Hammer of Time: The Reforged Trilogy, #3

Memories are stones cast into the river of time.

MAEVE CAVAINNA (234 PA)

Maeve stood alone in the overgrown grass of her homeworld as the wind stirred it into soft green waves. The blades whispered around her ankles and buzzed with insects. Broken and melted glass towers cast shimmering shadows like frozen flames across Illisem.

What has been can never be again – what is done is done. Each moment is unique, new and never to be repeated. This is the law of time, the music of life’s endless dance and its unfaltering beat.

How many moments had led to this one? How much pain? How much loss?

The warm Arcadian wind tugged at Maeve’s white-streaked hair and tangled it around her shoulders. A large red and blue veilwing landed on the shoulder of her armor and crept across the curved glass. Finally, the insect decided that Maeve’s bright armor wasn’t a flower and fluttered away once more.

What if one of those moments… changed? Any one of billions? Would everything in the worlds truly be different? Could a single moment rewrite entire histories, reforge those dearest to her into people that Maeve wouldn’t even know?

She knew the answer. She had seen those other lives and deaths. Time could be wounded just as deeply as any body and the twisted scars left behind were terrible.

The three white-robed figures were close, walking through the emerald grass toward Maeve. Now it was time to go. It was finally time to end this war.

What has been can never be again.

Each new dawn is born of red fire.

TITANIA CAVAINNA (233 PA)

Xartasia stood in front of the window, her arms folded into her white sleeves. Her feathered wings moved restlessly and filled the Oslain’ii’s small observation deck with a faint rustling sound.

Do you not wish you were out there, commander? she asked. With your soldiers? Surely you hunger.

Xartasia could see his reflection in the smoothly curved glass. The oil-slick black nanite armor curled up from his skin, rippling in the ship’s recycled air like smoke and momentarily obscuring his shape. A moment later, the swarm of microscopic machines settled once more onto Dhozo’s knotted, hugely muscular body. The De­vourer bared his wide mouthful of sharp white teeth.

My soldiers will bring the best of the kill to me when it’s done, the alien commander rasped. They know better than to lie to me.

That wasn’t really his voice, Xartasia knew. Dhozo’s own voice was that deep growl almost outside hearing that sounded like the rumble of thunder. The snapping, grating voice was the Devourer’s nanite swarm computer translating his words.

Why not take it for yourself? she asked.

I trust my people, aerad. I don’t trust you.

Xartasia shrugged at his reflection. She didn’t trust Dhozo and his Devourers, either.

Xartasia returned her attention to the scene outside. She had to squint to see much of anything. The Oslain’ii maintained a safe dis­tance from the silvery oblong enormity of Koji Far-Orbit Station 144. Another gout of searing, blinding white flame flashed from one of the station’s large airlocks. The huge fibersteel door folded across the middle like a discarded mycolar wrapper, crumpled and then vanished, yanked inside by an unseen force. Unseen, but not un­known. Dhozo had dispatched seven Devourers to take the station run and protected by over a thousand Alliance personnel.

KFO Station 144 was tearing in half. Of the twelve starfighters that protected the installation, only two remained. Another De­vourer crested the station’s humped back. Xartasia knew the aliens’ names, but she couldn’t tell them apart, not at this distance.

The Devourer fired a pair of particle beams that seared black lines of char across one of the fighter’s engines. The thruster flared and then went dark. A long barbed chain as thick as Xartasia’s waist lashed out from the Devourer and wrapped around the cockpit before the fighter could spiral further into the void. Hooks tore through the canopy as the Devourer pulled the fighter down. They required metal and minerals, but what the Devourers truly craved was meat.

You have earned your name, Xartasia said quietly.

Her words weren’t meant for Dhozo, but his smoky black cloud of nanites heard her and sent the audio signal straight to the huge commander’s brain.

Devourers? Dhozo filled the observation deck with a grating sound like scraping metal. He was laughing. That’s not our name.

A burst of static echoed from the direction of Oslain’ii’s cockpit and controls.

Sections eight through twelve have lost pressure! cried a voice in Aver. What the hells happened to the airlocks?

The frightened voice on the com was distorted. Security guards and researchers shouted over the Alliance frequencies.

Something’s cutting through the bulkhead!

I can’t raise operations–

Where’s the fire? The core is full of smoke, but I can’t see any fire. Fire suppression–

There’s something in the smoke!

Screams echoed through the Oslain’ii.

You are ensuring that those will not be received, yes? Xartasia asked. Jamming them?

Dhozo nodded. He didn’t look at the Arcadian.

Somewhere deep inside the Alliance outpost, a vital support gave way. The station’s blunt nose twisted and tore, collapsing in on itself. Bulkheads blackened as though burned and crumbled. A long-limbed shadow moved through KFO Station 144. It seemed small, but only from this distance. The Devourer was almost twice Xartasia’s height, she knew, and five times her weight.

