Chapter One

"Teena!" Terr cried in torn agony, arms upraised reaching toward a turbulent sky.

Jagged and stark, lightning touched the hills and made the dwellings along the skyline flare and dance with cold white fire. With a pealing crash, thunder ripped the heavens apart. The ground cringed and shuddered. Cold and biting, the rain came down in slanting sheets, pursued by the mournful thin wailing of the wind.

He stood there letting the power of the wind and the rain wash over him in a vain hope of replenishing something that had been drained, rent from his very soul. He lowered his arms and gripped the ramp railing until his fingers ached from the strain. A strangled sob escaped from somewhere deep within him. He buried his face in his hands and felt the hot wetness in his eyes leak between his fingers. He was not crying, just wiping the rain off his cheeks.

The hurt he felt was an agonizing throb deep inside him, of loss and betrayal and shattered faith. It was a feeling of being soiled, something the rain could not wash away. There was a pressure in his chest, an exquisite sharp pain that probed and cut, threatening to burst through him. He clenched his fists and exhaled with a shudder. Mouth set in a rigid grimace, he tilted back his head.

"Nooooo!"

It was defiance to hell sent with hate and forlorn longing. It was a cry of shattered innocence and lost dreams. But there was no one to hear his torment in the storm. There was only the sound of rushing wind and hissing rain. He wrung his hands and swallowed. It went down lumpy and hard.

Shoulders hunched, he turned and stumbled back into the house. The door sighed shut behind him. His footsteps were heavy and loud in the empty corridor. Flat echoes surrounded him like a cloak, a reminder of all his yesterdays and of what might have been - fool's dreams. Now the echoes mocked him with each step he made. A wet rivulet slid down the back of his head and icy tendrils touched his neck. He leaned against a wall, weary and lost, wishing for oblivion and its peace.

Absently, he reached into his pocket and clutched her scarf, deriving a measure of comfort from its soft touch. The liquor bar lit up as he approached. He punched in something, not really caring what, just to stop the hurt for a while. The frosted tumbler slid out and he held it with hands that shook with coiled tension. He drank the bitter mixture in hurried gulps. He breathed out the pungent fumes with a shuddering grunt.

"Anabb ought to try this," he mumbled and stared at the glass.

Rit!

Anger and hate boiled within him, burning with a flame that was consuming him. That was one name he did not care to think about. With a snarl of revulsion, he hurled the tumbler against the wall. The tinkle of broken crystal was a window into the fires of his mind, a glimpse into the chaos of his thoughts.

"Damn you," he whispered with hissing intensity. "Damn you to hell!"

Blinking rapidly, he stared at the scarf in his hand. He extended his arm and looked at the clinging material, hanging limp and lifeless. He opened his hand and tilted it slightly. The sheer piece of precious cloth slithered with a rush and fell without a sound to make an insignificant pile on the carpet. That was how easy it had been to snuff out two lives. He regarded the material and his eyes misted.

"I am sorry, Teena ... sorry..."

He did not know how much he drank, but it must have been a lot. His eyes felt gummy and his mouth was dry, tasting like rotting lawn clippings. The Wall was cycling through random color patterns and he could not remember having switched it on. He finally decided that it didn't matter worth a damn.

He did not remember getting into the cable-tube and the upper level. Clutching the walls, he staggered toward the bedroom. The door slid out of his way and he blinked as pale blue light touched the walls. The bed was wide and right in front of him. He fell across it with a heart-felt groan and the lights went out, leaving only the faint green safety strip along the bottom of the walls. Her smell was everywhere; on blankets, pillows, everything. The very air held her presence and he could not see her. Moaning, he clutched the sheets as something hot broke within him and flowed, cutting deep as it went.

"Teena," he sobbed brokenly and twisted with the pain, willing her to be there. Her form shimmered beside him, pale and transparent and he reached for her. He thought she smiled. Then she was gone, leaving behind her the heat and smell of burned desert sands. He cursed feebly as darkness descended over him like a film of gossamer.

It was dark when he woke.

He lay with his hands clasped behind his head, staring into the dusky depths of the ceiling, thinking of black and evil things. Through the window screen, blinking points filled the eastern sky where the canopy of stars met the somber dark hills. There was no wind. It was quiet and still as the night held its breath. The storm had washed the land and gone, its rage and anger spent. Somewhere in the night his own anger and rage had also been washed away, leaving behind an emptiness and a coldness that surprised him. Disturbingly, he felt a hunger to reach with his hand and see Death walk again.

