BOOK 0: FIELDS OF FIRE Chapter XV

The presiding ruler of Gali welcomed the Thuringi with a robust and hearty cheer. It was believed that the Gali counted Thelans among their ancestry, and it certainly seemed so to Stuart. Ebullient and quick, Governor Windom Madig was eager to speak to the Thuringi, and flew out to the Armada to meet them.

“I have a guest in my home you will be happy to see,” Windom Madig exclaimed. “Come along, Lycasis, and bring your gracious wife and children!” Lycasis did not want to disappoint the cheer and enthusiasm of the man, and summoned Oriel and his children to join them. He made certain Erich was in Stuart and Glendon’s company the entire time. If the man really was part Thelan, Lycasis wanted to keep Erich as under control as possible.

Gali was a lovely world, from the woodlands and grassy plateaus to the roaring rapids that liberally sprinkled the waterways. Its cities and towns were full to bursting with talkative people and the roar and hum of transportation of all sorts. The census of Gali was said to be nearly a million people, an astonishing number on par with D'tai. It was the first planet Oriel visited since before the birth of her sons, and it made her dizzy. "So many things to see at once," she commented to Stuart and Aura. "If I were not already so, it would make me weak at the knees." Stuart laughed.

Baron Uno de Saavo of Pleoni was at the Galian governor’s house and met them at the door. He was a stocky man, dark haired with a wide white streak at the center of his forehead, a ruler of the world that contained the finest ore for steel in the known worlds. He and Lycasis had a history between them, a good firm history of friendship. “The Thelan told us of your problems with the ocean ship and said something regarding shoring of its structure. Gunnar gave me your message so I have brought you as much of a supply of Pleonian steel that you wanted as I can manage. Still, I doubt it will be adequate for a ship of that size.”

“No, any aid is welcome,” Lycasis assured him. "You are a good man, Uno. My debt to you –"

"Your debt is not at issue for the now," Baron Saavo of Pleoni interrupted his old friend. "The stars foretell of great things falling from the sky on behalf of Pleoni. Let us hope it is not the Thuringi Armada."

They laughed together. Pleonian ore was loaded onto a cargo ship Lycasis expressly brought forth for the duty. Wyndom Madig also sent out enormous amounts of supplies, much of it compressed foods to re-hydrate with steam. It was excellent fare in its restructured state, and a definite boon for the Thuringi. Gallina One was literally stuffed from top to bottom, with narrow pathways to retrieve the rich nutritious foodstuffs.

After the official greetings and banquet the Baron of Pleoni returned to his home world, the Governor of Gali returned to his busy noisy people, and the King of Thuringa returned to the Quantid. He lay in the dark of his bedchambers with the sleeping figure of Oriel in his arms. He brooded about the Pleonian ore in the hour before his sleep shift was over.

Such a wealth of Pleoni metal! It must be handled quickly, put to its best use before his advisors petitioned to trade it for needed goods at an outpost or access to the wormhole traces. Lycasis had a better idea for it, and the flatscreen his daughter brought to him came to mind. Lycasis studied the renderings Gareth drew.

There were several useful ideas on it, but it was the large fanciful drawing on the flatscreen that drew Lycasis’s attention. It called for spans of Pleonian steel to reach out from the top and bottom of the ship to the edges in a spoke pattern, strengthened with crosspieces like a web. Although Gareth discounted the idea as impossible to render without enough hard Pleonian steel to do the task, Lycasis did not. With the help of his sons, his daughter and some Arda liquid, it could be done. The Pleonian steel gift was in long loglike pieces that tapered down to thin ends, as thick as Lycasis’s waist in the middle. It was exactly as he wished. He gave Oriel’s cheek a kiss and carefully got out of bed. He dressed hurriedly and went to his throne room, where he summoned Gareth over the personal com.

The summons woke Gareth up in the middle of his sleep, and he came straightaway to the king. His hair was rumpled and unruly. His clothes were hastily thrown on, although he did tuck his shirttails into his breeches in an attempt to be more presentable. He tried not to yawn but could not help it.

“Major Duncan, I realize the inconvenience of awakening you from your much-needed slumber, but we must, for the sake of the Freen.”

“Of course, Your Majesty, what do you need?” Gareth asked as he rubbed his eyes with his fists.