Hooked black tendrils tore through the ruined metal that used to protect the space station. The flames guttered and died as their oxygen vented into space. But even the swiftly freezing gas wasn’t wasted. Barbed nanite nets flared out like wings from the indistinct black shape of the Devourer and raked through the pale cloud of frozen gas.

Calling any CWAAF forces, please respond. Please!

The voices from the Oslain’ii’s cockpit overlapped and blurred together.

–But we’ll breach the hull!

Those things are tearing right through! Return fire!

Please respond!

I’ve put two batteries worth of laser into that thing–!

–eating them! Oh God, they’re eating them!

Perhaps it was the static, but Xartasia thought that she could hear the thick wet sounds of tearing flesh. The screaming didn’t stop.

Any vessel… we need assistance. Help us! Oslain’ii, do you read me? Are you out there? Please dock on level two! We have to evacuate! Get to level two–!

Xartasia stepped into the cockpit and flipped a switch on one console with a slender white-gloved hand. The terrified cries finally went silent.

Now we feed, Dhozo said.

And then? Xartasia asked.

We will build your ships, little aerad. We have made our deal. The station should have metal and minerals enough to begin.

Dhozo’s gaze remained fixed on the twisting, shattering Alliance space station. One of the remaining portholes was smeared in red and stared back at the Oslain’ii like a bloodshot eye. The Devourers were monsters. But Xartasia would make her alliance with them worth the blood and horrors to come. For her people, for her fallen kingdom.

All would be as it should have been.

"You said Devourers is not your name, Xartasia said at last. Or not your only name, at least, as I have adopted Xartasia… And as you call the Arcadians by their old names, aerads. So what do the Devourers call themselves?"

Dhozo finally turned away from the devastation outside to re­gard the fairy. He towered over her and had to bend at the waist to avoid hitting his slick, bald head on the ship’s fibersteel ceiling. Dhozo bared his multitude of long fangs again.

Us? We are the Glorious.

Needing advice doesn’t make you a fool, but ignoring that advice does.

XIA (233 PA)

Tiberius Myles hummed the fragment of song to himself. He couldn’t remember the whole thing, just that single line. And even that didn’t sound right. Was that really how Bristler’s Call was supposed to go?

His off-key song bounced and echoed through the Phoenix’s cockpit. Orphia lifted her gray-feathered head from under one wing and fixed a cloudy eye on Tiberius. The old hawk squawked at him – a squeaking, rusty-sounding noise. Tiberius wasn’t sure if she was joining in or re­proaching her master. Either way, he fell silent.

The last echoes faded away and silence fell over the empty Phoenix. Tiberius flew on. Orphia went back to sleep, leaving the old Prian captain very much alone.

You can’t be serious! Duaal shouted. "We saw them!"

We have only your word for that, Ralison said.

The CWAAF submajor sat back and inspected a datadex in his hands. His office was as impeccably clean as his own dark green uniform. The room smelled sharply of soap and harsher disinfectants. Maeve couldn’t look anywhere in the room without facing her own angry reflection.

No, you don’t! Duaal pounded his fist on the polished black tabletop. You have reports from the Prian police, too.

Not very many of those, Submajor Ralison said He wrinkled his nose as though he could smell something unclean in his perfect office. There are… three reports in total? That’s not very much to go on.

Because everyone else is dead! Maeve cried. She tried to keep her voice quiet and civil, but fury tightened her throat and her words were a strangled cry. The Devourers tore them apart and left not even remains enough to mourn.

Ralison put his datadex aside and avoided Maeve’s eye. Instead, he looked out one of his windows. The office was located on the two hundred eighty-seventh floor, halfway up the starscraper where thousands of offices maintained the Alliance apparatus on Mir.

That’s convenient, isn’t it? These Devourer things are supposed to have been gone for a hundred years. Ralison said. He risked a brief glance at Maeve. "If they ever existed at all. Why would they return?"

We have already been through all of this with the authorities on Tynerion, Maeve said. Her head throbbed and her voice was rising again.

Where are these Devourers, then? Ralison asked in a tone that made it clear he didn’t expect an answer. He ran a finger along the gleaming surface of his desk and inspected the results with a frown. CWAAF has received no reports of anything like your smoke mon­sters anywhere in the galaxy. Surely somebody would have noticed something like that.

I already told you, I don’t know where they went, Duaal said.

"Yes, you banished them, Ralison sighed. Using a Waygate of which there is no record. And using magic that cannot be scientifically verified."

Kemmer kept the discovery a secret while he studied the Pylos Waygate, Maeve protested. It–!

And the Prian police buried it in the mountain, Ralison interrupted with a wave of his striped hand. He glanced over at Duaal. "And you used this conveniently undocumented device – of which none have ever been seen in the core – to send the Devourers away. By your own report, you don’t know where, but you are somehow certain that they’re still a danger."

