Toc238718031” class=“calibre9” id=“Toc238718031”>

Sylzenzuzex’s Church-registered skimmer was far faster than Flinx’s rented vehicle, so he instructed his skimmer to return to its base station on autopilot while he and Clarity joined the padre in returning to Sphene. For Flinx it was one of those rare journeys when he did not have to constantly monitor his course or destination, much less keep a lookout for private, government, or alien forces seeking his capture or death. He used the atypical opportunity to enjoy the views of the tranquil Nurian countryside with his companions.

Later, while Flinx lingered near the rear of the craft, entertaining Pip and Scrap, Clarity wandered forward to take the seat alongside their driver. While Sylzenzuzex straddled the familiar thranx bench, Clarity availed herself of a standard human-conforming chair. It felt strange to be snakeless. Though she missed the familiar weight on her shoulder, she understood her pet’s desire to spend as much time as possible with his often absent parent.

“You could not have timed your arrival much better,” she murmured in symbospeech by way of opening conversation.

Since the skimmer, once programmed, more or less flew itself, Sylzenzuzex was able to turn her attention away from the height-adjustable console and to her passenger.

“So it seems to have been.” A foothand gestured toward the back of the craft. “From the time we first met, it struck me that there existed a more than casual bond between us.”

“I can empathize with that. Because Flinx and I are also deeply bonded.”

What am I saying? Clarity found herself thinking. Was she jealous? Because Flinx had known and bonded with Sylzenzuzex before he had known her? That was absurd! Their timely rescuer was a thranx. Clarity knew she should be feeling nothing but gratitude. Or was female jealousy something capable of crossing species?

You, she told herself quietly, are being a world-class fool. Rectify it.

“I haven’t had a chance to actually thank you. For saving us.”

A thranx could not blush, but the padre made the equivalent gesture. “Flinx saved my life. I suspect he would have survived this time even in my absence.”

“How can you know that?”

Antennae fluttered gracefully. “Because according to my esteemed Eighth, he always does. For example, despite the many difficulties and concerns that are unique to him, the many curious challenges and dangers and personal troubles he has endured, he still somehow managed to find the time to find you.”

Now Clarity not only felt like a prize fool, she was ashamed.

“He’s been out of my life more than he’s been in it.” She looked toward the rear of the skimmer. A brilliantly hued minidrag on each shoulder, Flinx was staring out the transparent canopy, enjoying the view as the skimmer entered Sphene proper. Despite his height, his appearance and manner were still boyish. One got that impression whenever one was around him, she knew. Provided you didn’t look too deeply into his eyes.

“I’m sure he hopes that will change.” Click-whistling to the console, Sylzenzuzex made a minor course adjustment. The skimmer obediently turned slightly to starboard.

“We both do.” Clarity came to a decision without even realizing she had been debating the issue. “I know you two go back a long way, and I know you must have a lot to talk about. If you’d rather converse in private …”

The thranx looked over at her. “Wouldn’t a private conversation automatically include Flinx’s prospective mate as well as him? Or are your prenuptial standards so very different?”

“No,” Clarity murmured in reply. “No, I guess not.” With that classically cogent observation by Flinx’s old friend, the last vestiges of incongruous resentment on Clarity’s part vanished completely.

The sprawling extended-stay residence had been designed and built to accommodate, insofar as it was physically and socially viable, visitors to New Riviera from as many worlds as possible. Mindful of traditional thranx tastes, some of the facility was located belowground. It was in a spacious habitat on the third subterranean level that they reunited with Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex.

After formally greeting his young and suitably deferential female relative, the esteemed Eint walked over to Flinx. Having to bend low to clear the ceiling when he walked, Flinx had taken a seat on a floor cushion of a type designed to provide visiting humans with some degree of anterior comfort.

“My boy, you invite trouble,” the thranx muttered, “the way a distillation of pheromones attracts the sexually vigorous.”

“With consequences that are significantly less gratifying.” Tse-Mallory was seated cross-legged on the other side of the room.

“It’s not by choice or by design, as you both well know,” Flinx responded glumly.

