophistication of the true aristocrats by copying their betters

 with cheap imitations and giving themselves airs far beyond their actual

 standing. They were tawdry and pathetic. Ampris despised them on sight.

 "My pet," Lameel said more insistently. She tugged Ampris's ear hard enough to

 hurt.

 Ampris glared at her, swallowing the involuntary growl that filled her throat.

 Lameel met her gaze with one like steel. "You are my pet now. You will adore me.

 You will crouch at my feet when I receive callers. You will follow at my heels,

 faithful and true."

 Conscious of everyone's staring at her, Ampris bowed to this arrogant vi-adult

 in silent compliance, but her heart was boiling. Lameel would never take Israi's

 place. Love could not be commanded.

 Lameel flicked out her tongue and clapped her hands. "Kevarsh, what tricks can

 she do?"

 Before the bowing steward could answer, Mashaal inter­vened. "My dear, your

 esteemed father did not purchase this expensive slave to be your pet. He bought

 her to serve our table when we entertain his business associates."

 Lameel's rill extended, turning dark blue as it stiffened. "I want her, and she

 belongs to me!" she screamed.

 The guests sat up wide-eyed, and Mashaal flicked her fingers at Kevarsh. "Take

 the Aaroun out," she said.

 The steward obeyed, shooing Ampris outside and closing the door on Lameel's

 tantrum.

 Ampris smiled slightly in memory. "She resembles the sri-Kaa in temper, if

 nothing else."

 Kevarsh hissed at her. "Silence! You will make no com­parisons. You will do no

 boasting. There will be no dinner for you tonight. You may starve while you

 serve the family their meal. And if you drop one goblet or break one plate, I

 will have you flogged. Now go downstairs and resume your work."

 CMPTERTWENTY-ONE

 In the darkness of the sleeping house, Ampris crept shad-owlike through the

 third-floor rooms. Holding her breath, the fur on her neck standing erect in

 fear, she listened a moment to the whistling snores coming from Lameel's

 bed­chamber, then crept past it and the large nursery where the pair of

 chunen—five and three years out of the egg, re­spectively—slept curled together

 with an affection they never showed each other during their waking hours. Jenai,

 the chief nursemaid, was a Keith who slept with one eye and both ears open, ever

 vigilant for a whimper or cry from the fretful hatchling.

 Successfully passing the nursery, Ampris reached the end of the corridor and

 pressed herself against the wall outside the master's office. Silently she

 counted seconds while the sensor beam on the door blinked its red light in

 warning.

 It had taken her a month to figure out the security system in the house, which

 was activated only at night. A month of careful observation and spying without

 appearing to pay attention to anything save her duties.

 Using the linkup in the vid room on the second floor had been her initial goal.

 But that linkup made only local calls within the city limits. In order to reach

 Vir, Ampris needed the linkup located in the master's private office, a room

 kept locked and secured, a room annexed directly to his bedchamber.

 The security sensor was programmed to monitor motion only, lacking the

 sophisticated monitors for heat detection and carbon dioxide emissions that

 would have sounded an alarm immediately. Furthermore, the motion detector was

 limited to its shortest distance setting, due to the office's proximity to the

 nursery and the occasional tendency of the chunen to prowl in their sleep. The

 detector worked in twenty-second cycles. Therefore, all Ampris had to do was

 watch the blinking red light, count carefully, and match her movements to its

 timing.

 She and Israi had learned these skills from the many pranks they had pulled over

 the years, bypassing guards, monitors, and individual body alarms to play tricks

 on hap­less courtiers who thought themselves safe in their own beds.

 But this was no prank, and Ampris could not begin to imagine the severity of her

 punishment if she were to get caught.

 Her breathing grew shaky, and for a moment she lost count.

 Then she pulled her wits together and forced herself to concentrate. This was no

 time to lose her nerve, not when she was so close.

 The blinking light glowed steady, and Ampris slid for­ward, crouching beneath

 the device on the door and waiting for the blinking cycle to stop again. When it

 did, she shot upright, clamped her hand swiftly over the sensor, and flipped off

 the switch on the edge of the casing.