“I have chosen this design to strengthen the Freen.” Lycasis held the flatscreen with Gareth’s drawing on it. “We must know the exact amount and gauge of wire needed for the most effective placement, and we will need you to oversee the spokework placement.”

Gareth looked surprised. “Where in the world will we get that much wire?” he wondered aloud. “And it would need to be Pleonian strength, nothing else would do.”

“We will get it,” Lycasis told him confidently. “But we need your calculations.”

He had Gareth sit at his massive desk in the royal quarters. While Lycasis put Hartin Medina in charge of the Armada, Gareth drew a more exact rendering until it was to Lycasis’s satisfaction. It required mile upon mile of Pleonian steel wire and Gareth never heard of Pleonian wire that thin or that long before. It was just a daydream of his, exact in calculation but just a dream. When he was finished, Lycasis looked over his work and smiled benevolently. He gestured to his Naradi who brought in breakfast for them both.

Lycasis called for his children after the meal, and the king led Gareth and the royal children to the main hanger deck. Carrol walked alongside her friend, in the back of the pack.

“What is going on?” Gareth asked her in a whisper.

“The magic of the Phillipi,” she whispered back. She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. He held on to her hand for a few steps and then let go.

They came to a small cargo vessel, and Gareth instantly recognized the bilious yellow paint on the Shanaugh Special. In the part of its hold that did not contain seeds were the stacks of Pleonian steel from the Baron, and soft pliant globes six feet in diameter. Brent Ardenne took the pilot’s seat and beside him as navigator sat Erich. Everyone put on a pressurized suit and Lycasis donned some specially made gloves. The Shanaugh Special went into space.

“According to your calculations, the tensile strength of Pleonian steel will more than handle the stress the wire will be under,” Lycasis addressed Gareth.

“The wire? Yes, Your Majesty, but we cannot do that,” Gareth told him.

“Are your calculations amiss?”

“No, I am confident in them.”

“Then we can do this.”

“But Your Majesty,” Gareth objected, “it would take an incredible amount of energy to turn these bars of steel into brace wire, and we do not have anything close to a forge or smelter.”

“Then it is time you learned about Arda energy, son,” Lycasis told him.

The cargo ship descended to the surface of the Freen, and the payload doors opened. Lycasis motioned to his children, and together the Phillips picked up a raw Pleonian ore log, Stuart on one side behind his father, Darien and Carrol on the other. Lycasis grasped the end of the stick of steel ore and a soft blue light glowed from within his hands and spread all over the cargo bay. Presently, a slender thread of steel snaked out from the king’s hands into space. Gareth took the steel into his hands in awe. It was exactly the gauge of wire needed for what he had in mind.

Gareth stepped out of the cargo ship onto the Freen to guide the thread down to the oceanic ship. He attached it to the hull of the ship with heavy fasteners, and then jumped back inside the cargo ship. From Lycasis's hand, the wire spun out slowly from his grip. Gareth watched in fascination as the Phillipi gift of Arda control came to bear in front of his very eyes.

All his life he heard about the power of the Phillipi family and assumed as did the majority of Thuringi, that it was a reference to royal authority. He was elsewhere during the liftoff from Thuringa and missed the Phillipi’s part in it then. The entire family now put out a staggering amount of energy as the ship continued on its course. Gareth leaped in and out to fasten the wire to the ship as it was strung to the edge and back to the center of the ship, in a continual course around and around at the places his calculations indicated. As they came to the end of one Pleonian bar, Gareth helped them pick up another. It was attached smoothly with the wire Lycasis still held, and the wrapping continued.

The glow and energy of the Arda power infused the entire interior of the cargo bay, and Gareth did not notice the passage of time or any weariness he might otherwise have felt. They all concentrated on the task at hand. The Phillipi children held up each ore pole in turn as their father forced the strand out of the end. They did not notice the effort or the passage of time, either. Gareth never dreamed such a capability was within their grasp.

The spokes in place, they placed the webwork where Gareth indicated on his renderings, at the optimal points of tension. The work was so fascinating to him that it was a disappointment when it was over. At last, the final thread was spun out and the cargo doors shut. The Phillipis sank to the floor of the ship in one accord. Gareth also sat and cradled Carrol’s fair head in his lap.

The hanger doors of the Freen opened to let in the Shanaugh Special. Brent and Gareth headed for the larger sea to check the monitors. “No stress anywhere on the ship,” the mechanic announced with a tired smile. Brent slapped him on the back.