They are! Duaal insisted. He jumped to his feet beside Maeve, cheeks darkened.

Ralison gazed impassively at Maeve and Duaal.

And they’re allied with this– The officer checked his datadex. –Xartasia, an Arcadian princess. Why exactly would she work with the creatures that supposedly destroyed her own civilization?

We do not know, Maeve answered. But my cousin sacrificed many lives in the pursuit of her unknown goals. Whatever use she has for the Devourers will cost us all in blood. Why will you not listen to us?

He is listening, Logan Coldhand said. He leaned against the wall next to the door. He fixed ice-blue eyes on the submajor. He just doesn’t want to believe us.

Ralison’s lips pressed together into a thin line, but he didn’t look at all embarrassed. Outside the perfectly clear window, pale wisps of cloud raced across the blue sky. Far, far below, the city gleamed, almost as clean as the submajor’s office.

No, I don’t believe any of this, Ralison said. The tall Mirran submajor checked the time on his computer and stood. I’ve wasted enough time with this. Look, Miss Cavainna, we have plenty of real problems to deal with. My loyalty is to the citizens of the Alliance, not to some wandering fairy princess making a plea for attention at best, and a grab for power at worst.

Power? Maeve asked. What power do you think I could seize by this… this madness?

Logan stepped closer to Maeve and put his hands on her shoulders. The cybernetic fingers of his left hand were cold and heavy.

"See? Even you call it madness, Ralison said with satisfaction, then looked at Logan. But you’re the one with credentials on file. You arranged this meeting. You haven’t said much, though, Mister Centra. Surely no one with a background in proper law believes any of these fairy tales."

I do. I’ve seen the Devourers, Logan answered. I was at Pylos. Which you would know if you had actually read the reports. But even if I hadn’t encountered them myself and even if I didn’t believe Maeve about it, I would listen.

Wait, what exactly–? Ralison began.

Logan didn’t wait. Maeve is warning you about a threat to the entire Alliance. Even if she was wrong about it – which she isn’t – you should take every threat seriously.

Ralison stood up and crossed his long arms over his chest. The mask of stripes around his eyes contorted as he scowled at Logan. An E3 license grants you many privileges, Mister Centra. Privileges and freedoms that depend upon you maintaining a good standing with the Central World Alliance Armed Forces. CWAAF trusted your past experience and training would guide you in execution of Alliance law.

"Trusted?" Logan repeated, emphasizing the last syllable.

You’ve clearly been compromised, Ralison said. CWAAF can’t have its own employees inciting panic, Mister Centra. I’m revoking your bounty hunter’s license.

"I am not compromised, Logan said in a voice like cracking ice. You can’t revoke my permits unless I’ve committed a felony offense or failed a psychological evaluation."

The submajor snatched up his datadex, tapped the screen a couple of times and then threw it back on the table. Which you just did. Now get the hells out of my office.

Why are you–? Maeve asked, but Duaal grabbed her arm and towed the fairy away.

Don’t make things any worse, Maeve, he hissed. The Alliance doesn’t want to listen. We’re on our own.

Duaal led Maeve out through the open door of Ralison’s office. Logan followed a step behind.

Gripper, Panna and Xia waited for them at the Hanjirrah library, just a few blocks away from the huge CWAAF starscraper. They sat on the steps of the polished blue dome, in the shade of a colorfully striped awning. Panna set down the datadex she had been reading and Gripper jumped to his huge feet.

How did it go, Glass? he asked, calling Maeve by her newest nickname. What did they say?

Maeve waited for a middle-aged human in a smooth brown suit to brush past – primly ignoring the Arcadian – and then sank down on the steps beside Xia.

You’re back early, the Ixthian said. I doubt that bodes well for your success.

Duaal threw his hands into the air. They won’t listen! CWAAF thinks we’re crazy, or else that we’re trying to start a panic.

Submajor Ralison suggested that this was all some sort of ploy for attention, Maeve added miserably. Though even he could not say how.

And then that idiot revoked Logan’s license, Duaal finished. I didn’t even know he could do that.

Every last eye turned toward the bounty hunter. The ex-bounty hunter. Logan Coldhand stood on the edge of the tiled sidewalk, arms crossed. He met each shocked gaze in turn until the others looked away. Except Maeve. Logan didn’t look at her.

Panna picked up her datadex and turned it over in her hands without reading the screen. What now? We came to Mir because it had the largest military presence in the core. Except for Axis, of course.

We can just try again, right? Gripper said, his plaintive voice ridiculously belying his huge, ogreish appearance. We can talk to someone else. Someone in another city? Or maybe on Hyzaar?