The words came to him unbidden. His skin tingled and he tensed as Death came and he stood in its shadow. The sands were hot beneath his feet and the sun was a white hole burning through an amber sky. His cape fluttered behind him and he held his arms high. Thunder echoed among the dunes. The power flowed through him and he was one with the desert and the sky. He tilted back his head and laughed with the echoes.

But his laughter was a hollow and empty thing, a mocking memory. He felt the weight of his transgressions and knew himself unworthy of the power that washed through him, tingling in his hands. The towering buttresses of Athal Than rising out of the sands of the Saffal were sharp in his mind. Perhaps it was destiny that the call should come to him now when he was about to kill a brother. But he did not believe it. The gods do not beckon for nothing. He figured that taking another life now would not make much of a difference anyway.

The images faded, leaving him in the blackness of his turbid thoughts.

Small noises filled the night and the air smelled wet and cold. With the shadow of death upon him, he tried to still the turbulence of his mind. To sleep meant to be at peace and his soul knew no rest in the fires within which he burned. He was not feeling sorry for himself. That had been someone else, someone in another life and another reality. Looking back, he could hardly believe how naive and stupid he had been. The same questions tormented him over and over, but there were no new answers. It was a futile effort that only fanned the storm of hate that raged within him. The peace he craved eluded him.

Among the murky shadows of political counter-thrusts within which they worked, he could almost come to understand why Dhar may have wanted to eliminate him. But why didn't Dhar just kill him and be done with it instead of letting him crash? If he lived, Dhar must have known that he was going to come after him. And Teena. Why take her? She had nothing to do with his missions. Was it just because she was his partner? That made sense. But why take her to Anar'on of all places? It was maddening.

Nightwings, my brother of the night...

Terr gave a heavy sigh and threw back the covers.

Rit!

Outside, it was a stillness between breaths, a silence that he could feel: thick, heavy and comforting. The air was sharp and crisp. Yet as he walked toward the railing, he did not feel the cold. The moment had a timeless magical quality and he remembered all the nights that Teena and he had spent beneath the veil of stars. Cloaked by their light, the two of them would sit and talk while the hills around them slept. It was a crazy madness where they used to explore and discover each other, becoming one. It had seemed all so simple then. My only love, to have you beside me now...

He turned and she was there, a phosphorescent shadow that smiled at him. Her pale green eyes, set slightly too far apart, were big and soft, filled with compassion and love. Her small delicate mouth was open, revealing even white teeth. Long black hair stirred as in a wind. He could smell the desert sands around her.

"Teena," he murmured breathlessly and reached with a faltering hand to brush her face, aching for her touch. Her eyes never left his as she leaned against his hand. He felt the heat of her skin and his heart hammered loud in his ears.

"I love you," she mouthed the words and her form began to blur.

"Don't go!" he moaned with tragic longing as she vanished, leaving behind but a burning memory.

He dropped his arm and stared at the spot where she had faded, wishing her to be there. There was only silence and darkness to keep him company. His power could do a lot of things, but it cannot bring her to him. Staring through the curtain of night, his thoughts wandered through the dusty corridors of his memories. He was lost in another time and another world from which she was now gone. He leaned against the railing and stared hard at the cold and cruel indifference of the stars.

Even now it all seemed almost unreal. He could hardly believe that his life could be ripped apart like this and so swiftly. Everything was gone at a stroke, a nightmare from which he longed to wake and find her beside him. He chuckled with bitter irony at the fates that had led him down this road. What was really funny that last night, after all the things that he had said to Anabb, he couldn't even bring himself to kill the cold, scheming, evil old fart, him and his fancy speeches and world saving missions. May the canal worm crap on him, his missions, the Orieli and anyone else who got in the way. Besides, what in the pit was so damned important about the Orieli or Earth that was worth being slugged, shot, hunted ... being away from Teena. Because of the Krans? He has never even seen a Kran. It was probably just a slick con job spun by the Orieli for the benefit of simple-minded locals.

Like the man said, it was all high politics stuff.

Anabb had even said as much, cursed be his shadow. Terr could understand the twisted workings of that mind, the plots and counter-plots being hatched in some dark corner of Anabb's brain. That was how the movers and the shakers did business. It was a game played by the powerful. He was not that naive not to recognize it. And for what? To save them all from the Karkan Federation and the bad old Servatory Party? By all the ten gods! Was the hand of the Revisionists any cleaner? If it meant his honor, pride and self-respect, they could all go and screw themselves.

It may have been a game, but the results were just as deadly.

But why you, Nightwings, my brother?