“That is glorious news, Gareth,” Brent told him. “I have been watching those monitors, and the red stress points were on the increase.”

“It is all dark now,” Gareth said. “I cannot believe what my eyes have seen.”

“Do not let any of this go beyond your teeth,” Brent advised him. “The Phillipi family needs the confidentiality. The Arda liquid is too precious and too powerful to be used for any old thing, and old Asa will second guess about the use for the Pleoni ore until our ears are numb. Let anyone who asks about it believe the Baron gave us the wire as is.”

“I understand.” Brent went to his own quarters on board the Freen, and Gareth returned to the Shanaugh Special. He told the royal family what the monitors said, and the cheer was subdued but heartfelt.

Aura met them at a hanger in the Quantid, and she and Stuart took the exhausted Lycasis to the royal chambers. From there they went to their own quarters. Stuart staggered into the bedroom. He sank down on the bed, where Aura pulled off his boots and removed his clothes to tuck him under the covers. She could tell by the dark circles under his tired eyes how much the task took from him, and she was touched. Every time he used his Arda ability to lend strength to something not of his own special gift, it strained him. Something as massive as this effort to save her Aquatic people was especially not to be dismissed lightly.

She discarded her own clothing and got into bed beside him. She curled up to his large frame and indulged in the pleasure of running her hands over his body. Stuart's physique brought out the hot Ardenne in her, and she allowed herself to revel in her momentary hedonism. Even in his exhaustion, he responded, but he was too weary to comply with his own wishes, and he groaned in frustration.

"Never mind," she whispered to him. "I will be here when you awaken." She gave him a gentle kiss, and together they dropped off to sleep.

Darien led Carrol and Gareth to his quarters. “You have helped save the Freen,” Darien said to Gareth. “You are welcome to rest a while in my quarters. No need to stumble along the halls to your quarters.”

“But my quarters are right next door –”

“Carrol, I extend the welcome to you too, of course.” He walked into his bedroom and closed the door. Gareth guided Carrol over to Darien’s long wide settee and had her sit. He got a glass of water and sat beside her. She cuddled up to him, and he stretched out his legs and offered her a drink. She took it gratefully. He put an arm around her shoulders.

“Your humble servant is ready for a good sleep, Your Nibs. And you?”

She put her arms around his waist. “I will be asleep before you,” she challenged wearily. He pressed his lips against the top of her head.

“The true magic of the Phillipi,” he mused softly, “is you.”

Darien awoke eight hours later, refreshed from his ordeal with the Freen. He bathed in gel cleanser and put on fresh clothing. He looked at the timepiece on top of his wardrobe. It surprised him that two full days passed by, sixty hours of spinning wire around the Freen. It had not seemed that long. He checked by com with the bridge. The Armada was in the capable hands of Hartin Medina and Jace Corrin, the chief of the Naradi Famade, but as Hartin said, “I would certainly be happy to have the Warrior Prince come take the helm.”

“Oh, you would, would you,” Darien laughed after he signed off, “I suppose I should go and stay out of mischief.” He opened the bedroom door and emerged, and suddenly remembered he left his sister and Gareth Duncan in the front room alone with each other. Perhaps it would be bad timing to enter the room. At a glance, he could see that he would interrupt nothing at the moment. The couple still slept soundly. Darien crossed his arms across his chest and studied them for a moment.

At some point, they had stretched out along the length of the settee. Gareth lay on his back, one leg dangling over the side of the sofa, the other on the cushion. The leg on the cushion was held in place by Carrol’s legs, which seized it companionably. His arm was still around her shoulders, and she lay with her back against the back of the settee, her head pillowed by his shoulder. Somehow his work tunic was loosened, and her slender hand rested on his bare chest. His other hand rested on hers.

There was a sweet innocence to the scene, an innocence that Darien would not have expected from his rebellious sister and the socially insurgent Major Duncan. Gareth stirred slightly, and Carrol nestled against him in her sleep. He drowsily patted her hand and whispered her name. No, not her name - “Nibs.” Darien broke into a wide smile as he left for the bridge and locked the door behind him securely. Perhaps when they awoke his sister would be happy at long last.

