This is an original work. All characters and situations belonging to this book are the property of Linda Thackeray. I have very good lawyers and have taken precautions to protect the copyright of this work. Read it a your leisure, steal it at my displeasure

PROLOGUE:

I

THE SETTLERS

Excerpts from the novel Fortune's Survivors, by Andywan of Brysdyn

From the very first, we knew we were one of the lucky ones.

We were the ones that had survived the Exodus to reach the new world. Many of our brethren who accompanied us at the beginning of this great voyage were not so lucky. Our lot as survivors was won solely on chance and nothing else. We were here because fate had seen to it that we survived the odds while the others did not. It is chilling to think that fate bears such random frivolity when choosing who it was that would live or die.

From our ships' logs, House Brysdyn's journey to this new place was met without incident. However, when we left the White Star, we numbered thirty ships carrying no less than five hundred thousand passengers, asleep in stasis. When the computer intelligence installed in our Worldships awoke us on our approach to this planet, we learnt that our number had dwindled to only two ships. It brings sadness to the core of us all to know that the great empire we wished to forge with the banner of the White Star flying above us, will never be.

It was almost as devastating as learning that our beloved White Star would go nova. It is a sobering thing for any race to know that it would survive the civilisation that had given birth to it. The White Star civilisation that stood as the centre of everything we knew, was going to die. For a long time, many tried to deny the truth. The science of the cosmos had proved conclusively that our White Star was a young stellar body. Life should not have even formed on the worlds orbiting it, that our evolution was a quirk of nature that should not have been. For centuries, that explanation defined our drive as species, to be more than just an evolutionary fluke.

However, we chose to explain it to ourselves did not alter that our sun was going to explode.

Those had been heady days. After the initial shock and dismay, came the realisation that speedy action needed to be taken. We knew not how long we had left on our home worlds but none of that precious time could be wasted. It was not long after that the Worldships were finally commissioned by the Grand Council. The construction was swift and ship building became the business of the empire for the next two decades. The majority of the populace lived in an illusion of denial that prevailed right until the end. These deluded souls had refused to go when it came time to leave. Only a pittance of the White Star Alliance left on the Worldships when the star reached its final apogee. We try not to think of those who had chosen to remain behind, tried not think about their senseless death in the face of their stubborn ignorance.

Except now, the memories of their deaths would be joined by the deaths of those who had perished in the lost Worldships.

Our machines seldom did anything without recording it faithfully in their memory banks, so the fate of the others was not lost entirely to us. Most of the Worldships were destroyed by mechanical malfunction, due to deterioration. We knew not how long we would be travelling and although we attempted to prepare for every contingency, there were some things that were entirely out of our hands. Time was one them. Considering that our ships had started to buckle under the stress of such a prolonged voyage when we arrived here, it was not difficult to understand why the others had faltered earlier in the journey. Why we survived when most of the others did not, could either be attributed to good engineering or just plain luck. Although most people like to choose the former, I am inclined to believe in the latter. However, not all the ships had been victims of mechanical failure. Some had fallen prey to dangers that had been inevitable since we left the safety of the White Star for deep uncharted space.

Man is a vulnerable creature in space. He may build marvellous ships to carry him through the vacuum with speeds that could match a racing comet any day, but in essence he is an outsider to a hostile environment. There is no air for his lungs to breathe in this harsh wilderness nor is there anything that would keep his body from decompressing in a cold vacuum. The ships he builds are capable of protecting him from what he is able to anticipate.

No man knows the true nature of the universe and thus no man can truly protect himself from it.

Nature is never predictable and when we saw that only two of our ships remained, we realised that we knew very little about space and its dangers. The computer intelligence on our Worldships was programmed to anticipate numerous situations, but there were some dangers that were beyond our imagination let alone our ability to prevent. Who knew of the awesome might of cosmic strings and quantum singularities that could tear our metals hulls like paper. Even wormholes could toss us into parts unknown, just as a petulant child flings an unwanted toy.

The absence of the others proved just how unprepared we were for what we took for granted.

However, not all of our brethren had perished. Some did survive and we know that several light years away, one ship had found its ideal world earlier than we had. House Jynes had chosen a world for themselves on the far side of the quadrant. For the remaining ten years it took for us to reach our paradise, they had been colonising their new home. News of their survival gave us hope. Perhaps, not all humankind was lost when our ships strayed from their voyage. Even in their damaged state maybe they were able to reach a place they could call home. Maybe in some distant future, time would reunite us.

We had begun this journey together, we the children of the White Star. Perhaps someday we will fly that banner again.

II

THE PLAGUE.

I sit and write this as I watch Aisha burn under the ravages of the fever. Her delirium is such that she barely knows I am here, let alone who I am. I tried to hold her hand, hoping that my touch would offer her some comfort in these dark hours, but she is not even aware of my presence. Tyana, her nurse had gone to get more cool water for her head, but I wonder if that would make any difference to her at all. She is well into the fever now. Nothing is going to help or soothe her, except maybe a merciful end.

I left her at her bed because I know there is little I can do for her. From where I am, I can still see Aisha and that allows me to feel that I am not completely abandoning her. Perhaps writing my sorrows in this journal will lessen the agony I feel because I know I am going to lose her. I feel as if a terrible claw has its hold around my heart, waiting to clench its fist and strangle my soul. I close my eyes and look to the page. I cannot stand seeing her lying in a pool of her sweat and muttering incomprehensible words. Even though the Healers assure me that she is better than she looks, I know that they are lying. I have seen the fever enough times to know that she is entering the final walk of the malaise that has brought Brysdyn to its knees.

My wife is dying of the Plague.

For the first time in six years, I understand at last what it is my people have suffered, why at nights I cannot sleep for the sound of their wailing outside my windows. Their tears saddened me, but not enough for me to comprehend.. How could I understand their grief? I did not know what it was to sit by helplessly and watched a loved one descend into nothingness. In the walls of my gilded palace, me and mine were safe from the disease. Yet that was never enough for Aisha, whose compassion for Brysdyn far exceeded mine. Her insistence to walk the streets, to see the mothers with their lifeless babies to better understand their agonies, is what brought her to this. I should never have permitted it, no matter how stubborn and headstrong she could be. If I had known, I would never have let her walk out of our gilded palace. I would never have sacrificed her for anything, even for Brysdyn.

Sometimes, I wish that I was asleep and that all this, is a dream.

I dream that the ship carrying the Plague from some unknown corner of the galaxy had never come to Brysdyn and that the millions who have since died are still alive and happy. I dream of the world in which I had grown. The one my father had bequeathed to me on his death bed. A world of warriors and conquerors, who had built this world out of nothing. They, who had bled much and died well, to make this the greatest empire in this quadrant of the galaxy. We were so proud to be Brysdynian. We flew our banners of victory above the heads of the defeated even though we had laid waste to their homes in our endless wars.

Those had been goods days for us and when I dream, I am there. I am there as a youth hunting the Slar in the forests for the first time, running through the trees in the thickest part of Salwyn continent. All of which pales in comparison to when I remember the first time I saw Aisha. Aisha, who was daughter of the Jynes Chancellor Elvan. She had thought me to be a barbarian and I supposed to a young woman who was the product of a scholarly and enlightened culture, our warring ways did seem brutal.

As I think of the Jynes, I am pleased that at least our alliance was formed. If nothing else, the Jynes had never been judgemental of our ways, even though Brysdynians cannot boast that fact. In essence, we represented everything that their society was not. Yet, they had sought not to change, but to advise us that compassion was a powerful weapon as any that we had ever wielded. We were conquerors by nature. Thanks to the Jynes Delegation, they showed us how to be good governors.

To us, a life of exploration and an empire formed by the mutual co-operation of hundreds of civilisations, seem to be a waste of time. I know that is how many Brysdynians think of the Jynes. Conquest was a simpler method. Yet, seeing the manner in which the Jynes had created this brotherhood was indeed refreshing. They were the central hub of a civilisation containing hundreds of worlds, each co-existing under the same banner. The Delegation as they called themselves was almost as large as the Brysdynian empire but it had never sought to impose its will on us and out of mutual respect, neither did we.

They extended the hand of friendship to us just as they would any other potential candidate who wanted admission into their Delegation. It pleased me to know that as a child of the White Star, Brysdyn was no longer alone and since the Plague, the Jynes have done everything possible to help us. I have heard stories from various sources of the enormous efforts the Delegation had put into finding us a cure. Their best minds were mobilised to combat the threat and it was for that very reason that I chose to quarantine Brysdyn. If Brysdyn was to die, then it would not do so, taking the Jynes with it.

At least one child of the White Star had to survive.

III

THE LOST

THE FIFTH DAY

It has been almost a week now, since the ship crashed on this world. So many are still dying, and even more refusing to believe how alone we are. We do not know where this world is, or where the other ships are. Our isolation seems to be the only truth that is constant. I sometimes wonder if this is a dream, that an unsavoury mix of cryogenic and stasis fluids has conjured up this whole thing in my mind. Yet, if this is all in my head, then it is no dream, it is a nightmare more potent than anything reality has ever put before me. We dreamt of conquering a new world. Yet as I stare at the remnants of our people, I think how sad it is that we of the White Star would die on an unknown world so far from home.

I try to think back to see if a memory of how we came to be here, exists in my mind. There is nothing but the cold emptiness of ignorance. What I can decipher, comes from the wreckage of the present. Our ship was almost totally destroyed. Its computer guardians are also silent and no help to us. The number of those of us who are left alive are painfully small. There were thousands of us on the ship. Now I am but one of three hundred that survived the crash and still the dying is far from ended. Our rations are decreasing rapidly and we must soon be forced to sustain ourselves on the resources of this world.

Or die of starvation.

I miss Sera, so very much. I am still unable to forget my last image of her, how I woke to find her chamber next to mine, smashed beyond repair, her blood awash over the glass from the inside. My throat still hurts from the screaming. If there is any consolation to be had, my son still lives, but he is a boy of nine revolutions and this world we find ourselves on, is harsh and unyielding. I do not hold much hope for him or myself because in this place, hope like the rest of the fleet is gone. All I ask when I pray to the White Star is we be allowed a quick death, if we are not survive here.

THE NINTH DAY

We have six days of rations left then we will be completely without food. Most of the water supplies on the ship had been lost during the crash. What remained, has been stretched as far as it will go. Despite the primitive savagery of the land our path is clear, we must venture from the safety of our ruined ship. Tomar has suggested that we make preliminary surveys of this new land. He still believes that all is not lost, but his argument is nonetheless a compelling one. If we are to survive here, then food must be found as well as a clean source of water. When we had left the home world, it was with the understanding that we would have enough supplies to sustain us until we are able to farm the land for sustenance. However, the technology and tools we had brought for this purpose did not survive the wreck any better than our ship did. We face survival on the same ground as our earliest ancestors. I hope we are still as strong.