Could Dhar really be working for the Servatory Party and Terchran? Was he trying to get even because of Gashkarali? He had admitted knowing about that mission. Terr stiffened and a shiver ran down his spine. He felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck rise in faint alarm. He remembered as though it were yesterday. After the Salina conference, back on Taltair, Enllss had invited both of them to a reception. It was an occasion to pour oil between the Servatory Party and Revisionist waters.

He cleared his mind and saw Dhar's face before him as they sat with Enllss in Anabb's office. Dhar had looked calm, but reproving, almost uncomfortable at the thought of meeting Terchran. It was a subtle reaction and anyone else would have missed it. Then again, Terr wasn't anyone. What was Terchran to him? If Dhar was collaborating with the Servatory Party, he could not understand what possible motive Dhar would have to get involved with them, and with Terchran of all people. Like Enllss said, the guy was a big cog in the Servatory Party wheel - a seat on the Executive Council and head of the Bureau of Technology and Development. A very heavy mover.

He could not believe that his brother would actually support the Servatory Party. He knew Nightwings better than that, or so he had thought. He told himself that Dhar was using the Servatory Party to gather intelligence for the Unified Independent Front. Dhar had never made a secret of that. If true, what threat did that pose to force Dhar to engineer the dart crash? No, it had to be something more personal than mere intelligence gathering. Playing both ends against the middle?

In frustration, he abandoned that line of thought. It wasn't getting him anywhere. His facts were painfully skimpy and he needed to do some homework if he planned to mix it with the likes of Terchran.

In the end, he did not care what Dhar's motive was. He only knew what he had to do. On the way to Anar'on, he would make a small detour to Captal and check a few things out. Enllss was there and might be in a talkative mood, or open to persuasion, he mused grimly. He had to remember that Enllss and Anabb were cast from the same scheming mold. It was a hell of an arrangement. Still, Enllss was family - not that it meant he trusted him. Then again, Karhide Zor-Ell would be there as well and he might have a few answers of his own.

The battle for dawn was savage and short that left the sky smeared with blood. With the dawn, he lost the last strands of innocence, trust and hope for any happiness. He didn't know whether again a word or caress would ever cover what had been exposed, unless he walked the road of revenge. He knew that the road he had to walk was a dark shadow where Death lurked. That road was also a trek of pain. Each pebble was a memory, each rock a word, a turning, a trial. At its end Teena would be there waiting for him. She had to be there! If through the valley of shadow must he follow the path and face his brother with the horrors of his mind, so be it.

With a slash of a golden scimitar the sky parted. Fire splashed the hills and the shadows fled. He could feel the sun's heat and the silence of the dawn as it broke over him. Strung like crystal beads, dew hung from leaves, glistening with rainbow flashes. He watched a drop fall, almost pausing before it struck to shatter in a burst of diamond fire.

So he stood, his thoughts dark, colored with vengeance.

Terr slid the Service Special into the molded lining of his zip-jacket and brought the two ends together to seal it. Somehow, he had the feeling that he was going to need it. In any case the weapon was a comforting friend.

Earlier, he looked at a face and it was his. The firm features were tight and unsmiling. He brushed a hand through the slightly unruly brown-black hair, but the locks fell back in disorder. His high flat forehead was creased with worry lines. The skin was pale and drawn and somehow it wasn't him. Cold oval eyes mocked him above an aquiline nose. A faint scar ran down the left side of his temple just above the eyebrow.

It took him a while to figure out what was wrong. It was the eyes. Dark gray, remote and unforgiving, they belonged to a stranger. Well, not quite. That part of him had been ... sleeping. Now that it was awake, Terr decided that the world from those eyes was not any damn different as seen from his. He pulled back his shoulders with a grimace and hoped that everyone better the hell be on the ball, for he was coming, ready or not.

The communal was waiting on the landing ramp and he did not want to tarry. Somehow the rooms and the corridors felt cold and deserted, haunted with solitary memories, lost in yesterday. It was not a home anymore and he did not belong now. He looked around one last time, not sure whether he would see the house again. On the rug lay Teena's scarf. Not knowing why, he reached for it and touched the flowing material. A feeling of warmth spread through him that comforted and soothed away some of the hurt. He tucked it into his pocket, set his mouth into a tight line and took the cable-tube to the lower level.

The door closed behind him with a smooth hiss and part of his life ended. He told the house to reset security and walked briskly to the landing ramp.

The driver was standing beside the communal, its bubble open and inviting. When Terr walked up to him the driver touched his head with the tips of his fingers and opened the door. Short and wiry, he stood there, staring through myopic steel eyes.

"Morning, sir," he growled, not caring. It was just another fare to him. Well, that was all right with Terr also.

