BOOK 0: FIELDS OF FIRE Chapter iv

Eventually the Shargassi reluctantly concluded there was no Arda liquid to be found on the former Thuringi planet. Several warriors were lost beneath the thick sludge once known as an ocean, in search of it. All but two members of the Shargassi governing body the Elect were military, and the majority demanded the warships hunt down and wrest the powerful material from the fleeing nomads. They knew Thuringi engines and generators and other fabulous inventions were powered with it. Lycasis Phillipi must have stolen away with it all! Ships were dispatched to retrieve any Arda liquid and finish off their escaping enemy.

The Quantid was the flagship of Thuringa and it was from this vantage point Lycasis directed the exodus. The Quantid’s blunted cone shape flew with its larger end slightly to the fore, where most of its hanger bays were located. The Quantid was a Dreadnaught class ship, its forward bays large enough to hold battleships or battlecruisers in need of repair or recharge.

A third of the way back from the hangers, the bridge served as nerve center of the fifty-story ship. Screens all around the bridge showed camera views from every direction on the outside and selected main areas of the ship such as the lobbies of the Academy, dining halls and the main portion of the main engineering post. The royal quarters and the hallway connected to them ran from the bridge to one of the hangers. Around the middle and on the smaller end of the ship, shuttle bays for service traffic from other ships would keep the main bays available for use by warships.

The battleship Ellis was the Quantid’s guard ship, and the Phillipi brothers flew their battlecruisers the Loue and the Solenil in concert with it. The respective squads diced with the Shargassi. With the unexpected loss of Maranta Shanaugh, Darien was thrust prematurely into his role as commander of the Royal Thuringi Air Command. While the Warrior Prince relished battle, he did not enjoy his new position. He cared little for battle strategy as a student, wondering why he should ever bother with it as long as they had the capable General Shanaugh on hand. Now he bitterly wished he paid more attention to Maranta’s lessons.

His brother Stuart was an enthusiast of Thuringi history, strategy, and anything remotely to do with adventure or performance. Darien always mocked his brother’s eagerness to learn or improve his abilities before; the Warrior Prince believed he could simply blast or hack away at an aggressor until victory was achieved. In a one-on-one battle it never failed him but in a large-scale fight with multiple complications, Darien was at a loss for where to start.

Everything Stuart suggested was what Maranta planned, and it sounded much more practical and potentially successful than anything Darien could devise. Darien willingly acquiesced to his obviously better prepared brother, and Lycasis's seasoned veterans responded quickly to the crown prince. They recognized Stuart’s abilities superior to those of the Warrior Prince. No one held Darien to blame. Everyone counted on Maranta Shanaugh to live and serve another three hundred years, and for Darien to gradually develop under his tutelage.

Stuart gathered what battleships were left in the fleet and worked out a strategy with the veterans who quickly explained the details with the others. Lycasis heard status reports on the fleet and not all were dismaying.

"The General Population Quarters - the GPQs, if you will, have held up very well so far," Argo Garin reported. The GPQs held the bulk of the citizenry and the three gargantuan structures were equipped with defensive weapons. "Every man, woman, and child stepped forward to contribute to the effort to survive. Every Thuringi citizen over twelve years of age who took even a rudimentary lesson in weaponry is eager to take turns at the battle stations to do his or her part. Even the Bishop of Arne put armor on over his cassock."

Bishop Ira Trapis joked to his fellow religious he was ready to give a sermon to the Shargassi during which none would be tempted to sleep.

“For a change,” quipped a little boy, who stood nearby with flasks of refreshment for the gunner on duty.

The bishop eyed him. “Impudence is an inadvisable course for you to take, Roark,” he declared as he got into the gunnery position. “You must mind your manners.”

“I am sorry, Grandfather,” the boy said, “but it was simply too ripe not to pluck.”

The bishop reached to tousle the child’s hair affectionately before he turned to the task at hand.

The specialty ships posed different problems. Lieutenant Colonel Rees Beece reported for the ship in his command, the zoological ship Tarque. "We lost nearly twenty of our strongest rheamor during the exodus, and another twenty were severely injured. The necessity of animal population control would offer a potential protein source, although the medicals are unsure how a diet of illini would affect us. In addition, the beren have had to be sedated, and we lost two breeding females last ginta."

Major Gona Trapis reported for his crew on the botanical ship Insa, which provided feed for the animals and grain produce for the people. "The small grove of transplanted Dorea saplings are not doing as well as we hoped and in fact look sad in comparison to the mighty giants they represent. The grain crops are also struggling to produce. But perhaps it is the relative unfamiliarity of dealing with nothing but saplings and our perception of what was rather than what is which fuels this speculation. The fruit trees are taking longer to adjust than we realized, and we judge it is a matter of correcting the grow-lights. The friak plants are producing enough to get us by, but we have high hopes all plants will mature soon."

The medical ship Daven Bau was a catchall for things other ships could not or would not carry. The main goalposts of the Kellis field of Arne were not considered necessary to bring and were regarded as a sentimental request. They were placed in the Daven Bau anyway and put to good use by supporting heavy medical equipment from the crosspieces, which made room underneath for other items.