“No, no, of course not. You are just unlucky,” the Eint observed with characteristic sarcasm. Turning to face the watching Clarity, he executed a bow whose grace belied the absence of a flexible backbone.

“I am very relieved to see that you suffered no harm, my dear. Bran and I blame ourselves for not keeping closer watch over you. Especially since Flinx’s return.”

She smiled and shrugged it off. “Even the most attentive of nurses can’t keep watch every minute of every day. Forget about it. I’m fine, Scrap’s fine, and Flinx is fine.”

“And we will be more fine,” Flinx added, “once we’re safely off New Riviera and in space-plus.”

Sylzenzuzex gestured agreement coupled with understanding. “I’ve insured that those who abducted Clarity and desired to kill Flinx have been removed from contact with them and with society for at least a couple of days.” The sardonicism in her voice reminded Flinx immediately of her older Eighth-relative Truzenzuzex. “My report insists that their detention is vital to the continued public health.”

“Clarity and I being the public,” Flinx concluded with satisfaction.

Tse-Mallory eyed him from where he sat. The old man was nearly as tall as Flinx and much heavier of build. Even with his legs crossed in front of him, his closely cropped white hair nearly scraped the slightly concave ceiling.

“Flinx, while you were gone on the Teacher, Tru and I were kept busy not only looking after your enchanting lady but monitoring the progress of that evil that threatens to devour all. As it draws nearer the galaxy our contacts in both Commonwealth and Church Science Central have been able to track its direction and progress to a degree that is as increasingly despairing as it is increasingly precise.”

“It continues to speed up,” a somber Flinx guessed.

Tse-Mallory nodded grimly. “According to the latest report we’ve received, last month the leading edge of the darkness made contact with the very minor star cluster known as MC-3048b. Hardly worthy of the designation ‘cluster,’ the grouping in question contained eight stars in four single and two double systems.” He paused for emphasis. “All but one of the binary systems has since disappeared.”

A new voice interrupted, the bemused clicking of Sylzenzuzex. “Would it be too much, venerable Eighth, to ask what you are all talking about?”

“Yes, csillkk, it would,” Truzenzuzex told her brusquely. “All will be explained in due course.” She went silent as he turned back to his lifelong companion. “Continue please, Bran.”

Tse-Mallory nodded briskly. “The light of half a dozen suns—gone, just like that. No plasma flare-up, no ensuing nova, no punctuating outburst of X-rays or gamma radiation. Nothing. One by one these stars have simply vanished. Swallowed up, as an immeasurable quantity of additional matter has been, by what Flinx has so eloquently yet simply described to us as the Great Evil.”

Truzenzuzex leaned impatiently toward the tall young human in their midst. Having known him for a long time, the Eint knew he could ask him anything he wished, directly and without precondition or preamble.

“What more can you say of the threat, Flinx? Have you perceived it recently? What news can you impart, what hope can you deliver?”

“Very little of either of those, I’m afraid,” he mumbled unhappily.

Seated next to him Clarity reached over, took his right hand in hers, and squeezed gently. It was such a simple, uncomplicated gesture. What it communicated silently was exactly what he had missed more than anything else during his nearly two years of journeying. Human warmth. Openness. Unquestioning love.

Truzenzuzex did not take Flinx’s hand, but he could gesture first-degree sympathy and understanding. “Expecting little, I am neither surprised nor disappointed by your response. At our end, nothing has changed for us or for those few others who know the secret. Despite much pondering and theorizing by minds better than Bran’s and mine, the massive disguised weapons platform of the extinct Tar-Aiym that you encountered and interacted with still presents the only means and method any of us consider worth pursuing as a possible defense against the overwhelming extragalactic threat that approaches.”

Tse-Mallory nodded agreement. “Not only is nothing humanx-derived perceived as even remotely capable of affecting something so vast as the Great Evil, we cannot even envision or imagine anything capable of doing so.”

In the ensuing silence Truzenzuzex proceeded to voice what he and Tse-Mallory had so far been reluctant to ask. “Are Bran and I correct in assuming from the time and manner of your return to Nur that you have been unable to reestablish contact with the greatly sought-after artifact in question?”

