Visions in the Dark

(Illustrations may happen someday)

Ham and Mon'Fargret step out into the dim light of the main passageway and move cautiously toward the side passage where the scan broadcast was detected.  After a few seconds' pause, Mey'Luskar gathers her wits and follows, Dabid not far behind.  They arrive at the corner, and Ham looks at his scanner just in case.

Nothing.

"I don't think anyone's there," whispers Mey'Luskar.

"Allow me, my lord," says Dabid, and he steps into the entrance of the passage without waiting for a reply.  "The lady is right.  There's no one here.  But someone was here.  I can still see heat tracks in the cement."  He moves a short way into the passage and says, "There are stairs going down to a lower level.  Our visitor is down there.  But wait..."  He goes further in.  "This also connects with another side passage, and there are tracks there, too.  More than one set."

"We're surrounded," says Mey'Luskar.

***

The priestess resumes her tranquil smile.  "Well, telling me what you saw might help ensure that the mind-screw doesn't happen again."

Lirassa's lip curls.  Then she rubs the back of her neck, and her demeanor becomes calmer.  She takes in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and begins.  "I saw what looked like a brown dwarf star, spectral type L.  I've seen dozens of them.  But this one..."  She takes another deep breath.  "Something about it just guadet me.  Especially when it turned into a great, big eye!  And that face...it...uh..."  Her breath catches.  A puzzled look crosses her face, and she taps the back of her neck.

"Your implant won't stop the fear," retorts the priestess.  "It's too much a part of what you are.  I know what you saw.  My sisters and I have seen it, too.  I don't know why you were made to see it.  Did the face speak to you?"

Lirassa shivers.  "Yes.  Something about gathering the true, or wha..."

"What language did it speak?" interrupts the priestess.

Lirassa glances at Nekshi.  "Yangae!"  She turns to the priestess again.  "It was speaking Yangae!"

The priestess gestures understanding and looks at Nekshi.  "You saw the same vision, didn't you?"

"But they don't use that language!" protests Kuluf.

"This one does," replies the priestess gravely.

Arrivals

The van sets down on the landing area, and immediately the guide lights dim.

Four figures approach the van a bit warily. Two of them are priestesses. With them are a boy and a girl in acolyte robes, both apparently in their teens and rather disgruntled looking.

The investigator immediately gets out of the van and faces the four. No words are spoken. They simply bow to each other, palms pressed together prayer-style, and then look at each other for a time. Then the investigator opens the middle door of the van and invites the party to disembark.

"This is where we part," she says, "at least for now. I'm told the senior priestesses are occupied. The junior priestesses here will look after you. Your rooms are ready." Then she looks at Granite Spear thoughtfully. "Shurian...right. You need moisture."

She and the priestesses look at each other again. Again, no words are spoken, but the priestesses clearly react with uncertainty, even horror. They stare at Granite Spear, look at each other, and then look at the investigator again. They bow in perfect sync.

The investigator turns to Granite Spear and says, "I'm told both the pond in the garden and the main bath are open to you if you like. But if you use the pond, please don't eat too many of the fish."

Constable Pal'dun, who has also stepped out of the van, says, "Here's where I take my leave, too. Promise me that you'll do what you can to protect her." Then he bows Hergoth-style and intones, "May the Entity smile on you." The investigator echoes the greeting. Then the two Peace Forcers reenter the van.

As the van rises into the sky again, the two junior priestesses approach. There is a moment of awkward hesitation before one of them bows Hergoth-style and says, "Um, welcome to the Yanda Branch Temple. Your rooms are ready." She gestures toward a nearby building that is obviously a dormitory. Then she and her partner look at each other strangely. After a few heartbeats she turns to the party again and adds, "If you'll follow us, please." Then she glances at Granite Spear. "Um, or do you...want to go straight to the pond?"

***
When Ham's scanner beeps, Dabid practically dives back into the way-nest.

Confronting Ham (rather like a small, purple deer confronting a grizzly bear), he hisses, "What are you trying to do? Advertise our position to the whole damned tunnel?"

"They already know," retorts Mey'Luskar quietly. "That's what that noise was, wasn't it? Someone scanned us, didn't they?"

Revelations

Without waiting for an invitation, the Farbett who identified herself as Gek'nork plods right over to the alcove where Widjgleeby is waiting with Zeton and Ham. Sticking her head in, she rattles off a steady stream of very cheery-sounding Somekh. Then she pauses, scrutinizing the way-nest's occupants with her eyes and sniffer.

"Well, how interesting may is!" she says in very awkward-sounding Her-Galad. "So this one is biggest Hergoth I ever saw definitely!" She sniffs some more. "Doesn't smell Hergoth, but." Then she looks at Ham, thinks for a minute, and says in Yangae, "This one is Ibitonian!"

"This one is definitely Yangae," puts in her friend, nodding toward the other alcove where Mon'Fargret is just now peering out. Then, after looking at Mon'Fargret intently for a few seconds, she bows Foldorian style (which looks decidedly odd in the person of a Farbett) and says, "This one wishes the lord good evening! Is the lady okay?"

"Mm?" hums Gek'nork. Then the two have a "quick" conversation in Somekh, after which Gek'nork bows, too. "Oh! This one didn't know she was in the presence of a Manager! We beg the good lord's forgiveness!" Righting herself again, she adds, "So what brings the lord and lady down here to the tunnels, anyway?" Then she looks at Dabid and huffs. "Come to think of it, why is this whole lot down here, anyway? This just isn't right! I mean, really! Are you lost? Or maybe hi-ding?" Then she gasps. "Oh, my! You're not down here robbing Farbetts, are you? Or is this a purge? Nola-haya! Widjgleeby, manedama-messa-dendama-sobabamut-messa-dendali-fakaborg?!?"

"No, we're with Widjgleeby!" says Dabid defensively.

Gek'nork eyes him warily, and then she says, "But no one comes down here! Except the workers, of course. Oh, and the Farbetts! The only other ones down here are only here to cause trouble...or run from it! Either way, it's not very agreeable, is it?"

"Unless they're with that Cleaner fellow," suggests her companion, "or his bunch."

***
(Illustrations pending)

The van circles around and approaches Erweina from the south. The mountain becomes an ominous-looking form as it blots out the lights of downtown Mul'ein, black except for the steady beacon of the temple on its crown.

"The arrangements have been made," says the investigator. "Accommodations are ready for you. It won't be luxurious, but you'll be safe and comfortable. Most of the staff have bedded down for the night, but there are people there to look after you. You won't need to worry about anything."

"Except maybe my sanity?" mutters Lirassa. She heaves a long sigh and leans on her elbow against the window.

The investigator glares back at her. "You have nothing to worry about! I promise that you'll be left alone!"

"The problem is going to be getting the others here," says Pal'dun. "If they're with her, they've gone deep into hiding."

The investigator pauses. "Indeed. Very deep." She closes her eyes. "She's in pain, too. And afraid. She has opened her senses, which means her companions know her secret."

Pal'dun clicks his tongue. "You can sense all that yourself?"

"No," replies the investigator, "but we can." With that, she reaches under her collar and pulls something out. A brooch on a chain.

A brooch of a low-ranked priestess.

Questions, Questions, Questions...

As the trio marches off to the flat under escort, an ambulance flyer arrives, settling down onto the street near where the Annuitis merc fell. There are also a few more officers on flyer bikes coming in.

The trio eventually arrives at the flat to find it already being examined. There are a couple of armed and armored officers together with a small team of investigators with ordinary uniforms and scanning equipment.

On seeing the trio, one of the uniformed investigators, a female, looks at them thoughtfully, and then shoulders her scanner and approaches.

"You are Nekshi, right?" she asks in (rather proper-sounding) psy-translated Her-Galad. "And you are Granite Spear?" Without waiting for a reply, she turns and starts pointing at the holes in the north and northwest walls. "These holes were caused by high-speed, small-caliber slugs," she reports with obvious pride in her own cleverness, "most likely armor-piercing types with delayed deformation for increased impact trauma. The trajectory indicates they were fired from outside, the vectors converging on a site where a damaged weapon matching the profile has been recovered."