Also Tomar has suggested that we should also begin searching for an alternate shelter. Many of us had been taking refuge in the wreck of our ship, like children who are too afraid to stray from their mother. It is the last remnant of our previous existence and we have clung to it for as long as we can. However, several of our numbers have fallen prey to radiation sickness, the source of it being our ship's destroyed reactor core. With what medical supplies we had left, those people were tended to but radiation sickness is a genetic disease. Without advance medical facilities, what aid we can give them will not be enough.

From what we have observed so far of this new world, it is a rustic and primitive place. There are no visible traces of civilisation as far as we know. However it is a world with promise. For those of us who still have hope (I am not one of these), there could be a future here, albeit a rather harsh one. Initial explorations have found it to be a world of abundant life. Animals scour the forested land and Tomar believes some of these may be edible. Odious as that may sound to those of us who are used to our food being processed, necessity has forced our inhibitions away. To survive we must adapt.

THE FIFTEENTH DAY

Tragedy has befallen us again. Tomar was killed last evening. We had been exploring the forest near our crashed ship and Tomar as always, was in the lead. As a leader of House Terralys was expected to be, I suppose. A creature of untold ferocity emerged from nowhere, swiftly defying the limitations of its enormous bulk. The behemoth bearing menacing fangs, felled Tomar with one swipe of its long sharp claws. There was a moment of confusion before it clenched of its massive jaws and took my brother away from me.

Tomar and I were never close, but he was still my brother and yet the pain of his death is numbed by all the deaths that I have seen since our arrival here. His has touched me even less than all the others I have seen die and they were people I did not even know that well. I know I am beyond grief now, beyond pain. Now there is only my son Justyn left to carry on the legacy of the House Terralys, as if any continuation of our lineage could exist on this planet.

We buried Tomar next to the banks of the river he found when he had been out exploring. Sad faces buried him in the ceremonial rituals of the past, refugees of a civilisation we were no longer had any part. All clinging to the hope that we were still children of the White Star. The star that in all likelihood had gone supernova perhaps the day, or even a century before, in a place we could not return to even if it were possible.

Our people look to me now, and I do not know what we are to do. I know that in my heart, I believe the worst. That makes me a poor leader. This world would either nurture us or kill us. For all our longings and desires otherwise, this was our home now. The other Worldships are most likely oblivious to our plight here. I have not voice my suspicions to the others, but I believe what happened to our ship was a freak accident. If so, the other Worldships would not even know we are gone until they wake up themselves at the end of their journey.

THE TWENTY SIXTH DAY

I do not know how long I can keep going with this journal for my writing supplies are dwindling. Yet I will allow myself this one luxury. The past days have been busy. I led my people away from our crash site because some strange climatic changes had taken place. We had been lying in the open air, asleep and protected by our fires when suddenly, ice began falling from the sky. At first we thought the sun had fallen prey to the same forces that had compelled us to leave home. However, the yellow star had arisen in the morning as it always does, even if the terrain was completely covered in sheets of white ice.

The temperature has plunged as well, forcing us to seek shelter elsewhere. After a day of travelling, we happened upon a cave of large proportions and once we had vanquished the creatures that dwelt within it, we had ourselves protection from the elements. We had decided to take advantage of our superior weapons while we can, for they too are becoming exhausted. When these weapons do go, it will be questionable how we are going to feed ourselves. Hunting is generations past us and yet is seems that we must undertake this old skill once again, if we are to live.

Justyn is adapting well to this world however, as are many of the children. Despite the harshness of this world, with its small yellow star and its one satellite, there is beauty here. In the morning, the blue sky is the most beautiful I have ever seen and there is so many different kinds of life roaming its forests. It has an unspoiled beauty that awakens something inside me that has been asleep for most of my life. I feel more alive than I have ever been. Maybe this is a test for us, to see if we are strong as we have believed ourselves or weaklings depended on our machines. If we had our technology, there was much we could have done with this world and much we could have done to ruin it.

THE THIRTY FOURTH DAY.

There are humans on this world!

We could not believe it but it is true. Today, we saw a band of humans like ourselves coming to the banks of the river from which we draw our water. At first I thought they were survivors like ourselves, but when they approached, it was evident that they were indigenous to this world. They wore clothes made from animal hide and their weapons were beyond primitive. Yet, they did not react as a primitive creature would, filled with hostility, instead they approached us, thinking we were of their world.

Their language is as primitive as their clothes and it took several days for me to repair what remained of our translators to understand them. Yet when it was done, the benefits were well worth the effort. They were a hunting party of five men. All were tall with long fair hair, tied in cords of leather. They were young men, not long into adulthood and had spent the day on a successful hunting expedition. They thought we were a tribe that came from the other side of a great sea that lay north of our location and we found there was no reason to say otherwise.

They had approached us to trade goods, as it was a practice on this world for human tribes to barter. It almost reminded me of the way the House had ruled our former home worlds. Our people had been exulted at meeting other humans. The leader of the party who was called Grek, invited us to return to their tribe and meet the village elder. I shall take a small group and journey with Grek.

THE FORTY NINTH DAY

This is my last entry, at least until I learn how to manufacture more writing materials.

The past weeks have been good to us. We returned with Grek and met he, who is mate to his mother, the village elder who went by the name of Yar. Yar and I sat by the fire and we spoke of many things. My primary concern was to learn how to feed my people without weapons. Although Yar found it strange that we were so ignorant in means of basic survival, he invited all of us to come to the village to be taught. Yar reminds me much of my father and of Tomar.

It took several days for everyone to arrive at the village. Once that was done, both peoples had much to teach each other. These people, even though knowledgeable in the means of basic survival were totally ignorant of other things, such as how children were born and what the stars up in the sky were. They have a limited concept of the sciences even though they show complex understanding regarding the healing properties of some herbs and plants. I think that we have much to learn from Yar and I feel gratified that we will be able to educate them in of some of our ways as well

Yar's mate, has a daughter, a lovely young woman called Tara who has been my constant companion since my arrival to their tribe. She has been teaching both myself and Justyn how to speak her language without the use of the translators, which is just as well. The translators will eventually run out of power and unless we learn quickly, we will be unable to communicate with our new friends.

For the first time since my arrival here on this planet, I have not thought of Sera. Maybe Tara has been on my mind. All I do know however for certain, is that this world is ours now, for better or for worse. Perhaps, the way in which we arrived on this blue planet was not the way we had expected, but we could not have chosen better if we tried. Justyn and I look at this world now, with a shared sense of hope and wonder. We both see a new frontier ahead of us.

A new frontier and a new destiny carved from the remnants of the White Star.

CHAPTER ONE

I

He was back.

In a flurry of disjointed images swirling in on him, he recognised the initial stage of his descent into the dream scape. None of it frightened or confused him, for this was nothing new. He had been here so many times now, that he could no longer count how often he had made this journey already. Still whatever the exact number was, it was no longer important. Nothing was, once the journey had begun. The only thing of importance he had to remember lay in the knowledge that once started, he had no choice but to follow it to its inevitable end.

He closed his eyes to filter out the swirling images wondering if they could still be considered visions, since he was dreaming. A dream into a dream, he thought, struck by the absurdity of it. If a man dreams he is dreaming, does that still make it a dream? A question for philosopher or comics. At times, the lines between the two were visibly obscured.

A hot wind blew across his cheek, snapping him out of his lapse. The light of a whole new world seemed to flash in his eyes for a few seconds. He blinked once, so that he could see clearly. Everything about this place was new, no matter how many times he pictured it in his mind or dreamt of it when he slept. It was probably the mystery of the realm that kept him so enamoured. It strengthened its power over him because he craved the unknown.

He always saw the sky first and it was the sky that mesmerised him the most. It was blue.

For most of his life, he had awakened to the sight of an amber sky, warmed with the glow of a dark orange sun. The stark brilliance of a blue sky always took his breath away, for there was something mesmerising about this unnatural colour. He had never been to a world in all his travels, whose sky was blue. Blue was a colour for oceans and frozen ice scapes, certainly not for a sky.

Still, it was only one enigma of many in this place. When he looked at the landscape, gold ran across the plains, disappearing into hills that slowly shifted to a more familiar green. He always thought that golden fields meant dying vegetation, baked in heat of warm climate. Yet as he looked at the land before him, he knew there was no dying here. The golden stalks stood majestically in the sunlight, proud and defiant against the wind that was gently coaxing them to bend.

They gave off a peculiar odour, unfamiliar yet strangely soothing. In some distant memory, an ember of recognition sparked, but its light was so faint that it disappeared before he could even sense where to look for it. Tiny grains of pollen, carried along by the breeze, danced in the air. He could hear the cacophony of strange white birds with yellow crowns sailing across the sky with almost human sounding voices.

He often wondered how this place came to be. How it could exist in his dreams when he knew nothing of the like in his memories?. Was it a vision conjured by the fabric of his psyche? Was everything here a missing piece to a symbolic puzzle he had been unable to decipher? He did not know. Yet, being here made him feel safe. It instilled within him with a sense of power he had never known in himself. Here he was supreme, a man who stood his ground in the face of a new frontier. Like the travellers of the Great Voyage. He too, felt like a sailor in unknown waters.

Suddenly, there was a visible shift in the temperature. The trouble with a blue sky, he decided, was that when it grew cold, it seemed more grey than blue. Above him, the white clouds had become that an ominous grey that reminded him of ash. The wind's breath grew more bated, turning quickly into a gust. The pollen dancers stirred violently by the rising gale, broke from their graceful tapestry to scurry frantically in all directions..

He knew what was coming. The momentary calm always made him forget, but when the tempest bore down on the land like a vengeful god, he remembered. He remembered, because like all things here, the unpleasant like the pleasant, was something he had seen before.

What this represented, he wished to Lords, he knew. For when it began, it struck a fear in him more terrifying than anything he had ever experienced in his entire life. He knew only one thing that frightened him to such an extent and those were imaginary monsters conjured by a childhood mind in the dark. He was not a coward, nor was he unknown to danger, but when the explosions began, so did his fear.

The sound of the first impact made him drop to his knees. Even in a dream, years of training in stealth surfaced quickly. Finely honed instincts, no matter how apprehensive, forced him to act. Looking up at the sky, he saw them come, swooping in for another pass. The pilot in him identified the manoeuvre as a strafing run. He knew he was not the target because there was something else here, hidden for the moment.. He could never see clearly enough to identify what these winged assailants were. He only knew that they set the golden field ablaze with fire. That they were terrible, there was no doubt. The beautiful white birds lay on the charred ground. Their white feathers darkened by ash and dust.