We cannot, Maeve said more sharply than she meant to. She hated to upset the young Arboran, but what else could she tell him? Without Logan’s authority, we cannot make our words heard! Submajor Ralison met with us this morning based only on Logan’s rank.

But… but…

Gripper had no other ideas, but obviously didn’t want to give up. Maeve shared his painful frustration. They had been through all the same arguments and fights on Tynerion, first with the local board of Poes Nor University and then with the global regents.

No one believed them. No one wanted to believe the Devourers could ever come to the core. The huge, smoky monsters were a century-old story from a race of people the coreworlders ignored as a matter of course. A hundred years was a long time to the Alliance, Maeve reminded herself as she stared down at her hands. Generations. There were still some alive who remembered the first appearance of the Arcadians, their flight from the Devourers, but they were few now. And even those had only heard stories of the De­vourers. Only the Arcadians had seen them.

Only we remember, Maeve thought. But what did that matter? It wasn’t her own people that she was trying to convince.

We should get back to the Blue Phoenix, Xia said. Staying in Hanjirrah has been expensive and we can’t afford to be here longer than it’s useful.

But we don’t know where to go next, Panna protested.

Wherever it is, we can figure it out and get there in the Blue Phoenix, Duaal said. Let’s get the hells off Mir.

No one had any new objections, so Gripper keyed up the mainstream from a dented and claw-scarred computer he carried in one oversized pocket and ordered a large taxivan. It took almost an hour to arrive at the domed library and then for all six to squeeze inside. Gripper’s weight made the vehicle bob a little on its orange-tinted null-field. The stripe-skinned driver looked over her shoulder at the strange alien, but said nothing.

No Mirrans had commented on Gripper, Maeve thought. Not where she had been able to overhear, at least. When Maeve whispered her observation to Panna, the wingless Arcadian girl nodded.

Mir has a greater number of predator species capable of taking down humanoids than any other core world, she answered in the same hushed tone. The ancient Mirrans survived because they hid from their predators, and they still have that prey mentality. I doubt any Mirran will go out of their way to attract attention from anyone as big as Gripper.

The driver darted another look over her shoulder at Maeve and Panna. Xia’s compound eyes turned an amused blue-green color. She smiled at the Arcadian women with shiny silver lips.

And they retain their ancestor’s sharp ears, Xia said. She didn’t bother to whisper.

Maeve’s face went hot and she quickly turned her attention to the window. They were driving through an older part of Hanjirrah that looked nothing like the glassteel needle rising up into the clouds where they had met with Submajor Ralison. Most of Han­jirrah looked like shelves of pottery. The endless plains of Mir con­tained little stone large or strong enough to quarry and even less in the way of useful metals. As a result, other than the Alliance star­scrapers, almost everything on Mir was built from brick, ceramic and tile.

Maeve’s view was of arches and domes in a hundred sizes and colors, all covered in tile mosaics or painted with depictions of plants and animals that Maeve didn’t recognize. Most of the people in the doors, on the sidewalks or driving past were Mirran, all tall and long-limbed. Their green and brown stripes reminded Maeve of grass. As they were supposed to, she guessed.

A wall loomed ahead as the taxivan glided over the crest of a hill toward the edge of Hanjirrah. It towered over the city. Not as high as the Alliance starscraper, but the wall had probably been the tallest thing in Hanjirrah until its construction. Maeve craned her neck. She assumed that the gigantic wall encircled the whole city. Some of Hanjirrah had spread beyond the wall, but most of that was the skyport, landing fields like the one where the Blue Phoenix was now, and not many Mirrans lived there.

The wall was old, tall and very thick. Its patterned surface was mottled by centuries of repairs. At a huge gate, a customs officer asked a few questions – there were a number of substances legal on Mir that were not on most other Alliance worlds – but no one had bought any of them and the taxivan slid quickly through the check­point.

Unlike the relatively uniform inner surface of the wall, Hanjirrah’s towering edifice was painted with vast murals of strange ser­pentine creatures, all covered in impressive spines as long as Maeve was tall. Looking back over her shoulder as they drove through, she could make out the huge, dark-hued scales painted in meticulous detail. Not loving or artful, she thought, but as though perfectly depicting the great lizard was of the utmost importance to Mirran artists. But no wall – even if the monsters painted on them came somehow to life – would be enough to keep Hanjirrah safe from Xartasia and the Devourers.

What are those? Maeve asked, pointing to the paintings.

She only wanted to think of something other than her cousin, but Panna’s pretty face lit up. She had been an ardent student of archeology and anthropology before all this began. Even Gripper and Xia looked up, curious.

There are similar walls around most Mirran cities, Panna said. They predate the Central World Alliance by hundreds of years. Traditionally, they serve to keep out wildlife, predators that hunted primitive Mirrans for millions of years.