She points at bloodstains on the floor in two locations, and her look becomes more intent. "There were wounded at these locations."

She then proceeds to the hole in the wall next to the door. "This was caused by a shattering effect. Carbon scoring on some of the debris indicates that it was the result of a spontaneous thermal shock wave, most likely caused by a pulse-laser or low-power, pulse-fired plasma or thermal device." Her brows furrow a bit. "It was fired from inside the room."

Lirassa yawns. And then glares back at the chorus of stares directed at her by the surrounding Peace Forcers.

The investigator maintains her intent glare for only about a second and then strides purposefully toward the south wall. "These two holes," she says, pointing, "with matching damage paths traveling through inner walls, cookware, and exiting the building, were caused by a hadron-baffling weapon with a tight disruption pattern, such as a pinlaser or a phased-energy weapon in linear disrupt mode. The vectors and damage pattern indicate that the weapon was fired from a position outside in the garden."

Clasping her hands behind her back, the investigator approaches again and stops directly in front of the trio. Fixing her eyes on Lirassa, she says, "You're hard to read. Resisting me won't help you." Glancing at Nekshi and Granite Spear in turn, she says, "From both of you I understand that my description has been accurate. I also sense that you were the victims of a pre-planned attack. The report given to us by the security officer here corroborates this, and though his opinion of you is, shall we say, less than favorable, he has personally vouched for you. However, I have three serious concerns." She gestures toward the hole near the front door. "One of them is the question of who shot first." Her brows furrow. "I see that it was one of your party, as I suspected. I sense that you believed you were in danger and that it was a defensive action, but this can complicate matters. Next is the matter of the other members of your group." She gestures toward the blood stains where Zeton was hit. "This one was a Lybolt. The other was Foldorian. Where are they?" She pauses. "Do they need medical assistance? I'm not seeing anything clear. You're not totally sure, are you? A dark space...hmm." She pauses again and then clicks her tongue. "I hope you'll tell me more, especially with regard to the third matter." She takes a step closer toward Nekshi. "How did all this happen in the first place? What was the reason for the attack? What w..."

Suddenly she gasps, and her eyes go wide. The other Peace Forces whose faces you can see seem similarly surprised.

"Wh-what is...your connection with..." begins the officer.

Then the door bangs open.

"I believe I have jurisdiction here!" cries a hoarse-sounding voice in Her-Galad with a strong Lyranell twang. The officer that steps in removes his helmet to reveal Constable Betham. He looks absolutely exhausted. He also looks about ready to peel someone like a banana. "If there are going to be any questions, I'm going to ask them, feel? And who in Ganneth's Grave sent for you R'weinaia, anyway? Answer me that!"

The investigator strikes a self-important pose. "Central Command," she replies flatly. "You were clearly occupied and unable to..."

"...occupied and unable to...," echoes Betham, mimicking her Ergothei pronunciation. "Yeah, yeah, I feel. Well, I'm here now, and this is my game, so stand aside!"

The investigator makes a Hergoth gesture of indifference and clicks her heels. "As you wish, Constable. Do you wish to see the report?"

Betham glares at her with astonishement. "Report? But you've only been..." Then he sighs and waves her off. "Later! Later! Right now..." He glances around at the holes and blood stains and gives a Hergoth gesture of annoyance. "Waste!" he hisses. Then he walks over to the trio. Glaring at Lirassa, he snarls, "How surprised...or not...I am to see you here! At least you're not stunned this time. Yet."

Lirassa snorts.

Then Betham turns toward Granite Spear, leans closer, thinks better of it, and leans toward Nekshi instead. "She was here, wasn't she? You know who I'm talking about! She was here! Flames, I warned Mon'Fargret not to get involved!" He gestures at the blood stain. "Now look what it got you! Nekshi, I know you're not the sort to court trouble, except maybe for a good story, but you don't know what you're messing with here!"

"Neither do you, Constable," retorts the investigator. "I don't think any of us do."

***

Mey'Luskar stifles a sob, sniffles a couple of times, and then says weakly, "I never did explain what this is all about, did I?" She sniffs again. "Is that why we stopped here? Okay. I guess I owe you that much."

Those in the party without night vision can't really see what she's doing very well, but it's clear she's messing with something in her pocket.

"In about two weeks," she says, "there'll be an advertisement for a special broadcast of the Second Chancers' club performances. They'll also say that there's a video version of it for sale."

She clutches the item in her pocket.

"This is it. And it's not what you think. It's much worse. Much, much, MUCH worse!"

She breaks into sobs.

The Aftermath

Granite Spear dives for the side door of the vehicle, which is standing open. As she does so, she's given a sudden, unexpected push from behind, sending her flying straight out through the portal and onto the sidewalk. As she hits the pavement and rolls out of the fall, the door snaps shut with an abrupt thunk and pressurizes.

Granite Spear, Ham, and Lirassa stare in surprise as the vehicle lifts off the ground, retracts its wheels, pivots, and shoots off toward the river.

Back in the flat, Widjgleeby lifts Zeton like a rag doll and tosses him over her shoulder. (Luckily, her spine doesn't poke him in the eye, but it does give him a jab in the ear.)

Mey'Luskar regards Dabid blankly for a second or two, and then she looks down her nose at him and says arrogantly, "After thee, blue."

Dabid sighs. "Yes, lady," he replies with a curt bow. Then he turns and heads out the front door.

The Rakh Hits the...er...whatever it hits...

There is a flurry of quiet activity in the room.

Ham Sahladt is reconfiguring himself in anticipation.

Mon'Fargret is thoughtfully eying the woman outside through the narrow opening in the door while readying his gear.

Lirassa is crouching, tensed as if to spring, behind the chair, the reconfigured hot comb (which no longer looks like a hot comb) clutched in her hand and a very intense look on her face.

Dabid is standing near the media terminal actively wishing he were somewhere else.

Widjgleeby, smelling all the tension in the air, turns her attention toward the room but keeps her bec-de-spoon raised.

Mey'Luskar is trembling, but her fears seem to be about evenly divided between the Farbett and the person at the door.

Nekshi takes a step backward from the door, still looking puzzled.

Zeton moves quietly toward her, intent on moving her still further from the door.

Heaven only knows what Granite Spear is doing.

Mira (if that is her real name), can be heard to chortle. Then she says, "Alright, then. Fools."

Morva Free Channel Evening News Update

Morva Free Channel
Your best source for local, planetary, and galactic media entertainment and information. Serving the civilized people of Morva with pride and a smile.