The philosoph’s assumption relieved Flinx of having to confirm what was plainly an anticipated disappointment. “I’m afraid so. But,” he added quickly to forestall their deepening disillusionment, “it’s not like I spent all these past months looking for it, either.”

Tse-Mallory’s gaze narrowed. “Then what have you been doing—boy.”

Flinx flinched, but otherwise accepted the scold without comment. From a commonsensical standpoint Tse-Mallory was entirely correct in voicing the censure. Flinx would have been the last one in the room to claim that during the past year or so he had behaved in a wholly rational manner.

“I needed—I had to find out some things.” He looked for support to Clarity, to whom he had already confessed the reasons behind his wandering. “About myself, about intelligence in general, about worthiness.”

“Dear me,” Truzenzuzex murmured, “and is it now safe to believe that with the fate of the galaxy and all sentience at stake you have finally managed to satisfy your personal requirements?”

“I think so.” Flinx was too abashed to respond directly to the philosoph’s sarcasm. Though in the past months he had dealt efficiently with murderous humans and belligerent AAnn, with hostile environments and would-be assassins, in the presence of the two senior scientists who had been his mentors since his early youth he felt like little more than a wayward child.

“You ‘think’ so, kijaa!kt?” Truzenzuzex harrumphed. “To think that the fate of everything should rest on the shoulders of one so young, self-centered, and unstable!”

Clarity had heard all she could stand. Locking her arm in Flinx’s and leaning protectively against him she glared at the philosoph, unintimidated by either his considerable accomplishments or fearsome reputation.

“That’s enough! What about everything Flinx has gone through on behalf of this lunatic quest you sent him on? What about the recurring headaches that sometimes nearly kill him? He doesn’t know what a normal life is and he hasn’t had any peace since he was a child—and even then he sometimes had to steal just to eat.” Her gaze swung back and forth between the two scientists. “You’re both famous, successful, honored representatives of your respective species. You have the freedom to go wherever you want, when you want.” As Scrap adjusted his position on her shoulder she pressed close against the man beside her.

“Everyone wants something from Flinx: private individuals, companies, the great families, government agencies. Or else they want to kill him. Or dissect him.” She looked up at the young man who had already lived several lifetimes. “All he wants is to be left alone—and maybe to be happy, just simply happy, for a little while before he dies. You can’t, any of you, imagine the pressures he is under every moment of every day.”

Peering down at Clarity, Flinx swallowed hard. He had been right to come back here. He was not so sure he had been right ever to leave.

For a while it was quiet in the underground room. When Truzenzuzex finally spoke again his symbospeech was shorn of the usual abrasive clicks. But his words were underscored with as much resolve as ever.

“It’s not that Bran and I don’t feel for our young friend, Clarity-bearer, or that we fail to understand and sympathize with his challenging physical and mental condition. But the threat we face is far, far greater than any individual or any individual concerns. Everything—everything including personal happiness—must perforce be sacrificed in the attempt, however futile it may seem, to deal with this oncoming danger. Otherwise we abrogate our responsibility as sentient beings, to civilization and to the generations yet to come.” Downy antennae dipped in her direction.

“Do you think that I am ‘happy’ having to devote to this peril what little time remains to me? Considerably less time, may I point out, than remains to you or to Flinx. Do you think I do not ponder what may become of my own scattered progeny if it is not overcome?” Glistening compound eyes regarded each of them in turn. “We are all of us here among the few who are even aware of the monstrousness that is sweeping toward our home, our Commonwealth. And among that few, we know that we have only one realistic possibility of confronting it. Without Flinx’s intimate involvement, we have not even that.” His golden gaze eyed her unblinkingly.

“In light of all that, my dear, I am afraid that individual concerns, no matter how poignant or involving or intense, must necessarily be set aside.”

This time the ensuing silence lasted even longer than the one that had preceded it. For a change it was Flinx who spoke up first.

“Uh, actually, I have an idea.”

Tse-Mallory took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and deliberately.

“I’ll take that as encouraging. An idea about what, Flinx?”

“How to find the artifact—the Tar-Aiym weapons platform.”