The explosions pushed earth and billowing smoke into the air. The aroma he knew became toxic with thickening smoke. His eyes began to water and the heat started to tickle his skin. Although for some reason, the devastation seemed to leave him a wide berth.. He wanted to wake up and leave this nightmare. He wanted to be away before this beautiful place disintegrated into further carnage but he could not leave yet.

Not until he saw her.

When he thought about her, she appeared. She always did. She with the fair hair, coloured with gold so fine that it almost seemed white. Sunlight danced in its lustre despite the destruction around her. She was why he chose to remain until the very last minute, why he was so enraptured by this place. She was a young woman, not much older than he. Her skin was slightly bronzed and as she ran across the burning plains, she resembled like some untamed fire sprite.

Her blue eyes looked around the field, searching. She was always searching. There was fear her eyes, fear of the flying things that was raining death around her but there was also an urgency for something else. Something that fuelled her determination to go on, despite the consequences. Her devotion to what she sought was futile, even he could see that, but she forged on, fired by courage and forced because she no choice.

She cried out a name, but that too, was beyond him. He could see the frustration in her eyes, the desperation that emerged once the realisation of what she sought would not be found.. Tears were running down her cheeks, half out of anguish, the other from the sting of the smoke. He wished he could help her, but he never seemed to reach her in time. However, as always he tried. Barefoot and still in his bed clothes, he ran forward, hoping just once, he would reach her before the end claimed them both.

Hot embers on the ground left his feet unscaled as he hurried after the woman. He was beginning share her feelings of desperation and futility, because he knew he was never going to reach her. In the back of his mind, the sand of some unseen hour glass was racing against him. Even as the thought entered his mind, there was an all too familiar climax of a final explosion. It seemed to drain all sound and colour from the world. A short scream followed, the only sound he ever heard from her lips.

Out of breath, he finally arrived at the place where he had found her countless times before. Like all those other instances, nothing changed in the scene he came upon. In anguish, he slowed as he approached the ground where she lay. Around them, the flames seemed to reach higher, until it was almost a wall of fire. There was so much smoke around them. He could neither see the sky nor the landscape around him. Crimson tongues of fire became the world.

Through it all, he saw red blood moving viscously through the greying dirt, a thick vein of reddish ooze trickling towards his bare feet. He felt its warmth staining his soles. Yet, he did not step out of its way or alter his approach. Maybe inside, he knew better than to turn away. Perhaps this was the necessary end to the ritual. A trial that had to be endured before the dream was ready to release him. Maybe all he needed to leave, to finally awake, was to see her first.

She stared into the darkening sky with vacant blue eyes while her golden hair became matted with blood. Crimson streaks ran across her cheeks, intermingling with dirt and drying tears. Her face wore an expression of confusion more than anything else. Death had caught her by surprise. The killing wound was in her chest. Charred flesh sizzled with blood as she lay outstretched. Her clothes were both burnt and stained. He stepped back, feeling the swell of grief and anguish rising from inside him like a tidal wave of unyielding force.

He shouted a word, screamed it out indignantly, for all the heavens to hear. He knew not why her death was like a thousand knives stabbing at his heart. All she was to him, was a memory that faded quickly once he was awake. Yet here, she was real. She was as real to him as his consciousness. Her tears became his tears and he shouted his rage at the winged denizens of the air, who had caused all this. Painfully knowing that when he awoke, he would never remember the word, or why he had said it.

He would just remember her gold hair matted with blood.

II

Garryn sat up in his bed.

For a moment, he half expected to see flames, smoke and the calamity that had so abruptly forced him to awaken. However, as he struggled to remember what had frightened him so, the memory was already fleeing from his mind. By the time he was aware of where he was, the dream was completely gone and Garryn found himself staring hard into night air.

Taking a deep breath, he ran his fingers through his hair, shaking away and residual effects of his dreaming. Even though the night was cool, he found his sheets plastered to his skin with perspiration. For a long while, he felt lost and uncertain. He vaguely remembered feeling this way the night before and the countless times before then. However, there was little about the dream that remained with him so he could describe to someone else. All which serve to frustrate him further because he knew he would not be sleeping any more tonight.

After a futile effort, he decided to get out of bed. Even though it was still dark, the chrono reading on the wall, told him it was a few minutes short of dawn. It had been a long time since he had watch the sun rise in Brysdyn and even longer since he had been home to appreciate it. Besides, Garryn saw no point staying in bed when he would be unable to sleep.

"Lights." He spoke.

"Lights activated." A sedate and decidedly feminine voice responded the computer voice of the internal environmental controls. Less than a second later, the room was flooded with soft, ambient light.

Garryn still had difficulty becoming accustomed to the luxury of the Primus' suite. He would have preferred to move back into his own room, one of many in the Guardian's wing of the Domicile. However, the Guardian had been insistent that Garryn take his rightful place of residence in the palace. This suite of rooms was large and spacious, with a balcony that gave him a sweeping view of the city and of the courtyard below. It housed antique furniture from a dozen planets. Fabrics both luxurious and elegant, were its draperies and upholstery. The priceless art of civilisations, young and old adorned its walls for only one viewer.

To Garryn, it felt as if it were a museum and he was a part of the display.

Seeing his bedroom only made him ask himself for the hundredth time, why he had agreed to come home. Climbing off his bed, he grabbed his robe and wrapped it around himself as he went towards the balcony. Garryn needed to feel the night air in his lungs, to escape the claustrophobia that seemed to be his fate, if only for a moment.

Emerging in the balcony, Garryn leaned against the marble palisade and saw the vibrant orange sun around which his world revolved, making its daily arrival. The sky was still dark, although the rich, dark amber sky revealed a warm day ahead. The Primus' suite was situated on the higher sections of the Domicile and gave him a panoramic view of the city Paralyte.

Paralyte slept below him and Garryn could not help feel envious at its slumber. It was a major metropolitan centre, whose age was ancient. The city was immortalised in prose, plays and poetry for generations, since the earliest days of the empire. The art world had long used Paralyte for its canvas. Paintings and sculptures were dated as far back as ten millennia. The first settlers who emerged from the Great Voyage had set the foundations for Paralyte, shortly after their arrival in this part of the galaxy. Everything that was great in the Brysdynian Empire began here, in this city.

At the moment, Paralyte was a blanket of dark. Its life revealed only by the myriad of lights that illuminated through the night, from thousands of dwellings and street lamps. Garryn loved Paralyte. He loved wandering through its bazaars and taking in the aroma of spices from exotic places. One could listen to the merchants for hours, as they haggled and sold their wares to strange races who visited this world from other parts of the galaxy. Garryn remembered fondly, how his mother Aisha would take him and his sister into the bazaars, to explore the markets. Often these trips would see them in disguise. Aisha always felt that the best bargains were made when the merchants were unaware, the buyer was the Guardian's wife.

She was gone now and Garryn sorely missed her. Being home again without his mother waiting to greet him was almost as disconcerting as sleeping in a room, opulent enough to be a museum. Letting out a forlorn sigh, he scolded himself for expecting anything but routine to come out of this trip home. His being in this ridiculously lavish room was proof of that. He had spent the last five years of his life in the military and would have been perfectly content to stay there for the rest of it, had fate allowed him the chance. However, he was well into his twenty-eight year and the responsibilities of his station in life had finally harnessed him to its yoke.

Being the son of the Guardian was something he was always proud to be. Guardian Iran was loved by his people because he was a good man who was always unafraid to break with tradition when it was necessary. Iran had led the empire through its most turbulent years and he won the undying devotion of his people in the process. It was hard for his family to not share that devotion. After the nightmare of the Plague, family had become the singular concern of every Brysdynian and Iran was no different. He treasured the family he almost never had.

Even though Garryn was a New Citizen, Iran had nevertheless expected him to take on the mantle of Guardian. Sometimes, Garryn wondered if the reason for his hesitation was because he was not Iran's natural child. Perhaps royal blood authentic to the Guardians was the vital ingredient in a man seeing this as his life's work. He was no different from any other New Citizen who had been brought to Brysdyn to find a family. How was he so special that the Guardian had singled him out to be his heir?

Whatever the reason, Garryn was now to be crowned Primus. He had been discharged from military service to return home for his ascension, which was a scant month away. As Primus, he would fall under the direct tutelage of his father and shown the business of running the empire. Even though the responsibility was daunting, Garryn knew he would do the best he could.

The only thing worse than failure was disappointing the Guardian.

Now if he could only get a good night's sleep, he grumbled. Things would be just fine. As it was, the instances where he was waking up in a cold sweat were becoming more frequent. The nightmares had been plaguing him for months now and Garryn was at a loss to understand why he had them at all. True, he had recently returned from Jov 2. The military had been sent there to suppress a violent uprising and war was always a burden on a man's conscience. However, he was a pilot, not in front line combat. Aerial attacks spared one the anguish of seeing war up close.

If Garryn dreamed about war, it was one that he had yet to see with his own eyes.

Perhaps he should take Elisha's advice. His sister, the Princess Royal was an impetuous young woman who had reached her twenty second year. One would expect her to be as frivolous and vain as any woman in her station of life should be. Yet, somehow, Elisha was anything but shallow. Their mother, a daughter of the Jynes Delegation had thought her children the value of education and tolerance. Elisha, who should at this time, been a marriage pawn to form great alliances, was instead a conscientious young woman whose first loves were her causes and her books.

The Guardian, their father, had spoilt them both villainously as children. Garryn dreaded to think what kind of people they would have been if not for their mother and her discipline. Since Aisha's passing, Iran was free to indulge Elisha's fancies and that included, marrying her to a suitor chosen by her own hand. The majority of Brysdynian aristocracy frowned upon the decision, but Garryn knew his father neither cared nor worried about their opinion. Elisha was his little girl and she would always remain so.

Besides, Garryn could not deny that he liked Elisha being home to greet him when he came home on furlough. As children, they had been confidantes, as adults they were best friends. It was Elisha who knew the right things to say when he felt bad and it was only natural that he would confess his nocturnal distresses to her.

Elisha had faith in Healers but like all soldiers, Garryn distrusted men of medicine. However, begrudgingly, he had to acknowledge their contribution to humankind and society. Elisha had suggested that he consult a Mentalist for his problem. At first, Garryn baulked at the notion. If Healers were bad, then mentalists were worse. These men who claimed to study the psyche, saw no sacrilege in demanding access to a man's most intimate memories. Garryn neither liked the idea nor wanted to submit to such treatment.

Still, a sick or troubled mind was something he could ill afford at this time. Not when he was only weeks away from being crowned Primus. There was also a nagging sensation in the back of his mind that suggested to Garryn that he might really need help. If so, then he not only owed it to himself to correct the situation, but also to the Guardian who would need his full faculties intact when Garryn became Primus.

