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  Petyr hesitated, then raised a hand. Pavel mumbled something, and the rifles were lowered. Petyr glared at Nicolus. “At best, you’re arrogant. Make your test, but one sign of threat and I promise you won’t survive it.”

  Nicolus’ hand shook as he withdrew a leather wallet from an inner pocket, and opened it flat on the table. The implements in it were familiar: analytical syringe with a display for blood sugar and hemoglobin count and a built-in chamber for sample prep. Trae held out his hand, felt a jab of pain. Numbers appeared on the screen of the instrument. Nicolus pressed a button, and a small glass square was ejected from a slot under the screen. He handed it to one of the priests, who walked quickly away with it.

  “It’ll take a few minutes. The readings here are normal. When did you last see a physician?”

  “He had a treatment just before we left Gan,” said Petyr, still looking and sounding angry.

  “He won’t have one here, but we’ll want to scan him.”

  Now Petyr seemed to soften. “I understand.”

  “I don’t,” said Trae.

  “Just a check. You’ll be having a lot of these to see how you’re reacting to the treatments, and we don’t know when the opportunities will arise.”

  Everyone seemed to relax just a bit, and Nicolus said, “While we’re waiting, perhaps you could tell us what happened on your journey here. We all had our individual assignments, and it seems to me security was penetrated on Gan even before you left.”

  Petyr told him what had happened, but wasn’t finished when the young priest came back with the results of the blood test, handing a sheet of paper and two photographs to Nicolus. The man studied them, looked up at Trae and smiled.

  “You are the Immortal son of Leonid Zylak, and his heir. We’ll do as he’s ordered us to do.”

  Trae pointed at the photographs. “Can I see those?”

  “Of course,” said Nicolus, and handed them to him. “They’re the signiature of your heritage.”

  Trae studied them. They were pictures of his blood, taken in the deep cold of a proton microscope. Red blood cells: round, fat and healthy, each surrounded by a dilute cloud of specks, like tiny insects. The one picture was at high magnification, and the specks were not insects but huge molecules frozen in an instant of their functioning. There was one looking like a partially closed fist, with two extended fingers caught in the act of unraveling a bacterium. Another shaped like a tripod and a telescoping shaft with a bulb on the end had been probing the surface of a red blood cell. Others had floated freely, tangled knots of small molecules with cavities, bumps, and bizarre protuberances. “They look like little machines,” said Trae. “This is what I get in the treatments?”

  “They do what modern medicine cannot,” said Nicolus, “but they’re activated and sustained by a messenger molecule that occurs naturally in only the blood of Immortals. The molecule is too small to be seen at this magnification, but without it the machines can’t survive. Those of us who are normal humans are not helped by the kind of treatments you receive. We wish it were otherwise, of course. Perhaps one day we’ll find the answer. But these pictures identify you as an Immortal, and you must somehow be the blood son of Leonid Zylak. Two of the machines here are his specific design. He and his wife Tatjana are the only two Immortals I’m aware of who have ever remained in our system for any length of time, and your coming here fits with instructions Leonid left behind when my father held the position I now hold. Leonid told us his son had died, but would be reborn, and follow him to where he was going. He left a package for you in our care; it has been secreted in our historical archives for nearly a century. I will take you to it.”

  “What’s in the package?” asked Trae. Nicolus shook his head and didn’t answer. The priests stood up and looked anxious to leave. Petyr still looked uncertain about what was going on, and Pavel hovered only a step away with his soldiers.

  “Our escort comes with us,” said Petyr, and Nicolus only nodded at him in reply.

  They walked across a foyer, sunlight beating down through a glass ceiling with yellow rays radiating from a red center, a symbol of The Source. There was a long hallway. Robed priests passed them, looking curiously at their military entourage. Winding stairs in polished stone took them down three levels in increasing gloom to a set of double doors where an armed guard opened a panel in the wall. Nicolus placed one thumb on a small screen, and there was a dull thump. Trae felt a small shock wave beneath his feet. The door opened, and they went inside. It looked like a warehouse, illuminated by incandescent lamps in a high ceiling, row upon row of shelves stacked on top of each other to three times the height of a man. All were crammed solid with like-sized boxes labeled only with large numbers in black.