The older man frowned at him. “You’ve said from the time you left Nur months ago that you thought it would be impossible for you to track it in the vastness of the Blight. That you would have to embark on a random search pattern fueled by hope. It was the best any of us could expect from you.”

Flinx reached up to stroke the back of Pip’s neck. “And that’s still the case. But while I don’t think I can locate the artifact, it has occurred to me that there’s another who might be able to do so.”

The two scientists exchanged a glance. “You are the only individual who has been able to establish any kind of contact with the device,” Truzenzuzex reminded him.

“No,” Flinx insisted, “there’s another.”

“Who?” a startled Tse-Mallory demanded to know.

Flinx’s lips creased in a thin smile. “It’s not a who—it’s a ‘what.’”

“The boy plays mind games,” Truzenzuzex muttered. “Explain yourself.”

Flinx let his gaze shift from philosoph to soldier. “The original Tar-Aiym Krang. The one we found so long ago on the world called Booster, in the Blight. Remember, I activated it once.”

“Indeed you did,” admitted Tse-Mallory.

Flinx warmed to his proposal. “I’d be astounded if you two neglected to record the coordinates. If we can find Booster once more, and if I can make contact with the machine again, perhaps I can get across the need to contact the much bigger weapons platform. Maybe what it takes to locate one alien machine is another alien machine. All we need to get from the Krang is the platform’s position and course.”

Truzenzuzex looked thoughtful. “Use one weapon to locate the other. Why shouldn’t weapons converse? A better prospect, certainly, than simply striking out blindly through empty space.” He eyed his companion. “Bran?”

“I wholeheartedly concur.” Deep blue eyes regarded Flinx. “Your ship has been adequate for all your personal searching. I presume it can make the journey to Booster.”

Flinx’s smile widened. “To this day I still don’t know all of the Teacher’s capabilities. The Ul … its builders endowed it with all kinds of abilities I’m still learning about. I don’t doubt for a minute that it can make the trip to Booster.”

“Excuse me,” Sylzenzuzex put in, “but what is this ‘Krang’ you keep talking about?”

“An ancient artifact of the long-extinct race known as the Tar-Aiym,” her Eighth informed her. “A legendary device that was rumored to be a great weapon—or a musical instrument.” His antennae quivered as he remembered. “To our astonishment and edification, it turned out to be both.” He gestured in Flinx’s direction. “Our inimitable young friend here, who was considerably less mature at the time, possesses the only mind we know of that is capable of activating the alien mechanism. If all goes well we’ll be seeing it again soon enough.”

“Whatever happens, however this turns out, I don’t care as long as we’re together.” Clarity abruptly let go of Flinx’s arm. “You’re not thinking of going off without me again, are you?”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “The idea had occurred to me.”

Her expression tightened. “Then you won’t have to worry about the Order of Null, because I’ll kill you first!”

He held the mock-serious expression as long as he could before releasing it as laughter and sweeping her up in his arms. “Do you really think I’d leave you behind, after nearly losing you to those crazies twice? Of course you’re coming with me.”

Tse-Mallory nodded approvingly. “Tru and I will of course also accompany you, as was the intention prior to the assault at the shuttleport that resulted in the serious injuries suffered by Clarity. Earlier, you told Tru and me to be ready to leave Nur ‘immediately’ We are ready now. How soon can your ship be prepared for departure, Flinx?”

Still holding Clarity, he regarded his mentor. “I think we can leave tomorrow morning. Any additional provisioning or repair that needs to be carried out can be done at another world lying along the same approximate vector—safely away from local assassins.”

“Then it is settled,” Truzenzuzex declared with satisfaction.

“Not quite settled, syrrlnn.”

Everyone’s attention immediately shifted to Sylzenzuzex. She regarded them evenly. “I’m coming along also, you know.”

Her Eighth turned to her. “No, we do not know that, shining sweet. It is no pleasure jaunt, no tourist outing, this dive into the dead worlds of the Blight. I already anticipate enough things to worry about in the course of such a passage.”