The Freen was indeed a marvel; it no longer looked like a giant flying friak seed. It was now a giant flying friak seed in a cage. The light from the Gali sun danced along the wires and gave it a breathtaking weblike look. Only a handful in the Armada knew how the wire was made. All the rest knew was that somehow the Pleoni baron gave the Thuringi miles of marvelous steel wire and the royal family helped place it. Pleonian steel was the hardest, most durable metal known among the Stellar Council worlds, and the cost to the Thuringi must have been astronomical. But if it saved the Freen, it was worth whatever cost. The cost was never spoken aloud, and Lycasis never told anyone in the Armada except Stuart what it really was.

"Years ago, when I was still a young man, I chanced upon a melee outside a town on Sukell. Ruffians accosted a businessman, and they planned to dangle him by a rope around his neck from a tree after they robbed him. I kept him from harm. That man was Baron Uno von Saalvo, and he vowed repayment for his life someday. We have traded evenly with Pleoni since then, but I never asked for repayment of that favor until now, when I sent word through Gunner Porteau of Thelan. I needed the Baron to keep his vow and he did, most graciously."

"What will we do when we settle on Farcourt, Father? How will we release the Freen from its complicated bands?"

"There will be a way," Lycasis assured him. "The Phillipi will join together again and free our sea creatures from their pens into the great waters." He said it with such finality Stuart questioned no further. He took it as a matter of faith.

Gareth awoke with a soft moan. Although the settee was comfortable, he slept in the same position the entire time, and he was sore. He felt someone stir beside him and was instantly aware whom it was. She stretched her hand and caressed his chest, and the feeling within him was so intense he thought he would explode. He eased around carefully to lie on his left side and gathered Carrol in his arms. He gazed at her peaceful face for a moment, and then gave her a deep, provoking kiss. She responded in her sleep as he kissed her face in random spots playfully and his upper hand wandered the length of her body. She breathed deeply with satisfaction.

"Maranta," she murmured.

He froze in place, startled by the name that was not his own. Hurt and frustration raged in him by the unexpected jealousy of a man long dead.

"My name is Gareth," he said firmly.

"Mmm?" she stirred at the sound of his voice and opened her eyes. She smiled and closed her eyes, nestling against him again. "Gareth," she sighed happily.

He tried to be logical about the situation. She was not over Maranta's loss, and probably never really would be. It had been years since the evil day of his death, but she still carried him in her heart.

What did I expect? Gareth asked himself. There was a time when he had awakened in the middle of the night calling out for Lia. He had not done that since the odd day he kissed Her Nibs on the forehead on the observation deck. Since then, the vivacious, congenial princess was foremost in his thoughts even in slumber. He did not lose Lia so painfully and with such finality as Carrol had Maranta. It was the intervention of time with Carrol that made Lia fade from his mind. At least Carrol recognized him, happy to have him near her like this. Some day she may look for me in her dreams, he thought. I will have to wait until then and encourage the notion if I ever get the chance to do so.

<Wake up, little girl. Your dream of enduring love has come true at last>

She suddenly came awake and glanced around, confused. It was no dream; she lay on someone's settee in Gareth Duncan's arms. But where was Maranta? And what did he say? "Gareth?" she asked.

"Good awakening," he greeted. "Are you rested?"

She nodded and stretched her legs and found them tangled in his. He brushed her long hair out of the way so he could tenderly kiss the hollow of her neck. She uttered a low moan and ran her fingers through his hair, pressing closer to him in encouragement. He started at her collarbone and let his hand slowly trail down the front of her body. She responded in a most delightful way, and reached up to stroke his bare chest. He took the opportunity to kiss her again hungrily and forcefully, with the kind of passion she remembered from when he was so terribly drunk in his quarters with the Freen plans. She responded as he hoped she would, clutching him and enthusiastically meeting his mouth with hers.

"Your software is divine," he whispered to her. Her hand fluttered down to his 'hardware'. They were caught in a writhing embrace, unable to still the automatic motions of his yearning body against her own.

There was a sudden rattle of the doorknob. Before they could react fast enough, Darien burst in and slammed the door shut behind him. "You have only seconds before Father and his entourage gets here," he rasped. "Carrol, shut yourself in my bath and stay put." She scrambled over Gareth's prone figure and not only shut herself in the bathroom but locked it for good measure. Gareth clambered into a sitting position and cradled his head. He looked as if he had just awakened, when in reality he hoped he could catch his breath and appear normal quickly as possible. Darien opened the door when Lycasis pressed the buzzer.