The taxivan was close to the landing field now. A great, flat sea of pale green grass rippled all the way to the horizon, broken only by the angular silhouettes of grounded starships. As if to punctuate Panna’s lecture, a snarling howl echoed across the landing field, just audible over voices and the distant grind of ship engines.

Gripper shifted his impressive weight uncomfortably, making the seat creak in protest. He came from a race of herbivores, of prey, too. The Arborans lived high in the trees of their homeworld. It wasn’t so different from building great walls to hide behind, Maeve supposed.

The paintings vary by city and local mythology, but I believe that these big guys– Panna twisted in her seat to point to the train-length monster in the mural. "–are called sosurrians. They’re a sort of dragon. The pictures are supposed to scare predators away. In some stories, Mir itself is a sosurrian egg. The Mirrans say that the world will end when the great wyrm inside finally hatches. Later, in Union of Light texts, the sosurrian became one of the forms of the devil."

Ripples of pale cloud reflected the bright Mirran sunlight and Maeve squinted at the sosurrian. Despite the hot and humid day, she shivered. Panna followed the princess’ gaze and bit her lower lip in a frown.

"It does look a bit like a Devourer, I guess, she said. With all the black scales and spikes and such."

Maeve’s stomach knotted until she wondered if she would be sick right there in the taxivan. The Devourers were terrible enough in nightmares, as monsters of myth and history. But they were back.

And Xartasia had made some kind of alliance with them.

Ralison was an idiot, but the man was right about one thing. Why would any Arcadian ally with the Devourers? It made absolutely no sense, but Xartasia had done just that. Summoning the deadly aliens seemed to have been her entire purpose in joining Gavriel and his Nihilists.

But why? Xartasia couldn’t plan to use the Devourers simply to wreak destruction on an unjust galaxy. That was what Gavriel had wanted. If she had wanted the same thing, why kill her one-time student at all? He would have done Xartasia’s work for her.

Was it pride, then? Was her victory only worthwhile if she led the suicidal charge herself? Maeve didn’t think so. Xartasia lacked that sort of mad hubris. Something was badly broken inside her cousin, Maeve knew, but she didn’t think that Princess Titania had lost her mind. No, Xartasia had some careful and probably clever plan. What it was, however, Maeve had no idea.

She didn’t realize that the taxi had stopped until Gripper was rocking the entire van as he squeezed out the door. Logan offered Maeve his hand. He hadn’t said a word since leaving Ralison’s office. As the tall Prian helped her down, Maeve searched his face for any sign of what he was thinking, but found nothing. Logan Coldhand felt passionately and deeply – as they had both discovered – but whether he wanted to or even could express all those emotions re­mained to be seen.

The Blue Phoenix squatted on top of a sun-bleached concrete pad, sensor spars bristling out in every direction. Many of them were bent and several were broken. Gripper had repaired them as best he could, but the old freighter needed replacement parts. Parts that cost money its new young captain didn’t have. It was expensive enough just to keep the Blue Phoenix flying and its crew fed… A crew that no longer included Maeve, she reminded herself. She and Logan were passengers aboard Duaal’s ship, dependent upon his friendship and generosity in their battle against Xartasia.

Let’s get some lunch, Duaal said as he unlocked the streaked gray airlock. The door thunked heavily and swung open. Maybe we’ll be smarter on a full stomach.

Xia, Gripper and Panna followed him into the starship. Maeve lingered in the pale sunlight. Logan stopped beside her, his pale blue eyes fixed on Maeve.

You want to talk to me, he said.

I do, Maeve admitted.

She couldn’t help smiling at her hunter. Even if he was hard to gauge, Logan had no difficulty reading her. He always seemed to know what Maeve was thinking. But this time he was wrong.

Without my bounty hunter’s license, I’m doing you no good, Logan said. I can probably challenge Ralison’s decision, but that will to take time. More time than we have. I can’t help you anymore, Maeve.

It had been a long day. A long year… And a long century before that. Maeve was tired and had trouble following what Logan was saying. But when she finally did, she scowled up at her hunter.

You think that you have failed me, Maeve said.

I have, Logan answered, expression blank. Now I’m just an­other mouth to fill and you don’t have much money.

And so you will… What? Remain here on Mir while I fly away? Maeve asked.

If you want me to, Logan said. His tone was flat and pragmatic. There’s not much point in me going with you.

How could he think that? Maeve took both of Logan’s hands in hers. The left one was as steady as ever, but the right one shook. Not much, but she felt the delicate tremor like a heartbeat.

You are not some tool to me, Maeve said. You have not served some purpose after which I would discard you.

Logan went very still and said nothing. Maeve strained up onto the tips of her toes, stretching her wings out behind her for balance, and still couldn’t quite reach the human’s stony face.

I am not a queen, she said, and you are not my vassal. You are my lover and I would not be parted from you.