Brigadier General Hartin Medina's report was to the point. "Three hundred forty-seven civilians and over five hundred warriors were in the wards until only recently, when we sent one hundred eighteen recovered civilians on to their designated quarters. Two hundred sixty warriors were deemed fit to return to service."

The oceanic ship Freen was the most delicate of all the ships and the one which gave Lycasis the most concern. It was a structural nightmare for its designers and by necessity, the first ship to be built and the last to benefit from updated engineering. The largest ship in the fleet, the Freen was kept in the center of the Armada surrounded on all sides by the other vessels. It was shaped like a mile-wide friak seed, tapered on the sides and plump in the middle. It required a great deal of Arda power to get it into orbit, which resulted in both Lycasis and Stuart exhausted for days after they escaped the Shargassi. The effort plus their responsibilities resulted in both men remaining on the bridge of his respective ships for days, leaving only to sleep for a precious ten-hour sleep shift. In time, strength returned, and they could maneuver about without strain.

Commander Brent Ardenne stood to give his report at the first Royal Court on board the Quantid but turned instead to face the assembly. He had heard a contemptuous snort behind him when his name was called, and found it came from Bishop Ira Trapis. He stared at the bishop with narrowed eyes, wordlessly daring him to make another sound.

"Do you find something amusing in any of these reports, Bishop Trapis?" Brent demanded. "Are you readying yourself to laugh at the plight of the Aquatic people and our sea creatures?"

"Of course not."

"Then kindly leave the room to clear your throat, sir, or I shall surely clear it for you the hard but immediately satisfying way."

"I will help Lord Ardenne," Dale Orlean said as he shouldered his way through the crowd to the bishop's side.

"No, I am... my throat is clear enough," Ira Trapis said.

"See that you keep it that way," Brent warned, and turned back to address the king. "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. The Freen's creatures appear to have survived the stress remarkably well, and we are happy to report none of the creatures, not even those in the dangerous tank, seem the worse for the occasion. I understand from Dr. Medina those Aquatics who have been on the Daven Bau have made a cautious recovery from the dreadful poisoning they suffered during the last days of Thuringa and will join us soon. We will survive."

"As shall we all!" Lycasis agreed with pride, and the assemblage applauded his words.

Space construction would have left the Freen open for attack from the Shargassi, and impossible to fill with its cargo. The majority of the space in the ship was reserved for a sea as full of as much marine life as could be salvaged; a smaller sea held the dangerous creatures. The concern those might consume all the non-threatening sea life kept them quarantined.

The sheer size and weight of the Freen combined with its fragility made it unable to travel the wormholes of space to Farcourt. The time-consuming traditional flight through space was required instead. The watermen of the Freen needed occasional all-body submersion for their continued health and it was simply a fact to face.

In order to go swiftly to places like Farcourt on the far side of the galaxy, the people of the Stellar Council worlds normally traveled through wormholes, ultra-swift passages through space. All ships except the Freen were believed to be structurally stable enough to utilize the wormholes but the haste in shipbuilding made the engineers hesitant to absolutely swear by the claim. The Freen’s troubled conundrum affected the entire fleet. The Freen could not travel alone; its sea life would provide food for the Armada populace, but the ship was so large it required protection of the entire fleet. The rest of the Armada needed the battle ships and cruisers just as badly.

Supply freighters Gallina One and Three held the bulk of the dry food and water storage for the Armada. Friaks were a common food staple, one Lycasis believed would become one of the least appreciated. Feeding an entire population in space would be difficult; some items would not last through sheer attrition. When they were gone, they were gone completely unless re-stocked by a friendly world with a similar product. Friaks were plentiful and could grow almost anywhere in any conditions but were boring to eat after a continual diet of them even with varied preparation. In the end, a friak was a friak, unremarkable but enduring. Gallina Two was primarily a water tank filled with suitable hydrogen/oxygen-based snow or ice from polar planets, processed to supply the other ships with fresh water, a supplement to each ships’ recycled water.

Last but not least were the general cargo freighters Fontan Shue and Yianee, and the smaller freighter Seebo which held medical supplies and the Steag Hallid, an engineering cargo ship. Their reports were brief since they did not include any health reports of their populations.

The warrior ship reports were given during regularly scheduled military meetings. There were so relatively few war ships left; the battles on Thuringa and after liftoff saw the valiant end to dozens of ships. Seven battleships bristled with armament and numerous jetports for their fighters. The ten smaller battle cruisers only had six bays for fighters but were fast, highly maneuverable and armed to the max.

Prince Stuart commanded the battlecruiser Loue, named for a small yellow flower that once grew so dense, entire mountainsides appeared to be made of gold. Prince Darien had the Solenil, named for the tallest mountain on the Sendenar range on Thuringa.