"Whatever made you go tearing off like that?" Lycasis asked his son as he entered the room. He stopped short when he saw Gareth. Three advisors, including Tomas Hellick, managed to stop just short of running into their king.

"I did not want you to startle our good Major Duncan out of his slumber," Darien explained. "I rather looked forward to performing that particular aggravation, myself."

"You are twisted," Lycasis told his son. Darien beamed as if complimented.

Gareth rose unsteadily to his feet. "Your Majesty," he greeted, and could not hold back a yawn.

"Oh, Colonel Hellick," Darien acted as if he just noticed Tomas Hellick and another advisor in the doorway. "Do come in, gentlemen." He ushered them in with an exaggerated wave.

"How long will it take for you to be fresh and in the throne room with your designs?" Lycasis asked Gareth.

"I just need to clean up and put on something I have not slept in," Gareth said, a little unsteady. At rest on the settee in Carrol Shanaugh de Phillipi's arms took no effort at all, but to stand upright after a sixty-hour ordeal was more than the non-Phillipi could manage well.

"Did you sleep here, then?" Lycasis asked, surprised.

"Yes, sire. I just could not make it –" Gareth began, but Lycasis waved away his explanation.

"No, no; quite alright, major. I do understand. Well, how long will it take you to be able to get to the throne room on your own power?" Lycasis asked again.

"Give me an hour?" Gareth requested, and Lycasis nodded.

"An hour? The king needs you now," Tomas objected, and Lycasis shook his head.

"Major Duncan has been on a strenuous task and may take whatever time he needs to refresh and attend me in the throne room. I have far better use for this man than as simply a mechanic. Remarkable, quite remarkable." He started back out of the room, and Gareth spoke up.

"What designs did you want me to bring with me, Your Majesty?" he asked.

"Whatever you have," Lycasis said cheerfully as he paused at the door. "I am interested in any technological idea you may have had or may be entertaining." He left with his advisors. Darien waited by the closed door for a couple of seconds, and then opened it abruptly. The hallway was empty.

"I half expected Tomas to be there with his ear pressed against the door," Darien said, and shut it again. He grinned at Gareth. "Well, well! Father is impressed with your ideas. And you certainly took me up on mine! Carrol," he called softly as he knocked on the bathroom door. "All is clear; you can come out now."

Carrol emerged. "I do not think any man knows how to hang up a damp towel. Ugh."

"How many men's damp towels have you handled?" Darien shot back at her, and it dawned on him as he saw her smile at Gareth that he should not ask questions if he did not really want to know what his sister might answer.

Carrol put her arms around Gareth’s neck and hugged him tenderly. If Gareth was surprised a little, Darien was nearly floored. "It only figures, Father wants you right away," she told Gareth ruefully.

"It is the way my life goes," Gareth shrugged, unable and unwilling to keep his arms from an embrace, "'Major, come here; come there. Major, stand in one spot and whistle.' Really, Your Nibs, this should come as no surprise to you." He summoned forth the Royal We. "'It is our wish that our good major keep himself and his hands quite busy, so as not to disturb Her Most Royal Nibs during the order of her day.'"

She laughed and reveled in the feel of his body against hers. Darien was pleased. Carrol was certainly happy, even over no apparent physical event of the morning.

"Oh Maranta," she responded, and her shocked look of realization was reflected in the consternation on Gareth's face.

"I told you once already this morning, I am not Maranta. I am Gareth," he said through clenched teeth, jealous and resentful of her history with his former general.

"What? When?"

He broke away from her embrace and headed for Darien's entry door. "I am not going through this again. Surely someone may find me worth remembering. Should that time come, do give me a rattle," he said without a backward glance. He closed the door behind him firmly.

Tears welled in her eyes. "I did not mean to. It just slipped out," she said to her brother.

"No man likes to hear another man's name on his woman's lips," Darien told her. "I believe our good Gareth has had that novelty enough in his life." Carrol groaned and slumped down on the settee. Darien held out his hand. "Come on, little sister. I will take you to your quarters. You can get ready for your day there, and while you are at it, practice saying Gareth Duncan's name over and over until it rolls off your tongue easily."