Morva Free Channel Evening News Update

"Good evening, lords, ladies, and people of the greater Morva area. I'm your host, Pa'Sallet."
"And I'm your hostess, Li'Moran."
"Good evening!"
"The people of Morva are shocked as a result of tonight's surprise drive-by shooting near Danstul' Station. A group of Hergoth youths was approaching the station when apparently they came under slug-weapon fire from a passing vehicle. Here on the scene is local correspondent Mai'Doppel. Mai?"
(Cut to on-location broadcast at Danstul' Station. There are a number of anxious-looking people milling about in addition to the usual pedestrian traffic.)
"Thank you, Pa. We're told that the Hergoth youths were all members of a local school hal'br'im team and were on their way to the Central District to celebrate a match victory when suddenly tragedy occurred. Witnesses say a single shooter opened fire on the group with a slug-thrower pistol, apparently at random, from a passing vehicle. The vehicle, a dark-colored Lemarvi (Foldorian-made wheeled car), was apparently stolen from a nearby parking lot and has been recovered by the police."
"Has there been any information on the attackers?"
"Well, witnesses say only that the shooter was wearing a visor, and that no one got a clear look at his face. It all happened rather quickly, and it's likely that the shooter was wearing a mask of some kind. There has been a bit more concrete witness information on the driver of the vehicle, however. Witnesses say it was a woman who was definitely neither Foldorian nor Hergoth. She was apparently a foreigner of a more large-bodied species."
"Were any civilized people injured in the attack?"
"No, they weren't, fortunately. The attack was concentrated only on the Hergoth. Two of the Hergoth are reported dead, and a third was seriously wounded but recovering at the witch hospital. The others appear to have been unharmed."
"This is all really...scary. I mean, attacks like this aren't supposed to happen! When was the last time there was a drive-by shooting of any kind in Morva?"
"Li, it was about eight years ago, and it did happen here in Ekr'im District, but it was a more gangland-related attack. A shooting like this directed at unarmed youths on a sidewalk has never happened in the history of the city."
"It doesn't give one much faith in the ability of the Ergothei Peace Force to keep us secure and civil, does it?"
"Well considering the Peace Force was unusually active today here in Ekr'im, it does have a lot of people wondering."
"I can imagine. Thank you, Mai'Doppel."
"Thank you, Pa'Sallet"
"And speaking of the Peace Force being strangely active in Ekr'im yet strangely lax in their duties, we go now to local correspondent Fon'Beloh in Artists' Square. Fon?"
(Cut to a view of Artists' Square)
"Thank you, Li. This is Fon'Beloh, Morva Free Channel News. I'm reporting from Artists' Square in Ekr'im District, where officers of the Ergothei Peace Force have been keeping people on edge all day."
"Could you please tell us more?"
"Certainly, Li. From early this afternoon officers of the Ergothei Peace Force on flier bikes maintained an unusually strong presence in the Square."
(Cut to shots of the officers on the bikes)
"No one knows why the officers were there. Some people believe it might be related to an incident this afternoon at a local cafe in which there was apparently a confrontation between Foldorian customers and a Hergoth gang. Apparently one of the Foldorians, a civilized local, was forced to fire a warning shot, and that ended the trouble. Rumors about that incident are already going around the Square. However, all indications are that the Peace Force officers started their stepped-up patrols even before that."
"Is there any chance that there's a connection between the incident at the cafe you mentioned and the shooting that happened over at Danstul' Station?"
"Um...I really don't know, Pa, but it doesn't seem likely."
"Alright. But what about these stepped-up patrols? How are they affecting the people?"
"In many different ways, Pa. If you look around me, things may look normal here in the Square, but there's a lot of tension in the air, Pa. Not only have the officers been hovering around on their bikes, but they've actually been attacking people."
"Attacked? Could you please elaborate?"
"Certainly, Mai. Well, first of all witnesses are saying that an officer shot and stunned a woman of uncertain nationality, apparently in the back. People are saying that the woman and a local punk had gotten into a fight, and a Peace Forcer just came up behind the woman without any warning whatsoever and shot her. A patrol car then came in after that and took the woman away. There's no word on what happened to the punk. But that's not the worst of it."
"What is the worst of it, Fon?"
"Well, we've had all kinds of reports that Peace Forcers pursued, cornered, harassed, and threatened a lord of the Manager caste in one of the exotic ethnic shops here."
(Cut to image of Mon'Fargret being interviewed in his shop, no audio)
"Lord Manager Mon'Fargret, seen here in the shop he maintains with his Annuitis servant in the Square, was apparently minding his own business in one of the many alien shops here when at least two Peace Forcers approached him in a threatening manner, held him at bay with drawn weapons, and proceeded to interrogate him while others in the store looked on. The lord says he was completely humiliated by the whole affair and suggested we ask the local constable for a full accounting of the matter. However, at the same time, he had this to say:"
(Audio fades in)
Mon'Fargret: "It would not be appropriate to comment other than to say that this is not the time for stark conclusions. Now, as much as I enjoy talking with you, I must get back to work."
(Cut to Fon'Beloh's sunny, highly-polished smile)
"One can't help but be moved by such stoic pride and civility even in the face of such barbaric treatment! Fon'Beloh, Morva Free Channel News."
(Cut to Li'Moran cooing with delight) "Our city is indeed blessed to have such excellent examples of true civilization!"
"Indeed! The Ergotheia haven't driven it out completely, have they? Not that they don't seem to be trying..."
"And speaking of trying, have any of you been wondering what has happened to all those people that earned Second Chance passes at the Yonba Talent Round-Up? Oh, come on! You know you have!"
"Well, look no further! The Free Channel is getting ready to release a special compilation showing the Second Chance pass winners performing as promised at prestigious venues here in Morva! There will be a special showing here on the net, and, for those that are interested, there will be a video release as well. In fact, the producers are saying that the video offers some extra-special entertainment that won't be on the broadcast showing!"
"Ooh, doesn't that sound exciting? Some of the Second Chance pass holders were pretty interesting! It would be nice to see what became of them!"
(There follows the usual promotional drivel for the Talent Round-Up)

Lirassa's Tale

Ham quickly pours Lirassa a stiff drink and then holds it out to her at arm's length. Lirassa snatches it like a donnar pouncing on a hiker and downs it in one gulp. Allowing herself a half-contented sigh, she hands the glass back to Ham without a word and then looks around for a place to sit.

"Oh, right," she says, fumbling out of her coat and handing it to Nekshi. She glances at Granite Spear, winces, and then plops into one of the simple but (definitely not) comfortable chairs with which the flat is furnished.

After a bit of moaning and wriggling her hips around, she gives up, chews her lip for a few seconds, and then says, "Um, you want to know what I did on the ship? The Fakrakkar?" [pronounced kind of like "Fush-rucker"] She tries to take a drink, realizes her hand is empty, and moans again. Then she crosses her legs and puts on an air of importance. "I was the executive officer! Number one after the skipper! The one whose job was to make sure the crew did what the skipper said! Yes, I did that." She takes a deep breath. "I also came VERRRY close to getting killed! I probably should have been killed." She sighs and shakes her head as unpleasant memories cloud her vision. "I still wonder how we got out of it. I mean, there I was...with my pants down...and this Alkan pirate sud...er..." She covers her mouth as her peach-white face turns Betelgeuse red. "Um...maybe he was...distracted...um..." She throws a horrified look askance at Ham and then buries her face in her hands.

"OHHH, I hate Alkans!" she moans behind her hands. Then she raises her face and looks anxiously around the room. "Weather Nose isn't here, is he?" Seeing that the notoriously loudmouthed Alkan isn't there, she sighs and attempts to sink lower in the chair. (She is not successful.) "Even that scary-looking, furry guy with sunglasses that was at Wirg's when I went back to get my..." She sits bolt upright. "Did you know the police stunned me? I outran that Yangae bimbo! Caught right up to her! Had her cornered! The little gidg was scared to brown! I was going to teach her some Besteeng honor! And then next thing I know..." She hugs her knees and shudders. "The police...said...that they...made a mistake! They said...they thought...I...was...someone...else!" She slaps both arms of the chair, winces, and tries to shake the pain off her hands. "Rakh! I thought Hergs read minds! But whatever skinny-assed, brown-skinned twerp came up behind me with a stunner..." The look in her eyes could probably stop a main battle tank dead in its tracks (or repulsorlegs, whatever...). "They said they were sorry! Gave me some tea and a backrub and sent me on my way! Ah...HERGS! So then I go back to Wirg's to get my stuff, thinking maybe I'll finally get some peace, and then fuzz-face in the dark glasses and his...his...Alkan bimbo sidekick...comes up to me and says, 'Hey, you da one dat chasin' da Foldorian woman, yes?' I was ready to tell this biktamma to go mate with a plasma furnace, and then his wench starts getting all in my face! OHHH...I hate Alkans! And Mr. Shades started getting really scary, too. They kept asking me who talked with that loyalist slut and if I was one of them. I told them what I knew, which wasn't much, and then that Alkan whore starts...licking...my...ear...." She shudders violently. "Then Mr. Shades says, 'Tank you for your be very cooperation," and he hurries out with his biktamig pink-skinned pet!"

She covers her face again and whimpers.

"And then Ham calls me and asks if I'm coming here!" she says with an irritable sigh. Then she glances up at Granite Spear and her eyes go wide. After that she looks around at everyone with furrowed brows and asks, "Aren't that Foldorian artist guy and his An-an-an-annuitis sidekick coming?"

Half the Battle...

Pt. I - At the Outdoor Marketplace

The (staged) altercation between Nekshi and Granite Spear reaches a high point; the Shurian reacts to the Zorlan's loud tongue-lashing by assuming a threatening pose, giving a retort that no one except Nekshi understands (since no one around them speaks Zorlan Standard), and stomping off. With a (very well played) huff, Nekshi storms after the retreating creature.