The Shargassi presence on their homeland grated on every nerve, knowing their enemy trod the same ground that held the beloved honored dead of Thuringa. The graceful spires of the Cathedrals of Arne and Fellensk and Mallon were favorite Shargassi shooting targets, but harsh desert wind of Thuringa protected the pacific streets and neat shops and grassy parks in its relentless way by burying them in sand. The tidy homes connected by smooth streets vanished under the ash and debris of the dying planet.

The lush forest where Maranta and Carrol gathered pushkas seeds only a few ginta ago was blackened and desolate. Wild creatures perished in the firestorms raging unchecked over the land, unable to find a safe haven anywhere. The bountiful fields of the farmers were no longer recognizable under the landmark-free stretches of dunes. The once humble little interior country town of Carzon was no less than the once-mighty seaport of Arne. No regal ships sailed sparkling seas; no cheering, shouting crowds watched Kellis on a Festival afternoon. Only silence reigned, broken by the occasional stirring of harsh stinging winds urged by the now merciless sun.

The only remnant of the Arda liquid on Thuringa was useless blackened sludge beneath the surface of the planet. The rest, of which the Shargassi were not aware, was in the dimension portal in the throne room onboard the flagship Quantid, a drop in each ship engine, and in a pitifully small supply the whereabouts only King Lycasis Phillipi knew.

The Loue’s sensors first picked up the approach of the Shargassi battle fleet from the rear, so Stuart put his defense strategies into action. Even before Maranta’s grave was covered, Stuart went over and over in his mind the plans he heard his Warrior General explain in the days before the fatal arrow strike. Maranta left little to chance and liked to plan ahead of time with wartime contingencies in place for nearly every conceivable variable. Stuart turned to Maranta’s three trusted highest officers Hartin Medina, Jace Shanaugh and Regar Renaugh, and those men acted according to Maranta’s carefully laid out plans. Stuart led the charge against the attacking Shargassi with his battlecruiser Loue, and his valiant efforts energized the Air Command warriors. The Quantid was both flagship and defender as it kept Shargassi ships away from the oceanic Freen. The Shargassi assumed because of its size the Freen was the flagship and this was to the Quantid’s advantage.

Darien Phillipi flew under the direction of his better-trained twin brother and piloted the Solenil into battle. The Loue was a standard sleek battlecruiser, but the Solenil was considered Darien’s very own toy which he altered over the years until it was a swift, powerful monster. It was fitted with armaments and missiles and tactical machinery not found on battlecruisers, with help from Maranta’s favorite mechanic Gareth. The Solenil behaved more like a Dreadnaught class ship, one of the most powerful class of ships in the Known Worlds. Stuart planned to use that power to Thuringa’s advantage but took care to keep his hotheaded twin in check so he would remain in battle formation and thus, where he was most needed at the time.

The Shargassi were not prepared for such a strong defense. They were pushed back from the Armada, a reminder that the ecological destruction of the planet did not equal superior firepower. The small Armada was much easier to protect than an entire planet. Seven times the Shargassi attacked the fleet and every time the Air Command drove them away. When Stuart finally unleashed his “secret weapons” as he called them, the Shargassi fled before the unchecked might of the Solenil and the battleships Morgan and the Faed. These ships punished their foes with withering fire until the Shargassi generals finally sounded retreat. As a parting shot, one commander spat out: “Go on then, and may you starve in space where you belong.”

Hartin Medina slammed his fist down on his console, frustrated he could not come up with some appropriate rejoinder. His navigator Ren Renaugh keyed up to speak to his commander but instead, his words went out through the com system and into the ears of the Shargassi: “Yes, space is where we belong if only to keep it clean of thieving, murdering vermin like the Shargassi!”

His fellow Thuringi whistled and cheered Ren’s quip. Ren glanced at Brigadier General Medina, keenly aware it was his commander who should have spoken and not a navigator. But Hartin Medina nodded at Ren with as satisfied an expression as his stony battle countenance ever wore.

“True words, Major. Exceptionally good.” Hartin could think of nothing but vile oaths as a reply to the Shargassi, so he appreciated Ren’s presentable phrase.

Carrol stared dully out into the black-blanketed space through the observation deck view screen. Two months passed since the Thuringi Armada fled their home world, she was told, but time no longer meant anything to her. She had been under constant sedation the whole time and missed everything. She missed how her brothers led the Air Command Squadrons in the successful defense of the Armada as it lumbered away from its dying world. She missed the battles, the discussions, the insults, and the triumph of survival in space.

Carrol glanced around. There was no longer anyone ready to sedate her if she looked distraught. The past two months for her were dull, sleepy hours punctuated by moments of anguished reality. She could not blame them; no one in the fleeing Armada had time to wrestle or worry over her. They pumped her full of tranquilizers and tucked her away in a safe place, a roomy observation deck with only a scattering of padded benches in the area. They tried to place her in her apartment, but it was full of unpacked boxes and unsafe for a frenzied or half-sedated princess, boxes full of memories to trigger her grief anew if she opened them.

Gareth Duncan strolled onto the deck, fresh off duty. His shoulder-length hair was still askance from scooping it back out of his eyes while he worked. He noted she was awake and alert and so far, calm. He was not overly cautious on approach like her brother Darien or the other Thuringi medical staff like Sandan Medina, when she could recall snippets of their visits. Garth strolled in an ordinary manner which immediately made Carrol feel better.