 Only then did she let herself sag in relief, drawing in breath after breath, her

 heart still thudding too fast. A flicker of satisfaction came to life inside

 her. Easy.

 But she knew she mustn"t gloat yet.

 Carefully she turned the latch, and smiled to herself when it opened. So she was

 right in thinking the sensor auto-matically locked and unlocked the door. This

 was a very cheap security system indeed.

 But that was to her advantage, and she could not waste time criticizing the

 miserly ways of her master.

 Easing her way inside, she shut the door behind her and stood still to get her

 bearings.

 A glimmer of moonlight shone through the window, and gradually her vision

 adjusted to the shapes and shadows around her. She had feared the passageway

 between the office and the master's bedchamber would be open, but she discovered

 it closed.

 She smiled to herself, letting hope off its leash. The gods were giving her luck

 with this. Surely success was meant to be hers.

 With stealthy movements, she located the linkup and ac­tivated it. Light from

 its screen flickered over her face and hands. She put in the call to the

 imperial palace, keeping the voice link switched off, tapping in her message

 manu­ally as slowly and as quietly as possible.

 She directed it to Israi sri-Kaa only, encoding it as a personal message and

 using the special suffix digits re­served for the imperial family alone. That

 would allow the message to bypass the usual barricades in the main palace

 communications center and route it straight to Israi's own linkup.

 Ampris had spent many hours mentally composing her message. She kept her

 explanation simple, stripped to the essentials, and finished with an apology. /

 am sorry for any trouble I have caused. Please let me come back to you, for it

 is at your side that I belong. Ampris.

 Then holding onto her amulet for luck, she pushed the control that would send

 the message across the world to Israi. And she prayed with all her heart that

 Israi would read her message and relent.

 For three days she waited for a reply—cleaning, fetch­ing, and serving; living

 on hope. Every sense was attuned to the slightest sound outside, sending her

 running to the window in certainty that an imperial skimmer had arrived to fetch

 her.

 For six more days she waited, her hope growing thin, while she told herself

 Israi must be gone from the palace, perhaps on a tour with the Kaa. But the

 vidcasts mentioned nothing about the Kaa's being on a journey. The court

 re­mained in Vir. The news carried standard clips on council meetings, envoys

 from other worlds, the economic status of the empire, an imperial banquet held

 in honor of some ambassador Ampris had never heard of.

 For a month Ampris waited in daily expectation of a reply from Israi. But none

 came. She wept on her cot at night, where the darkness would not let her deny

 the brutal fact that Israi no longer wanted her.

 Still, there might yet be an explanation for Israi's silence. Perhaps she had

 not received the message. It was possible that Lady Lenith combed through even

 Israi's personal messages. The sri-Kaa was screened from everything re­motely

 upsetting or unpleasant. Ampris believed that Lady Lenith would put her in that

 category now.

 She told herself she must give Israi one more chance. Which meant she must take

 an even bigger risk and some­how use the linkup during the daytime, when she

 could activate voice and vid lines and reach out to Israi with a stronger

 appeal.

 Impatiently she bided her time until the opportunity came. On a hot afternoon

 when the master was working in the warehouse, the mistress and Lameel were out

 calling on friends, and Jenai and Hama were occupied with getting the three

 youngest Hahveens to the physician for their an­nual inoculations, Hama ordered

 Ampris to go upstairs and restore order to the nursery. She was to clean and

 straighten, putting everything in place before the mistress returned. Kevarsh

 was sleeping in his office, following his usual afternoon custom, and Hama saw

 no reason to disturb him with official permission to assign Ampris to this task.

 Concealing her smile of delight, Ampris assured Hama that she needed no

 supervision and hurried upstairs into the deserted house as fast as she could

 run.

 She opened the door of the nursery, put down her pail of cleaning equipment, and

 hurried to the master's office without delay. She had already calculated the

 time differ­ence between Malraaket and Vir. By now Israi would be finished with

 her siesta. The timing was perfect.