  Nicolus led them down a long row of shelves and went straight to a box labeled 997 at shoulder height. He slid it off the shelf without effort and led them farther to an array of cubicles, each with chair and table. He beckoned Trae inside one of them, and put the box on the table. “We’ll wait out here. The contents are only for you to see.”

  It was clear Petyr didn’t like what was happening; his eyes narrowed and he looked around rapidly. Now he was suspicious of what was inside the box. Poor Petyr. Trae had no suspicions, except it was vital he know what had been left behind for him. He was to go where his father had gone, a father seen only in a dream. Nicolus had actually seen Leonid Zylak when he was young. The man was real. And Leonid Zylak had left something for his murdered son who was supposed to be reborn and eventually follow his father to wherever he’d gone.

  The top flaps of the cardboard box were loosely sealed by something sticky, and Trae easily loosened them. Inside was a second box, ornately carved in black wood and packed in crumpled paper. Trae immediately remembered the box. It had been on a table near his bed, in the room where the fire had come. He pulled it out, held it gently in his hands, a thing from a dream, perhaps a thing from another life.

  The box was not locked. He lifted a small latch, and opened it.

  There were three plas-disks stamped with the ringed-world logo of League Bank, a box of holocubes, unlabeled, a velvet bag containing a handful of gold sovereigns and an envelope marked “Anton” in an elaborate hand-script. The envelope flap pulled loose easily. A faint scent, musky, wafted from inside it. Trae felt a momentary lapse in his attention, as if in a daydream. Conscious again, he pulled a folded piece of paper from the envelope and opened it. This time he was flooded with a musky, sweet odor that reached up behind his eyes, and he blinked.

  A letter in beautiful script, and he read it. In his mind flickered the vision of a sharp-featured man with black hair and trimmed beard, but it dissolved into Petyr’s face again, mouth moving with the words Trae read, and a voice that was not Petyr’s.

  “My Dear Anton:

  “If you’re reading this, then you’ve reached Galena and are prepared to take your rightful place in The Family. I don’t know your age at this instant, but will know it before you finish reading this letter. We’re connected, you see, connected in a way that will soon become clear to you. All Immortals are connected, my son. We can be apart physically, yet remain connected through mind and spirit, if only we listen. And as of this moment, you will begin to listen.

  “It was necessary for me to go away when treachery first took you from me, but I never really left you. That treachery has been answered in part, and final steps in our vengeance will be taken today. But now you are reborn, as is your mother, and we wait for you. We love you very much, but you must find us. It is part of life’s journey for you. You will learn from it, and gain the maturity and wisdom you need for leadership in a world of mortal men.

  “You should give the holo-cubes to whatever guardian The Church has assigned to you; he will know what to do with them. The disks are for you; they give you access to two accounts and a safe-deposit vault in League Bank of Lycrus, only blocks from where you are now. Further instructions will be there. Put all other concerns aside. Finding us is the t
ask you must accomplish. All else is a journey.

  “We await you with hope, and love.

  “Your Father, and Mother

  “Faithful of The Source Within Us.”

  Trae’s head swirled with musky scent, and when he looked up from the letter his eyes wouldn’t focus. The vision of Petyr was still there, and the man’s eyes were moist. Suddenly there was a sound in his head, not of one voice, but two, a calling that was a murmur.

  “Trae. Trae. Trae . . .”

  His eyes suddenly focused and he was startled to consciousness. Sweat covered his brow, and there was a tingling in his hands. The musky odor was gone. He left the letter in the box and removed the other contents, then placed the box in its storage container. The entourage was waiting when he stepped outside the cubicle. “I know what I have to do,” he said solemnly. Nicolus smiled, but not Petyr.

  “In private,” said the soldier of The Church.

  “We’re at your service.” Nicolus bowed.