“Feel like a drink?” he asked, and she nodded. He produced a small blue flask from his tunic pocket and handed it to her. She hesitated before she ventured a swallow.

“It is water,” she said in surprise.

“Well, of course it is water,” he replied. “With all that material they put in you, do you really think I would give you anything stronger?” His directness made her smile, the first time she smiled in flight.

“No, I suppose not,” she agreed.

He sat beside her, unbidden. “Well, we are on our way, wherever that may be.” He looked at her with one eyebrow cocked in a quick appraising manner. “Are you hungry?”

“Sort of,” she admitted. “I do not know when I last ate.”

“They fed you about five hours ago.”

She stared at him. “Am I that bad?”

“Well, you were. You seem to be all right now but then you often are, at first.”

“How do you know?”

“I check in on you from time to time,” he told her as he looked at the starfield on the screen.

“Why?”

“Nothing better to do,” he said flatly.

“You said I am all right, at first. What happens then?”

“Well, at the risk of setting you off again, you start screaming for the general and they stick you with a tinsure of sleep draught.”

“Oh God. Maranta,” she moaned, and Gareth quickly cut her cry short.

“Oh, stop caterwauling right this moment,” he snapped at her, and she stared round-eyed at him in surprise. “Good God, Your Nibs, you act as if you and you alone are the only one of all of Thuringa to have lost a loved one.” The door opened and several people entered but Carrol did not look at them. Her gaze remained transfixed on Gareth with her mouth slightly opened, agog at his words. Gareth concentrated on her and did not take his gaze away as he continued in the same cool voice. “You need to face the hard, ugly facts, woman. You have lost a husband, but a lot of women have, so join the group. You are not the only one, so stop wasting the sacrifice he made for you and get back to work and life. You are a medical officer and there are plenty of lives who need your help.”

“What do you think you are doing?” Sandan roared at him as he approached. "Have you no heart, man?”

“No,” Gareth snapped at Sandan now. “Not anymore.” He took another hard look at Carrol. “Get up. You know what he always used to say: ‘Journey on, brave warrior, for great deeds were not done by the hearthside.’” With that he left.

“Go after him and smack him,” Sandan told one of his aides but Carrol rose and waved a hand to stop them.

“No no, he is right. I have been selfish. I am not the only one who lost the one I love. I must get back to the now.”

The entire group relaxed with relief. “Well then,” Sandan corrected to his aide, “Go after him and thank him.” He led her to her designated quarters. “Carrol, we have Maranta’s effects in a storage closet. His family said you might want to have some of them, should you come around to accepting his fate.”

“If I do not go mad with grief?” Carrol sighed. “Oh Sandan, I have been an awful nuisance.”

“No, you were not. But you were one of the most frightening examples of grief-stricken I have ever seen.” He smiled ruefully. “I suppose we could have all saved a lot of time and energy if we turned Gareth loose on you earlier. I did not know he came in to see you.”

“He spoke as if he knew something about loss,” Carrol said. “Has he lost someone?”

“Well, from what I understand literally every member of his kindred is now dead. He is the person with the surname of Duncan on the manifest, and no known kin from his mother’s side for several generations,” Sandan told the abashed princess. "Even his hero Maranta is gone, and the woman he loved chose another man only recently.”

“I feel stupid,” she said, as she sat down in a chair.

“Well, how could you have known?” Sandan said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “Get busy, now. Get your quarters in order, anything as long as it is something constructive. That is an order from your doctor,” he added with mock severity, and left her alone.

She arranged her quarters enough to know where things she might need were. Everything was thrown into the apartment at the last minute and she ended up pulling out the necessities and shoving Maranta’s boxes into a corner. She took a bath and changed into her medical uniform. The Shargassi continued to launch surprise attacks on the fleet now and then, and tensions were high even during this lull period. As she set out to wander around the ship, a Naradi Famede guard fell in step beside her.

The Naradi Famede was a specialized branch of the Royal Armed Command, the guards of Grace Palace. They were still on duty with the Armada’s flight, primarily with the Quantid. The general Naradi were Thuringi police who were the first line of defense for the civilians. They kept order and quiet and calmed the occasional cantina brawl. Carrol managed to talk her father out of her need for a personal Naradi Famede on Thuringa; otherwise, she and Maranta would never have been able to see each other secretly. But in the light of her recent state of mind Carrol understood her father’s precaution.

She glanced at the Naradi. He bowed and reminded her, “I am Lieutenant Colonel Glendon Garin. Your father thought it prudent for me to accompany you about the ship,” he said quietly. Carrol nodded, resigned to the fact not only would she have a guard but her brothers' storied Glendon Garin de Renaugh! His reputation for correctness and procedure was well deserved, which was why he was usually assigned to the Phillipi brothers. He was also what her friends called “a head-turner”: an extremely attractive man.

“Could you tell me if you know the whereabouts of Gareth Duncan?” she asked. “He is a mechanic.”