He looked through the driver, stepped in and settled himself into the upholstery. It smelled of cheap scent, unwashed bodies and dirty socks, mixed with a hint of something sweet that was tantalizingly familiar.

The communal rose smoothly. He glanced down where the house dwindled quickly, blending into the rolling landscape of the Tildera Estate. He kept his face pressed against the bubble and watched until the house vanished among the steep hills. The estates blurred together as the communal gained height, his own residence becoming just one of many. Then he looked away. Hell, it was just a house.

"Tal Field, right?" The voice broke through his reverie and he looked at the back of the driver's head. Greased and stringy the hair hid a purple welt along the neck.

He thumbed the mike pad, thinking about things and nothing in particular.

"Yeah, military strip."

"Hey! You one of them Fleet guys, buddy?" The driver glanced at Terr in the front reflection strip, grinning hugely. The communal sagged to port as it swung past the city toward the spaceport.

"Sort of," Terr said. At least he thought he was. He remembered Anabb saying something about a resignation from the Diplomatic Branch. But then, a lot of things had been said last night and some of them might even have been true.

"Been there myself. Second Powerman on an M-4. Spent most of my time in the Palean Union. Ever cruised around there?" The communal steadied into a smooth flight. Terr could see others in the flight pattern.

"Mmm."

"Man, those Palean spotter chicks are the absolute end. Off the Wall." The driver shook his head and chuckled fondly. "Why, I -"

"Look, pal, I'm just paying for the trip, not a reunion tour. So let's cut the tourist crap. Copy that?"

"Just being sociable, buddy," the driver mumbled and his shoulders sagged.

Terr muttered something uncharitable and stared at the scenery. On his right the city towers glittered in morning light as they pierced the sky. He could almost hear its cry of agony. The southeastern suburban sprawl merged into an olive haze of low, distant hills. Directly ahead the mixed industrial complexes appeared out of the surrounding parkland. He glanced at the thick neck before him and shrugged. It was the driver's bad luck to have picked him up this morning, is all.

The Field Administration building slowly reared itself against the city's skyline and grew swiftly in size. The tower was a landmark feature of the terminus complex, a giant mushroom with two jutting flat platforms mounted a third of the way down. The round building was supported by a flared base. The lower larger platform was a landing ramp for communals, flitters and cargo couriers. The upper level handled the business end of Taltair's SC&C control.

The traffic around them began to fill as they neared the inter-star terminus. The landing field lay spread in a pattern of work hangars, aprons and approach ramps. Ships lay scattered around the docking rings. The traffic lines slowly merged into the control network, giving the Admin tower a wide berth. His pal up front kept glancing at him from time to time, muttering to himself. Maybe just checking that Terr had not walked out on him or something.

Tal Field was a busy place. In addition to civilian terminals the complex housed a major Scout Fleet service and refurbishment facility. The four civilian terminals, with their landing rings radiating out like spokes on a giant wheel, were cluttered with all kinds of ships, from small scooters to giant Deklan passenger tubs. Connected by access tubes the ships looked like insects crowding the petals of a bright flower. Maintenance trolleys and cargo platforms sped across the apron in seemingly unordered confusion. In contrast the two somber-painted military complexes exuded a more subdued atmosphere.

A Sargon liner drifted down in slow majesty, a glowing flattened cylinder clad in an orange shimmer of its nav shield. Terr watched as it disappeared behind the building complex of the terminus and wondered where it had come from. He did not really care. Just idle curiosity. The communal swung into the service ring of the passenger terminal, then rocked wildly as a flitter flashed before them and cut them off.

"Did you see that?" the driver screamed in outrage. "Bastard should have his permit revoked. I don't know what the hell this crapped out place is coming to," he snarled and jerked the communal out of the ring and slid sharply onto the military strip.

Terr hardly paid attention, his thoughts far away.

Being in the Fleet, he would not have to clear customs or fight through the inevitable throng of wild-eyed civilian passengers with squalling brats and assorted luggage in tow. Their bored, vacant, anxious faces as they waited for their flights were pathetic and depressing. He hated civilian ports. He just wasn't comfortable surrounded by cloying, noisy, undisciplined masses. It was a weakness.

A security point barred the entrance to the military terminal. A bouncer type MP, slick in parade grays, white gloves and black boots, a phase rifle slung at port arms, waited to greet him. Terr looked him over. The MP was all solid slabs of muscle and carried himself in a manner designed to intimidate and discourage. He decided that he would forget the gags this time. The guy looked mean, like he didn't care for any visitors messing up his floor polish. Especially some dirt hugging civilian. The communal settled gently. The MP stood to as a matter of form and the rifle casually slid down his side.