He escorted his sister to her quarters and then strolled toward the hangers, bound for his ship Solenil. Along the way he passed a troop of young officers, just off duty and on their way to the Standard. Echo Garin hurried to catch up to them. She paused in order to adjust her sash, which had been twisted in the seat of the transport. Darien stopped to straighten it for her. She looked up into his eyes.

A warm welcome feeling sped with an exhilarating rush from his heart to the very extremes of his body. Although neither he nor Echo spoke, Darien felt a complete conversation passed between them in that glance. Darien realized with a start that the mystical way his mother often read people's hearts might have been passed down to him. He stepped back and bowed as he always did with her, and Echo returned the bow with her right palm pressed against her chest, her fingertips touching her left collarbone. It was the salute of a Naradi Famede to her royal charge. He straightened and winked at her. She hesitated a moment, and then smiled before she hurried on her way.

Darien turned to watch her go and sighed with a deep satisfaction he did not quite understand but enjoyed.

Gareth brought all his designs and sketches he could gather to the throne room and tried not to hear Carrol's voice with every step he took.

Maranta. Maranta. Those kisses, those touches were not for him; they were for the memory of the general. How could he possibly compete with a memory? He could not even compete with the likes of Tomas Hellick for Lia, how could he hope to match the ghost of the most admired man of Thuringa? He would not try, that was all. He could not afford to get caught up any further in Carrol Shanaugh de Phillipi. Loss follows love, he reminded himself angrily; at least, in my life it does. He had allowed himself the luxury to believe perhaps, just perhaps, she might fall in love with him. What a stupid notion. She was only a friend at the most. He once promised to never take advantage of Maranta's widow. Well, this should teach him something about going back on a promise.

He cooled down by the time he entered the throne room. A large table was in place before the throne, and it was here he was invited to put his plans. The king's advisors gathered in, murmuring about the quantity of work before them. Stuart and Darien were in attendance and gave Gareth friendly, almost familial looks, and Gareth relented a little and returned a smile. It was not the princes' fault that Gareth was not Maranta Shanaugh. It was not Carrol's either, just as it was not Gareth's. It was nothing he knew how to repair. One could not calibrate one heart to be in one accord with another.

At the king's bidding, Gareth went through his wealth of designs and explained what each did and how well it performed. Lycasis was surprised to learn that the quicker, more responsive fighter ships were made that way by Gareth's improvements; the filtration system on the Freen was his as well. These facts were acknowledged by some of Lycasis' advisors who bore witness to them. Almost a score of medical and research equipment was planned by his keen mind, and the entire computer security system on the Daven Bau was his original idea. The gill misters for the Aquatics, the booster engines on the scout ships, the clarity of the personal communication relays were all Gareth Duncan designs. The list of improvements to the Solenil was staggering but answered many questions as to how a standard battle cruiser now performed at Dreadnaught class capacity, which was technically the same as the Quantid.

"How do you come about your ability to envision these designs?" Lycasis asked. "Were you schooled in it at the Academy?" He knew the answer, but he wanted to make certain the advisors knew as well.

"No sire," Gareth admitted. "I just figured it out along the way. Listening in on discussions here and there, working on mathematics and elements of physics to pass the time."

"Intentionally?" asked a vicar among the assembled men, and more than a few chuckled. It was Vicar Spence Beace, that oddly irreverent reverend from Fellensk. Humor was at the core of the good vicar, and he was as disarming as he was effective in his office. Gareth nodded and a small grin came to his face.

"Some people even go to services on purpose," he explained, which elicited another laugh from them, Lycasis included. Vicar Beace gave Gareth a small salute, one jokester to another.

"Why did you never attend the physics or engineering academy?" Lycasis asked. "Either is so obviously your gifted task."

"I could not," Gareth explained. "Father was unwell, and his tasks needed attention. I was the eldest, and I knew my duty."

"How many was in your family?"

Gareth replied, "Six children."

In a society that depended upon everyone doing their common as well as their gifted tasks for credits, his father's hours were necessary for the Duncan household to run smoothly. Large families were unusual, certainly one as large as Gareth's, and it took an active set of parents to support that many offspring.

“Why did they have so many?" Asa Mennar asked. Gareth did not realize that just beyond the man stood Tomas Hellick, and it only seemed to Tomas that Gareth spoke directly to him. The truth was Gareth did not even notice him.