“If I know him and I do quite well, if he is not in his quarters or at his workstation then he is probably bending an elbow in a cantina,” Glendon offered helpfully.

They checked his quarters and his workstation where they learned Gareth was nursing a glass of ale at the Quantid’s cantina the Standard.

The cantinas on the ships were much like the ones had been on Thuringa: loud, unevenly lit, and a comfort for the hard-working warrior and civilian alike. The main difference was the cantinas on Thuringa were notoriously dusty with a perpetual coating of sand on the floor, tracked in by the warriors. Except for the dust and the presence of little orange-winged beetles around the doorway, the Quantid’s Standard did a close job to capture a typical Thuringi cantina.

The walls were painted tan. The vertical light globes hanging at intervals on the walls bathed the room in a warm golden light. Already several idle patrons drew a few small beetles on the wall around the doorway to give it the familiar look of the old days. A long wooden bar stretched along one side of the room - Dorea wood, of course, that most resilient of fibers - behind which was displayed a handsome variety of drinks from all over the known galaxies.

Borelliat brandy was by far the drink of choice for many. Its smooth warm embrace soothed many a jangled nerve of the pilots and warriors. Thelan wine was much like the people of Thelan: exciting, sharp, and powerful. Borelliat ale was the most often served drink, however: its bite was pleasing, refreshing, and ale was more plentiful than the more expensive brandy.

Trade with monetary systems of government like the Borelliat was not easy for the Thuringi. Thuringi did not use coin to buy and sell among themselves, opting for a system known as Hours. The only things Thuringa had to barter to other worlds were Dorea wood and orrel pearls. The only thing from other worlds they ever desired was Thelan wine, Borelliat ale and brandy, Pleonian steel for their weaponry, and the occasional technological marvel from the Senga or the Sturbin.

There were many booths lining the walls in this particular cantina. Two high-backed benches embraced the sides of a six-man table, one end against the wall, the other open to the cantina. Tables and chairs filled in the area between the booths and the bar and as usual, they were mostly occupied by thirsty off-duty Thuringi. It did not take long to find the booth Gareth occupied.

He sat by himself, one leg crossed over the other, one ankle on the other knee. He laid claim to an entire side of the booth, his arms sprawled out on either side of the backrest cushion. Three empty glasses with tiny rings of ale remnant sat before him, and a few new beetle drawings graced the wall. He saw Glendon and Carrol and gestured to the other side of the booth with a careless flip of his hand.

“That is a good girl; you will be all right as long as you can find your way to a cantina.” She and the Naradi sat opposite him. “Hello, Glendon; have not seen you in a while,” Gareth addressed the Naradi as he gestured once more to a bartender across the way. He pointed to his glass and then indicated his companions and held up two fingers. The bartender nodded.

“You have not looked very hard,” Glendon replied. “I come to this cantina often. We must just miss each other.”

“I see you brought a guest.” Gareth was silent for a moment before he said, “I should apologize for my lack of tact toward you, Your Highness. I had no right to be so harsh.”

“But it worked,” Carrol told him. “You were right, every word you said. I am not the only widow here; I must not waste his sacrifice, and there are lives in need of my medical help.”

“For the love of all, Gareth, you told her that?” Glendon suddenly exploded, somewhere between aghast and highly amused. “Just how far back down the ranks do you want to be sent?”

“He will not be 'sent down' anywhere; he told the truth I needed to hear,” Carrol said. “It seems the two of you know each other well.”

“Yes, for years. Then he courted my wife’s sister, but-” Glendon stopped, awkward.

“She walked,” Gareth replied in a clipped manner. “I am glad to see her departure has not affected our friendship.”

“She is a fool,” Glendon assured him. “She will be sorry. He is not a good choice at all.”

“Oh, of course he is. Thuringi women only trade up,” Gareth replied, with a candor Carrol found comforting in its honesty. The bartender brought over their drinks and marked their hours for there was no monetary system among Thuringi, only work for goods. “I put in overtime, Daven Fern; I am therefore free to get blissfully, foolishly, delectably drunk,” Gareth told him.

“You are well on your way.” Daven returned to his bar.

“Do you really want to get foolishly drunk?” Carrol asked gently. Gareth leveled her with a look that was increasingly drunker.

“Why? Is sedation the answer?” he came back.

“Stop it,” Glendon hissed. “There is no excuse for poor manners.”

“I am sorry,” Gareth said contritely. He stared into his glass. “Damn the Shargassi."

“Do not blame them on this mark,” Glendon told him. “If it is the only thing they have not done, it is that they have not been the one pouring ale into you all eve.”

Gareth hurled a phrase at Glendon that Carrol had not heard in some time. It was a juicy insult perfectly acceptable in a cantina but would have curdled luket in the royal parlor. She laughed aloud, and they both gave her quizzical glances.

“That sounds just like something Maranta would say,” she laughed, and realized it did not hurt to think of him. She continued smiling, and they both recognized the milestone.

“Well, it is not as if he never used it on me, and often,” Gareth said. The three lifted their glasses in salute.