 Hastily, Ampris switched on the linkup and pushed in the imperial code. She knew

 that by using it her calls were not recorded and would not show up on the

 master's bills. The machine seemed to take forever to get through. She figured

 it must be a heavy calling hour, but finally the im­perial seal appeared on the

 screen. Seconds later, Ampris found herself staring into the bored gaze of a Vüs

 operator.

 Gasping in surprise, Ampris spoke in Vüs. "This is a direct call, on a private

 channel, to the sri-Kaa."

 The operator didn't even blink. "A call from what party?"

 Ampris backed her ears. "From me. I—I mean, from Ampris, former companion to the

 sri-Kaa. I must speak to her at once."

 "A direct call is not permitted."

 "But you must let me through," Ampris protested. "I am calling on a private

 channel."

 The operator's gaze dropped while she checked some­thing. "Negative. This line

 is not private."

 "But I used the imperial codes—"

 The operator's eyes narrowed on Ampris. She leaned closer to the screen. "You,

 abiru trash, are in violation of communications laws, for which prosecution is

 swift. I have traced your call from—''

 Ampris reared back and broke the link. Switching off the machine, she backed

 away from it and panted in growing panic. Only members of the imperial family or

 their des-ignees could utilize the calling codes. Ampris realized her confession

 had been recorded. Moreover, her call had been traced here, to the master's

 linkup. If she could have gotten through to Israi, this whole matter could have

 been cleared up easily. But now… what was she going to do?

 Ampris battled her rising fear as she tried to think. She knew she could not

 afford to panic. It was vital to keep her wits. The first thing she had to do—

 "What are you doing in here?" shrieked Kevarsh.

 Startled, Ampris whirled around and saw him standing in the doorway. His rill

 stood up stiffly around his face, turning as dark a crimson as she had ever seen

 it. His eyes blazed at her in a mixture of shock and fury.

 "In the master's office," he said, his tail lashing beneath the hem of his coat.

 "Spying into his business affairs. Steal­ing—"

 "No!" Ampris cried, anxious to stop his accusations. Kevarsh was always willing

 to jump to conclusions, yet she knew it was forbidden for her to be in here.

 There was no explanation that could justify her presence. ''I wasn't steal­ing!

 I—I was told to clean—"

 "Liar!" he shouted, rushing at her with his upraised ba­ton. He swung it at her,

 and Ampris dodged out of reflex. Kevarsh shrieked in outrage. "You dare run from

 the beat­ing you deserve? You dare? I will have you flogged in the courtyard for

 this. I will have the hide flayed from your back, you savage!"

 He swung again, and Ampris blundered her way around the desk to evade him a

 second time. But his third swing whacked across her upper arm, wringing a howl

 of pain from her. He viciously struck her again and again, hitting her across

 muzzle and throat, aiming for her eyes, anywhere vulnerable.

 And all the time he kept shouting accusations, railing at her, calling her the

 vilest names.

 Something in Ampris snapped. Perhaps it was the weeks of hard work and

 inadequate food, the grueling discipline, her grief and pent-up resentments—but

 everything inside her came boiling up into a fury that erupted in a powerful,

 full-throated roar.

 The noise drowned out Kevarsh's shouting, and he paused in mid-swing as Ampris

 turned on him with bared fangs. She roared again, her rage like a fire in her

 veins. Her fear dropped away, and she lunged at him with claws and snapping

 teeth.

 Kevarsh's rill dropped limply onto his shoulders, and with an inarticulate

 squeak he bounded aside to put the desk between him and her. "Get back!" he

 shouted at her, slash­ing defensively with the baton. "It is forbidden to turn

 on your master."

 She grabbed the baton and tore it from his hands. Break­ing it in half, she

 flung the pieces away. "You are not my master," she growled. "You do not own me.

 You do not command me. I pray you will live long enough to catch the Dancing

 Death, you old fool."