So, for his father's sake, as well as his own, if Elisha suggested a Mentalist, then a mentalist it would be.

CHAPTER TWO

I

"We are children of the White Star, warriors of House Brysdyn. Are we simply to give up our warrior instincts? Instincts that have given us our great empire? We are eminent throughout the galaxy as strong race from noble descent, not as a gaggle of cowards choosing to hide behind a book of law! Peace, my friends, is a word Brysdyn longs to achieve but are we achieving it by becoming a nation of old women? Are alien ideas influencing our society? Are we to sit idly by and allow it to happen? Can we permit such a thing when our ancestors won this empire with the blood of their conquests? Stand up for our heritage my friends! Stand up before the Empire collapses from your weakness!"

Garryn was amazed. He knew General Cayn disliked his father's policies, but to see the man voicing it before the whole Quorum was unnerving. Cayn stood proud and defiant, as he stared at the Guardian hard. However, he lacked the presence that the Guardian commanded in the Council. A tall, thin man, Cayn's features were nondescript. Perhaps it was his disarmingly ordinary appearance that tricked people into believing he was no one formidable.

Garryn knew better of course. Being a member of the Royal household for years had taught him much. Even in his earliest years, Garryn learned to distinguish friend from foe. Without hesitation, he knew Cayn was the latter. He wondered if the Guardian had ever suspected Cayn's anti-Jynes sentiments. Garryn knew of Cayn's rising discontent with the Jynes for years now, because his mother made him aware of it.

The Guardian's wife was a Jynes. Her father had been Elvan, Chancellor of the Delegation. When the Guardian had chosen Aisha as his First Wife, he had also planted the seed of the White Star Alliance. Both people had seen the marriage as the merger of two great nations. Unfortunately, there were also those like Cayn, who supposed evils from the beginning. For a long time until the Plague, the two factions battled endlessly on the Quorum floor leaving his mother to carry the guilt of causing so much enmity.

It was a slight against her that Garryn would never forgive. Even though Cayn had remained silent about his politics then, Aisha was able to see through the facade of civility. Her perception allowed her to see the full extent of the man's animosity, although she revealed nothing to her husband. While never voicing her suspicions to the Guardian, she did confide in Garryn when he was old enough. Since then, Garryn was always on his guard whenever Cayn came into his presence.

However, after today, there could be no doubt however of Cayn's loyalties. He only wished he had given the Guardian some warning. Since he was not officially Primus, he could only view the proceedings from the visitor's gallery. Looking across the Quorum floor, Garryn and the rest of the Quorum wondered how Guardian Iran would react to the General's challenge. There could be no doubt in Cayn's speech or tone, that his words were challenging the Guardian. It was common knowledge that Iran favoured notion of a non aggressive foreign policy. Iran had always admired the peace initiatives of the Jynes and wished the same for the empire. In denouncing it, Cayn was also denouncing the Guardian of the Empire. It was a challenge the Guardian could ill afford to refuse.

The Quorum of Brysdyn was a political body of men and women elected by the people of regional districts to represent them in the government. It was this body that ran the government and bureaucracy of Brysdyn. They were responsible for all levels of Brysdynian policy and the Guardian, sat at the forefront of this august body by being arbitrator. In Brysdyn, it was the Guardian's task to ensure the observation of the Constitutional Mandate. The title of Guardian was literal. He was in essence, the custodian of the empire.

At the moment, the custodian of the empire wore an indifferent expression on his face, which told Garryn volumes.

The goal of making alliances instead of conquests, was one of the policies Iran had made his life's work. For as long as history permitted it to remember, Brysdyn's foreign policy involved military conquest. It was a warring culture by nature and the boundaries of its much vaunted empire, expanded at the cost of subjugating less aggressive races. For Brysdyn, it was the only way they knew how to exist. They had never imagined another path until they met the Jynes.

The approximate size of the Delegation was larger than the empire. However, its territories expanded without a shot being fired. Indeed, it was words, not weapons that made the Jynes Delegation what it was. The Jynes were also of the White Star and while Brysdynians were warriors, the Jynes were scholars. Their territory was an amalgamation of several hundred star systems, united in the pursuit of mutual cooperation. The Jynes hated war, but proved they could be up to it when provoked. Abhorring violence had not made them incapable of it and they commanded a formidable military force that constantly monitored the sovereignty of all.

In recent years, Brysdyn had chosen to form an alliance with the Jynes, recognising that this race of scholars was also kin from generations' past. Until the formal declaration of the White Star Alliance, both territories had been enjoying increased trade and good diplomatic relations. For most Brysdynians, this was an unprecedented move. However, after experiencing the ordeal of the Plague throughout the empire, it was not an unwelcomed one.

The Plague had devastated the population of the Empire. Even though numbers were slowly increasing, due to the infusion of the New Citizens, the population of the empire was nowhere what it was. Youth was now too important a resource, to waste on wars to increase territory. Territory was of little use, when there were not enough children being born to occupy it.

The transition was hard to make for most Brysdynians but most were willing to make it. The foundation of their culture was shaken by the Plague. For those terrible years, every Brysdynian had lived with the fear that they would soon be extinct. It was fortune and nothing else that saved them. If the adults of Cathomira did not die from a meaningless war of their own, then their children would not have known their Brydsynian future. Cathomira's children had given Brysdyn another chance and it showed with intense clarity, the tragedy that unstoppable aggression could wreak.

Since those days, Guardian Iran had dedicated himself to establish a new order of thought. While he still believed in the warrior spirit of the empire, he felt that it was also a warrior's lot to protect its own. Expecting Brysdyn to simply give up its conquered worlds was too much. However, with the Jynes assistance, Iran had hoped to provide them with benevolent administration.

The factions who opposed this new wave of idealism had fought long and hard to keep Brysdyn's conquering spirit alive. However, the back of its support had broken long ago. Voices rose up occasionally, striving to rekindle these sentiments, but they rarely had such force as that of General Cayn, Commander of the Security Elite.

Cayn was of the old school. Even nowadays, his Security Elite was a fearsome aspect of Brysdynian life. The Security Elite ensured the protection of all things Brysdynian. Its conduct continued with the belief anything was justified in the protection of the state. In the past, its agents sought out conspiracies, terrorists and anyone who was considered insurgents to the ideals of the empire. At present, people were no longer seized without the legalities of due process. This still did not ensure that the Security Elite were conducting themselves to the letter of the law.

As Cayn concluded his tirade on the floor of the Quorum House, Garryn noticed that his father had yet to respond. The expression in the Guardian's face told Garryn that Iran was focusing his acute intellect on dealing with the unexpected. It aroused Garryn's curiosity what that might be. Was the Guardian seeing Cayn as a threat? After all, Iran had always been reluctant to see Cayn as an enemy, considering the length of their association. In the past, Cayn had stood alongside the Guardian as second in command when he had led military expeditions.

The only reason that Cayn and his Security Elite were still intact and not disbanded for the outmoded organisation it was, was mostly due to the friendship he shared with the Guardian. Garryn shook his head in disbelief to think that Cayn may have jeopardised this by accusing Iran of pandering to alien ideas. Garryn's relationship with Cayn was less than cordial. Did Cayn know that he planned the dismantling of the Security Elite to be utmost on his agenda of reforms when he became Guardian? Garryn could not be sure of this, although Cayn did always seem to be painfully friendly when they came into contact.

"General," the Guardian finally answered. "I will take the floor."

Rising from his chair, Iran the First, took the steps leading to the floor. Without question, Cayn stood aside and allowed him to speak. An impressive man, Iran captured the attention of his audience easily. Garryn always thought his father looked more like a fairy tale king, than Guardian to the empire. Even though Garryn was tall, his father almost matched his height. Both men were dark haired and shared the same coloured blue eyes. People often thought that Garryn was the Guardian's natural offspring, but it was not true. Why they looked so familiar was merely chance but in Iran, the bloodline of a thousand Guardians before him was obvious. In Garryn, there was merely potential.

"We are a proud people and we are a great people. Just because we do not see the need to conquer and subjugate, does not mean we are any less greater than we were. Our empire is proof that we have achieved much." Iran began. "But my friends, we know the reality of our situation. Our children are few. They are only now old enough to think of having children of their own. For our empire to have new masters, our children must live on and raise our grandchildren. The Plague is twenty five years behind us and our scant generation of youth bears the mark of that. Once, our dedication to war kept negating our interests in every other aspect of Brysdynian life. If we had devoted more of our resources to scientific pursuit, specifically in the field of medicine, a cure for the Plague may have existed long before it neutered all of us!"

There was no applause, but the agreement with his words came as numerous nodding heads and a rumble of voices both sad and aware. Yes, that was the reality of their situation, Garryn thought with a tinge of pity for those who knew exactly what the Guardian meant. Cayn's face was stone as always. Still there was a flicker of sadness in his eyes, shared by every Brysdynian man who had been born before the Plague. As much as Cayn may have despised admitting it, Garryn could see that he too, was affected by the Guardian's words.

"Those days are no more," the Guardian continued. "Now we have hope. We have children, strong and proud. They are our future and I want to see them live long enough succeed us. I do not want another war where they'll die a death as senseless as our unborn did in the Plague! The Lords gave us a second chance with our New Citizens. Lets not squander it, my friends. We have a chance to carry our empire into a new dawn.

The Jynes have been our allies for the last twenty-five years. They were willing to help us, even at the threat of the Plague. Remember when the others turned away, they would not even listen to our agonised cries. The Jynes did listen and they did help us! They knew we shared a common heritage and they could have used our weakness to their advantage. They could have invaded us when we were at our worst, yet they did not. I refuse to repay their kindness by supporting any notion to invade them! They are just as much apart of the White Star as we are. They are our kin! Our ancestors left our home world hoping to build something new, House Brysdyn like House Jynes made that journey as well. It is a journey we were meant to take together. Our ancestors denounced war between the Houses long before they left the White Star. I will not rekindle that folly."

The applause that broke out was deafening but then Garryn never expected anything less. His father was not only an able diplomat, he was an exceptional speaker. The rambunctious response focused everyone's attention on the Guardian, allowing General Cayn to make an unnoticed exit. This time, he had escaped a direct rebuke from the Guardian. However, Garryn did not think this matter was far from over. Still, it gave Garryn satisfaction to see the General disappearing out a rear exit wearing an ugly look on his face.

Unfortunately, Cayn would be back. His kind always did.

*********

With that challenge well and truly answered, the Quorum council chose to break up for day. After a few minutes, members began to leave. There were always a few stragglers that remained to take a private word with the Guardian. Thus Garryn waited patiently for them to finish. At the numerous entrances of the amphitheatre like room, he saw the Guardian's personal guards emerge from the shadows. It always surprised Garryn how adept these men and women were at their jobs. When the Guardian was out in the open like this is, one could barely see them. However, should any threat present itself to endanger the Guardian in any way. They surfaced with incredible speed.