“To Maranta Shanaugh,” Glendon said, and all within earshot echoed the toast. Stuart and Darien entered the cantina and immediately spotted the trio.

As Darien ordered drinks at the bar, Stuart approached the table. “They said you were out of sickbay,” Stuart said to Carrol, relieved to see it was true.

Gareth slid over to the wall side of his booth to make room for his crown prince. Darien pulled up a chair, turned it around, and sat in it backwards at the open end of the booth. The two princes were still concerned for Carrol and she wanted to put her doting brothers at ease.

“I am going to be all right.”

“Good; I was uncertain how much longer I would be able to keep you under,” Darien remarked. “I understand we have a new doctor on board.” Stuart grinned, but the other three looked at each other, mystified. “It seems this good mechanic has discovered how to quick-circuit the mind of our little sister,” Darien said before he quaffed his drink. “He needs to put in for battle hours.”

“I will settle for another round,” Gareth said.

“If the hours rate is that light for such hazardous duty, let us catch up,” Stuart said as he motioned to Daven Fern. The bartender recognized his patrons and simply brought out a bottle of Borelliat brandy and plunked it on the table.

“How do you propose to settle this on hours?” Glendon asked.

“Simple,” Daven said with a smile as he turned to go, “I will put it all on Darien's tab.”

Darien issued an oath on the order of Gareth’s earlier one, to which Gareth lifted his glass in approval as the others laughed at Darien’s unplanned generosity.

Carrol felt better; perhaps it had something to do with the camaraderie immediately among the five of them. Perhaps it was because she accepted the loss of Maranta at last. Perhaps still, it was the Borelliat brandy.

Into this crowd literally fell Brent Ardenne de Garin, Stuart's brother-in-law. He slipped in a pool of spilled liquor on the floor, and unceremoniously plowed into the table from over Darien's shoulder. He landed on top of the table and scattered the drinks all round. Unruffled, he rolled over on his side to face Carrol and Glendon. "Well, hello, little sis. What are you doing with this crowd of reprobates?" he inquired casually.

"She has been avoiding unstable singular reprobates," Gareth came back, and Brent twisted around to look at the speaker.

"But she found you anyway?" Brent ventured with a grin. He did not recognize him but liked the quick retort. Gareth lifted his still-unspilled glass in reply. "A man after my own heart," Brent observed, and backed off the table. The glasses were cleared, the bottle recovered, and more glasses were brought forth. Brent sat down next to Stuart as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

Glendon leaned toward Darien. "I am supposed to be guarding your sister. I should not be drinking."

"My sister is doing well. She is not going to harm herself in such an august crowd of protectors. Have another shot." Glendon did as his prince ordered and happened to look over at the doorway. He spit out his drink in reaction, which sprayed Darien in a fine mist.

"You were to have another shot, not me," he roared.

"It is my wife's sister," Glendon groaned. "Why this place, of all places?"

"She is waving her choice under my very nose," Gareth said indignantly. He made no move to do anything because he could not. The more cautious Stuart did not relish seeing his newfound friend get into a brawl and had wedged Gareth tight against the wall.

"Who is waving what?" Brent asked curiously, and Stuart considered him slyly. He did not mind enlisting his rowdy brother-in-law in a little mischief.

"See the woman over there by the door?"

"Ah, yes. A fair lady, that."

"She is Glendon's wife's sister. She just dropped our good friend Gareth here."

"Who is Gareth?"

"The singular reprobate."

"Emphasis on singular," Gareth wheezed. "Name of all, Your Nibs! Give me room to breathe." Stuart laughed and gave him a little room.

Darien grinned at Gareth. He liked anyone who had the sand to refer to a member of the royal family as 'Your Nibs'.

"She dropped him, hey?" Brent eyed the woman with devilish interest. "Darry, old boy, I believe that is not proper behavior for a fair lady. Why did she drop him?"

"In favor of the tunic of the man who is now nibbling her neck at the bar," Glendon replied, as he eyed his sister-in-law with disapproval. "Upon my word, she is bold! Her father will have a fit larger than thirst. She knows better than such careless behavior."

"Oh, just twist that knife when you stab it in my heart," Gareth mumbled.

“Is that Tomas Hellick with the woman?” Brent noticed, his ire rising. “What is it about that man that gives me a bad stomach?”

“He is up and coming among Father’s younger advisors,” Stuart informed him. "Quite the helpful one; one might say, solicitous." Darien puckered his lips and made a quick series of smacking sounds. Stuart grinned and did not disagree.

“It may be what they have in common; they both trade up to get what they want. Who cares who might be in the way,” Gareth commented unhappily to his glass. Darien turned in his chair to observe the woman in question.

She had a calculating look in her eye; a look that took in the measure of a man’s worth and applied it to her own code of standards. She was attractive in the way a woman is when she knows she is on display and has prepared herself well in advance for the inspection.