 "And you are doomed to the labor camps!" he shouted back. "You'll pay for this.

 You'll crawl on your belly and cry out for death before they're through with

 you. You'll wish your heathen mother had killed you at birth rather than suffer

 the torture and degradation that every stinking abiru deserves."

 Shoving the desk aside with a strength she didn't know she possessed, she came

 at him, knowing nothing but the desire to snap his scrawny neck in her jaws. She

 wanted to hear him squeal for mercy before she shook the life from him. '

 Backing up hastily, Kevarsh grabbed the nearest object off the desk and flung it

 at her. It struck Ampris in the shoulder, heavy enough to slow her. Kevarsh

 scrambled sideways and reached the linkup before Ampris could stop him. An alarm

 sounded, startling her.

 "The patrollers will deal with you," Kevarsh told her, his rill as red as his

 eyes were wild. He flicked out his tongue at her, laughing in triumph. "You

 fool, they will cut off your hands for stealing, and you will—''

 Ampris tackled him with the full weight of her body, driving him down in a

 flailing tangle of limbs and tail. He hit the polished floor hard, his head

 thumping like a ripe melon, then lay still and crumpled beneath her.

 The sudden silence beneath the whooping alarm drove back her anger. She blinked,

 gulping in air, and for a mo­ment could not think of what to do. If she'd killed

 him, then her life was finished.

 Fresh fear gripped her, shaking her from her daze. This was no time to sit here

 and shake. The patrollers would be arriving at any minute, and they would give

 her no chance to explain.

 She'd committed how many crimes already? Using her master's equipment without

 permission, calling the palace, striking a Vüs, maybe killing a Vüs. She knew

 the laws were harsh and absolute. Any abiru attack against a Vüs, any instance

 of a slave's turning against master, brought death. There was no appeal from

 such a penalty. The pa­trollers would probably shoot her on sight.

 Getting to her feet, she stared down at Kevarsh. He did not move. She could not

 tell if he even breathed. But al­though she walked and breathed, she was already

 dead her­self.

 Condemned by her own actions.

 Ampris turned and fled, racing through the corridor to the stairs. Ralvik and

 the cook stood gawking at the foot of the steps. Ampris came thundering down and

 pushed past them without pausing.

 "Ampris!" the Myal cook called after her. "What have you done?"

 From the courtyard outside came the sound of shouts and commotion. Glancing

 back, Ampris saw the master striding inside, his coattails swinging behind him,

 followed by Fain and Gur. Those two were her friends, but even Gur would seize

 and hold her if the master ordered it.

 The alarm went on shrieking, piercing her skull, drown­ing out the master's

 questions as he hurried closer. From the street outside the opposite end of the

 house, Ampris heard the approaching wail of a patroller siren.

 She looked right and left, then bolted straight ahead into the kitchen. As she

 ran she grabbed up a large pot and swung it by its handle with all her might.

 She smashed open the window above the water vat, sending shards of glass raining

 down over her head and shoulders, and climbed out. Dropping into the dusty tufts

 of grass outside, she crouched a moment, then ran, veering around the end of the

 building, through the courtyard, and out into the service alley be­yond.

 Behind her, the shouts and sirens seemed to grow louder, then faded as Ampris

 rounded a corner and ran even faster. She darted out into a larger street, one

 thronged with foot traffic and peddlers pushing wares on antigrav carts, and was

 swallowed up in the noise and confusion, leaving pur­suit behind her.

 She ran until she was panting and dizzy in the heat. She ran until suspicious

 stares from pedestrians brought her back to her senses. Only then did she slow

 down, tucking her hands beneath her tabard the way other servants did as they

 went on errands. With her ownership ring in her ear and her tabard on, she

 looked respectable and harmless. But inside she was a throbbing tangle of fear

 and worry. What was she going to do now? How could she live? Where could she go?

 Returning to Israi was impossible, even if she could somehow steal aboard a

 shuttle and return to Vir, which she could not. It was only a matter of time

 before her likeness was flashed on every vidcast in Malraaket. She was

 distinctive for an Aaroun, easily recognizable. The pa-trollers would find her

 unless she found a place to hide, and soon. But where?