But–

As to the cost of your food and lodging aboard the Phoenix, Maeve interrupted. She smiled at Logan. You share my room and Duaal will gladly suffer the loss of food in exchange for keeping me out of his way.

Logan Coldhand actually blushed at that and lifted Maeve into his arms, finally giving her the kiss that she had been reaching for. His illonium fingers were cold against her back, even in the warm Mirran sun. Maeve shivered and smiled. There was no touch quite like her hunter’s.

"But I… we did fail today, Logan said when he had breath again. Xartasia and the Devourers are still out there."

Maeve shook her head and kissed Logan again. She had no an­swers for him, and no idea what to do next.

No kingdom is built in a day.

PANNA SUL (234 PA)

After lunch, Xia was the first to bring up Axis again.

Maeve poked a blob of greenish goo around her plate and made a face. The coreworlds were full of technological marvels: engines that propelled ships between the stars faster than light and the null-inertia fields that made it possible, laser weapons that could fire thousands of shots on a single charge, cloned and – though far less popular – cybernetic replacements for lost limbs and organs, janitorial and medical nanites that eliminated the need to clean dishes or sharpen blades, even the phennomethylln that coated the Blue Phoenix hull that allowed it to fly into a star’s searing corona.

And yet the protein and vitamin paste that made up most meals on the Blue Phoenix felt and tasted like glue. Still, it was far better than nothing… Maeve had been hungry before, starving on the streets of one of Hyzaar’s arcologies. Maeve heaped her spoon and swallowed as quickly as she could. Nutritious was about the best praise she could lavish on her meal, but that was enough.

When they were done eating, Logan helped Maeve collect the dishes and then carry them to the sink. Duaal’s spoon flew toward her with a thought. Gravity was apparently an easy force to manipulate with his new power. In small amounts, at least.

Maeve dodged aside just in time to avoid the spoon dripping on her wing. Logan caught the dirty little missile and dropped it into the soapy water. Maeve rolled up her sleeves and began scrubbing. The sorts of nanites that made it unnecessary to wash dishes may have been amazing pieces of technology, but they were also costly and so it was Maeve’s job to scrub away their congealed dinner re­mains.

I believe there is still dessert, Maeve told him.

Logan smiled and the expression was still strange on his serious face. Clumsy, somehow.

I’d rather watch you, he said, and hesitated and before adding: You’re sweeter than any dessert.

You could help me with the dishes.

Logan raised his left hand. The illonium was as unreflective as a gray shadow. It’s manufactured to be waterproof, but I’ve cracked the casing too often. Not a good idea to submerge it.

Maeve went quiet, trying to figure out if Logan Coldhand was making a joke. She decided that she couldn’t be sure and gave him a kiss instead. His lips were slightly cool to the touch, as though the cracked casing of his cybernetic hand had leaked cold metal out into the rest of his body.

You could dry them, she suggested.

I could.

Logan searched around until he found a threadbare dish towel. Panna had been thumbing through something on a datadex – the same one she had been reading earlier that day, Maeve suspected – but now looked up with a frown.

Are you… doing dishes? she asked.

Sort of, Maeve admitted. Logan was distracting me.

I bet, Panna said. But she was still frowning. You shouldn’t be washing things, princess.

Why not? Maeve asked.

She hoped that Panna didn’t think she was unequal to the task. It was just dishes… But the other Arcadian got up and plucked the sponge from the sideboard.

"You’re a princess, she said, emphasizing the title. You’re above this kind of scullery work!"

But she does it all the time, Gripper objected. He didn’t look at Panna, but was eyeing Logan as though afraid the Prian might kill him with the towel he held.

And what else is a princess supposed to do while on a ship? Maeve asked.

Panna shook her head and didn’t answer that. Gripper fidgeted and Maeve reached for the sponge. Panna was visibly torn between wanting to keep it away and reluctance to fight with her princess. It made Maeve uncomfortable, but she could at least take a moment’s advantage of Panna’s indecision. Logan held out the towel to Panna.

You can dry them, he offered.

Panna sighed and took the towel. Maeve squeezed some bright green soap into the water and got to work. Tiny iridescent bubbles sifted up from the sink and landed on her skin, smelling of artificial pine.

Our landing fees are only paid up through tomorrow night, Duaal said. He smoothed down thick, curly brown hair. Ever since Prianus, he had stopped bleaching it. Should I renew them? Or are we going somewhere?

What about Axis? Xia asked. There’s got to be someone who will listen to us about the Devourers.

We can’t go back there, Duaal answered. We’re dead to the Axis police. And if we come back to life in their records, we’re criminals, remember? We’ll have to go through a trial and pay fines be­fore we could talk to anyone.

You don’t have enough information to make your case about the Devourers, Logan said. He leaned against the counter next to Maeve as she scrubbed a dented pan. We need to be able to tell them where to look and what to look for.