“Rest assured I will not be among them.” Arching high above her abdomen, her ovipositors vibrated tautly. “I am not the youthful padre-elect of years past, esteemed Eighth. I am a fully hardened operative working in Church Security. While my skills and abilities may not begin to approach yours, and differ greatly, they can only supplement and assist in this effort.” Gleaming in the overhead light, her great compound eyes turned to Flinx. “Besides, the decision is not yours.”

Unexpectedly finding himself caught between relations, Flinx hesitated. In the resulting stillness it was Clarity who spoke up.

“Myself, I don’t see any reason why Syl shouldn’t come with us. She’s already shown herself to be a practiced truhand with a weapon. On a less functional note, I personally would like to have another female along for company.”

Relieved to have been given an out, Flinx shrugged. “There’s certainly enough room on the Teacher.” He eyed the philosoph. “If anything were to happen to you, Tru, having another thranx along would be …”

“I can take care of myself, thank you,” his insectoid mentor responded stiffly. “Still, the vessel and the responsibility are yours. If you feel comfortable having yet another aboard, I will not object further. My personal feelings aside, Sylzenzuzex is no longer a sub-adult.”

Reacting to this concession, Sylzenzuzex executed a gesture Flinx knew well. Her senior Eighth did not respond either verbally or with a gesticulation of his own. But Flinx knew that, at hearts, Truzenzuzex was not displeased. Quite the contrary. Though the crusty old philosoph would not admit to it, he was glad that his “niece” was coming with them.

Flinx knew this because his Talent allowed him to perceive it.

As with everything else on the paradise world of Nur, the exterior of the detention center located on the outskirts of a far commercial exurb was designed to soothe the eye and reassure the mind of any passersby. Likewise, the interior was calculated to pacify and ease. Rather than to extract revenge, the intent was to heal and repair those with antisocial tendencies who had been committed to the facility’s care. Penal care on New Riviera differed considerably from that practiced on, say, Visaria.

Notwithstanding its dedication to the rehabilitation of its inmates, the detention center was a modern and secure facility designed to keep those assigned to it from interacting with the public outside the bounds of its smartly landscaped exterior. The unassuming guards carried weapons that would immobilize without killing. Though it presented many of the aspects and qualities of a convalescent retreat, the center’s principal purpose remained as one with its earliest predecessor, the gaol that still stood on the south bank of an ancient Terran river called the Thames.

In accordance with and proportionate to their crimes and sentences, detainees had certain rights and privileges. Absolute freedom of movement was not among these. Those who claimed membership in the Order of Null and who had been committed to confinement until the Church order that bound them into custody could be reviewed were not allowed to stray outside carefully marked and fenced boundaries. The majority of the facility’s inmates would have happily traded places with those belonging to the Order, knowing that the representatives of the newly arrived group were likely to be released uncharged within a day or two.

It was that same modest time frame, however, that was driving the Order members to distraction. Unless they could quickly regain their freedom to act, the main reason to do so would surely be on his way offworld.

No one imagined that the legal representative who came to converse with the speaker and the Elder would attempt to smuggle weapons into the facility itself. In addition to subjecting him to much more serious criminal prosecution, doing so would automatically and permanently void that individual’s professional certification. What the designers of Nur’s law enforcement system could not foresee was the utter dedication of the members of the Order of Null to their beliefs, and the fact that their legal agent might subscribe to them with as much fervor as those he sought to defend. The members of any organization dedicated to advancing death have little fear of prosecution, and are quite content to utilize the existing legal system to advance their own extremist ends.

So it was that the visiting counselor managed to slip a handful of shift weapons to half a dozen of his colleagues and lead them out of the facility as their unarmed brethren sacrificed themselves to delay pursuit and facilitate the flight of the seven. Considering how hastily the escape had been organized, it was carried off with considerable expertise. It was greatly aided by the fact that no police officer claiming even marginal insight into criminal behavior would have anticipated a violent jailbreak by inmates incarcerated for only two or three days. Who in their right mind would chance being sentenced to a year’s imprisonment or more in order to avoid a couple of harmless nights in stir?

Where authority failed was in assuming that the members of the Order of Null were in their right mind.