Garryn waited until the last of the Quorum members had finished with the Guardian before he made his approach. Even though the Guardian had suggested he should consider protection himself. Garryn did not see it was necessary. Besides, he was sure the Guardian's protectors were already keeping a watchful eye over him. Making his way to what was usually a restricted entrance for visitors, Garryn was allowed passage by the Guardian's guard standing watch. The entrance led into a narrow corridor that would empty on to the Quorum floor as well alternate exits from the Quorum Hall.

His father, flanked by his guards, met him in the corridor. Garryn moved alongside the Guardian while the guards stepped aside, increasing their flank and allowing father and son some privacy.

"Cayn was hard on you father." Garryn said as they began walking out of the Hall.

"I was not surprised," Guardian Iran said with a weary sigh. "I had suspected he was not completely comfortable with the Alliance for some time now, but today confirmed it." Glancing up at his son with a faint smile, he added further, "I have a feeling it was of little surprise to you as well. You were suspicious of him, for a great deal longer than the Quorum and I ever were."

Suddenly, the Guardian did not look so imposing as he did moments ago on the Quorum floor. None of which mattered to Garryn, because now, the Guardian looked more like his father. "I had a wise and astute mother who saw much and said little." Garryn pointed out.

His father's expression saddened and for a brief second a flicker of private pain surfaced in his eyes. Garryn suspected the wound of Aisha's death was still very raw in the Guardian and it gave him some comfort to know that his mother was loved so much by her widowed husband. "Yes she was so clear on such things," Iran said softly. "I still miss her very much."

"You were married for thirty five years father," Garryn replied placing a hand on his father's shoulder. "It is not easy to let her go. She was my mother and when I go past her chambers, I am sometimes tempted to knock just to see if she might be there. I can't imagine what it must be like for you."

Both men lapsed into silence which Garryn broke first. "Cayn bears watching now." He warned.

"No, I don't think so." The Guardian said firmly as they reached the end of the corridor.

Pausing a moment, the guards pulled open the heavy wooden doors. The two men entered the Skimmer Port. While not as large as the one located in the Domicile, it was large enough to accommodate a dozen skimmers, mechanics and the tools necessary to service them if necessary. Most of the Guardian's protectors were already waiting for his arrival in their hover vehicles and the Guardian's skimmer was located in the centre of the motorcade that was waiting to leave.

They climbed into the skimmer with one guard taking his seat next to the Guardian's personal driver and the other dispersing into the other vehicles in the convoy. Once the Guardian was inside, the skimmers began to move forward towards the force field protected exit. As they approach the energy grid, a computer voice declared its deactivation, allowing the convoy passage out of the Quorum Hall.

Outside in the city, it was a warm day. The good weather brought everyone out and the bazaars and merchants were in full deployment across the city. They lined streets and empty courtyards, selling their wares and spices. Paralyte was a hive of activity today. With tourist season here, visitors from all over the empire and beyond were moving through the streets like in an exotic assortment. Some paused to look at the Guardian as he passed, but most were too enamoured by the city's extraordinary sights to care.

"I wish I could go into the city unnoticed like you do my boy," Iran sighed in envy. "Just to mingle with the people and see life from their point of view is greatly refreshing."

"It is." Garryn agreed, but was not about to give up probing his father about Cayn. "So what are you going to do about the General?"

With his gaze still fixed on the city as they drove past, Iran answered without looking back at his son. "I am going to do nothing at all Garryn," he replied. "Cayn is a voice and voices are allowed to say whatever they wish."

"He has support." Garryn declared. "Most of his Security Elite are devoted to him. I don't know whether it is wise to allow him a forum with the people he has at his disposal."

"That's true." Iran answered, turning around so he could face his son. "However, we both know numbers of raw recruits joining the Elite are small. The youth are more interested in the navy. With the Alliance, we've been allowed to chart parts of the galaxy that was barred to us by reason of territorial and diplomatic reasons. Many of the young want to see that. After the uprising in Jov 2, they don't want to fight any more. Cayn knows that his people are growing too old to be of use and replacements are scarce. He may be a formidable speaker and I do not doubt that he has support in the civilian sector, but that is not enough to change the mind of this government."

"To that I have to agree." Garryn replied, remembering what it was like fighting on Jov. He was lucky to have been only a pilot. It was the surface troops who landed on the satellite who had the real work. For months, the settlers on Jov 2 had entrenched themselves securely on the cratered moon, desperately keeping alive the notion of their new nation. A nation that included a large number of miners and their families. A nation that was now no more.

"It was the only way." Iran said gently, seeing the look on Garryn's face. "We offered them full pardons, to lay down their weapons and go back to work or to come home if they wished. They declined and Lords only knows what they were thinking when they chose to suicide by igniting their ore. Perhaps for them, it was better to die than to face defeat."

"You are right," Garryn answered. "Still I don't think I'll ever forget the faces of the men who came back to Eura Station after the deed was done. Such horror is not easily forgotten."

"No it is not," Iran agreed. "However, are you now convinced that Cayn is no longer a threat?"

"Yes," Garryn nodded half heartedly, "but I am still inclined to believe that he should be watched."

"But then that would make us no better than his Security Elite, wouldn't it?" Iran retorted gently and Garryn found he had no response to that.

Perhaps the Guardian was right. He was being overly cautious. It was the soldier in him that made him too obtuse at times. "I'll adhere to the wisdom of my betters for now." He laughed, showing his father his decision to concede on this matter.

For now.

CHAPTER THREE

I

"Lar, you are not going to believe this!" The woman declared as she burst into Mentalist Larian's office, out of breath and clearly excited.

It was a response Larian did not often see coming from his usually efficient and always composed assistant. Sera was a monument to restraint who never had a hair out of place or prone to unnecessary displays of emotion. Yet as she now stood before his desk, she was wide eyed like an enthusiastic teenager. Her brow was covered with loose strands from her perfectly sculpted hair and her manner was more animated than he had remembered in years. It was nice to see that even Sera could be affected by things occasionally.

"Sera please," Larian remarked, unable to hide his amusement. "Pull yourself together." He said unable to help teasing her a little. It was rare that he had a chance to turn the tables on her. Sera was always pointing out his fallacies. Small as this opportunity was, he could not help feel somewhat vindicated. She had been his assistant since the first day of his practice and the years had brought to fruit a comfortable relationship that allowed for such playful jibbing. Giving him a look of annoyance, Sera straightened up immediately and resume her professional image.

"Garryn is here." She spoke, once again adopting her cool demeanour. The former excitement had evaporated completely from her voice.

Now it was Larian's turn to be caught off guard. "Garryn?" He exclaimed. "You mean the Garryn who is going to be our next Guardian?"

"The same who is to be crowned Primus in a matter of weeks." She retorted haughtily, taking some pleasure of her own by his reaction. An amused smirk stole across her face when she saw him hanging on her every word. It made her taste victory in this particular bout of verbal chess. "He is waiting outside to see you."

"I wonder why?" Larian asked softly, not expecting an answer. He was used to seeing clients of some importance in his practice but he was unprepared for royalty. Okay, the Guardians were not supposed to be royalty, but to a common Brysdynian it was close enough At forty-five, Larian knew he was one of the more notable Mentalists in the Empire but receiving a visitor of this calibre was still a shock. It had not even occurred to him yet that the visit might be professional. At the moment, he was still too astonished by the news.

Other questions began to emerge in those seconds while Sera was waiting for further instructions. Why would Garryn of the Domicile come all the way here to see him? His office was located in the heart of the Rura District in Paralyte. While Rura district was a respectable area, someone of Garryn's stature could summon any Mentalist to him without much difficulty.

Perhaps he needs treatment and does not want anyone to know, Larian thought. That would make sense, he decided. Garryn was the Heir Apparent to the Guardian's throne. In less than a month, the young man was due to be crowned Primus. It would not be unreasonable to assume that if Garryn required treatment of some kind, he would prefer it be done privately. Also, Larian had some reputation of being able to deal with his important patients with a great degree of discretion. A Mentalist took oaths of confidentiality that was likely to be reassuring to a man of Garryn's importance. If treatment was required, then he supposed this reputation would have effected Garryn's decision to pick him.

"Shall I show him in?" Sera inquired, impatient by his lack of response "We cannot simply leave him out there to wait. He is, after all to be our next Guardian."

"Yes of course," Larian replied regaining his composure a little bit more now. Taking a deep breath he faced his middle aged assistant and looked at her confidently. "Sera, please show Garryn of House Brysdyn into my office."

"Certainly Lar," she answered, smiling. Sera seldom did that and Larian knew the look well enough to know that she was proud of him. With a sudden burst of affection, Larian secretly wondered what would ever do, if she was not there to take care of him?

Once she disappeared out the door, Larian tidied his desk of the work he had been studying prior to Sera's unexpected interruption. He remained standing once that was done while smoothing the material of his suit at the same time. Larian hoped he looked neat. Now he wished he had trimmed his greying beard instead of rushing out as he did this morning. Even though his once dark hair was receding, he still kept it neat and the grey streaks made him look distinguished. He was of average height and despite a slight paunch at the belly, was nonetheless a figure of confidence to his patients. Glancing at an ornamental mirror hanging on the wall, Larian decided how he looked would simply have to do. He did seem presentable, even if the rumpled look of an academician was ever present.

At least that is what Sera told him.

Sera returned a few seconds later with the young man following closely behind. He looked younger than the Transband's numerous media reports had portrayed him. To be honest however, those programs were not entirely reliable. It was a well-known fact that the Guardian did not like to keep his family in public eye. As he studied Garryn closer, he decided that he was definitely a New Citizen. The age was certainly consistent. However, if one did not know anything about the Plague, they could be forgiven for mistaking Garryn for the Guardian's natural offspring. They looked very much alike.

Larian stepped out from behind his desk and went to greet the new arrival. "Primus Garryn, it is an honour to have you here." Larian replied extending a friendly handshake. To his pleasure, the Primus accepted it warmly.

"Thank you," he said graciously. "Fortunately, I have a month before that title becomes official."

"I know," Larian replied, "but Primus Garryn is infinitely easier to say then Heir Apparent Garryn."

Garryn had to agree and chucked softly before responding, "Please call me Garryn."

That put Larian at ease considerably. Overcoming his nervousness and his awe at having such an important visitor, Larian took on a more professional attitude. He had to admit he was impressed by Garryn's good humour and down to earth nature. Quite surprising actually, when one considered the extraordinary upbringing he must have had. Larian had always found aristocratic children with exalted lifestyles usually grew up to be perfectly arrogant adults. Fortunately for the Empire, Garryn had somehow managed to escape that over indulgent upbringing. It was hardly a surprise when one remembered the Lady Aisha, the much loved First Wife of Guardian Iran.