"But we don’t know that," Gripper objected in a squeaky voice.

No one on the Blue Phoenix had quite adjusted to Logan’s presence, but it was hardest for Gripper. The huge brown alien was still terrified of Coldhand.

So we need to find out, Logan answered evenly. We need to find Xartasia.

How, exactly? Duaal asked.

He leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet onto the table. His leather boots filled the mess with the slightly chemical smell of polish and left black smudges on the tabletop.

I don’t know yet, Logan said.

Duaal looked at Maeve, who had paused in washing dishes to listen. And this is the man who always managed to find you?

She was trying to get caught, Logan pointed out. The galaxy is vast. Trying to find any one person in it is next to impossible. So I usually find out where my prey likes to be. I go there myself and then wait. Or else I let it be known that I have what they want and they come to me.

"Can we do that with her?" Gripper asked.

He had no nickname for Xartasia and seemed reluctant to give her one.

I have no idea what my cousin wants or what she intends to do, Maeve said.

But whatever it is, Xartasia must be leaving some kind of trail, Logan said. Everyone leaves their marks. We just need to find and then follow it. Gripper, I’ll need you to come into Hanjirrah with me tomorrow.

What? Gripper jumped up and banged his head on the mess ceiling. Me? Why me?

I’ll need mainstream access and there’s no significant signal outside the city, Logan said. There’s going to be a lot of information and I need an extra set of eyes. Yours work, right?

Yeah, Gripper answered skeptically, apparently not quite sure about this fact. I guess…

What about me? Maeve asked, a bit stung that her lover hadn’t asked for her help.

You don’t like computers, Logan reminded her.

Oh… yes, Maeve agreed sheepishly. Is there something else that I can do?

I was going to go find where the Arcadians live around here, Panna said. She finished drying the pan and replaced it in a cup­board. She closed and latched the door with a click.

To find out if they’ve heard anything about Xartasia’s plans? Xia asked.

Uh… no, Panna answered, flushing. I just wanted to talk to them, actually. Maybe see if any of them have some glass armor from the old kingdom to go with the princess’ spear. But I can find out if they’ve heard anything about Xartasia.

Panna glanced over at Maeve. Do you want to come? I’m sure it would mean a lot to see their princess alive. Everyone thought the whole royal family was dead.

Maeve scrubbed hard at a bowl to conceal her hesitation. She didn’t like to advertise herself. It was Maeve, after all, who had accidentally summoned the Devourers into the White Kingdom, where they decimated her people. Even before that, she had been only a cousin to the royal family, in no danger of ascending to the throne or doing anything important.

Maeve had meant what she told Logan – she was no princess. Not really. Not anymore.

I will stay, Maeve told the sink full of soapy water. I am sure I will be of more use here.

Sure, Duaal said. There are plenty more dishes to do.

Maeve darted a look back over her shoulder at the new captain. Was he taunting her again?

No. Maeve saw a teasing twinkle in his dark green eyes, but it didn’t seem malicious. Maybe Duaal even thought he was offering Maeve a legitimate excuse to remain behind.

Yes, she answered in an admittedly brittle tone. I have dishes to do.

Panna’s face fell, but she nodded.

How about you, Xia? she asked.

The silver-skinned Ixthian nodded. Sure, I would be happy to go with you.

What about me? Duaal asked. Don’t I get an invitation?

Panna actually stuck out her tongue at him.

I’m sure you have plenty of work here on the Phoenix, she told Duaal. Overseeing the dish washing and such.

Anger flashed in Duaal’s eyes and a red ember of fire kindled in his palm. The proud young mage had never liked being teased. But then the flame snuffed out and Duaal laughed.

I guess I do, he agreed. I should put in for supplies in case we figure out where in the three hundred hells we’re going.

Want to trade jobs? Gripper mumbled. He was chewing on one of his thick climbing claws and spoke awkwardly around it. I can do dishes.

I think Maeve and I can manage, Duaal said with a smirk. You enjoy your trip with Coldhand.

Gripper looked at Logan again and whimpered.

Maeve’s voice echoed off the walls of her bunkroom, a rising note of passion and pleasure. Her wings curled around Logan as his touch set her blood afire. Here in his arms, it was easy to forget her fears. Fear for the Arcadians, alone on Alliance worlds and surrounded by aliens who didn’t care if they lived or died. Fear of Xartasia and whatever she intended.

And terror of the Devourers.

But not here, not now… Now there was only the hot-cold presence of Logan within her, the feeling of his sweat-damp skin against hers and the musical sounds of her joy. Logan kissed her, never silencing Maeve, but tasting her song.

Maeve lay in Orthain’s arms. Her eyes were closed and Aes’ golden light caressed her skin with smooth, warm fingers. Birds chirped in the well-tended trees and a nearby stream burbled as cheerfully as a happy child. Orthain stroked Maeve’s long black hair as he sang.