While word went out from a dazed constabulary that six hitherto harmless-appearing short-term detainees and their legal defender had shot their way out of the detention facility, the escapees had utilized the counselor’s skimmer to plunge deep into the heart of Sphene. Though the city was not a center of heavy industry, there were still commercial districts where those in flight could lose themselves. The escapees proceeded to do so, but only briefly. Having likely sacrificed a considerable amount of future freedom for the opportunity to act fleetingly now, they had no intention of wasting the little time that was available to them.

Their counselor had not acted alone. In addition to those who had helped him with the actual jailbreak, others were waiting attentively at the old warehouse that swallowed the skimmer.

Once safely inside and out of sight, the speaker, the Elder, and the other four high-ranking members of the Order who had fled the detention facility moved fast.

“You have something for us, I believe, Companion Delahare?”

The somewhat frumpy middle-aged woman the speaker queried had the look and demeanor of a contented homemaker whose days were filled with raising teenage progeny, swapping otherworld recipes with neighborhood friends, and ensuring the cleanliness and welcoming appearance of her household. In fact, she did all of this and more. Notable among the “more” was a penchant and a talent for working with explosives. The package she passed to the speaker was barely big enough to hold a pair of shoes.

“I worked through the night and all through this morning, ever since the request came down through channels, and managed to put this together.” Her voice indicated unmistakable pride in her accomplishment. She might as well have been discussing the preparing of a favorite recipe. In a manner of speaking, she was. “I hope it will fulfill the needs of the Order.”

The speaker took the package gingerly. “Will it destroy a shuttlecraft?”

The woman was apologetic. “There was no time for moderation. It will destroy a good part of the entire shuttleport.”

Neither the speaker nor the Elder standing nearby voiced any objection to the potential overkill. Why worry about collateral damage that might run into the hundreds or even the thousands when everyone and everything, blessed be the coming cleansing, was going to die anyway? Studying the package, the speaker knew that whoever delivered the device to its intended target would perish along with it. It would be an honor. Nothing mattered so long as it put paid to the one potential threat to the coming Purity. Like his cohorts, he had no fear of death.

“I will come, too,” the Elder informed him solemnly, “as long as I can keep up.”

“My overweight will cancel the effects of your age, honored sir.” The speaker smiled. The Order’s objective was noble, and he had always been ready to perish on behalf of the noble cause.

No one objected when the counselor who had arranged their escape chose to remain behind. It was necessary that he survive so that his skills could be utilized in the future. Though with the one called Flinx eradicated, the Order would be able to relax, melt back into the smug, self-satisfied culture of New Riviera, and placidly await the coming destruction. The speaker was mildly disappointed that he would not have the opportunity to participate in that forthcoming repose. But what did it matter, when martyrdom awaited?

As for the many innocents who would perish at the shuttleport when the package performed its own humble, localized cleansing, they would simply die a little sooner than otherwise. In the eyes of the Order, time was nothing more than a variant that served at its whim.

No police vehicle shadowed the counselor’s skimmer as it rose from the warehouse exit and headed for the city’s main shuttleport. No official craft fell in behind as it wended its way cautiously between as many shielding structures as possible. The skimmer arrived at the shuttleport undetected.

The most dangerous time was behind them now, a thankful Elder pointed out to the attending acolytes. If their colleague’s work was as scrupulous as she had claimed, their lingering irritant would be removed very soon indeed.

One of their number politely queried a port worker, who proceeded to check the register she carried with her. Yes, a shuttlecraft of the type described was parked on the tarmac and had been for a number of days. Monitors in its vicinity had recorded little or no activity since its arrival. It was registered as private transport. Might there be an image or physical description of the owner/operator? the Order member inquired courteously. It was a matter of some urgency. Much was at stake.

The worker apologetically avowed that she could not give out such information to those who were not cleared to receive it. Closing in discreetly around her, two of the other escapees resolved the standoff by wrenching the register from her hand. When she objected and tried to take it back, one of them quietly shot her in the back.

A minute’s work with the register was sufficient to tell them everything they needed to know. By the time Port Security was made aware that a murder had been committed within its jurisdiction, the group of six was already hurrying down the appropriate corridor.