 Knowing nothing about the city, Ampris wandered with­out direction, taking care

 only to avoid any patrollers she saw. Gradually the streets grew smaller and the

 buildings more dilapidated. She saw no abiru wearing tabards and discarded her

 own by rolling it into a ball and wadding it through a gap in a sewer grate. Far

 below, she heard a Skek gibbering in glee as it scuttled off into the smelly

 darkness with its prize.

 Ampris dusted off her hands with satisfaction. She felt as though a weight had

 been lifted from her shoulders. Without hesitation she took off the ownership

 ring and flung it into the sewer as well. For a moment she felt light and free.

 She stretched her arms high above her head to­ward the sky, where the sun was

 beginning to set, and ig­nored the warning rumble of hunger in her stomach.

 There had to be a way to live without belonging to someone's household. Other

 abiru folk did it; at least she had heard they did.

 The first thing she had to do was disguise herself some­how, then seek

 employment. She was not going to despair. She was not going to listen to her

 fears, or pay attention to the memory of Kevarsh's crumpled figure lying on the

 floor.

 Condemned to death. Condemned to death. The refrain ran constantly through her

 thoughts, and she pushed it away. She could not worry about that now. She had

 to—

 The only warning she had was a faint whistling sound through the air overhead;

 then a net settled its heavy folds over her. Startled, she had no idea at first

 what was hap­pening, until panic gripped her and she whirled around to fight her

 way out. But the net was impossible to escape. The more she struggled against

 it, the more its folds wrapped around her. Something snaked around her legs,

 binding her before she could elude it, and she was yanked hard off her feet.

 She fell onto her side with a jolt that knocked the wind from her lungs. While

 she was struggling to breathe and hang on to consciousness, she was rolled up in

 the net and trussed securely.

 It happened so fast, so expertly that Ampris could not believe she had been

 caught. Yet there she lay, helpless and doomed. Her escape had been all too

 short and futile. Her hopes might as well have been flung into the sewer along

 with the rest of her identity. A howl of fear filled her throat, and Ampris

 closed it off with the last remnants of her pride. She squeezed shut her eyes to

 fight back tears, refusing to let the patrollers see her terror.

 "Well, well," said a Vüs voice, a smug, self-satisfied voice. "Let's see what

 we've caught this time, Holonth."

 A booted foot toed her and rolled her over. Ampris opened her eyes, but it was

 no black-armored patroller who stood over her. Instead, she found herself

 staring up at a Vüs male garbed in loose trousers and a coat the color of dust.

 A hood lay in folds about his throat, partially ob­scuring his rill. He carried

 a stun-stick in his belt, surely, she figured, a weapon illegal for civilians to

 own. Ampris gazed at him in astonishment, but she felt no relief. Instinc­tively

 she knew this male was no rescuer. He smelled of greed and self-interest beneath

 the sour fragrance of Vüs skin. His gaze examined her without mercy.

 His companion joined him and crouched down on one knee to stare at Ampris more

 closely. Holonth's large head was covered with a smelly mat of brown hair that

 hung beneath his jaw in a heavy beard. Flies buzzed around him, and even as he

 grinned at her his broad, ugly tongue snaked from his mouth up into one of his

 nostrils.

 Ampris nearly choked on the stench of him. "A Toth," she whispered in

 repugnance.

 "Young one," Holonth said, his voice thick and stupid. "Strong and healthy."

 "Exactly," the Vüs said in satisfaction. He flicked out his tongue, then glanced

 around at the deserted street. ' 'Bad time to linger. Let's get her loaded."

 Ampris growled and snapped, but Holonth hoisted her up and flung her across his

 powerful shoulder. Helpless and afraid, Ampris squirmed all she could and lifted

 her head to glare at the Vüs.

 "Where are you taking me?" she demanded in patois. "You have no right to—"

 "An educated Aaroun," the Vüs said with amusement.

