Gallen turned and studied the stranger.
“I’m Laranac,” the man said, “a Lord Protector for this world.”
“Do you know where Karthenor is?” Gallen asked.
“He left in great haste, I believe, when the dronon evacuated, taking many of his creations-and his slaves-with him.”
Gallen frowned. “How can that be? I’ve been in a dronon hive city; the stench of their stomach acids fills the air. And the acids dry into a fine powder that blankets everything. A closed ship would be-impossible to bear.”
Laranac nodded. “Their kind and ours were not meant to live together. Karthenor knew that. Yet he will suffer for his choice, constantly burning from the acids on the dronon hive ships. The nanodocs in his blood will keep him alive, but at what price? I suspect his exile is a great torment to him.”
“A fit ending for the man, as far as I’m concerned,” Orick said. “Death would have been too nice.”
“No, this is not his end,” Gallen whispered, “only a reprieve in torment. Such a painful exile will only madden him, make him want to return that much more quickly.”
“And so I keep watch on this place,” Laranac said, “hoping for his return. I found a cache of weapons and credit chips hidden in a secret room behind that wall. If Karthenor returns, he will come searching for it, but all he will find is me. I will give him death, when next I see him.”
“What of the law?” Gallen asked. “Will you give the man no trial?”
“His memories were on file, along with his gene samples, so that the dronon could rebuild him if he died. Those memories were all the evidence we needed. Karthenor has already been convicted and sentenced to death. I wait now only to mete out his punishment.”
Orick considered this bit of news on how evil men were tried here on Tremonthin, and he thought it much better than what had happened with Gallen, back home.
Gallen smiled up at Laranac. “You’ll not mete out his punishment, if I get to him first.”
“That is unlikely,” Laranac said.
Gallen mused, “I am Lord of the Swarm. If I asked the dronon to turn him over, they would do it on a moment’s notice.”
Orick did not like the idea of having to deal with the dronon. He never wanted to see one of their black carapaces again.
Laranac smiled back at Gallen. “Then do it. Karthenor is a dangerous man, and the fact that he is on a dronon starship hardly hinders his work. He must be stopped.”
“Soon,” Gallen said. “I’ll make arrangements. But I’ve urgent business elsewhere for the moment. If it takes a week for him to be delivered, I’m afraid I can’t be here to meet Karthenor at the spaceport.”
“I can,” Laranac said. “Send for him.”
“I will, first thing tomorrow. Until then, keep watching this place,” Gallen said. “And I shall sleep better tonight.”
Gallen turned to leave, but Laranac caught his arm. “Be careful,” Laranac whispered fervently. “A new government is forming on this world, one that recognizes the Lady Everynne as Semarritte’s heir and as a rightful judge. They are eager to join once again in the Consortium of Worlds. But there are other voices crying to be heard on the councils. There are other Karthenors on the loose-brutal people who lost profit and prestige when the dronon evacuated. Such people would not bear you into the city upon their shoulders. They would rather trample you under their feet.”
“You think I am in danger?” Gallen asked.
“The mayor of Toohkansay is protecting you now, the best he knows how. But if you left soon, you would be doing him a favor-and perhaps you would save your own lives.”
Gallen nodded almost imperceptibly. Gallen and Orick returned to their chambers, and when Orick was alone, he offered up more than his usual nightly prayers.
The next day dawned bright and clear. Gallen sent a message to Everynne to be relayed to the dronon Vanquishers, asking that Karthenor and any other such humans carried away in Dronon ships be returned to their home worlds for judging and sentencing.
For a bit in the morning, Orick was edgy, watchful, but the mood soon vanished like the morning mists burning off the wide river. The celebrations continued all throughout the day, and Orick found it difficult under such circumstances to believe that anyone would wish Maggie and Gallen harm.
On the contrary, at every turn people sought Maggie and Gallen out to offer favors. The finest clothiers arrayed Gallen, Maggie, and Maggie’s honored uncle Thomas in their best wares, and perfumers brought their most exotic scents. Musicians and actors played before them, while chefs plied them with fine food and technologists brought tokens of knowledge for Gallen and Maggie to place in their mantles.
Those who were poor came and told tales of woe, describing the horrible tyranny they had suffered under the dronon. Those who were weak, or deformed, or belligerent, or brave had been annihilated under dronon rule. Their bodies were processed for fertilizer by unfeeling dronon overlords.
And so the poor people of Fale told unending tales of woe, then thanked Gallen and Maggie. From all across the planet, the grateful people of Fale came to give honor.
The whole affair was dizzying and extravagant beyond anything that Orick had ever dreamed, and all through the day he watched Gallen, gauging the look upon his face. He seemed worn, worried, and not until that evening when the brewers of F ale convinced him to try their dearest vintages of wine did those lines of worry begin to ease.
That night, as they returned to their rooms, the mayor of Toohkansay walked with them once again, and he was laughing, smiling. Thomas had his lute out, and he sang softly as he walked.
Outside the door to Maggie’s apartment, a large, intricately carved crystal vase held a perfect white rose with petals so lustrous they shone like pearl. A note beneath the flower said, “A Token of Our Esteem.”
“Ah,” the mayor said, “it looks as if the hotel has left you a special gift.” Thomas cooed in appreciation, and reached down for the vase, but the mayor said, “Let me get that for you!”
As he touched the vase, the rose petals suddenly whirred and spun like a pinwheel, blurring into the air, striking him in the face. Blood and flesh spattered across the hallway, and there was cracking as the rose cut through his skull, then rose petals exploded outward.
The mayor’s head seemed to implode, the broken skull sagging in on itself, and he fell face first to the floor.
Maggie screamed and backed away, and Orick looked up. Thomas stood in shock, holding his wrist. A delicate-looking petal of rose had lodged in his wrist, like a knife blade.
Gallen spun, looking down the hallway, as if expecting attackers to come, and in seconds, four men rushed down from both ends of the corridor, all of them with weapons drawn. They looked at the mayor, watched down both sides of the corridor.
One of them was shouting into a tiny microphone at his lapel, “Security breach, code one! Man down!” The men took defensive postures on either side of the corridor, placing themselves between Maggie and any would-be attackers.
In another minute, a dozen more soldiers arrived, including several of the green giants like the “demon” that Thomas had displayed at the inn. The sight of those creatures dismayed Thomas more than anything, so the soldiers were forced to rush Thomas and the others into their own room, where they waited for a medic, who used clamps and nanoware to begin healing the cut ligaments in Thomas’s wrist.
Thomas just sat on his bed during the whole procedure, cursing the folks who had done this.
“It was nanoware,” Maggie said to herself once in the room. “They were after me and Gallen.”
“Aye,” Thomas said, “it looks as if you’ve made some enemies here, while collecting worshipers.”
“But I don’t understand,” Maggie whispered. “They could have found so many easier ways to kill me-a bomb, a poisoned scent in the flower. Even if they’d wanted to use nanoware, there were so many things they could have done. They could have stripped every atom of copper from my body … torn away my ability to remember-any one of a thousand things. So why the rose?”