EXCERPT SUMMARY:

Far, far away to the east, in New York City, where magic and power and rumor swirled in their own urban galaxy, a very ancient and powerful creature lived in the highest tower money could buy. While many of his kind lived and worked in the greater New York area, coiled around the rise and fall of stocks and bonds in an endless dance of power and wealth, he was by far the oldest in that den of snakes. He was old enough that his thick fingers still dreamed of worn gold coins and his body of piles of treasure beneath his scales. Now, of course, he slept only on damask of the finest quality, spread over a memory foam mattress—nowhere near as comfortable as cold hard cash.

That night, he was window shopping, his hungry eye roving over page after page of the most exotic goods Sotheby’s online could offer.

If one lived long enough, even the most exquisite meals tasted like ashes on the tongue; breathe often enough, and even bottled air from Everest smelled stale and flat. He could hardly be bothered to hide his own nature when he was alone—the secret theater of the Council and its Compact had been a bit of a thrill for a while, but Mr. Drake—just Drake to his friends—was getting bored.

He yawned, and his long, forked tongue spilled out, unfurling and flicking against his human nose. No one was around to see it, so he wasn’t breaking the Law, and besides, he missed all the parts of his true shape quite badly. Missed a herd of sheep’s eyes rolling in terror. Probably lamb again tonight, from that place on the other side of Broadway.

Mr. Drake’s lair took up the entire upper floor of his tall tower in the center of the city, wide rooms filled with the carcasses of kingdoms burned to the ground beneath his fearsome will. Company logos on banners from decades past, those battle standards of board members who had crumbled and fallen to their knees in merger upon acquisition upon merger. Darwin had certainly been on the money about the adaptation of species. In the face of adversity, Drake and the rest of his kind had thrived, but—

But he wanted to spread his wings high above his head, soar over the crescent moon, sweep down on farmland and gout flame from his throat; the glorious crescendo of a sun going supernova. Instead, he stoked another cigar, the smoke curling from his nose a pacifying reminder of who he had to be now.

His cellphone lit up, vibrating on the long cocobolo desk. Drake looked down at it with a grimace and tapped the screen with one stubby finger.

“Drake,” he said. “How do you have this number?”

“I have my ways, Old One.”

He was in the middle of pouring himself another whiskey, ready to tear this joker a new set of holes, when he recognized the voice and sighed.

“Old One, is it? When was your sweet sixteen, Morgan?”

“Oh well, you know me,” The Hollow Woman sounded far too cheery for his tastes. “Evergreen.”

Drake snorted.

“Isn’t it still daylight on your side of the world? Why don’t you go out and catch some rays, you old hag? Go get a tan. Would be good for the both of us.”

“Have it your way,” Morgan said sweetly. “Don’t trouble yourself with little old me, then.”

“I won’t,” he snarled, and hung up. Smoke was starting to waft down from the high ceilings, having pooled there in those short minutes on the phone. The AC here was top notch, of course, the best AC in the city, but nothing manmade could keep up with his kind’s distemper. He flipped through a few more pages on Sotheby’s, but quickly, rapidly stabbing his finger on the mouse. He tried to hum something to himself, and his phone buzzed again.

“All right. This is getting old pretty fast,” he said. “Spit it out already and go away. What do you want?”

“Want? Oh, darling Drake, not a thing. Not a single thing.”

He laughed, a deep rumble like an earthquake, the magma pushing up beneath the surface.

“Wanting is what you’re for, Morgan. Maybe you forgot?”

“Well, now. Maybe you’re not interested.” She was almost purring. Purring! “I’m sure one of your brothers will be.” And she hung up on him.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit, he thought. The haze of smoke had curled down just above the surface of his cocobolo desk. If he wasn’t careful, he would trigger the alarms on the floor below again. He took a breath. He took another. I am a calm blue ocean, he thought to himself. I can be one with my feelings.

 

EXCERPT 1: THE BEGINNING:

Erys stood in the hospital room’s doorway, every muscle rigid. He’d arrived early, expecting to slip in quietly to take the system readings while the child slept. But, silent and alone, the sick little girl watched him from the bed with shimmering eyes. Purple bruises mottled her face. A red line ran a jagged path from her delicate nose to her dry lips. The stark-white sheet quivered as her small body trembled.

His throat tightened. Maybe he should come back later. It’d be much better for the child to remain unaware of his presence. It’d be better for him too. Not having to deal with the staring or the questions about who he was. Or the judgment.

But no. His job here—this job—should be routine. Easy. At least as easy as anything could be that brought an Elegrian to the foundation colony of the human Alliance on Loridan. Regardless, there was nothing ordinary about the suffering before him. He straightened his uniform jacket and crossed the threshold.