The people milling about nearby shrink back in alarm or confusion. If nothing else, the pair has certainly attracted a lot of attention.

While the "fight" was in progress, both Nekshi and Granite Spear noticed that a peace force (i.e. police) flier-bike was approaching, carefully easing into the crowd as if to pull up next to the pair. Almost right after Granite Spear's intimidating display, however, the flier-bike suddenly revs up its repulsorjets, rises up above the crowd again, and tears off in the direction of Artists' Square with its siren blaring.

Nekshi concludes that the ruse has worked. It takes her a while to bring Granite Spear to heel, however, as the Shurian has gotten a bit carried away and buried herself in the part (most likely one of those instinctive things). By the time they stop, they have left the marketplace and are now in one of Ekr'in's many narrow, twisty roads lined with small shops and flats.

"It appears that we have been successful," says Nekshi. "Now we must contemplate our next action..."

Then the pair is startled by a hissing sound in a nearby alley. Turning to look, they see a small, hooded figure standing there eying them. There is a bit of activity under its robe. The only thing stopping Granite Spear from tearing into the newcomer like a shark into a drowning goat is the fact that she has seen that little hooded robe before.

Kuluf croaks, and his translator says in Zorlan Standard, "I'm sorry. I was busy contemplating the way all these threads connect, and I didn't read your meaning. Did you want me to come with you? And why aren't we at the river?"

Pt. II - The Long Arm of the...?

Mon'Fargret doubles back to the boutique which he saw the loyalist woman enter. It is a fairly well-known Aragonese shop called "Llynfóramhyá" (pronounced hleen-FOR-ah-VYA). (Mon'Fargret vaguely remembers hearing somewhere that the name means "I like this" in the Soeki language.) Unfortunately, it is also a testament to the recent problems being suffered by merchants on Lyranell. The mannequins are dressed in all manner of exquisitely-crafted (if not very civilized) garments for men, women, and "female men" (another sadly uncivilized fact of Aragonese culture), but many if not most of the shelves are bare. A number of rather gloomy-looking shoppers are poring over what forlorn wares there are, mostly in the shoe, accessory, and handbag corners.

There is no sign of the loyalist woman.

There are two people, most likely the shopclerks judging by their dress, having an animated discussion near the employee door. One of them is a gold-skinned Aragonese woman. The other is a towering, gray-skinned Crygan woman who looks a bit out of place (but definitely not unattractive) in her Aragonese dress. After a little while an Aragonese man comes into the room through the employee door. The two women turn to him, and he shakes his head. They start to talk quietly, but then the man notices Mon'Fargret and nods in his direction. The Crygan woman approaches with a smile.

Although the Crygans are a powerful and very loyal vassal of the Foldorians, Mon'Fargret has never seen one in person before. She stands at least two heads taller than him and is completely hairless. Despite the gracefulness of the Aragonese dress she's wearing (which looks rather odd on the Amazonian Crygan!) she looks like she could probably bench-press a small car. Approaching Mon'Fargret with a smile, she bows primly in the Aragonese feminine style and says, "Llynergaáln váljhalé!" (A common Soeki greeting...which also seems odd coming from a Crygan.) Then, in very polite Yangae, she says, "How might I serve the good lord?"

Mon'Fargret fancies he catches a whiff of a very subtle perfume. It's faint, but it makes him go all tingly.

"Um..." he attempts, still glancing about for the loyalist woman.

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" asks the Crygan sweetly.

Funny she should put it that way, thinks Mon'Fargret to himself. His thinking seems to be going a bit fuzzy. Is it just nerves, the fact of the policeman hovering about outside, or is it just that he's talking to a woman who could probably tear him apart in a couple of seconds? No, it's probably the perfume. It's so faint, but so exotic...

"I know what the good lord might be thinking," the Crygan goes on, ushering him to one of the aisles, "but Aragonese men's wear is not at all like what I have on. It's both acceptable and fashionable in the Civilized Realm. I bid the good lord have a look!"

"Have a look..." mutters Mon'Fargret following after the giant, gorgeous woman. He has never thought about it before, but bald women apparently turn him on much more than he thought. And those muscles... Is it getting warmer in the shop? But why is he trembling?

"Is my lord okay?" asks the Crygan very quietly, a knowing grin on her face. She does a sort of turn, and the strange perfume becomes stronger for just an instant. Her dress brushes against him, and it's like an electric jolt.

Wait a minute...isn't there something he's heard about Crygans? Something about...uh...

"Here is a seat, my lord," she says into his ear, easing him onto a bench. Her breath on his cheek sends his glands into a frenzy. Her touch is deliciously warm and shiveringly frosty at the same time. Sheer ecstacy! If only there weren't all those people there! That simple store aisle could be transformed into a den of pleasure! But wait a minute...come to think of it, why was he there in the first place? "I bid you sit while I show you some of the fine garments we have available! I apologize for our shamefully small stock at present, but I'm sure we have something to suit the good lord!"

"I'm sure you have something..." mumbles Mon'Fargret, settling onto the bench. Yes, he has heard something about Crygans, but what is it? Total blank. Fog. Getting foggy. Getting FOG-gy...

"Now let's see..." says the Crygan musically. "Ah! I know just what would suit my lord! How about this?" She holds up a suit that looks like it's made of real leather. Dead animal flesh. But it's so exciting! "Such style and elegance! It would make my lord look so distinguished! And this shade of tolek brown goes so well with my lord's wonderful, red hair!" She runs the back of her fingers across his hair, and he shudders. "What does my lord think? Would my lord like to try it...OH!!!" Her solid blue eyes go very wide.

"Try it, oh..." mumbles Mon'Fargret. He hears the thump of boots approaching somewhere in a distant universe.

"Welcome!" says the Crygan in Her-Galad to someone behind Mon'Fargret. All sweetness has vanished from her character. Now she looks very uncomfortable. "Is there something we can do for you?"

"Armed police," barks a masculine voice in Her-Galad. "Stand aside!"

The Crygan does as she's told, and a helmeted Hergoth peace force officer comes around in front of Mon'Fargret. He's holding a stun baton.

"Keep your hands where they are," warns the officer in Yangae.

"Where they are..." mutters Mon'Fargret.

The officer pauses, studying him. Then, to the Crygan, he says in Her-Galad, "Did you pheromone him?"

The Crygan looks as innocent as possible. "Maybe a little. But I can't help it, can I? I haven't haven't done anything wrong!"

"We'll see about that," retorts the officer. Turning back to Mon'Fargret, he says more quietly in Yangae, "Why are you here?"

"Why am I here?" echoes Mon'Fargret. "Why...why..." He shakes his head.

"Tell me why you're here! Were you looking for someone? Did you meet with someone?"

"Um..." replies Mon'Fargret. The perfume is gone. His mind is finally starting to clear.

The male Aragonese shopclerk approaches. In perfect, melodic Her-Galad, he asks, "Is there a problem, officer?"

"Do not approach!" warns the officer holding out the baton. "This is a matter of the civil authorities, by right of the Holy Magistrate, and this man is under security quarantine!" To Mon'Fargret again, "Now, tell me! Why are you here?"

Mon'Fargret struggles to clear his mind. Wait...now he remembers why he's here! "I'm looking for someone!" he says.

"Who?"

"Um, the loyalist woman from Wirg's!" He says it, but he feels strange doing so. But why? It's the truth, isn't it! But maybe that's the problem. Then again, lying to a Hergoth was generally a stupid thing to do without some very good mind shielding.

"Why? Did you meet with her?"

Honesty was probably the best policy. "She was following me! I wanted to know why!"

"Is that all?"

"Yes!"

"Did you see her? Did she say anything? Did she give you anything?"

"No! I didn't find her!"

"I'll vouch for him," says the Aragonese shopclerk assertively. "A Foldorian woman came into the shop before he did. She ran straight through and out the employee exit. I couldn't stop her."

The officer turns on the shopclerk and lifts his baton just a bit. "Did she say anything to you or anyone else? Did she touch anyone?"

