r the tree tops, circled, slid quickly
downward.

"FLAT!" Mason yelled. And as they stretched prone, they saw Cain
running toward the ship from a great open shaft in the ground, a
round, shiny thing beneath one arm.

A probing needle of white hot flame stabbed out from one of the
descending ships, and there was a scream, and then Cain fell, a
charred skeleton, to the ground. The shiny thing he had carried rolled
lazily along the grass, teetered on edge, plopped silently over.

Mason was poised like a runner awaiting the starting gun. For a split
second he hesitated as the guard ships touched down, their weapons
momentarily screened by the lush foliage at the clearing's edge.

And then Mason was running, Judith and Kriijorl only steps behind him.

There were perhaps seconds before the armed women of the Thrayxite
guard detail would break from the forest's edge.

He stumbled, fell, and his outstretched hands touched the round, shiny
thing, and he could smell the reek of Cain's smouldering skeleton.

Kriijorl and Judith hesitated.

"Damn it, run!" and he felt his scream tear at his dry throat, and
then clutched the metal disk to him and regained his feet in a single
whip-like motion, and bolted after them toward the gaping air lock of
the ship that Cain had never reached.

There was a hissing sound and a wave of heat crackled behind him,
seared his flesh beneath his tattered tunic. And there was another,
inches before him, scorching smoking scars in the soft green turf, and
shouted orders filled the air scant yards behind him.

Then somehow he was at the air lock, and strong hands were pulling him
over its edge, and it swung to, glowed red as a bolt of raw energy
spent itself harmlessly against it.

"Now Ihelos!" Mason said as he fought for new breath.

* * * * *

It was white, all white around him.

He tried to sit up but there was the touch of gentle hands that stayed
him, lowered him back upon the bed.

There were two of them--tall, like Vikings, and memory returned
slowly. There was a smaller one, too, standing straight and erect
beside him, like a proud queen from the pages of Earth's colorful
history.

Judith. And Kriijorl. And another. And in his hands there was the
silver disk. The can.

The can of records. The Book of the Saints.

He tried again to straighten, and then heard the voice of the one whom
he did not know.

"I am Yhevvak, Grand Liege of Ihelos," th