“Zhaaaaa…” He crooned words of comfort in the ancient language of his own people. It didn’t matter that the child was human and he was not—the melody of solace was universal. Besides, he should look human enough to the youngster. The one protein distinguishing his physiology from human was not outwardly visible. The only alien race either Elegrians or humans had encountered was each other, and in appearance they could be next-door neighbors.

The child’s shaking calmed. Her warm response encouraged him.

Brisk steps brought him to the girl’s bedside. Hidden under the covers, the bio-bed’s myriad sensors recorded enough infinitesimal measurements to enable Loridan’s treatment system to cure nearly any affliction. Or would have, if the complex network had not been broken. Loridan’s human techs could not figure out how to regenerate the Intelligent Data which gave the system its power. That was why he was here. Convoluted data issues—living data issues—were his specialty.

He crouched, pulled a sterile wipe from the dispenser, and gently cleaned the blood from the child’s face. “There. Better?” He pronounced the words carefully. The harder he tried, the more the liquid trill of his accent became exaggerated. He hoped she understood him.

Her eyes widened at the sound of his voice. “Are you a doctor?”

She spoke in a whisper, but her plea pinged loud and clear on his psychic senses. “No, shimwa.” He searched his memory for the translation. “Little one.” Deliberately, he relaxed his expression. “I’m here to help your doctors. To repair their equipment, so they can help you get better.” He reached out a finger to dab the wetness from her cheeks.

Her eyes followed his hand, and she stared at his uniform sleeve. At the insignia displayed prominently along with those of rank and division. He recognized the shadow of understanding that darkened her expression. He’d seen it before.

She recoiled, and a sob shook her frail form.

He had no words in any language to relieve this fear.

 

EXCERPT 2: THE HUMANITY FIRST COALITION:

The long hallway led to a large atrium. Brilliant sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows to make jeweled patterns on the floor, displaying quiet elegance in contrast to the ragged misery of the facility’s youngest patients. Even at this early hour, the area was filled with people. Too many people for him to slip by unnoticed.

Rras. He bit his lip to keep from uttering the curse aloud.

He kept his eyes focused straight ahead even though his skin tingled under the stares of passing humans as they caught the symbol emblazoned on his sleeve. If only he could take the blasted thing off. But that provision of the treaty between Elegria and the human Alliance was rigidly enforced. And he didn’t need to be a martyr. The scent of smoldering ashes announced each observer’s disapproval, transforming into the sour tang of fear the longer each gaze lingered. At least none of them confronted him directly like that wretched security chief—what was his name, Krenshaw?—had upon his arrival at the colony.

He had learned to shield himself against those reactions on Earth and the other colonies, but here on Loridan the intensity was so much more potent. But then, what had he expected? Loridan had been the site of the deadly First Contact between his people and the humans. Twenty-five years had not been nearly long enough to soothe the mistrust Elegria had earned that day.

He was glad when they passed through the hospital exit. They headed in the direction of the research facility on the other side of the concourse.

The atmosphere shifted. The space around him grew dense with chants and rhythmic speech coming from a gathering in front of them. As he approached the group with Kaytee, their eyes darted toward him, expressions turning from spirited enthusiasm to thinly veiled hostility. A colorful banner caught Erys’s eye. Humanity First Coalition.

His pulse quickened, and a flicker of apprehension ignited in his chest. He’d run into the protest group a few times before on the human home world. Whispers curled through the air, snatches of conversation about “aliens” and where he came from. He reinforced his mental buffer against the sting of their disdain.

He glanced at Kaytee. “Let’s pick up the pace.” The sooner he could move past the rancor, the better.

She looked at him with obvious distaste. He flinched. The person who would be directing his work shared the ideals of the protest group. He swore under his breath.

 

EXCERPT 3: GROUP MIND LINK:

Erys surveyed the group, making direct eye contact with each Elder one at a time. If you let this go on, let the saboteur—one of our own—proceed free and clear, cause all those deaths—children’s deaths, Mashraw forgive us—you will confirm the Alliance’s worst fears about us.

He let that sink in before continuing. What’s more, you guarantee another war. You need to understand what that means.

Then he switched away from words to an intricate mosaic of thought particles, each nuance bound to another. His mind-web amplified the link into a true empathic bond. More than the sounds of language, more than a picture, more than emotion. It was a far more intimate communication method, and it would cost him.

Bracing himself, he dragged them deeper into his mind.

You claim you have no fear of war. They should know better. They had lived through the military conflict with Alliance forces. And worse, the brutal civil war at home that followed, nearly destroying their world. But except for Tares, they had been sequestered during the worst of it in a safe haven. Vid replays and walks through cold ruins were sobering, but they did not come close to the actual experience.