 He laughed softly to himself even as his gaze swept alertly from side to side as

 though he expected trouble. "One who has run away from her rich household. A

 pity you threw away your ownership ring before we caught up with you. We could

 have ransomed you back to your owner."

 Ampris again lifted her head to glare at him. The bobbing motion of the street

 beneath her was making her dizzy. "Is that how you make your living, catching

 runaway slaves?"

 "Such a mouth," he said to Holonth, who grunted. "Such a rebellious nature. I'm

 surprised your tongue hasn't been cut out by now. Still, I suppose you could

 tell me the name of your master."

 "No," Ampris snapped.

 "Have you been a wicked slave?" he asked her, still using that mocking tone.

 "Have you run away to avoid being punished?"

 "You're Vüs," she retorted with scorn of her own. "You know all things. Why

 should I answer?"

 He hit her for that, making her head ring. By the time she recovered her wits,

 she was being stuffed bodily into a cage in the cargo end of a skimmer. The cage

 smelled of blood. Her fear came rushing back.

 Ampris howled. "Let me out! I do not belong to you! Let me out!"

 "Shut up!" the Vüs told her angrily as he climbed into the driver's seat and

 revved the skimmer's engines. "If you cause trouble, I'll let Holonth beat you."

 Believing the threat, Ampris fell silent. Still bound inside the net, she sagged

 wearily against the side of the cage. What had she done to herself, she wondered

 in rising de­spair. All she had wanted to do was talk to Israi one last time.

 Was that so wrong? And now, she found herself de­scending from one disaster to

 another. She had thought her life was at the bottom when she'd scrubbed floors

 for the Hahveens. Now she knew how wrong she'd been. Things could have been much

 worse. They already were.

 Holonth climbed into the skimmer, his weight making it tip dangerously. The Vüs

 gunned it forward, flying fast through the twilight-shadowed streets while he

 speculated aloud.

 ' 'We can sell her to the slave market, but she won't bring a good price," he

 said. "The market is too soft this time of year."

 "Pelt is good," Holonth told him.

 "You think we should take her to the meat merchants and have her skinned?'' The

 Vüs laughed, puffing out his air sacs. "Oh, yes, she would make a pretty rug for

 the floor."

 Listening to them, Ampris curled herself as small as she could and tried not to

 whimper. They wanted her to be afraid; she could tell by the mocking tone

 lingering in the Vüs's voice. He was playing with her, the way a predator toys

 with its victim before the kill.

 Memories, old and long-buried, came to life along the edges of her mind. She

 thought suddenly of the Scary Time, and another Vüs who had smelled of cruelty

 and greed, who came in terror, with Toths at his side. It was her ear­liest

 memory of life, a terrible one she wished she could forget.

 Now it seemed life had cycled back to the beginning. She gripped her amulet in

 her fist and tried not to shiver. The amulet grew warm within the curl of her

 palm, as though her emotions had brought it to life. For a moment it burned

 against her skin.

 Astonished, Ampris uncurled her fingers and stared at it.

 The clear center of the Eye of Clarity was glowing with a fiery white radiance.

 But as soon as she looked at it, the radiance faded, and the amulet grew cool

 and lifeless again. It was just an old artifact that no one understood anymore.

 Wondering, Ampris stared at it and momentarily forgot her plight. What force,

 exactly, did the amulet contain? She wished Bish had told her more than his few

 vague hints. She wished she knew how to control it, how to use it to gain her

 release. But it was not under her command. It lay on her palm, mysterious and

 unfathomable, useless to her.

 Sighing, she let it swing free around her neck once more.

 The skimmer was slowing, and Ampris lifted her head in alarm. Many of the

 buildings in this section of the city stood dark and deserted. The place lay

 under an unnatural quiet, unlike the ceaseless noise so common in the rest of

 Malraaket. The air held the stench of garbage, decay, and rotting vegetation.

 The skimmer backed up to a pair of sagging, rusted doors, and hovered on park.