The shopclerk gestures negative in Hergoth fashion, a look of confusion on his golden face.

The police officer steps toward him. "Did she drop anything?"

"What...?" says the shopkeeper.

"Did - she - drop - anything?" spits the officer, carefully enunciating each word as he takes another step forward. His baton raises a little more.

"GOLD TWO!" comes a shout from the store entrance. "STAND DOWN!"

The officer sighs, steps back, and lets his baton drop.

A second officer approaches, throwing back his visor to reveal Constable Betham. He has his stun pistol in his hand, but he quickly holsters it.

"These people are NOT under quarantine!" he snaps at the other officer. To the shopkeeper he says, "I apologize for the disturbance. I think my officer here got a little carried away. Isn't that right, Gold Two?"

There is a sigh, and the other officer apologizes quietly.

"Now get back on your ride and look for the woman," says Betham curtly. When the officer moves to comply, Betham turns to the Aragonese and Crygan shopkeepers and says, "I think you have customers to attend to. If you don't mind..." They move off, and Betham sits on the bench next to Mon'Fargret. "I'm really sorry about that," he says with a deep sigh. "He's young, and we're all under a lot of stress right now. You and your friends aren't helping matters, either. I know you enough to know you're not wading in bad water, but do us all a favor. That whole business in Wirg's this afternoon? Just forget about it. It didn't happen. You had your lunch, and you went back to your shop. That's it. Just put the whole thing out of your mind. Promise me, okay?" He stands up and turns to face Mon'Fargret. "I mean it! Promise me! I can see it in your mind. You want to find out what's going on, maybe even right some wrongs. Am I right? I don't blame you. But you'd only make things a LOT worse. Just stay away from it. And if you see either of those loyalists or that gang of Blues, don't talk to them. Don't look at them! Just pretend they don't exist!" He lifts his arms, lets them fall to his sides, then starts to leave. Then he stops. "I'd really hate to have to bring you in stunned like that Besteeng woman." With that, he leaves the shop.

Constable Betham

As Dabid moves to help Mon'Fargret to his seat, sirens can already be heard approaching from outside. It isn't long before a stern-looking Hergoth peace officer is eying Granite Spear warily through the clear door.

"'Scuse me, there," says Wirg, and he walks around the Shurian and opens the door. "They're gone, Constable!" he cries to the peace officer, who comes into the cafe flanked by a couple more, their eyes fixed on Granite Spear. "You're too late!"

"What happened, Wirg?" asks the Constable levelly. "There was a shooting?"

Wirg points. "One of 'em blasted the floor, damn it all! Nasty gun, though! Looks like the kid got pretty burned!"

"Geishana acolytes are on the way," retorts the Constable, approaching the scene. Then he sees the gang and stops short. There are a couple of seconds of hard-stared frost between the officers and the youths before the Constable says, "Blues! By the Entity! You're a bit far from your neighborhood, aren't you? This is Ekr'im, not Gastra!"

"Flaming collaborator!" spits one of the boys.

"Collaborator?" echoes the constable, taking another step closer. "Who's a collaborator?"

"We can smell the shit on your breath," hisses the leader, "from kissing Yangae asses!"

The Constable makes a Hergoth gesture of annoyance. "Boys, get it through your heads one of these days! The Occupation is over! It ended before you were born! This is an Ergothei world! The Foldorian residents on this planet are Ergothei citizens just like you! You're the ones making things..."

"Not Foldorians!" counters the leader. "I got no twist with Foldorians! It's Yangae poison!"

The Constable sighs. "Yangae and Foldorians are the same r..."

"They're NOT the same!" The gang leader tries to squirm out from under Adulie and Zeton. "Blood maybe, but not soul! Look at him!" He gestures toward Mon'Fargret. "He's a Foldorian! I can respect that as long as he respects our game! The guy who did this," he gestures at the smoking hole in the floor, "is a Yangae! He's got the poison!"

"Look," retorts the Constable. "It's bad enough you guys are trying to throw Gastra all to chaos. You don't need to be coming here and..."

"We KNOW the poison is here!" The leader struggles to his feet, fire in his eyes. "We were sent, and we found it! The poison is in this polluted Yangae soul!"

"Who sent you?" counters the Constable levelly. The boys go silent, looking at the floor, but the Constable smirks. "I don't suppose you'd care to explain who 'The Cleaner' is, would you?"

Some of the boys swear under their breath, and the leader says, "It doesn't matter, does it? We know the poison is here. We know because he does! You can hide behind your shiny, gold badge and your flaming 'peace and harmony' kĕl'wak, but we know it's here. We're gonna find it, too!"

"Unless someone aims a little bit higher?" counters the Constable, gesturing at the hole. "I don't think I need to tell you. By the looks of it it was a Foldorian pulse-baffler, probably a Fakliss KV 3 or 4. It's a very expensive gun, and it's a nasty piece of hardware. He fired only one pulse, and he aimed at that spot just to mess you up. If he'd actually shot you I'd be putting your head and feet in different bags. This was a message, boys. I suggest you read it."

"Flame you!" spits one of the boys.

"Yeah, we're not ducking the path for anything!" says another self-importantly.

"Get it through your lobes, watch," snarls the leader. "We're gonna find the poison, and we're gonna clean it up! If we don't, we're gonna all be kissing pretty Yangae asses again just like you!"

The "acolytes" (Hergoth paramedics) come walking in. The gang leader greets them with a huff but offers no further complaint or resistance.

The Constable (known well by most of you as Constable Betham) says loudly, "Alright, I'm going to need statements from everyone here, so remain on the premises! Just make yourselves comfortable! If any of you are in need of medical attention, the acolytes will help you in turn!" Then he sighs and heads over to the other side of the cafe. "Mon'Fargret," he says semi-pleasantly in Yangae. "How surprised I am to see you here! I got your call, but Wirg called me just a little bit quicker. What happened here?"

Unexpected Company

Betchmat the Fasion makes his way to the front counter. Wirg goes over and meets him there.

"That'll be it for today?" asks the Bolgan in his husky tenor.

"Obviously," snaps Betchmat, holding up his credit chit.

"Right, then," replies Wirg, and he accepts the chit.

"You know, my friends, I think it's time I said goodbye for the afternoon, too!" cries Weather Nose, raising his somewhat bulky form from his barstool and stretching as conspicuously as possible. "Look outside, my friends! The clouds are coming in! I'd like to get a bit of sun before it starts getting all wet again!" He stomps his way toward the front counter a bit unsteadily, calling hearty farewells to everyone he sees.

His transaction finished, Betchmat grabs his chit and hustles out as fast as his stunted legs can carry him.

"Well, how about that?" guffaws Weather Nose. "He didn't even let me say goodbye! Fasions!" His pink paunch, protruding from his traditional Bo-San vest, is still jiggling with mirth as he hands his chit to Wirg, who says nothing. Then the door jingles again. Anticipating another merry soul on which to bestow his ale-fed cheer, Weather Nose turns around...and stops short.

"Oh..." is all he says.

"Is there a problem?" asks a youthful-sounding, masculine voice in Her-Galad. The question has a clear edge. It is meant as a challenge.

Weather Nose grimaces and replies pointedly in Yangae, "If there is, I'm not the one responsible!" He puts his hands behind him but assumes a martial stance.

The newcomers, apparently not interested in the massive Alkan, dismiss him with a sneer as they file past. There are five of them, all young Hergoth males. Their dress and attitude show them to be rather less than Mul'ein's best. There is defiance in their eyes as well as a certain telltale glassiness; most likely they indulged in a bit too much tar'go tea before coming. Swaggering into the cafe, they glance around at its occupants with apparent surprise. Then they share a glance and, most likely, some silent conversation. A decision is made, and they move the two empty tables in the center of the room together and seat themselves. Then they start throwing baleful stares at the loyalists, Mon'Fargret, the other three Foldorians, and Dabid.

Adulie approaches them with a stack of menus.

"We receive you with grace and humility," she says in her melodic High Speech. "Would you prefer Her-Galad menus?"

The gang look at her as if they've seen a manifestation of Gôth his/herself.

"You have Her-Galad menus?" asks one of them.