"Please sit down," Larian replied before guiding him to the armchair in front of his large desk. Sera left the room quietly, seeing he had the situation at hand. Neither men noticed her departure. Garryn sat down quickly. Larian returned to his desk and noticed the young man shifting uncomfortably in his seat, even though the armchair was upholstered with soft leather and reputed to be quite comfortable according to his other patients.

He is not happy to be here, Larian decided with a flash of insight.

"Now, Garryn," Larian replied, looking at him from across the desk. "How can I help you?"

Garryn let out a sigh and looked around the room. He did not want to seem too eager or show his uneasiness at being here. Larian allowed him to take his time, knowing it is not easy for a patient to admit to oneself that a problem exists. In coming here, Garryn had unknowingly crossed the first major hurdle to the healing process of whatever was ailing him. Meanwhile, Larian reminded himself to acknowledge Garryn as just another patient in need of help and not the future Guardian of the Brysdynian Empire.

After a moment, Garryn finally spoke. "I guess it isn't hard for you to see that I don't want to be here."

"Its not an uncommon reaction," Larian replied gently. "Please don't feel encumbered by your hesitation. Many of my patients begin the same way. Overcoming one's prejudices enough to seek help is a good thing all round. So, tell me how I may be of help to you and we'll go from there."

Despite his initial reluctance, Garryn had to admit that the Mentalist Larian was nothing like what he had expected. Elisha's recommendation had come from reading the various papers the man wrote in the science journals she was fond of reading. His own view of mentalists would not have pleased the man had Garryn told him. However as he sat here facing Larian, he found the physician to be honest and direct. With a life spent in court, associating with people who could make procrastination an art form, Garryn found Larian's manner refreshing.

"All right, Mr Larian, you've convinced me that I've done the right thing by coming to you, because I won't deny I had my reservations. I have been a soldier long enough to see little use for men who heal the mind. Perhaps that is wrong of me." Dropping all pretext, Garryn decided to say what was on his mind. "I am experiencing problems and I could use your help."

"I see what I can do," Larian smiled, himself impressed by Garryn's own honesty. "Please call me Lar." Larian eased back into his chair and began his professional evaluation of his new patient.

"Lar it is." Garryn nodded in acknowledgment, feeling the tension in the room abate somewhat. The atmosphere was more relaxed now and Garryn was glad for it. "The truth is Lar, I have bad dreams."

When he said that, Larian's view of Garryn's problem took on a whole different scope.

"Please continue." He said neutrally.

"They began while I was in Sol." Garryn continued, not noticing anything different in Larian's manner, although the Mentalist was leaning closer towards him and had activated a recording device on the side of his desk. Garryn was unfettered by this because he knew it was common practice for the Mentalists to record their patients' sessions. "The Jov Uprising was in its third month and my squadron and I were expected to lend air support to the ground forces.

We made the trip on a military frigate. The first dream began after we had breached the stellar perimeter and Sol was in visual sight. After that they became more frequent. While I was stationed on Jov Outpost Station, they were at their worst, almost every night. At first I thought it may be the stress of combat. It was the first time I would be flying a mission that involved a civilian target. I thought it might be conscience but these dreams began before I even flew my first mission on Jov 2. I'm at a loss to explain what they mean or why I'm having them."

"Describe them." Larian instructed, listening intently.

Garryn let out another breath, because suddenly the idea of speaking aloud what he had been living with the past few months became very difficult. Still, if this mentalist was to help him then Garryn would have to make himself do it. "They begin very peacefully. I am on an alien planet. One with a star not quite as amber as ours. The sky is blue no less. Can you imagine in? A blue sky?" Garryn snorted and then continued on when he received no response. Closing his eyes, his voice drop to a soft hush. "I can see the place so clearly sometimes. The trees with ash coloured bark, snow white birds with enormous yellow crowns and the smell of the golden stalks in the fields. When I'm there, I feel content and at peace. I begin to walk through it, feeling raw soil under my feet. Its unprocessed, unrefined soil but full of life! You can tell by just feeling how loamy it is under your toes."

"It sounds like a decidedly pleasant place to be." Larian remarked stroking his beard. "Is that all that happens?"

"No," Garryn said shortly and his face took on a dark expression, one that Larian had seen before in other patients. The rest of his dream was not pleasant. Larian could tell that immediately.

Garryn himself, felt his chest tightened as steeled himself to tell the mentalist the rest. Strange how he had been in the heat of combat, could remember times when the danger was so thick, he did not think he would survive. None of it had made him as frightened as he was now. "It gets bad, very bad," Garryn replied almost whispering. "I can't remember all of it, but there is smoke and fire. I wake up sometimes, still smelling the cinders from the flames and the heat on my skin. The smell of death is everywhere. Everything begins to die. I wake up when everything is dead."

At that, he let out a long breath that seemed almost like a gasp. There was sweat trickling down his brow even though the room was cool. A part of him was surprised by how distasteful talking about it really was. When he had spoken to Elisha, he had felt the some vulnerability in exposing his night time troubles, but he had not told her the content of the nightmares. Yet now, it made him sick to the stomach. He had hoped telling this stranger would make him feel better, but unfortunately, that was not meant to be. Garryn was unable to meet Larian's eyes when he spoke before. However, now as he cast his gaze upwards, he saw the Mentalist pouring him a glass of water from a pitcher on his table.

"Are you all right?" The older man asked with concern.

"I'm fine." Garryn answered, talking the glass of water and talking several gulps. His throat was dry. After a moment, he returned his attention to the mentalist again. "I was unaware I would have so much trouble talking about this."

"It's no easy thing telling someone something that is so private." Larian said sympathetically. "What is the frequency of the dreams now that you've come home?"

"Since I've returned from Sol, three or four times a week.. On the nights I have them, I get two or three hours sleep at the most." He said deciding to hide nothing. Even though not much had been done in the way of treatment, Garryn now felt glad that he taken Elisha's advice and consulted Larian. Just talking about it had made him feel that there was an answer to his problems. For weeks now, he wondered if he was suffering a mental breakdown, but having spoken to Larian, he was more certain that he was not.

"So, am I going crazy?"

Larian let out a chuckle. "No I don't think so. There's no doubt that you're disturbed about something. Dreams are the minds way of coping with stressful situations, the subconscious vents what the conscious is not ready to. Our goal is to try and interpret these messages, unravelling the cipher allows us to get to the core of what is troubling you. Once we have found that, these dreams will go away. Now I need to ask you some routine questions."

"I trust your judgement Lar," Garryn responded and no one was more surprised than himself. An hour ago he had been suspicious of all mentalists. Now he was starting to see this man as the some one who could help him. For reasons he could not explain and there was no denying it, he did trust Larian. Instinct told him that here was a man whose reputation as a Mentalist healer was not undeserved. Elisha did not bandy about her endorsement without good cause.

"Your confidence is appreciated," Lar said genuinely touched. "Now, I assume you are a New Citizen?"

"Yes."

"How old were you when you were adopted?"

Garryn thought a moment before responding. "My mother said I was three years old. Elisha is not my natural sister. She was six months old."

"Any memories before that?" Larian inquired. Here was the question he really wanted to know. The one that would tell him if Garryn's case was a familiar one or something entirely new.

Garryn allowed himself to recall his first truly lucid memory.

He was afraid and he remembered crying a lot. Then she came and he felt her arms around him, holding him close. There was warmth and security in her arms, she had whispered in his ears. "You're safe now, little one." Her voice was like a song, her scent unforgettable. It reminded him of flowers. As a child, he used to recognise her by that scent.. Her scent of flowers. He called her mother in the second year but during the first year, she had just been the flower lady.

Before her, there had been nothing.

"No memories." He answered.

***************

Hours later, Larian pondered the days' events while sitting in his chair and staring aimlessly into the sunset. Garryn's first session had been more than two hours long. He knew it should have been short as preliminary sessions ought to have been, but this case was too important to label it with routine. Sera was probably livid at all the appointments she had to cancel for this indulgence but Larian knew it was worth it. The case was just too compelling to break of abruptly and Garryn needed the extra time.

The young man was eager for treatment but was hesitant for he feared discovery. Even though to Larian it seemed minor, Garryn had explained a preference to be discreet. As the next Primus and some day Guardian, his mental state had to be beyond reproach. This was largely why he had come to see Larian. His mental state had to be given a clean bill of health before he took the office of Primus. To his credit, Garryn was determined to cure himself and Larian was confident he would see the young man again. His next appointment was later in the week.

Still there were aspects of Garryn's case that Larian had not discussed with the young man. He spent the initial session listening to what Garryn had said, making certain that his suspicions were founded. If he was correct in his assumptions, then it would be in Garryn's best interest to attend his next appointment. What Larian had learnt so far, would be an undoubted surprised to the trouble man.

"I've rescheduled all the appointments you cancelled today." Sera announced making her entrance into the room. With office hours officially over for the day, she had locked the door to the public.

Larian swung around in his chair and faced her. He knew her long enough to know that tone of her voice "Do I sense a rebuke in that voice?" He inquired thoughtfully.

"No," she returned quickly, "just reminding you that one important patient should not be treated at the expense of others."

"Sit down." He instructed and Sera raised a brow at the suggestion. Her dark brown eyes narrowed with concentration, wondering what was occupying him so intensely. She sat down gracefully with usual elegance. Her hands resting on her lap as she looked at him with curiosity. Larian also noticed her hair had returned to its usual perfection with no more loose blond strands. Pity.

"We've got another one." He declared.

She did not need to ask what that meant. It was common practice for Mentalists to share their assistant's confidence. Thus, he sometimes discussed some of his cases, with the understanding that she was just as bound as he was to protect their confidentiality. Either way, Larian often found Sera's counsel to be quite formidable. Her intellect was unencumbered by what was thought to be popular theory or current trends. Sera said what she thought and that was that.

"The Primus?" She said visibly shocked, although Larian could not understand why. Even the royal family was subjected to the foibles of human behaviour. It did not distinguish between a commoner and an aristocrat.

"Yes," Larian nodded gravely. "That makes fourteen all together. I just spoke to Mentalist Darix and he's reported another two cases, that makes it nine at Tesalone. Alwi at Rainab says she has seventeen patients now. This may be the first psychological epidemic we've ever had." He sighed.

"Something must be done." Sera declared. "We have to tell someone."

"I would like to," he replied. "But for now I agree with Darix and Alwi, we still need more information. If this is a virus, then it is the most specific one I have ever seen. It does nothing to deteriorate the physical body and only manifests when the subject is dreaming. It also operates in a very specific age group. I doubt that the Healers Circle is going to take it seriously."