Most Thuringi women chose to display their charm quietly. One showed in interest in a man but was not blatant about advertising her willingness to capitulate to his advances. Their desire to retain respect usually prevented such overtures. If there was any nibbling to be done in a cantina, it might be done in the relative privacy of a booth. If there was a heart to break, it was to be done with as little wounding as possible for both parties. To be sure, one's choice of mate was a free one to make and changes happened, but it was the rare Thuringi woman who did not choose to ease out of such situations as gently as possible.

Thuringi men fell into two general categories: the overwhelming majority were like Darien's brother Stuart and the Naradi Glendon Garin: courteous, correct, and oozing with kindness and tact. They were the essence of Thuringi manhood and a credit to their people. The minority were like Brent and Darien: theoretically correct when necessary but deliberately offensive if given the opportunity. They were the sort one kept locked in the kitchen pantry as long as the vicar was visiting in the parlor.

Gareth Duncan presented Darien with a third, hitherto unrecognized category: the unintentional offender. He was an unrefined, unsophisticated man who was no match for the predatory female who now used her heel-follower-of-the-king paramour at the Standard to deliberately wound her former swain. She looked directly at Gareth with a lofty air of defiance and reached out - without looking - to tickle Tomas Hellick under the chin lightly. Hellick was a little surprised but certainly willing to encourage her. Gareth scowled and drummed his fingers on the table but did nothing else. He might not hesitate to say exactly what was on his mind ordinarily, but his instincts suddenly told him not to make a scene in the cantina.

Darien always found delight in fighting proper instincts. “What is her name?” he asked Glendon, nudging the Naradi for information. Glendon was always a good source for general information and he did not disappoint his prince this time either.

“Lia Neo,” Glendon told him. "My wife's sister, and about as different from my Janis in propriety as could possibly be. I thought she was damn lucky to capture Gareth's heart and damn stupid to toss it away, if I may declare such a thing."

"Well, Brenton, old boy," Darien said as he rose from his seat, "It appears the woman is open to all offers. Do you think?" The wicked gleam in his eyes matched the look in Brent's own. Brent also rose to his feet and polished off his glass of Borelliat brandy.

"From the both of us," Brent suggested, and together the two approached Gareth's former love.

"Do not do anything stupid," Carrol called to them. Darien dismissed her caution with a wave of his hand behind his back.

"Those two?" Stuart shrugged. "With them, stupidity comes in every bottle."

Gareth slid a little lower where he sat. He did not know what to expect from royals and their associates. Glendon was used to the antics of Darien and his longtime friend Brent and therefore not surprised by the pair's actions.

The two moved to each side of Lia Neo and smiled wickedly at her. She was immediately apprehensive as to their purpose. Darien's face naturally lent itself to the appearance of mischief and until his devotion day, Brent Ardenne earned his reputation as a masher.

It was Brent who memorized entire sections of the Tarinade, the most erotic and only blacklisted of all Thuringi books. It was also rumored Brent utilized such memorization to his distinct advantage with the women who caught his eye. He met his match when he discovered Isador Orlean de Herrin also memorized sections of the Tarinade. She was reciting it for the amusement and astonishment of her squadron mates when Brent happened upon the scene.

The sight of her fresh, wholesome face as she whispered the melodic and arousing lines that scandalized Thuringi society captured his interest. Behind her wholesome exterior lurked the heart of a fellow avid scholar and it convinced him here at last was the perfect mate. Thirty years of happy marriage to Isador did not dim the naughty gleam in his eyes nor blunt the piercing way he now looked at Gareth's former love.

"What do you want?" Lia asked uneasily, and immediately wished she had not. Darien was eager to engage in a caustic tete-a-tete and pounced upon entry.

"I understand you are still not expressly devoted to any man as of yet," he fairly purred, and moved closer. "Certainly, less so than a few months ago." Her new paramour shouldered his way between them.

"Lady Lia should not be harassed," Tomas Hellick told Darien with cold displeasure.

"Indeed not. I am merely wondering."

"Wondering what?"

"I wonder if the damsel has room on her card for another, since she so effectively erased Gareth Duncan from it," Darien said as he used his powerful shoulders to muscle past the man to stand next to her.

"Something with which you need not concern yourself," she said coolly, and glared at Brent. "Does your wife know you are out drinking and carousing and baiting innocent women?"

"Of course, she does. She says it primes me." He winked at her, and she gasped. No proper Thuringi man spoke so scandalously to a woman but then again this was Brent Ardenne, a rascal of the first order.

"You, sir, are disgusting. And you," she said, and jumped when she turned back to Darien and found him closer to her than before. "You should not assume your royal title affords you the liberty of crassness."

"My royal title assumes me nothing; my way is my own. And it was not I who unceremoniously dumped a good soul to the wayside to take up with some star jockey." Tomas Hellick started to open his mouth to protest but thought better of it. Darien's gaze scanned Lia up and down. "Silly me to presume! Any woman who flits from one man to another and uses a public forum to underscore her choice, might well assume crassness is a matter of course."

She stamped her foot in outrage to the amusement of the onlooking bartender, Daven Fern. Tomas Hellick gave him a look that convinced Daven to inspect the glass he held a little more carefully.