"Absolutely!" replies Adulie musically. "How would you start your repast, with 'eager water' or 'common herb tea'?"

"Common herb tea," replies the same boy, whose mannerisms suggest he may be the leader of the group. As Adulie moves away they erupt into a chorus of low mutterings among themselves.

Soon Adulie returns with the tea. With a polite, ritualistic uttering, she begins placing the cups in front of them. But then all at once the leader of the gang grabs her arm and growls, "Why in the Flames are you talkin' priestly?"

Adulie gasps but keeps her cool. "That's the way of speech in the place where I grew up, sir!"

"What, you raised in a temple?"

"No, sir. I was raised on Yurinova!"

There are some hisses of surprise and annoyance among the gang members. Then the leader spits, "You, a Herinov? Not Hergoth, not a dark-Sarkon or a gold-skin, but still...a Herinov?" He huffs. "Then what are you doing here taking work away from the real Hergoth, anyway?" He releases her and snatches up his tea cup irritably.

Clearly stung, Adulie turns and hurries back into the kitchen.

The leader of the gang sips his tea and then eyes it thoughtfully. All at once he bangs the cup down on the table, jumps up, and whirls to face the three Foldorians sitting behind him. The other members of the gang follow suit.

"What's the matter, Yangs," he snarls in Yangae, "don't you like us?"

The three Foldorians pause, look at each other, and immediately gather themselves up to leave.

"Good, then," adds the gang leader in Yangae. Then he switches to Her-Galad and says, "Go on! Clear out o' here! Go on back to your stinking ci-vi-li-za-tion! We don't need you here!" He punctuates his last sentence with a spit in their direction as they leave. Then he turns to the loyalist couple and eyes them thoughtfully.

To the loyalist man he says in Yangae, "I can't read you. Not at all. Odd. I don't like it." Then he eyes the woman and says, "You're afraid!"

Her eyes widen in horror and she drops her fork. The utensil clatters noisily to the floor.

"You're afraid!" says the gang leader again. Then his mouth widens into a grin. "Very good! Be afraid, then! Be very afraid!"

Then his eyes move again and level on Mon'Fargret. "You're different," he says. Switching to Her-Galad, he says, "You don't like what I am, but you don't seem to mind who I am. You understand me, don't you, Foldorian? Can we be friends now?"

Pub Talk...Oh, How Profound!

Pt. I: The Little Hooded Guy
[I will assume that Zeton makes his remark to Mon'Fargret and returns to the other table as Nekshi is speaking to the "little hooded guy".]

At first the little creature draws back in either discomfort or annoyance when Nekshi turns toward it, but it seems to relax in response to the question.

It's reply, however, is singularly odd.

Nekshi, Zeton, Widjgleeby, and even Granite Spear could swear that all they hear with their ears (or skin) is a weird croaking sound. However, in their minds they all "hear" perhaps slightly different versions of the following:

ml'a h'uwan-x'êfumâ

Granite Spear's translator/com beeps. A text translation has been provided...as well as identification of the language!

(I assume Widjgleeby's translator is switched off since all the conversation so far has been in languages she speaks fluently.)

As the creature looks up, its face becomes a little more visible. It looks rather like a large frog. (Of course, Zeton is the only one of your characters with any idea what a "frog" is.)

The creature regards the party blankly with its luminous, unblinking eyes, and then it starts to fiddle with something under its cloak.

Part II: Welcome to Bar Tawk



Mon'Fargret stands up but doesn't have to go very far because Uskua is already returning with part of the party's order. Basically, she has a small, individualized pot of tar'go tea for Zeton, a Farbett-sized mug of what smells like Foldorian tea for Widjgleeby, and two smaller cups of the same brew for Mon'Fargret and Dabid. She also has what looks like a Hergoth-style appetizer plate (raw veggies and nuts) and a dish containing what she says is a sample of the local unba fungus for Widjgleeby to try, compliments of Wirg.

Striking up a conversation with Uskua proves to be very easy. Her manners need a lot of work (which doesn't seem surprising considering her rather wild appearance and demeanor), but she seems eager to talk and almost surprised by the attention. Wirg himself throws a word or two into the conversation as well, apparently flattered by Mon'Fargret's curiosity about his wares. Adulie, however, continues to go about her tasks pensively, doing her best to keep her back to the holovid.

The loyalist couple and Weather Nose are very enthusiastically wrapped up in the Talent Round-Up showing on the holovid, loudly commenting to each other about each performance and the judges' responses. The other people in the club seem to be watching the show as well with varying levels of interest.

"How did I come to be here?" says Uskua in reply to the question which Mon'Fargret eventually drops. The corners of her mouth draw back. "I'd call it either the will of the Entity or just good luck." She has an interesting, hissing chuckle. The she becomes more serious, even grave. "No, really, I was lucky. Most Ilfroi don't have it so well, you know. I can tell you this, though: we're a lot better off now than when my parents were little. No offense." She throws a quick look at the loyalists, tosses her nose at Mon'Fargret, and then struts back to the kitchen.

"This is all so ridiculous," blurts out the one Fasion in the cafe irritably. He gestures with a stunted hand toward the holovid. "It's so obviously fixed!"

"Oh, it is not!" retorts the loyalist girl. "Watch! They've been giving good marks to Foldorians, Hergoth, Besteengs, Bol..."

"I have been watching!" the Fasion shoots back angrily. "I've seen the marks! But I've also been keeping track of statistics."

Weather Nose and the loyalists wave off the Fasion and turn back to the holovid.

A Zanthi sitting near the Fasion asks him a question in Fasion Dialect. The Fasion's reply is quite animated, though those members of the party who hear it can't understand a word of it.

Lunch at Wirg's

Wirg's Cafe & Bar is near Danstul' Park in Ekr'in District. A little off the beaten track and well within ex-pat country, it tends to attract a small, regular clientèle rather than the crowds that come to visit the nearby "Artists' Square" plaza. Patron and customers alike prefer it that way. It is not a fancy place by any means, though its signs written in the Yangae language do stand out among the sea of Her-Galad and Brekka (and possibly serve as an unwitting deterrent to the Hergoth crowds at the Square, who probably mistake it for a loyalist hangout). The massive and heavy main entrance, designed with Farbetts in mind, also catches the eye. Wirg has always done his best to cater to the ex-pat community in Ekr'in, providing both furnishings and wares that offer at least a substantial percentage of his varied clientèle a much-valued taste of home.

Nekshi likes it because it serves genuine, Zorlan-style kifra. Not many places get it right.

The crowd at Wirg's is its typically colorful montage when Nekshi, Granite Spear, and Zeton meet Widjgleeby there for lunch. The largest ethnic group to be found there at the moment is Foldorians, which seems ironic since Wirg himself is a Bolgan who fled slavery in the Empire years ago. However, the very nature of Ekr'in District, particularly in the vicinity of Danstul' Park, would seem to be a buffer against any traditional bigotry.

One of the Foldorians there is immediately recognized by Nekshi as Mon'Fargret, a local artist she has met before who is surprisingly of the Manager caste (but doesn't seem to like to discuss it). He is there with his business/artistic partner, an Annuitis named Dabid. Some quick greetings and introductions are exchanged, and it turns out Mon'Fargret and Zeton know each other indirectly but have never really met. Soon the party are sitting at adjoining tables and talking.

Zeton has been here before but isn't really a regular. Still, some of the faces there are definitely familiar. And that tall, blond-haired waitress...he remembers her well because he'd found her so intriguing last time he was there. She was clearly of one of the many post-Sarkon races, but which one? He starts discussing it quietly with Nekshi. Sarkon? No, her face isn't round enough. She's too fair complected to be either Dranazar or Ehrlathagi. Besteeng? No, too graceful and elegant. Nokfarri? No, too feminine. Zentrifiues? Maybe, but...she doesn't seem like the type. Obledaic? Possibly, but... Hmm. Definitely intriguing.

The other waitress, a blue-skinned, tiger-striped humanoid with an almost bestial demeanor (an Ilfroi, who are an Ergothei protectorate, and Nekshi recalls her name is Uskua) slinks up to the table and takes the party's order. Zeton is almost disappointed, but he doesn't show it much.