"My father was a particularly affectionate man and my mother, extremely receptive." The Phillipi family was used to Gareth's forthright tongue. The rest of the assemblage was mixed in their reactions, from amused to startled, to Tomas Hellick’s incredulity.

"We believe," stated Lycasis in the tongue of the High Royal Speech and therefore, speaking on the record, "that Major Gareth Duncan de Gordon should immediately be placed firmly within the design team of the Engineering Corps and a replacement for him in the capacity of mechanic be assigned with equal swiftness." Darien and Stuart exchanged delighted glances. With the proof before them in undeniable abundance on the table, the advisors heartily agreed. Tomas Hellick glared at Gareth and said nothing.

"Such a talent and intellect will be very useful in the future," Asa Mennar mused to a close confident.

Gareth went to the main hanger to clear his workstation of personal items. He would be assigned to a research station with only occasional forays to the hanger when actual work on ships or machinery was required. He created several specialized tools that he now claimed and placed in a box with other mechanical odds and ends. He added with them a medal he earned in a long-ago Festival and a time-cured, curiously carved friak that resembled a wizened old man leaning on a cane. Then Gareth came to an item that gave him pause. He picked up a picture and studied it fondly.

“Gareth,” said a soft voice.

He knew who it was, without even a look. “Your Nibs,” he replied, still intent on the image.

“May I?” He handed her the image as she requested, and only then looked at her. Her loose long hair cascaded to her waist like a shining golden waterfall, and her figure encased appealingly in her medical service uniform. Gareth drank in the sight of her. He was grateful she did not allow his unbridled jealousy of her relationship with Maranta damage whatever she and Gareth might have. He saw the lovely curve of her smile as she studied the picture and realized how much her smile meant to him.

His father stood hipshot in the picture, one fist on his hip and the other arm casually resting along the top of a fence rail. His farmer’s hat was tilted down to shade his eyes against the sun. Denys Duncan had the same wide easygoing smile as his eldest son, in a lean face with long creases that framed the smile. Beside him perched atop the fence was Maribel Duncan. She wore a mischievous look on her face, as if hatching some secret devilment. Her eyes were on the portrait maker and she leaned in the direction of her husband. The wind streamed her hair beside her like a flag above the heads of her children below. She was small with a stout figure and tiny little hands that clutched the fence top in a capable grasp.

Lined up along the fence in front and below their mother stood the three smallest children, looking merrily disheveled. They might have just been called over from playing a game of chase or trip-your-brother. The smallest had patches on his breeches, the next youngest held a Y-shaped stick, perhaps a pocket launcher, in his hand and the third youngest’s hands were shoved in his pockets. All three children looked healthy and happy with eyes that sparkled at the camera.

Next to them was twelve-year-old Pattie, whose hair was plaited in two long braids hanging down over her ears. She wore the same impish look on her face as her mother. She was neatly turned out in a clever outfit that integrated the length of a gown with the comfort and mobility of pants. Next to her, fourteen-year-old Clive squinted at the lens. His head was cocked to one side, as if listening to something in the distance, his hair in a long braid that was brought around front to dangle off one shoulder. He wore several colorful braided quirts around his upper shirtsleeve, a popular fashion at the time. Evidently the attractive young man enjoyed a number of interests, and young Clive Duncan was bold enough and desirable enough to get away with garnering a collection of them at once.

Next to Clive with one hand on his brother’s shoulder stood Gareth, at the opposite end of the picture from his father. Father and son looked like bookends: Gareth stood in the same hipshot stance, with the same wide smile on his face. Then as now, his hair naturally parted on one side. His hair was long in the picture, since the then sixteen-year-old Gareth was still in consue, not yet a mechanic and had no need to keep his hair trimmed short. The length made him look different, like a completely separate person than himself, yet he was definitely recognizable as Gareth. He wore farmer’s clothes, yet his consue scabbard dangled from his belt like a warning that here was a fighter, a soldier-in-training among a collection of peaceful gardeners. The twinkle in his eyes matched that of his father, and the fist that rested on one hip was the mirror image of Denys’. They all had their father’s smile and their mother’s eyes. The knowledge that only one of the eight had survived was a chillingly close reflection of the fate of the people of Thuringa.

“They are beautiful,” she sighed as she looked at the picture of his family. “I wish I could have met them.”