"But something must be wrong." She insisted. "How can this virus affect only New Citizens? Even though there weren't many people left unaffected by the Plague, there were still children born at the same time as the New Citizens' arrival here. How can they be susceptible but not our indigenous population?"

"Well, they are all from Cathomira." Larian offered, "perhaps the answer lies there. We brought these children from Cathomira when there was nothing left of their planet. None of the rescue teams had dared to remain long enough on the planet to gather anything but the survivors. With the virus they had in the air, the military only had time to get the children out, not go digging for medical texts. They may be experiencing some side effect of the virus that we may not have foreseen. Certainly, there is no trace of an unidentified organism in their systems, so what else could it be?"

"What about the dreams?" She suggested. "Could they be important?"

Larian thought a moment. The dreams were certainly the element that was most enigmatic about all these cases. They were all so similar. In every case, they had all mentioned a blue sky. What was it about a blue sky? Some had never been off planet, those who had, never came across a place vaguely like the one they described in the dreams. Could it be Cathomira? No, that was wrong. One of the first things Larian had done when he learnt that the patients were New Citizens, was to read up on Cathomira. The planet orbited a decidedly red giant. Prior to receiving the distress call, it was generally accepted that there were no habitable planets in the system.

"The dreams are odd," Larian said after a while. "Completely alike in the pattern but different in the content. They all start off pleasantly but descend into violence. Its always of this alien world. I keep thinking it is Cathomira though, even if the descriptions are unusual. There isn't much information on Cathomira, other than the mission reports when the rescue team when there. However, what pictures there are, and I'll grant you there aren't many, resembles nothing of what these people are seeing in their dreams."

"It could not be a shared experience?" Sera ventured again.

It was an avenue that Larian had already considered. "I thought about that," he confessed, "the destruction of their home world is quite a traumatic thing. Many have no memories prior to arriving on Brysdyn, which does lend credibility to the theory of a shared experience. This could suggest repressed memories due to trauma. Children have a tendency to block what is too distressful to cope with."

"That must be it then." She nodded decisively.

Yet even as she said it, Larian knew that was not the answer. Despite the evidence that supported that notion, to Larian it seemed too convenient. Instincts told him there was more to this, while caution warned him to leave well alone. The New Citizens were apart of them now. Was there any need to reawaken painful emotions best laid buried in the past?

The patriot in him said no.

Unfortunately, the Mentalist said yes.

CHAPTER FOUR

I

Justin!

Where are you Justin?

She was running through the field, surrounded by the fiery remains of the golden stalks. She called out the name again, but there was no answer. Only the distant sounds of dying animals were heard through the crackle of fire. Tears began running down her cheeks, some from anguish, some from the sting of smoke in her eyes. He watched her run frantically, like a rat trapped in a maze with no exit. Her desperation evident, as were her options with each step she took. Trapped between her search and the danger, she forged on. Her eyes occasionally darting up to the sky but mostly there were fixed on the path ahead.

What are you searching for? There was no one else in the field with her except him. He had been here many times before and he had seen many strange creatures. The white birds, and the herd of large docile animals with the curved horn, these were the only life that dwelt here. Sadly they too were no more. All that remained of them were their carcasses flaming within the fire that was eating this whole place alive. There was no one else here. No one else was alive in this fiery world but the two of them.

Justin!

She cried out again. The edge in her voice told him she was becoming hysterical. Her lack of success in the face of such desperation was making her irrational. Terror was beginning to overwhelm her, although he suspected her fears were not for herself. Her relentless determination proved the self preservation almost inconsequential to her now. Her strength seemed to wanning as the smoke finally began overwhelming her. Peaking the top of the top of the hill, she stumbled awkwardly with more frequency.. She paused a moment, wiping the sweat from her brow. Using the peak as a vantage point, she surveyed the surrounding area.

Suddenly, her eyes widened in excitement.

A smile of relief stole quickly across her face. Did she see him?

Justin, stay where you are! She cried.

He was hearing her! For once, he could understand what she was saying. He never could before!. Wasting no time, she made her descent down the hill and began running towards him with renewed vigour. This time, there was purpose in her movements. Somewhere inside her, a reservoir of hidden strength had surfaced when she found what she sought. Her entire being seemed focus on that one goal. However, as she ran forward, the scenery made a sudden shift and he recognised the pattern of events about to unfold.

She was going to die. Again.

Not again! She was so close! The unfairness of it struck at the very core of him. Maybe this time it would be different, he hoped desperately. After all, weren't things a little different this time around? He could hear her and that had never been possible before. Maybe if she could hear him then perhaps she could see him too. The realisation struck him hard and he started forward before he was even conscious that he was running. Putting every ounce of strength into a sprint, he raced through the flames. Even the veneer of protection in this dreamscape was also gone, because he could feel the flames now. He could feel its heat singeing the hairs on his arms and back. The prickly sensation of his skin as tongues of fire caressed it with its warm touch. None of it penetrated enough to register, he refused to allow himself feel it or keep him from continuing.

For once he swore, it was going to be different!

He ran faster and harder than he had ever done anything in his life. An eternity seemed to pass for him within those moments. He almost felt like the wind, like a person that was seeing himself for the first time. Heart pounding with blood, eyes aware of everything, at this moment, he had never felt more alive. Within seconds he was closing the distance between them. She was still running towards him, her eyes burning with purpose. For a brief instance, he felt strangely connected to her, that there was a bond between them that was unfathomable, yet absolute. He wondered if she could feel it too.

Then the explosion came.

Again, time seem to freeze in one terrible instance. Like a twisted ballet, he saw the dance begin in slow, painful awareness. Her body was thrown backwards, as if a marionette dragged off the stage. She hit the ground hard. The weight of her body made a sickening crunch when it landed. Her torso was a charred mess of sizzling bone and broken flesh, while her eyes stared into the sky, vacant and empty. Blood escaped the corner of her mouth, running down the soot covered cheek in a thin crimson line. The pregnant drop disappeared into the ash on the crushed grass.

Too late. Once again, he was too late.

He stopped running in mid stride and collapsed on the ground next to her on his knees. Why did he bother? He should have known better! This was a memory, a concoction of synaptic responses, not even real. He was real, he lived and breathed, how did he expect to change this place when he had no substance here! Glaring at the sky, he saw the dark winged denizens that flew across the grey canvas, raining death everywhere. He cursed them loudly, screaming his outrage at their murdering. They remained indifferent to his agony, not oblivious to his presence.

Casting his eyes on her, he felt his tears come. Strange how this apparition in his mind could invoke so much grief from him. He was a soldier in war. He had seen the dead bodies after a battle was won and sometimes, when it was lost. They looked like uncovered graves across the plains, even more horrific than this. Why did this woman whom he knew nothing of, except in his dreams, mean so much to him? Reaching for her hand, he felt its warmth against his palm. It pained him realising that he was unable to distinguish if the warmth was her draining life or the heat of the fire. For a long while, he held the lifeless hand against his cheek. Out of nowhere in particular, he felt something rekindled inside him when his tears touched her fingers.

Sobbing, he dropped the hand to the ground, not wanting to feel any more. Yet he had passed the point of no return and for once, allowed his grief to lie exposed. What did it matter in this place? However, soon his grief had given way to a more intense feeling. The anger inside him bubbled like an unrelenting storm and suddenly, a word forced itself from his lip.

"M...!"

**********

"Wake up!" A voice cut through his ears. "Ryn! Wake up!"

Light flooded into his world, ripping him away from the place he had been. For a moment, he was unable to comprehend anything, except a lingering feeling of rage. The voice repeated again. This time, he was able to centre on it faster. Suddenly, Garryn remembered that this was the waking world and he had returned home. Sitting up quickly, he tried to force away the shock of his abrupt awakening. Looking up, he stated into the face whose hands were on his shoulders, shaking him hard. Elisha was staring at him in concern, wearing only her bed clothes standing over his bed. What was she doing here?

"What are you doing in my room?" He asked, running a hand through his unruly hair. There was perspiration on his brow and on his palms.

At his question, Elisha released him and released a held breath. Tightening the sash around her night gown, she sat on the edge of his bed, trying to not to show how much he had frightened her. "One of the servers heard you screaming when he walked past. He tried to see if you needed help but when you didn't answer he woke me instead. He did not dare invade your private quarters." The extent of her worry showed in her blue eyes. Her dishevelled appearance told him that she had barely dressed herself when she ran here to his aid.

"I am sorry," he whispered, feeling silly at being the cause of so much dramatics. However, he was touched by Elisha's concern. Glancing over Elisha's shoulder, he saw the server at the door quickly withdraw, now that things were back to normal. Garryn made a mental note to seek him out later and express his gratitude. I didn't mean to be so much trouble."

"Don't be stupid." Elisha retorted sharply. "You are my brother, where else should you turn to when you are in trouble?" For a woman, she was impatient at such displays. Emotional expressions embarrassed Elisha. She was a woman of practicality and found them to be a nuisance most of the time.

Garryn smiled despite his embarrassment. He felt his heart warm in affection for this young woman, who would always be his baby sister. Not so much of a baby anymore, he realised. Elisha had grown up to be a beautiful young woman, confident and intelligence. Even though they were both adopted, Elisha had his dark hair and they shared the same coloured eyes. As children they had been each other's confidantes he was glad their relationship had survived adulthood.

"Thanks Elisha." He responded, kissing her gently on the forehead. His sister responded with a faint smile, not knowing what to say. Elisha had trouble dealing with shows of gratitude, especially if it was aimed at her. Saving her the need to search for a response, Garryn climbed out of bed. The sheets stuck to his skin momentarily as he rose, fused there by sweat and heat. When he stood erect, they slid back on to the bed again. Walking to the door, he peered through and was glad no one else was around, before closing it. It was bad enough that he made a spectacle of himself tonight, without letting anyone else the opportunity to gawk at him through an open door.

"Have you seen Mentalist Larian?" Elisha asked moving from his bed to a nearby chair.

"Yes," Garryn nodded and walked to the refrigeration unit in the corner of the room. "I saw him yesterday."

"Well," she sighed, pleased that for once he had taken her advice. "What did he say?"

"Not much," Garryn answered pouring himself a glass of water. His throat felt raw and parched. He could not believe he had screamed that loudly. "Lar listened mostly but then he explained that was common when it was a preliminary session. I have another appointment in a few days. I'll learn more then."

"Good," his sister said rising to her feet. Even though she looked weary and in need of catching up with her sleep, there was also deep concern in her eyes. Coming towards him, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright Ryn? You still seem a little shaken."

To him, it seemed it was Elisha who needed reassuring. She appeared to be more shaken that he was. Garryn took her hand and clasped it tight in his. "I am a bit but I'll get over it. It was just a dream."