 Holonth got off and stood guard with his weapon drawn, chewing his cud and

 flicking his large ears. The Vüs pounded on the doors.

 After a long while, a peephole squeaked open cautiously. Soft words were

 exchanged, then the peephole banged shut. The Vüs stepped back, glancing around

 uneasily. Holonth stopped chewing. The quiet grew thick and tense.

 Then the large doors creaked open with the grating pro­test of rusty hinges. A

 dank, shadowy expanse loomed be­yond them. The Vüs trader conferred again with

 an individual swathed in a heavy cloak and hood. Both of them glanced furtively

 at Ampris.

 "I'll have to see her first," a voice in a foreign accent said firmly.

 The trader murmured again, and they haggled a long while before the trader gave

 in.

 "All right," he said, the tension gone from his voice. "Holonth, bring her out."

 The Toth unlocked the cage and dragged Ampris out by her feet. She squirmed and

 snarled, wishing she could break free of her bonds just enough to bite him. He

 picked her up and carried her inside as though she weighed nothing.

 A few quick slashes of his knife, and the ropes holding her fell away. Holonth

 gripped the net and unrolled her with an expert yank, spilling her onto the

 floor. She came up snarling and wild, only to be pinned by a spotlight that

 shone right in her eyes, blinding her.

 The cloaked figure circled her, his boots clicking softly on the hard floor.

 Ampris circled with him, a growl constant in her throat, her fur standing on

 end. She smelled death on him, and she was afraid.

 "What's her age?" the cloaked figure asked.

 "Fourteen, sixteen?"

 "Perhaps," the cloaked one said doubtfully. "We could get a better estimate from

 her teeth."

 The Vüs who had captured her laughed. "I'm not hold­ing her down for that. She's

 showing enough teeth al­ready."

 Ampris lunged, and quick as thought the Vüs tapped her with his stun-stick.

 The jolt zapped through her, bringing a hot flash of pain and numbness that

 dropped her to the floor. She lay there, panting and whimpering to herself, too

 stunned at first to quite realize what had happened.

 "Plenty of spirit in her," the Vüs said. "A female Aar-oun in the first stages

 of puberty. It's the perfect time to train her for the arena."

 "Perhaps, but is she trainable?" the cloaked figure asked.

 "That's your job," the Vüs said impatiently. "She's smart. She's educated, by

 the way she speaks. Her accent marks her from the north. Vir, perhaps. She's

 well-bred and solid muscle."

 "Thin for her size."

 "She can be fattened up. What do you say? Ninety im­perials?' '

 Ampris gasped at the price, and both of them looked at her.

 "She understands Vüs," the cloaked one said.

 "Of course. She's a house servant."

 "Sixty imperials."

 "Sixty!" the Vüs said in outrage.

 "She's stolen property."

 "I'm no thief. I caught her on the streets."

 "You could make more if you took her back to her right­ful owner."

 "No earring," the Vüs said smugly.

 "Which you removed," the cloaked one said in soft ac­cusation.

 "I__"

 "Sixty-five. It's a decent price for a creature off the streets, with no known

 bloodlines, no provenance at all."

 "Eighty," the Vüs argued. "She's well-boned and strong. Lots of spirit and

 intelligent besides."

 "Those cause the most trouble. If she's a runaway, she'll always be trying to

 escape."

 "She can't get away from you," the Vüs said. "Besides, the troublemakers are the

 best fighters. I've won enough bets on your gladiators to learn that.

 Seventy-five imperials will make her the property of the Bizsi Mo'ad."

 The cloaked one hesitated. Lying there at their feet, Am-pris felt a new sense

 of shock. The Bizsi Mo'ad was the most famous gladiator school in the empire,

 renowned for turning out fierce, capable fighters for the arena games.

 Shame flooded her at the thought of being sold to such a barbarous organization.