“They would have liked you,” he told her. She handed the picture back to him. She held on to it after he took it, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I do not know why I called you Maranta. I know your name is Gareth; I say it every day, whether I see you or not. Please do not be angry at me, Royal We.”

“I am not. It does not matter,” he said even though it did after all, as much as he would rather it did not.

“You look like your father,” she observed.

“No. He was a handsome man.”

“I know,” she replied, and he released the image back in her care.

“We believe Her Nibs needs auxiliary eyesight,” he told her, using the Royal We language without the Royal We octave. “We do not look much like Our father.”

“Perception is owned by the beholder,” she said affectionately.

He finally gave her a smile and a shake of his head. “Damn your beautiful eyes, Your Nibs,” he said, “You know I cannot stay ill with you for long. I do not care what you call me, as long as you continue to call me.” He turned to his station drawer to retrieve the last item. He picked it up carefully, and she breathed a little sigh of recognition.

It was the scarf she placed around his neck on the Freen that scandalized her father and when he first heard Gareth refer to her as “Your Nibs”. The ends were knotted together, and the knot was flat as if it had been that way for some time. Gareth pulled it on over his head and deftly tucked it under his tunic. That had evidently been done for some time, too.

He turned to face her. He did look exactly like his father, the particularly affectionate man in the image she held in her hand. Stuart told her about the meeting and what was said, thinking she might like to hear that bit of conversation. Gareth picked up the box. She placed the image inside it, and then stroked his face tenderly with her hand.

“I will call you, Gareth Duncan,” she whispered softly. “Make no mistake about that.” Putting her forefinger to her lips, she kissed it and pressed that finger gently to his lips. He responded with a kiss of his own on it.

"I will be listening vigilantly," he assured her. Together they walked out of the main hanger to his new station.

They paused at the observation deck on the way. Stuart and Darien stood side by side, looking at the stars. The princes turned at the sound of the opening doorway and were relieved at the sight of the couple. Glendon sat nearby, inspecting the sole of one of his boots. Brent leaned far enough back in the seat beside him to prop his feet up on Glendon’s shoulders for the pure irritation factor. The two men also smiled and rose to their feet.

“Well, now. This is much better,” Darien observed as he noted the comfortable closeness of his sister and Gareth.

“Congratulations, Major Sword-and-Fist,” Brent said. “I understand you are now to be ranked among the Engineers.”

“It would appear so,” Gareth replied as they all congregated around the seats.

“On his way to building bigger and better giant friak seeds in cages,” Stuart quipped, and patted Gareth on the head. Gareth groaned and laughed at the same time.

“Only the cage was my doing,” he protested. "That ungainly friak seed was certainly not."

“Do not belittle my home ship!” Brent objected. “It may be ugly, but it is memorable.”

“Look,” Carrol invited, and took the photo out of the box and to show the others. “Was he not adorable?” Stuart held it as the others looked on.

“Oh, he is simply darling,” Glendon said in a mockingly high girlish voice. Gareth made a horrendous face in a good-natured response to Glendon as he sat his box down.

“Why, he was quite the flash,” Stuart said pleased, and privately speculated how nice looking the potential children of Carrol and Gareth might be.

“I remember wearing braided quirts,” Brent laughed at a closer look at Clive. “I always thought our consue class started that craze.”

“Evidently there were cadets before you even more brazen,” Glendon noted, and saw the eerie resemblance between the men on each end in the image. “Word, you do indeed look like your father, Sword-and-Fist.”

“I told you; adorable,” Carrol repeated.

“Was not who, adorable?” Darien prompted.

She took Gareth’s near arm in both of hers and answered, “Gareth, I said.” As Gareth gave her a happy smile, she kissed his cheek.

“Careful, little sis,” Brent teased. “Mind your father’s edict.”

“I am,” she laughed. “He said for us to be in a public place, in the company of my brothers and trusted friends.” With that, she placed her hands on either side of Gareth’s face, and kissed him on the lips. Gareth automatically slid his arms around her slim figure in encouragement.

“I think that the future of Thuringa looks brighter all the time,” Stuart declared.

Darien turned back to observe the starfield ahead of them. “That depends on where you look. I wonder what might be out there between us and Farcourt, in the Unknown Territory?” he mused.

“We could push you out there to ask,” Brent declared with a snort.