"Oh, let us move on," Brent suddenly declared, and his voice boomed over the din of the cantina. "Someone is bound to waste time with her. Why should it be us?" The two nodded at each other and returned to their table.

Gareth slid down in the booth until his chin was even with the edge of the table. "Well, thus ends my hopes for relationship mending," he said dryly. "Not that there was much hope, I suppose."

"You wanted her back?" Carrol asked, astonished.

"There are plenty of stars in the universe; I am certain somewhere amongst the Thuringi people there is a more deserving woman for you," Darien told him as he sat back down in triumph.

Stuart shook his head at his twin, and at his brother-in-law Brent. "Well, if you are that certain, perhaps you could introduce him to some. It is the least you could do now that you have befouled his future with her. I had no idea the two of you were going to make such a spectacle - oh, what was I thinking!"

"Anyone brazen enough to advertise herself before a barroom full of accommodating pilots should brace for future incidents," Darien claimed with finality.

"It is time for a second go," Glendon subtly mentioned through a forced smile, as he noticed Lia stalking toward them with the stiff gait of the outraged.

"Gareth Duncan," Lia voice cut through the air, "I cannot say much good of some of the company you currently keep."

Darien edged his seat aside to give her room. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, her jaws clenched, and brow furrowed. Colonel Hellick stood behind her, torn between disdain for Gareth and concern that she was about to insult the royal siblings. He did not look at the royal personages at the table directly nor did he speak.

Gareth rose from his slump and sat proudly in the booth. "If I possess a downward spiral, I might point out it began with you," he said to her, with far more dignity than if he were fully sober.

"You are a least example of admiration," she snapped at him. "Go running to your powerful friends whenever your feelings are bruised?"

"No, I went running for a bottle," he bluntly admitted. "They just happened to be holding glasses." This comment brought forth smiles from his companions.

"I do not expect an apology from anyone like Brent Ardenne or Darien Phillipi," she told him with a regal air.

"You would not get one, either," Darien said with a shrug, and grimaced at the kick on his shin from Stuart. "What," he protested.

"I was not speaking to you," she addressed Darien without looking away from Gareth. "I suppose I expected something better from you, Gareth."

"I did nothing," Gareth pointed out. "I do not know why you think I should feel badly two people I hardly know decided to stand up for me, unbidden. As you pointed out some time ago, I have not the power to command a hot meal let alone princes and warriors. I suppose I should thank you profusely."

"For what?" she demanded.

He reached into his tunic pocket and tossed an object on the table. It rang and rattled before coming to rest between two empty glasses. It was a slim silver-and-gold entwined ring with a small orrel pearl nestled between the metal strands.

"I will not need that now." He picked up his glass. "I shall trade it on Thelan for something worthwhile."

They stared at the ring dumbly. It was a ring of no small consequence. They recognized the exquisite Sengan workmanship and could tell it was one of their better-quality pieces of work. The last contact they had with the Sengans was during the building of the Armada, so Gareth must have acquired it long before the fleet ever left Thuringa. The fact that he carried it around on his person told them he had hoped for reconciliation.

Lia’s face went white and Carrol saw a flash of regret on the woman's face before she wordlessly turned on her heels and fled the cantina. Tomas Hellick threw Gareth a vile look before he joined her. The group at the table sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment.

"I am so sorry, Gareth," Carrol said quietly.

"I suppose we were a bit hasty," Brent said, as close to being abashed as he had ever been. "Perhaps we should have let you speak first."

"It does not matter." Gareth’s head was bowed but he watched Carrol through his lashes. "I have not lost as much as some." She placed her hand on his. He smiled and then turned to Stuart. "Well, if you will let me out, I will find my way back to my quarters. I need to go on duty soon and I should be sober when I do."

"Good idea," Stuart agreed, and they all rose to leave. Glendon shook his head.

"Well, this should be interesting. After I see you to your quarters, Princess, I suppose I should go see if I am to sleep on the settee this evening."

"Why would...oh yes, your wife's sister. Surely she would not hold that against you?"

"I do not know. Part of Janis’s mystery is not really knowing what is going on in her mind." Glendon's smiling face was the type of thing other Thuringi wished for when dealing with their wives and sweethearts: his looks could soften the hard shell around an angry heart.

"Then go on now and see if you can head off marital discord," Stuart suggested. "I will be more than happy to accompany my sister. I would consider it a favor. Go on, now. It is quite all right. "

"Thank you, Your Highness," Glendon said with obvious relief, and headed for his cabin.

Stuart and Darien escorted Carrol back to her cabin. "Will you be all right?" Darien asked.

"Yes, I will be. Do not worry so. Life goes on, however unfairly it may seem at times. I will return to duty as soon as possible." They left her at her quarters.

"Do you think she will be all right?" Darien asked Stuart.

"I believe she will. Perhaps she and Gareth will be able to comfort each other."

"Oh, good God!"

"No no, not like that; it is far too soon for either of them anyway," Stuart protested as they walked toward the Throne Room, and their father. "I mean they understand loss at this point better than anyone they know. They can support each other's burdens."