Since the pedestrian passageway accessed that portion of the port tarmac that served private craft, security was minimal. Having participated in a ferocious firefight in a similar corridor many months ago, the Elder and the speaker each experienced a profound sense of deja vu as they huffed and puffed to keep up with their associates. Unlike on that previous occasion, this time there was no skillful senior soldier to surprise him and his colleagues, no many-limbed thranx to unleash multiple hand weapons in their direction.

This time there would be no mistake, even if their talented bomb maker had overstated the explosive potential of the contents of the package being carried by the Order’s speaker. If their quarry was already aboard his shuttle, they would set it off beneath the craft, or close enough nearby. If he had not yet arrived at the port, they would conceal themselves close to his craft and wait. If Port Security interfered, several of their number would stage a noisy diversion. He, for one, would readily participate in any attack necessary to divert attention from whoever took final possession of the cleansing package.

“We’re here!” the man who had shot the unsuspecting port worker announced.

Designed to handle small cargo as well as passengers, the lift carried the six of them from the depths of the subterranean corridor up to the surface. Stepping out onto the tarmac and into the warm, pleasant sunshine of New Riviera, the Elder looked to his right toward the nearest shuttle. Somewhere below, armed security teams were now racing down the corridor in pursuit of those who had violated and murdered. From different directions a pair of Port Security skimmers could be seen speeding toward the line of parked shuttles. Several other shuttlecraft, whose origin and ownership were of no consequence, gleamed nearby.

The pad where, according to the stolen port register, the shuttle belonging to the young man known as Philip Lynx had been parked was now empty.

As the others drew their weapons and crowded in behind him, an increasingly agitated speaker turned to the Elder for advice. “It’s not here!” He looked around wildly. “Could we have taken the wrong access corridor?”

The man holding the stolen register performed a hurried recheck. “No, not a chance. PA-Fourteen—this is the right place!” He turned a hasty circle. “It should be here.”

The two approaching security craft were slowing, dropping surfaceward as they neared the place where the Order members had emerged from the belowground service corridor. Confused, angry, and resigned, the speaker fondled the lethal package. Three contact switches protruded from the bottom and a fourth from the top. His fingers hovered in the vicinity of the underside.

“Honored Elder, should I proceed with … ?”

“No.” The Elder’s decision was firm. “Our lives may be needed yet. Put the device down.” Turning, he regarded his loyal colleagues. “All of you, set your weapons aside. Dying is inevitable, but it should not be wasteful.”

“But what of the anomaly, the one who would try to interfere?” one of the others wondered dejectedly. “What went wrong? How did we come to the wrong place?”

“We did not come to the wrong place.” After the marathon run through the access corridor the Elder was feeling the full weight of his years. His weariness was compounded by failure. “Despite our haste, despite our best efforts, it appears that we just got here a little late.”

Turning away from them he tilted his head back. Using one hand to shield his eyes from the bright afternoon sun he gazed skyward. The telltale trail of a shuttle heading hell-bent for the Rim of space drew his full attention. It might be the shuttlecraft belonging to the anomaly, or the young man’s craft might have departed even earlier. It did not really matter. Not now. The fading track was a marker that mocked their best efforts.

Weapons drawn and leveled, Port Security was closing in around him and his associates. If he gave the word, the speaker would trigger the package and obliterate them all, members of the Order and security personnel alike. While undeniably dramatic, such a gesture would be useless, futile, and worst of all would focus attention on the surviving members of the Order. That would be counterproductive, the Elder recognized. If nothing else, a peaceful surrender might at least preserve some anonymity and deflect attention from those who would remain free to continue the necessary work.

Moments later, as he was being placed in restraints, he reflected that his life would soon be over anyway, albeit long before the coming cleansing arrived from the far reaches of the intergalactic void. His only regret was that he was not going to live long enough to experience that great day. That gratification would be bequeathed to others. The Order would go on, until its watchfulness was no longer needed. As he and his colleagues were taken away he consoled himself with the knowledge that the efforts to eliminate the singular impeder were probably unnecessary anyway. Nothing could stop, or slow, or hinder the inexorable arrival of the Purity. Nothing!

It bothered him, though, that he could not stop himself from occasionally glancing skyward in the direction taken by the recently departed shuttlecraft.