Just as Uskua starts to double-check the party's orders she is interrupted by a bit of commotion over at the counter.

"Enough already!" growls Weather Nose, a rather loud Alkan who is well known in these parts, in heavily-accented Yangae. He bangs down his mug of ale and adds, "Why are we watching this sand, anyway? Isn't there anything else on?"

"Not really," grunts Wirg in his husky tenor, swaggering toward the holovid. "The cables're still down."

"Still?!?" Weather Nose makes a sort of growl and bangs his palms on the counter. "What is wrong with this place?"

Uskua sighs. "Here we go again," she says quietly, giving the party an annoyed look.

"There's a war on, 'member?" retorts Wirg. "N' we're out'n the middle o' nowhere, right? When everythin's down, everythin's down. That's it. All we can do's wait for 'em to clear the channels again, right? Till then all we got's the local news...n' the Temple channel."

There are some snickers. Weather Nose splutters, "No, thank you. I get enough...how you say...spirit stuff...to make me want to hurl my spirit anytime I try to go anywhere or do anything on this damned rock. Damned Hergs..."

The place goes noticeably silent for a few heartbeats. More than one pair of eyes shifts toward Zeton just to make sure.

"Now, now," calls an unfamiliar, rowdy-looking Foldorian woman sweetly from where she is sitting with her similarly-dressed boyfriend. "You can't really blame the Hergoth. They are what they are. And only because Emperor Ty'Klemmo allowed them to be."

There are at least three other Foldorians in the cafe including Mon'Fargret, and all of them are clearly surprised at such open disrespect. Even disturbed. Dabid lets a low whistle escape his lips.

"Oh, no! Did I offend?" asks the girl, glancing around as her boyfriend snickers. "I keep forgetting! Forgive me!" Glancing at Mon'Fargret, she adds with a curt bow, "Especially you, my lord! I meant no disrespect to His Imperial Eminence, may His wisdom guide us all!" Turning back to her boyfriend, she shares a chortle with him.

After a tense pause, Weather Nose raps his knuckles on the counter and says, "Whatever. I don't really care whose wisdom guides who around here. All I know is that I don't want to spend my time watching...watching...little grade schoolers dancing, or...or that touchy-feely spirit baska!"

There are a few scattered chuckles or murmurs of assent.

"Wait," says the rowdy-looking Foldorian girl. "Wait! What about the Free Channel?"

The Free Channel! That new, local channel set up by Yangae loyalists! Much if not most of the population of Ekr'in District if not of Mul'ein does their best to avoid it. After all, it's nothing but Yangae propaganda and...

"The Talent Round-Up!" the girl goes on. "I think it's on now! Why don't you put it on?"

"I thought that was on at night," spits Weather Nose.

"The edited repeat is on at night," corrects the girl. "The unedited original plays live during the day!"

"What's the Talent Round-Up?" asks Widjgleeby.

"A sign the end is near," sighs Dabid, leaning on his elbow.

Mon'Fargret glares at his friend and then explains. It's a new program recently started by the Free Channel. It's essentially an open talent contest. Anyone can enter. It is currently in the first round, which is the weeding-out phase. Two panel judges plus one unseen judge (rumored to be a Noble) watch the performances, and only those accepted by all three are allowed to pass on to the next round. Eventually there will be a championship, and the winner will be given a chance to become a pro. Also, some of the losers are given a Second Chance pass, which allows them to perform at one of the most high-brow night clubs in Mul'ein.

The show is already a smash hit among the Yangae, and it also seems to be catching on more and more among the Hergoth. It is certainly getting a lot of attention in the local news media.

"A sign the end is near," repeats Dabid.

"Right, then," grunts Wirg, gesturing toward the holovid. "Talent Round-Up it is, then!"

Uskue grunts and starts to reconfirm the party's orders again. Then she stops. Looking toward the tall, blond waitress, she cries in Her-Galad, "Hey, Adulie, didn't your sister get a Second Chance pass on that thing?"

Adulie doesn't meet her gaze. "Yes, she did," she replies in very melodic, refined-sounding Her-Galad.

Almost everyone in the party can see that something is troubling the woman.

Almost everyone.

"Hey, will you get on with the order?" growls Widjgleeby.

Where It All Begins...

Mul'ein (still known as Morva among the more stubborn Yangae loyalists) is the political and economic capital of Yanda Province. As a city it is modest by any standard, with a registered population of a little under 300,000. However, even that number is twice what it was only a decade ago, the result of rapid growth brought on by recent industrial development. For the most part it is still a quiet and picturesque little city whose architecture is an interesting mix of Hergoth and Yangae styles. The Bal'tem River flows from West to East right through the middle of the city center, both banks adorned with scenic, garden-lined brick walkways that have earned it the nickname "The Wishing Walk" ("Nr'ävåboeth" in Her-Galad, "sa'Pru ta'Varska" in Yangae). The surrounding downtown district has an air of quiet elegance despite its modest size, its cafes and shopping plazas offering perhaps the only semblance of luxury to be found within a radius of many kilometers. Travel a few hundred meters in any direction, however, and the scenery quickly changes; the legacy of the Yangae occupation remains in the form of residential and commercial districts sharply demarcated by class and/or ethnic group.

The districts of Mul'ein:

• The hilly area north of the city center is Düa (Daua) District. The offices of the municipal authorities are located here, as is Yanda University and the Mul'ein College of the Arts. It is populated mainly by Hergoth and Hertressk of middle or upper-middle class with a small percentage being of the upper crust. Most dwellings are individual houses or condominiums. The whole area carries an atmosphere of peaceful affluence and is generally quite safe.
  
• The area south of the city center is Gastra District, which was destroyed during the invasion and rebuilt in Yangae style. Its streets form an almost perfect grid. Local architecture is a hodge-podge of crumbling prefabricated structures and newer constructions of a variety of styles. Most of the dwellings are apartment blocks or relatively cheap housing projects peopled by the working and lower middle classes. The population is perhaps the most ethnically balanced in Mul'ein. A sort of uneasy peace exists between the Hergoth, Hertressk, and Yangae that live in this area, mostly in demarcated neighborhoods, but tempers have been known to boil over on occasion.
  
• The southeastern district between the city center and the town of Bal'tem is Grissin, an old Yangae neighborhood. This is loyalist country. Blocks are strictly separated by caste, and the classes do not intermix. Gang violence has been known to occur in this area, mainly between castes if not individual blocks, but outsiders are also advised to be cautious. It is also recommended that traditional Yangae customs and mores be observed to the letter in Grissin, for the locals have little tolerance for "uncivilized" behavior.
  
• Further southeast, sandwiched between Grissin and the towns of Bal'tem and Auani, is Sa'Barj ("The Hill"). Like neighboring Grissin, this is also Yangae loyalist country, but the three massive, gaudy palaces there are testament to the fact that it is the abode of the Nobles. The locals tend to be sealed up in their private worlds and don't pay much attention to what goes on outside. They also encourage a degree of sightseeing in their area in hopes of winning sympathy. However, being the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time on Sa'Barj can bring swift capital punishment.
  