The bubble slid away. The driver stepped out and opened the door. Terr climbed out and stood beside the communal. The driver looked wistfully round the landing area then climbed back into the communal. Terr waited as it rose quickly and watched it vanish in the curve of the military strip. Seeing the well used rifle beside the MP, he recognized the smell in the communal - sagoran leather oil. It was used for the care and feeding of military boots. Was the driver one of Anabb's shadows? He shook his head and chuckled, not caring.

"Ah, sir," the MP growled menacingly, fingering the rifle. "This is a restricted area. I will have to ask you for some ID before I can let you go any farther."

Terr looked at him and nodded.

At the booth he stuck his hand against the sensor plate. After a moment it lit up, showing his rank and insignia of the Diplomatic Branch. Then it flickered again and displayed a face he hardly recognized - a face that belonged to another time and another life. It was a younger version of himself, trusting and eager to right all the wrongs. He shook his head in wonder, bemused as he stared at the plate through his crusty shell of newly grown cynicism. Had he really been that naive?

A line at the bottom of the plate attracted his attention. It showed his status as 'Detached'. He shrugged with indifference. Okay, it might make a few things easier, but detached or not, he would find Dhar. Afterward, there would be plenty of time to add 'Permanent' to that notation.

The MP stood to, his face wooden, but his eyes were alive and full of questions. Terr barely glanced at him. Without a word, he headed for the cable-tube. It took him down to the landing area flight line.

Outside, he squinted at the sky, then looked quickly around the apron. Two M-4s towered like black cliffs beside him, but failed to dwarf the terminal despite their imposing size. Beneath their curved bellies, he could see part of an M-6 hovering on the far side of the field. On its right, three monstrous assembly hangars cast a black shadow across the imposing warship. One of the hangars had its doors retracted. Inside, scaffolding enclosed part of an M-3, bright polyarcs glared against its exposed frames. Maintenance and Fleet personnel filled some of the empty spaces.

But he was not here for sightseeing. He took one of the parked sled-pads, punched in the parking bay number and the sled streaked across the apron.

His pulse quickened as the sled-pad neared the squat pebble shape of the M-1 scout. He could feel himself glowing with anticipation. In space things were clean and simple, uncluttered by intrigue and deception. And right now, he needed to return to that basic simplicity. He needed a moment of peace and solitude to think things through. Rushing into danger and glory with projectors blazing might sound romantic. That may even have been enough when he thought that it was easy to tell right from wrong. Now, he was not so sure that things were ever that simple. In that, he had to admit grudgingly, Anabb could have been right. He was honest enough with himself to realize that the threads making up the political tapestry held little interest for him, until now.

Like the guy said, it was all high politics stuff, sport.

The sled slowed and glided to a stop beneath Sheeva's curved hull. Terr jumped off, strode up the landing ramp and pressed his palm against the access plate. The plate stirred and the hatch slid open. Warm air spilled around him and brought with it machinery and lived-in smells. He walked in without a backward glance.

The tube brought him up one level to the command deck. The navigation bubble, running chest high around the deck, cleared immediately. Sloping control panels hugged part of the curved hull. He lowered himself into the central couch and scanned the displays. A flight always made him feel renewed with zest and an eagerness to reach out and grasp the stars. This time, he felt nothing, just emptiness. It was merely another body job like he had done many times before.

It didn't take him long to preflight.

"Status?"

"Nominal," the computer responded.

"Secure for lift. Clear with SC&C for immediate departure and file a flight plan for Captal."

"Landing ramp retracted and all exterior connections secured." Terr felt a slight pressure surge when the hatch closed. "Navigation deflector grid activated."

Inactive panels began to glow soft amber and yellow in a mosaic of color-reactive contact pads.

"Surface Command and Control has cleared for lift. System check complete. Lift sequence enabled." The projected flight plan appeared as a bright line on the curve of the nav bubble above him. The main control plate before him glowed into life.

He was surprised that SC&C had cleared him so quickly. Had he a suspicious and nasty nature, he might have suspected that they were expecting him. No matter.

Out of habit, he scanned the status boards one more time.

"Proceed with lift."

"Lift sequence active. Confirm."

"Continue. Maximum boost."

Beneath the ship the landing skids retracted and Sheeva hovered. Free of an alien element, it lifted swiftly, accelerated and tore through the atmosphere. Thunder followed in its wake as air fell into a column of vacuum. This was a gross violation of several military and civilian regulations, but he just didn't give a damn.

"I am coming, Teena," he murmured as the sky turned black.