 She was no fighter. She was…

 Ampris stopped her thoughts. She was an abiru slave without an owner, without a

 home. She had been cast out by the person she loved most in the world, by the

 person who had promised to always take care of her. Now she was an outlaw, being

 hunted through the streets of Malraaket by the patrollers, who would serve her

 to a very harsh form of justice indeed.

 Very well. She had no say in this bargain tonight except in her heart. And her

 heart grew hard inside her chest while the cloaked one considered and the Vüs

 trader held his rill high in anticipation. She could learn to be dangerous. She

 could learn to be a fighter. She could learn to hate and to kill. What good was

 sitting in a garden, trying to act civi­lized? All her life, she'd striven to

 conform to the Vüs way of life, and where had it gotten her?

 Ampris backed her ears. For the first time today she al­lowed herself to savor

 that savage thrill she'd felt while attacking the steward. He'd deserved her

 attack, and it had felt good. Yes, she could be a fighter, a good one. She knew

 it in the very flex of her strong young muscles.

 All her life, the courtiers in the imperial palace had called her a savage

 beast, ignoring her gentle spirit, her trusting nature, and her loyal heart.

 Right now her heart felt as hard as stone. Ampris growled to herself. She would

 become all they accused her of being—savage and wild. She would survive, but

 never again would she trust.

 That was, if the representative of the Bizsi Mo'ad bought her tonight.

 She turned her head and looked up at him, a figure kept mysterious by his cloak

 and hood. Seventy-five imperials equaled nearly two thousand credits. Could she

 really be worth that much? Yet, from time to time she and Israi had stolen

 glimpses of the gladiator games on the vidscreen— it was forbidden for them to

 watch such bloody sport—and Ampris knew vast sums were wagered on their

 outcomes.

 "Seventy-five," the Vüs whispered enticingly. "She's a bargain at that price.

 Worth every bit of it."

 "Seventy," the cloaked one said.

 "Done!" The Vüs flicked out his tongue and clapped his hands together. "She's

 yours."

 Ampris saw the quick flash of a payment card; then the Vüs and his enforcer

 Holonth were striding outside, swal­lowed in an instant by the darkness. Ampris

 heard the skim­mer fly away, and she was left at the feet of her new owner.

 She made no move, uncertain now of whether to be obe­dient or to run again.

 The cloaked one's hand snaked out, and a noose settled around her throat, yanked

 tight when she tried to jump to her feet. Gasping for breath, Ampris gripped the

 thin cord with her fingers and writhed helplessly.

 "Be still," she was told, the accented voice harsh and merciless. "You try again

 to escape, and I'll choke the life from you."

 To emphasize his words, he tightened the noose. Dizzy and gasping for air, her

 vision blurring, Ampris stopped struggling. At once the noose slackened

 fractionally, allow­ing her to suck in a much-needed breath.

 Glaring up at her new owner, she said, ' 'Are you so rich you can throw away

 seventy imperials? Is killing how you discipline your slaves?"

 She expected to be throttled again or beaten for her in­solence, but instead the

 cloaked one laughed heartily. The noose slackened a fraction more, but not

 enough for her to escape it.

 "Ah, yes, a troublemaker who can think and reason. Get on your feet, little

 Aaroun. When we finish your training, you will be worth five times the price I

 paid tonight."

 Rising to her feet, Ampris found herself shackled with restraint bars clamped

 across her wrists and ankles. Awk­wardly she shuffled forward into a cargo pod

 and crouched as commanded while it was shut around her.

 Only then, as she was jounced and transported in a di­rection she could not see,

 did Ampris bow her head and let her burning eyes weep. Her defiance was but

 manufactured to keep her strong, and now it deserted her, leaving her with

 nothing but fear and uncertainty regarding her future.

 She clenched her fists after a moment, however, refusing to let herself weaken

 further. Backing her ears flat to her skull, she growled to find her courage

 again.

 "I will survive," she vowed softly. "I will, no matter what befalls me. And

 someday, if any justice lies in my path, it will be Israi who weeps for what she

 threw away. It will be Israi who feels regret for broken promises. No more will

 I weep for her."