  “We need transportation to League Bank of Lycrus right away.” Trae looked at Petyr. “Pavel and his people should come with us.”

  “See to it,” said Nicolus; a small, commanding gesture with his hand and the two young priests quickly left them.

  Trae blinked his eyes hard. Musk seemed to penetrate his brain, and his vision was still fuzzy. “There’s a letter for the Emperor of Galena, and I have to get it for him.”

  “What?” asked Petyr, and then Trae’s vision suddenly cleared.

  “Now,” he said. “Our work isn’t here, Petyr. We have to move on.”

  Now Nicolus looked concerned. “What about the Lyraens on Gan?” He replaced the storage box on its shelf, and led them towards the exit.

  “The problem will be solved, but not by me. There is another. We’re all connected, mortals and Immortals alike.”

  He was only confusing them. Petyr looked blank, and Nicolus had an embarrassed smile on his face. “It’ll all be clear soon,” said Trae, and followed the two men up the stairs again, Pavel and his soldiers right behind him.

  The car they’d arrived in awaited them, Pavel and his men going to a gray military vehicle right behind it. They were in and out of the car in minutes after a drive of only a few blocks.

  League Bank of Lycrus was housed in a seven-story building without windows or adornment, the interior softly lit by ceiling panels in full spectrum light and polished marble ceiling and floors in light green. Pavel and his men remained outside, but Pavel watched as Trae marched up boldly to one of ten clerks and handed two disks to him. “I’d like to update the balance in these accounts, please, and get a printout of it.”

  The clerk smiled at Trae’s formal tone in his attempt to seem older than he was. But his smile faded when the accounts came up on his screen. “I’ll need proof of access. Thumbprint, please.” The clerk pushed a identity pad across the counter, and Trae pressed his right thumb onto a small transparent square of plastic there.

  “It’ll be a moment. Is there anything else?” The clerk looked very serious, now.

  “Yes. I need access to this box.” Trae handed him the third disk. The clerk seemed distracted. He was looking at his screen, and his eyes seemed quite large. “Of—of course. Ah, the printout is ready.” He handed Trae a small sheet of paper. Trae only glanced at it, and put it in his pocket. The clerk gaped at him.

  “The box. More proof of identity? My name?” His heart was pounding.

  “We use no names here, sir, and the box is listed under your accounts. Any business you do here is safe with us, sir. Here is your access card, box twelve-sixty-nine.” He pointed to his left. “The vault clerk will let you in. And thank you for your business with League Bank of Lycrus.”

  I should think so, thought Trae, still considering the numbers he’d seen in a glance at the accounts printout.

  A young woman scanned his access card and opened the vault for him. Petyr waited outside. Inside was like an entire floor of another building, box drawers floor to ceiling, and cubicles with closed doors and partitions the height of a tall man, all of it in silver metal. The woman used her card and his to open box twelve-sixty-nine. Trae slid the box out. It was light. The woman showed him to a cubicle and closed the door behind him as he put the box on a table and opened it.

  It was nearly empty. There was a sealed envelope addressed to “Ruler of All Galena, May The Source Sustain Him,” and signed “Leonid Zylak” in elaborate script. A single sheet of paper, folded in half. A vial of yellowish liquid with a pressurized enhaler attached.

  Trae unfolded the paper and read: “My son. A bit more mystery, and you’re on your way. The letter is for the Emperor of Galena. I assume it’s Rasim Siddique; I knew his father and he was a good man, his family among the faithful. It’s vital the letter reaches him unopened after you leave the planet. You will go to Elderon. Everything you need to know is in the vial of liquid I’ve left here. Take all of it, both nostrils, before you sleep tonight, and destroy the vial. Destroy this note. I promise you’ll be full of answers to your questions in the morning. We love you. Father.”

  Trae put the vial in a breast pocket, the crumpled up note in his pants’ pocket, and closed the box. Trae. Trae. He shivered. We’re waiting. Soon, now.

  He returned the box to its place in the wall and the clerk let him out of the vault when he rang for her. Petyr looked anxious.

