A tall, rather regal-looking female spotted the visitor, handed her power wrench to a priest, and made her way over. Her name was Bree Bricana, and beyond the almost palpable magnetism that surrounded her, there was nothing to distinguish the high priestess from her subordinates. Certainly not the rough work clothes, tool belt, or heavily abraded boots. Both were leaders and knew each other well. The tu, or nonsexual embrace appropriate to male-female friends felt both natural and unforced. Each took a step back. “You look well, admiral.”
“As do you,” Andragna replied truthfully. “Work clothes become you.”
Bricana laughed. “I understand that you chose to walk ... Who would have thought that legs could be so useful?”
“Yes,” Andragna agreed soberly. “But for how long?
The Sheen are on the way.”
Fur rippled down both sides of Bricana’s face. “I share your concern. Come ... we’ll find a place to sit.”
Andragna followed the high priestess through a maze of neatly stacked construction materials and into a fungus-lit tunnel. It wasn’t until he was within the corridor itself that he realized that he felt more comfortable there. Why? Because it resembled one of the passageways in a spaceship, that’s why. If he had his way, if the race continued its journey, how long would it be until Thraki were no longer comfortable beyond the hulls of their spaceships? A thousand annums? Ten thousand? And was that good or bad?
The question went unanswered as the tunnel opened into a cavern. Alcoves had been carved into the sides of the chamber, creating rooms of various sizes. Bricana chose the largest of these, dropped her tool belt, and gestured toward some upended boxes. “Which would the admiral prefer? Rations or wall fasteners?”
“Rations,” Andragna replied solemnly, “in case I get hungry.”
The priestess laughed and took the other seat. “So, my friend, tell me the worst.”
Andragna’s facial fur rippled in different directions. He chose his words with care. “In spite of the fact that this planet meets many of our needs—the Confederacy becomes stronger with each passing day.”
“Yes,” Bricana agreed, “I listened to the audio portion of this morning’s meeting. You were quite articulate. 1 think it’s safe to say that there’s no possibility whatsoever that the aliens will allow themselves to be manipulated in the manner first described by Sector 4.”
Andragna felt a sense of relief. “I’m glad we agree.”
“However,” the priestess continued soberly, “we foresee the possibility of an even greater danger.”
The admiral’s ears stood straight up. An even greater danger? One that had already been discussed?
Here was something he didn’t know about but should have. He ordered his ears to relax and adopted a matter-of- fact tone. “Yes, our people face many threats... To which do you refer?”
But Bricana had seen the officer’s involuntary reaction and knew the truth. The possibility, no, the reality of what the Confederacy would do, hadn’t occurred to him yet. She kept her voice neutral. “We think the aliens will attack and, depending on how the conflict goes, might join forces with the Sheen.”
Andragna felt the fur bristle along the back of his neck. Of course! How could he have missed such an obvious possibility? Because he’d been trained to focus on the Sheen ... and the tactics of flight. A threat such as the one posed by the Confederacy lay outside the framework of his training and experience. And his subordinates, who had the same background, were no better equipped. He felt a crushing sense of shame.
It must have shown. Bricana was gentle. “You musn’t feel that way . . . We are what we have been. It could happen to any of us.”
Andragna looked up. “It didn’t happen to you.”
“Ah,” Bricana replied, “but it did. The only reason we have discussed the matter is the fact that something very close to this situation is mentioned in the Book of Tomorrows.”
As with many members of his monotheistic culture Andragna had a pretty good understanding of the gods, their attributes and powers, but didn’t really know very much beyond that. The truth was that like his military peers, the officer had more faith in the laws of physics than the somewhat wordy Tomes of Truth, one of which was called the Book of Tomorrows. The fact that it covered something that might have practical value came as a pleasant surprise. “Really? What does it say?”
Bricana seemed to look through him to something else. Her voice, which had been conversational up till then, seemed to deepen. The words, written hundreds of years before, had an archaic quality. “.. . And our people will settle a new world. Some will call it ‘home,’ and wish to stay there, while others will point to the stars, and the menace that follows. Beware of those who call themselves ‘friends,’ for they may attack, or align themselves with the menace. Run if you can, but failing that, call on the twins.”