This is what you would bring upon our people. He led them into his childhood memory of the night that changed everything in Elegria’s capital city.

He—and everyone in the link—cowered in the street. Around them, the city fragmented into radiant red remnants bearing little resemblance to homes and businesses. The Elder Hall sloughed its outer skin like molten lava, liquid orange, the remains a glowing amber skeleton with arms raised in supplication to a dark, uncaring sky.

The smell of burning wood gave way to the stench of burning flesh.

Colne balked and tried to pull away.

Clamping down his control of the link, Erys compelled him to stay. Sparks streaked through the room, followed by glinting golden filaments. Suppressing a shudder, he forced them to join him in reliving his worst memory. The sickening, sweet scent of his father’s blood. The whisper of tortured last words dying on his father’s tongue. Tares’s hand, like a giant claw, digging into his shoulder, pulling him away.

The bitter taste of losing something dear and irreplaceable.

He was ten years old, and the nature of war was carved into his soul that night.

 

EXCERPT 4: ESCAPE IN THE HOPPER:

Krenshaw rushed up the ramp and slammed the hatch shut. With a deft move he engaged the lock. The hatch viewer showed the man hanging onto the entry handhold just outside the locked door.

“Pilot’s seat.” Erys got the words out between clenched teeth. “Quickly.” He was working overtime to hang on to consciousness.

Kaytee put her arm around his shoulders and steered him to the command chair. Pounding on the hull reverberated through the small hopper cabin. Their attacker was not giving up. At least his presence was keeping his fellows from firing on them.

Erys’s arm trembled. The smell of the chief’s apprehension was rank in his nose. Behind him, Kaytee stood stiff as an iron rod, her hands gripping his shoulders. He stretched his hand toward the control panel, stroked it gently. His fingers left a trail of blood.

He inhaled sharply. Suppressed a curse.

This time he did not seek to neutralize the controls but rather visualized them in their operating state. The hopper hummed to life. His energy sapped, he sank back in the pilot’s seat and ratcheted up his pain shield.

He reached his other hand to the left side of the control panel. Flinched as he forced the contact. Then he took over with his mind, and the craft rose from the ground.

The main view screen flashed on automatically when the hopper took to the air. The man hanging onto the hatch door released his hold, falling to the ground. The remaining thugs crowded onto the landing pad below them. One raised a large tube to his shoulder. The crumbler. With its settings adjusted from micro-assault to maximum width and range, the illegal weapon could definitely bring down a hopper.

Erys toughened his resolve, his will holding the controls in a life-or-death grip. He was a better than average pilot—but what he was doing now went beyond any evasive maneuvering he had learned in his training.

An earsplitting boom rumbled through the hopper. Then, the groan of twisting metal. The caustic fumes of melting plastic. The tingle of overworked circuits pulsing in the control panel beneath his hands.

They had taken a hit.

***

EXCERPT 5: TASHAU DISCOVER (313 words):

Fear spiked in his companions. The emotion hit the edge of his mind like a fist, and he swayed. Their panic smelled like charred kindling. Hodeech. He raised his mental defenses back into place. The negative outside energies faded.

He held his hand up to the others. “It’s off now. It’s safe.”

Krenshaw’s body stayed rigid, his guard still up, but Kaytee’s stance eased. Her increasing trust in him was a salve on his spirit.

He gazed past the Markie. Water tinkled in the little creek and sparkles glittered where the still-tranquil cavern lights reflected. The wasuberry bushes, the Mother’s Sentinel, and the other foliage quivered in the breath of moving air.

He stepped closer to the water. Moss-covered rocks the size of wasuberries lined the edge of the water flow. There was something about that fine, bright green moss…

He crouched down and studied it.

Touched it.

Smelled it.

Tasted it.

Tashau. The heart of life on his world.

This moss was rich in the substance.

The lights in the cavern did not change, and the vibrations settled into an underlying purr. Ever since he’d made mind contact with the something that lived here, he and his companions seemed to be welcome. Had it recognized him, just as he now recognized the Tashau?

He raised his hand, the end of the bandage now smeared green. “The moss on the rocks—its basic organic composition is mostly Tashau.”

Kaytee’s furrowed brow told him she did not know what he was talking about. He clarified. “You call it delluzine.”

Her jaw dropped open. “Delluzine. The amino acid that makes Intelligent Data possible. Even your Markie here is constructed primarily out of delluzine, inside its casing.”

“Yes.” He clipped the word. “It’s also the foundation of Elegrian physiology.” Now he realized why this place had interacted with the Markie. Why it had reacted to him.