"No Ryn," she shook her head quickly and Garryn saw something else in her eyes at that moment. Fear. Elisha feared for him greatly. "I've never heard you scream like that before. I don't think I ever want to hear it again."

That surprised Garryn. Elisha was one of the strongest people he knew. Despite the trappings of opulent living, Elisha had grown up free from the frivolous pursuits that was available to an aristocrat of her calibre. Should she desire it, any one of the young men in Brysdyn's great families was hers for the asking. Elisha however, was uninterested in marriage, or a life at court. If she chose it, Elisha could have easily become the pinnacle player in the aristocratic social world, but that was abhorrent to her. Why should she be? Elisha was her mother's daughter and Aisha had raised her to use a mind and have a social conscience.

Thus while Garryn was lucky enough to escape the banality of court life by becoming a pilot in the Brysdynian navy, Elisha spent her time putting her mind and her position to good use.

Since her official title was Lady Elisha, First Daughter, she was able to spend most of her time travelling across the Brysdyn, campaigning for a large number of causes, including health and public services. The Empire loved her and the unfortunates of Brysdyn found a voice who would champion their rights. She gave the men in her family every reason to adore her.

"I'm sorry I scared you." He apologised.

"Was it very bad this time?" She asked, knowing that Garryn did not scare easily yet his dreams must have been terrifying to make him scream.

Garryn looked away. He had not wanted to think about the dream or try to decipher what any of it meant, not until his next session with Lar. Although he was certain of one thing. Tonight's dream had been different. It was different because he remembered the woman. All the other times, the memory of her had evaporated like a mist whenever he awoke. Tonight, her face was clear. His memories of her were still intact. Usually he awoke with a lingering memory. However tonight that had changed. When he closed his eyes now, he could picture her.

"Justin," he said suddenly. "That's what she was looking for."

II

Larian wished he had chosen a better decor for this room.

Every time he walked in here with a patient, it struck him how impersonal and cold it looked. It was bad enough that there were no windows since the room required sterility at all times. However, the tiles and the hard white lights in the place did little to put the patient at ease.

As Garryn lay on the cushioned table in the middle of the room, surrounded by alien looking devices, Larian could see the young man's discomfort. Larian could hardly blame him. When Larian had set up his practice he had the Neurological Examination room set up according to recommended specifications. However, having gained more experience in the years. He knew that some of the requirements demanded were just routine. For the hundredth time, he made a mental note to improve the image of this room when time allowed it.

One of those improvements would certainly be the lighting.

Garryn was trying to avoid the glare of the powerful lights as he looked up, with little success. The lights were mainly for illumination during surgical treatments and Larian could never understand why they were installed here. There was no surgery done here, only complex mental scans that read synaptic patterns and checked for chemical balances. However, Garryn was brought here for another reason;

Larian wanted to see his dreams.

He had developed a kind of routine since coming across Garryn and patients like him. Since his last session with the Primus, Larian and his colleagues, Darix and Alwi had chosen a name for their newly discovered psychological epidemic. The Dreaming. It was probably a little simplistic, but it best described the ailment. For they knew nothing else about the condition.

Larian's treatment plan since coming across the Dreaming was probably just as simplistic. The preliminary session allowed him to learn all the background information on the patient required so he could establish if the patient was a potential Dreamer. Once completed, the next course of action would be to bring them here, to see for himself, what they dreaming at night.

"Is this going to hurt?" Garryn asked.

"No, the procedure is absolutely painless." Larian replied as he stood against a counter preparing the tranquilliser that would put Garryn to sleep so they could begin. "I'll give you a sedative and when you're under, I'll activate the translating device." He explained. At the same time making certain the Inoculator was set on the correct dosage.

"Does this mean I won't be able to wake up?" Garryn asked, uncertain whether he liked the idea of being sedated, even if it was for a higher purpose.

"Yes it does," Larian replied, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder. "We need to see everything that your mind is trying to tell you, even beyond what frightens you into walking."

The Mentalist could see the apprehension in Garryn's face, but gave him the dignity of not voicing it. Instead, he tried to allay the young man's fears because it would go better on Garryn if he was not fighting the procedure.

"I will be watching your life signs on my medical scanner at all times," Larian replied, gesturing to a console on the adjacent wall of the room. "If your signs even flutter, I'll bring you out of it. So don't worry."

"Okay Lar," Garryn sighed and rested his head back on the table, facing front again. "Let's get this over and done with."

Larian nodded and administered the drug to the young man's arm. Within seconds, it began to take effect and Larian saw Garryn's eye lids flutter as he tried to focus. The Mentalist turned towards the translator console, confident that the concoction would work quickly enough. There were two parts to the translator; the relay diodes and the actual translating console. He picked up the dull grey metal nodules and returned to Garryn, who was by now well and truly in a state of deep sleep. Placing the diodes on either side of Garryn's forehead, Larian quickly activated the devices by way of the control panel on his instrument table. The activation light flared in random order as the relays did their work.

"Search for translatable dream patterns." Larian instructed the voice command computer once he was seated.

"Searching...." the computer responded politely.

***********

During the first fifty minutes, the dream patterns revealed nothing out of the ordinary. The normal images of his life and fantasies played out in what was normal R.E.M dreaming, far removed from the recurring dream that Garryn had consulted him about. Larian nonetheless kept a vigil on the young man's vital signs. Not even the greatest Mentalists could predict the form or shape of a person's dreams. What would pass, would pass when Garryn was ready.

Garryn's dosage ensured he would be asleep for as long as five hours and fortunately a few minutes into the second hour, Larian's vigil came to fruit. At first he was not certain what he was seeing, after all, as accurate as the translators were, they were not completely infallible. They translated the pattern of synaptic pulses occurring during dreaming to a 97 per cent accuracy, who was say how much difference a three per cent error could cause. Still, as the patterns steadied, Larian was able to define much.

The dream was pleasant to begin with, Larian decided. He saw it through Garryn's eyes as the young man began walking through a field of golden stalks. It was a breath taking sight, seeing the whole cluster of stalks shimmer each time the wind caused them to sway. Garryn walked through it with a child's wonder, staring up at brilliant blue sky. What was it about the Dreaming that caused all its sufferers to see that amazing blue sky. The colour was vibrant and seemed to leap off the console screen. Unusual white birds sailed across the sky and the large bovine type animals roamed the distance hills. It was easy to become lost in the splendour of the place Larian thought. None of his other patients had seen a place rivalling this one, although the similarities were definitely there. The blue sky was one of the defining characteristics, as the crescent shaped moon, obscured largely by a yellow sun.

"A yellow star?" Larian exclaimed loudly, realising he had stumbled across something important. He had never seen a star in the other dreams. Let alone one that was yellow. However, such thoughts were driven away for the moment, as the screen revealed a significant shift in the mood of the dream.

Now it becomes unpleasant.

His estimation was no exaggeration of the facts. Watching the screen, he saw Garryn caught in a world of fire, virulent with flames and rising ash. As he watched the ensuing carnage and how Garryn was trapped there, he could feel the terror that Garryn was experiencing. Animals were dying all around the young man, whose helplessness was personified in his anguished expression.

It was then, the woman appeared.

Glancing at Garryn on the table asleep, he saw the young man reacting to the images he was seeing in his mind. His body twitched here and there, occasionally muttering something incomprehensible. Larian turned his attention back to the screen to see Garryn running towards the woman, trying to beat the hands of some unseen clock. The mentalist tried to see what were the flying things that had caused all this destruction, but Garryn's mind had obscured them too much. He saw only dark shapes that looked menacing as they as the acts they carried out.

The moment came when the woman died. At this point, Larian paid closer attention. Garryn told him that this was a focal point of sorts, because this would usually awaken him. On the screen, Garryn had fallen to his knees and had begun to scream, words that the translator could not decipher. Its matrix allowed it to translate the synaptic pulses to picture form, nothing more. Even though Garryn's physical self was muttering, none of the words seemed comprehensible, even though by now it sounded as if he was screaming.

All of a sudden, Garryn stopped screaming. He looked up into the sky with wide eyes full of terror. A strong gale force wind appeared, blowing out the fires around him and sending ash and dirt in all directions. Garryn was still staring upwards, squinting now, to shield his eyes from the flying grains of sands and burnt material. The amber glow disappeared and the sky darkened around him.

He was still staring when the entire scenery changed. Now they were in space. He could no longer see Garryn any more and Larian guessed he was now seeing through Garryn's eyes. They were flying though space with incredible speeds, moving past the silvery cratered moon like a streaking comet. The stars were almost close enough to touch, Larian thought. In the distance, the yellow star burned.

Though Garryn's eyes, Larian saw they were behind an iridescent blue and white world.

"But that's not possible," Larian whispered softly. "Cathomira's sun is red."

CHAPTER FIVE

I

Larian the Mentalist believed man was at his best when his mind was suitably challenged.

If that was true then at the moment, he was certainly at his best.

When the session with the Neural Translator was over, Larian had sent Garryn home with reassurances that nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. If the truth be known, nothing about the entire session was routine. He doubted Garryn's keen intellect would take him on his word or be fooled by his projected calm, but it was the only thing he could think do to at the time. However, if Garryn did disbelieve Larian, he chose not voice it and left after scheduling another session for later in the week.

When he was finally alone, Larian considered carefully the session just ended.

From his first encounter with the Dreaming, Larian had approached the dreams of his patients as if they were integral pieces to a cryptic puzzle. The basis of this idea was formed during the sessions with the translator, when he saw the variances in the dreamscape settings. As he looked into his patient's individual dreams, he realised that while the dreams were different, they were also alike. This discovery had given him a sense of security in the belief that the more pieces he saw, the clearer his understanding of the condition would be.

It was a belief held firm until he saw Garryn's version.

Garryn's dream created new riddles. The events that Larian was so certain of reconstructing were now meaningless. All this time, he believed empathically that his prognosis was correct, that the dreams were suppressed memories of the war on Cathomira. Now it seemed, that perhaps that was not what it was about at all. Instead, he was rocked to the core by the realisation that he had opened the door to something entirely alien. Even his faith in the treatment he was administering, foundered as an animal caught in a trap. For the first time in his professional career, he was unsure of how to continue.

Like his colleagues, Darix and Alwi, Larian always assumed the dreams were manifestations of repressed memories struggling to surface. Not an unreasonable assumption considering that all the patients, had a visible gap in their early childhood. He took it for granted that the dreams were these buried memories from a very distant past in the patient's life. Considering what happened on Cathomira, it was not unusual that these experiences could be shut away for so long. However, his entire prognosis was founded on the belief that these dreams were representations of that terrible war on Cathomira.

That is until the emergence of Garryn's ye