• Gül'a (Gauha) District is located to the northeast, bordering Düa Ward. It is mainly a residential area, consisting of mostly old homes and apartments. The population is mostly Hergoth and Hertressk of from low to middle class who work in the neighboring districts or in the scattered local commercial zones. There is also a famous tunnel complex in the area built ages ago to house Farbetts. Gül'a can be a bit rough looking but is generally good natured.
• Danteir District is the northernmost reach of the city, and its topography is a bit more rugged. Long a broken mix of scattered farms and empty wilderness, it is now Mul'ein's main industrial district. Almost all of the factory complexes there were built during the last two decades. Food processing is the main industry, but materials technology is also significant. There are scattered residential areas consisting of an uneasy mix of bleak corporate dorm blocks and isolated housing subdivisions for low- to mid-level career professionals. Hergoth, Yangae, and migrant workers from various parts of the galaxy live and work together as best they can here. The atmosphere tends to be optimistic but tense, and a degree of caution is advised.
• Ekr'in District lies to the west and northwest of the city center. It is generally of the same class level as Gastra. However, as it was spared from destruction by its hillier topography, it is an old and crumbling urban center with a maze of twisting, narrow streets. Its population is also far more mixed and cosmopolitan, and it is known for being more than a little eccentric. Struggling artists and street performers are most likely to be found here, particularly in Danstul' Park. Ekr'in has perhaps the most notorious night-life districts in Mul'ein, not to mention some very off-color entertainment. The various races and cultures that live in this area tend to be much more tolerant of each other (and of weirdness in general) than in Gastra, but the inevitable accumulation of drifters and the down-and-out means that the crime rate is higher than the city average.
• Thal'wein District is a narrow tract sandwiched between the southwest edge of the city center, the Bal'tem River, Gastra, and Erweina. During most of the Yangae Occupation this was a notoriously squalid Hergoth ghetto. Since the Reconstruction various government agencies have gone to great lengths to improve the area, including the establishment of the Mul'ein Vocational Training Center, Thal'wein General Hospital, well-financed schools, and higher-quality state-subsidized housing. Indeed, the area is far more beautiful and optimistic than it used to be, but the poorest Hergoth families are still mostly found there, and most Yangae with any pride wouldn't be caught dead within its borders.
• Erweina (R'wêna) District is a roundish mountain, much of which is considered sacred ground by the local Hergoth. Since antiquity, it has been the location of the local branch Temple of Kai-Tempuera (Kî-Tempur'a) and various associated facilities. The Yangae naturally treated the area with utmost contempt during the Occupation, using it as a target range, a garbage dump, and a prison (often at the same time). It has since been restored and now has a ranking High Priestess for the first time in two centuries. Not surprisingly, the local population is overwhelmingly Hergoth, a large percentage of which have some direct connection with the Temple. Visitors are not only welcome but encouraged, though obvious Yangae loyalists are liable to be viewed with suspicion (if any would even dare go onto the "Witch's Mountain").
• Mastr'ean is the westernmost reach of the city. It is by far the largest district in terms of land area. Until recently it was a strictly rural area, consisting of wide tracts of farmland interspersed with small village hubs. Recently, however, the band of territory along the border with Ekr'in and the river has become a commercial boomtown. The road that has run through that area since antiquity was widened into a main boulevard about a decade ago, and since then the land in its vicinity has seen an explosion of commercial and residential development, with heated competition between Ergothei, local Hergoth, and Foldorian developers. While economically good for the city, the "strip" is still greeted with ambivalence at best by the mainly Hergoth and Farbett farmworkers who have lived in and worked the area for ages. They are old families, rather grizzled, with very conservative mores but who have long since grown accustomed to working under Yangae authority and have yet to readjust to true Hergoth culture.

Mul'ein is bordered by the coastal towns of Bal'tem to the east, Auani to the south-southeast, and Troya to the north-northeast, the farm towns of Yanda and Bir'ueth to the southwest and west, respectively, and the mountainous town of Tel'atha to the north-northwest. The nearest significant seaport is in Bal'tem with additional small seacraft harbors in Auani and Troya. The nearest aerospace port is Yanda, located in the city in the northeastern corner of Mastr'ean District bordering Danteir District, but it is a relatively small facility. The nearest major aerospace port is in the city of Tal'in, about 120km away but quickly accessible by vacrail tube or shuttle flight.

Prologue

In the standardized star charts used by the Confederation the planet is listed as "Lyranell"...

...though its proper name in the original Her-Galad is L'r'änel', which translates as either "longingly" or "with longing". When the Yangae Empire invaded and conquered the system a little over two centuries ago, they found the capital planet's name annoyingly hard to pronounce. They therefore did what they tried to do with everything; namely, they Yangized it, producing the more tongue-friendly "Lyranell". The Yangae Empire is now extinct, having been replaced with the (debatably) more benign Foldorian Empire decades ago, and the system is back under Ergothei control. "Lyranell", however, is still the familiar name.

By all standards, Lyranell is a backwater world at best, significant only in that it is one of those rare gems among worlds that have breathable atmospheres and conditions hospitable to life. The Ergotheia terraformed it over a millennium ago, turning its barren wastelands into highly productive farmland. Its fields became a valuable source of the fruits, nuts, legumes, and grains that form the principal staples of the Hergoth diet. It was neither the largest such agricultural project nor the most productive, but it still helped supply an entire stellar province. Unfortunately, both its location near the Yangae border and its lack of advanced infrastructure meant that it was the first system to fall when Emperor Kal'Yangae decided to absorb the Ergotheia into his bloating realm.

The Hergoth farmers and Farbett laborers that lived on Lyranell at the time could do nothing. By the time they were even aware their system had been invaded, what few real cities there had been there had already vanished under mushroom clouds. Soon they were told to return to work, but under new directives with Yangae guns pointed at them. The simple folk figured there was little point in trying to resist, so they did as they were told, unaware that their system was being used as the primary command center and staging ground for the rape of their entire civilization. Weakened after many centuries of decadence and overconfidence, the Ergothei Nation and the Farbett Republic, a proud alliance thousands of years old, soon succumbed to the Yangae tide. For over two hundred years afterward the Yangae brutalized the Hergoth and Farbett people, consuming their resources, plundering their treasures, all but enslaving their people, and trying to refashion a rich and ancient culture in their own image, all as part of the misguided Yangae ethic of trying to "civilize" the galaxy.

As it turned out, Lyranell had another unexpected role to play in the scheme of things. Centuries of interstellar conquest and brutal oppression had stretched Emperor Kal'Yangae's forces dangerously thin. Now plagued with several rebel uprisings within his core territories as well as pressure on his outer borders, he was forced to cut his occupation forces to a bare minimum. In the case of the occupied Ergothei nation his command and control network was reduced to a single base, conveniently the original one created during the invasion. In other words, Lyranell was once again the source of the foreign fist that gripped the Ergothei throat. The Yangae had tried to keep that fact a secret, well aware of the dangers it represented, but they had failed. Once the news had reached the resistance, the choice was obvious. A quick, decisive strike could be made against the command center, knocking it out and scattering the occupation forces. A rag-tag fleet of old, pre-occupation Ergothei warships was assembled and, under the command of Ganneth, last of the Heroes, approached Lyranell...with the aim of bombing it into a burnt-out cinder.

But it didn't happen as planned.

For the Yangae had, through their machinations, seen to it that Ganneth's scandalous lover, herself a Yangae, had been brought to Lyranell. Ganneth knew this, and in the end his heart overwhelmed his resolve. Unable to give the order to attack the planet, he set out instead in his own ship to try to rescue his love. He knew he was doomed before he got there, so he chose instead to plunge his ship into the Yangae base. The resulting explosion destroyed almost an entire continent and set off a chain of geological events that devastated much of the planet. The base was obliterated, the Yangae occupation was disrupted, and the Ergothei quickly rose against their oppressors.

In less than a month not only were they free, but the Yangae Empire itself was gone. The Emperor had been assassinated and replaced. And the newly-created Foldorian Empire, as its first act, gave the Ergothei Nation and the Farbett Republic their freedom again.

Several decades have passed since then. War is in the air again, but it is against a different enemy. Now the Yangae/Foldorians are allies of the Ergotheia. However, they are still not quite friends. The relationship is a very complicated one, and the situation on Lyranell shows this all too well. Most of the population is ethnic Hergoth, but it is divided between the "old" L'r'änel' descendents and the "new" Ergotheia that have come to reassert the newly-sovereign rule of distant Gotheia. The second largest group is the Foldorians, who are also divided into the old Yangae loyalists, the new Foldorian progressives, and the so-called "Hertressk", who are ethnic Foldorian but have accepted Hergoth culture and Ergothei rule. Then of course there are also the Farbetts, who are loyal to the Hergoth but would rather not be bothered. With the exception of the shattered continent known as Ganneth's Grave (or, among the Yangae loyalists, as "the Fool's Target"), most of Lyranell has been recovered. The scars have been soothed, the cities repaired, the farms put back in production, but things are not as quiet and peaceful as they seem.

The current War is far, far away. This tiny, insignificant, green world has far bigger enemies to fight, most of them within its own heart and soul.