"To you I give my love,

My heart and life,

The heart and life we share."

Maeve looked up into Orthain’s exquisite golden-green eyes. She lifted her hand and caressed his smooth cheek. Orthain caught her wrist and kissed her fingertips.

Will you share in my oathsong, enarri? he asked.

His voice shook. His glass armor could not protect his heart from the woman he loved. Maeve sat up and brushed back Orthain’s hair.

To you I give my love, she sang.

"My heart and life,

The heart and life we share."

Her lover’s eyes lit up. Orthain spread his long wings and vaulted into the air, pulling Maeve with him. He twirled her around above the garden, singing in pure delight.

I must have missed something lovely, said a voice from below.

Maeve looked down. Another winged shape stood in the grass, waving and wearing a simple white robe that rippled in the warm breeze. His tightly bound hair was the black of a raven’s wing. Maeve slipped from Orthain’s arms and landed in the garden.

Caith! she cried and hugged her brother tightly. Orthain has asked me to marry him!

And what was your answer?

Orthain landed beside a blooming rose tree. He picked a pink blossom and tucked it into Maeve’s ebony hair. The knight kissed her brow.

Maeve has agreed, he said with a grin. You will be my brother, too. And then you will have to share her with me.

Maeve woke alone, but the mattress beside her was still warm and full of Logan’s strange, salty human smell. She gathered his pillow to her chest and hummed happily.

There was a knock at the door. Maeve wrapped a sheet around her chest and unlocked the door with a swipe of her fingers across the control panel. Panna stood outside, still dressed very much like a Poes Nor student, like a human woman with her shirt concealing her back, to cover the scars of her wing removal.

To think that any Arcadian would cut off her wings… Panna’s sacrifice made Maeve feel guilty for refusing to go with her today.

Good morning, Maeve greeted the younger Arcadian. Do you need anything?

Panna had inclined her head and raised it now, blushing a brilliant pink at the sight of Maeve’s undress.

I’m sorry, Panna stammered, blinking rapidly. I didn’t mean to interrupt.

Logan is not here.

Panna was still blushing, but a small, sly smirk spread across her face.

Humans are much larger than Arcadians, she noted. That must be a challenge at night.

Maeve refused to be abashed, but her cheeks went quite hot.

Logan and I are more or less compatible in the bedroom, she answered. And I was a knight of Arcadia. I am not so fragile.

I’m sure you can handle any weapon Coldhand carries, Panna agreed with a giggle. She covered her mouth to stifle the laugh and then cleared her throat self-consciously. I was hoping you would reconsider coming with me today, Highness.

Maeve didn’t feel that guilty. She shook her head.

I am no hero for our people, she said. Panna at least deserved honesty. I have no hope to give them.

Panna stood in the narrow fibersteel corridor, her hands thrust into her pockets and shoulders hunched. She was disappointed, but the blonde girl nodded.

Alright, Panna said. Just Xia and me, I guess. Where’s Coldhand? Did he leave already?

Yes. Though not long ago, I think, Maeve answered.

Panna nodded and turned away.

Did it… hurt to have your wings removed? Maeve asked.

Panna turned to face Maeve again and stepped back until she stood pressed against the opposite wall, rubbing her palms over her chocolate-colored pants. She chewed her lip before answering.

Not much. The anesthetic and pain blockers were very effective. The surgeon did a good job and I healed quickly.

But you did it in order to attend an Alliance university, Maeve said. She loosened the sheet wrapped under her wings. Which you have left to help me. Do you regret the decision? Would you take it back if you could?

Panna clasped her hands in front of her.

No, she said. If I had my wings, I would still be on Cyrus. I would never have known Professor Xen or you, princess.

Maeve didn’t know what to say. Panna bowed to her and before the princess could ask her not to do that, Panna had turned away and retreated down the hall. Maeve sighed and went to find some clothes. Maybe there were actually some dishes to wash.

Don’t go looking for stuff you don’t want to find.

ANANDROU GRIPPER (233 PA)

Logan and Gripper hired a ride into Hanjirrah. It was a waste of time and money to drive to the city just for mainstream access, but necessary. On most planets, the worldwide computer network was accessible from orbit, but Mir didn’t bother investing precious cen­marks in extending the mainstream.

Modern Mirran culture was still centered on family and tribal bonds, Logan noted as they passed through the huge, painted city wall, and tended to focus solely on local problems and ties. Mir spent more into global defense than any world but Axis, the CWA capital. There was a military network accessible from anywhere on Mir, but without his bounty hunter’s license, Logan couldn’t use it. So that meant going into Hanjirrah.

Domes and arches in Mirran browns, greens and blues flickered past outside the taxi windows. It was another hovering van, since they were