  “Well?”

  “There’s this, and a note. We’re going to Elderon.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. Ask me in the morning. I have to see Nicolus again right away. He has the contacts in the palace, and this letter has to be delivered privately to Emperor Siddique.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s vital he receives it after we’ve left.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Trae!”

  “Tomorrow, Petyr, please be patient with me. I don’t understand what’s happening either.” He patted his breast pocket. “There’s something I have to take tonight. A drug of some kind. Maybe all this will make sense in the morning.”

  “A liquid?” asked Petyr.

  “Yes. I inhale it.”

  “Ah, hah. Well, let’s get to Nicolus again, and put you to bed. I expect to be enlightened in the morning. I’m not just along for the ride, you know.”

  Something was left unsaid, something Petyr understood, but not Trae. Petyr seemed anxious to get moving again. They went back to the car and drove to The Church. Pavel and his soldiers finally left them. They met with Nicolus, and Trae gave him the note to read. The priest refolded the note, and it was like a moment of prayer or meditation when they burned it to ashes in a porcelain dish. He took the letter, said he’d immediately contact Assan and make sure it was personally delivered to Emperor Rasim Siddique in privacy.

  It was time to leave. The priest gave Petyr a small, metal suitcase to take with him. While Trae wondered what was in it, he didn’t ask. And while Nicolus had seemed somewhat hostile at first meeting, now he was reverent. He bowed to Trae, and wished for him the wisdom of The Source in his journey, and as he did this it seemed to Trae there was a chorus in his head, saying, “Listen, now, and The Source of All will be with you in each step you take.”

  A car came for them from the palace; it was small, plain and unmarked. The driver was unfamiliar to them, and had the bearing of a military man. He drove with wild abandon and they were at the palace in two minutes. He opened the car door for them. “Follow me, please. Your luggage is in your rooms.”

  They went past the room where they’d met with Assan and up a flight of stairs to a long hallway with closed doors. The end suite was theirs, and Trae was impressed by the opulence: five rooms, plush carpets, deep-cushioned furniture, and huge bay windows looking out on the gardens behind the palace. Their driver pointed to a telephone in its cradle on a glass table. “Just lift the receiver and wait. Someone will bring you whatever you wish, and your meals
will be served in here. Please remain in your rooms; there will be guards outside your door. Feel free to use the balcony; the gardens are in full bloom now.”

  He left them, and closed the door behind him.

  “Very nice,” said Petyr, looking around.

  “I feel like a prince,” said Trae.

  “Maybe you are. Why don’t you pick up that phone, and order some food for us. I’m hungry, and you should eat something before I scan you.”

  “What?”

  “Brain status check, whatever you want to call it. I wondered how we’d find someone to do it, and here it is.” Petyr raised the little suitcase Nicolus had given him. “A portable unit, even has a battery, and it takes those holocubes you found. Now show me that drug you’re supposed to take.”

  Trae showed him the vial with its compressed-gas atomizer. Petyr peered at it. “That’s an awful lot of liquid.”

  “You know what it is?”

  “Probably like the stuff you’ve been getting in your treatments, only a lot more of it.” Petyr smiled. “Maybe you’ll be a genius in the morning.”

  “I’ll settle for knowing how we get to Elderon. I don’t even know where that is.”

  “I’ve heard the name,” said Petyr, and flipped up the latches on the suitcase. “One of the first colonies, closer to the galactic core. For now we need to do a scan, and I want your blood sugar up for it. I need an updated neural map of your brain before you take that drug. The telephone. Use it.”

  Trae called, said who he was, was informed their dinner was already on the way. It arrived a minute later, served by two men in white livery, and they ate at the glass table outside on the balcony. It was dusk, and the air was sweet. The meal was plentiful: green vegetables, yellow yams, a shank of lamb that fell from the bone at the touch of a fork, and a sticky pastry rich with dark honey.

  “Oh, I’m stuffed,” said Trae, and pushed away from the table. “Now I’ll be sleepy.” He poured a cup of tea; maybe that would help.