Desert Twilight

This desert scene is a little fuzzy due to scanning the whole picture. At least it softens the sky somewhat, and darkens the mood overall. What drew me to the subject were the hard lines, ala Cezanne. He'd have painted this one for sure, if they had deserts in England or France. Believe it or not, that's snow out there.

Splash One

Compared to the Six Forks Palladium, the Southern Sports Emporium was tinsel and mirrors. So went the consensus of three performers invited as special advisors. There was no mermaid palace behind the scenes, a private dressing area complete with food machines, fridge and microwave. Its pool was a modest affair with only a curtain that raised and lowered over the rear stage. A concealed door admitted the guests.

Lori, the resident star, cavorted in a suit of red scales, long brown hair flowing in her wake. Shoppers grew ever more vocal in anticipation of having four  of them to gawk at. The visitors were said to put on a top-rate act. 

Struggling into their suits behind the curtain, the trio lacked top-rate enthusiasm: blonde Binia in white, redhead Ellie in green, and the brunette Sirtis in blue. When they signaled readiness, the curtain raised to lively applause. Lori also joined in the welcome, standing in the neck-deep water.

Binia motioned her over. The suit had a sort of lobster paddle in lieu of elegant flukes. "Lori, we don't have feet. When you push off, use the crowns instead of the heels."

The store manager, Mr Stark, addressed the crowd with a mike. "Direct from our neighbor to the north, we're delighted to host Binia, Ellie, and Sirtis!" It was their clue to jump in.

The water's coldness was in contrast to the heated concourse at Six Forks. The pool itself, rather than being recessed, was a slapdash affair of plexiglass, and the concrete floor remained unpainted.

Ellie took a turn tossing the beach ball, having partnered with Lori. "I definitely like the glass. We only use it as a crowd barrier. But anyway, is this the only toy you have?"

"Well, so far." Lori batted the ball to Binia. "What do you guys have?" 

"A submarine, Frisbees, sea horses, flying fish. . . ." Ellie had the impression Lori wasn't all that interested. 

Sirtis as usual went her own way, zooming along the bottom, drumming on the glass to the thrill of kids--and a manically chasing, yapping terrier. 

During the break, all four sat with fins dangling in the water. Stark kept up a tempo of special "today only" deals. Fortunately it was too noisy for anyone to engage them in converse. Back home, the trio upheld the mermaid mystique by remaining silent in public. Lori suggested that wasn't very friendly to paying customers. 

That brought up Binia's next tip. "You need to do shows, like water dance or a coin toss, and that takes at least two of you. We have these pails and shovels for scooping coins, and a treasure chest to dump them in. What else. . . .no gum or hard candy. When you surface and take a breath, you might suck it into a lung." 

"Try some theme music," Ellie added. "We like Enya and Constance Demby. And it's a good idea to pin your hair. It looks good billowing under water, but when you surface, you look like a drowned sheep dog." 

Binia took a hard look at the home attraction. "Aren't you writing this down?"

"I don't know; Mr Stark isn't gonna lay out that much money."

"You mean--" Ellie traded looks with the others. "You're the only one here for the duration?"

Lori sloshed water with her fin. "Oh sure, I guess so. He'll probably hire somebody else by month's end, if the suit fits. Keep it fresh, he likes to say. I'm just an inventory checker who got 'volunteered' for this." 

"So, ladies." Sirtis contemplated her raised and dripping flukes. "We thought we were helping a sister. And all the time, this guy just wants free advertising. We've been punked!"

Stark emerged behind them with a grandiose bow. "Folks, don't forget our sale on outboard motors. But be careful out there, and watch out for the mermaids!"

"Oh yes." Sirtis balanced on her hands, did a powerful sweep of the tail, aimed at Stark's back. 

WHOP!

Stark made an ungainly splash, floundered and thrashed, struggled to keep head above water. Thinking it staged, the crowd roared appreciation. Stark had no choice but to affect a strained grin as he struggled onto the stage. "Are you nuts? Now the suit will shrink. It's ruined!"

Sirtis made as if to bite his nose, forcing him to lean away. "Watch out for the mermaids." 

Judgment of the Clueless

Gators U hosted its culture seminar at a convenient time for vampires: seven in the evening. Not that they believed in this escapee from a Lugosi film; Cambris had been discovered as a disembodied voice on the Wicca Horror Show, in keeping with the fact she could no more be filmed than reflect in a mirror. The college staff good-naturedly toed the line about no cell phones or cameras.

Professor Turkel let his glasses dangle on a sport coat with elbow patches as he took the podium. "We're pleased to have three members of a TV show. For those of you in journalism, writing or acting, their life experience should be insightful."

Seated behind the podium, Ed tried not to laugh. Neither Cambris nor Wicca were alive in the technical sense. Station management, also ignorant about that, had him in a real pickle.

"Let's introduce our guests," Turkel resumed. "Cambris you know by her stage name. With her are Ed and Wicca, producer and host respectively."

"Hostess," Wicca said with tired resolve. "I'm a hostess." Ed tried to pry her out of the seat. "Who, me? What do I say to these mask-wearing, TP-hoarding sheep?"

"Life experience," Ed insisted. "Try to keep it this side of the Twilight Zone."

With an eyeroll, Wicca sallied forth to more applause from the tiered spectators. "Umm. . . .why are soap bubbles green and purple?" It reminded Ed of the Munsters episode where Herman wowed the beatniks. "What else. . . .ladies! When you do floor exercise, put Fido out. He won't pass up an opportunity like that." Subdued tittering broke out. "If you're an older guy out jogging, and get passed by a girl pushing a carriage, hang up your shoes. And your cape!"

Ed, pushing fifty, didn't agree with the cape part. And Wicca didn't know the difference between life experience and crackpot philosophy.

"Who should we send to Mars? Weirdos who clog the grocery line because they crave the clerk's sole attention." That actually drew cheers and claps. "And drivers who hang their arm out the window." She made a smiling hand gesture in conclusion.

An alarmed Ed sprang up to seize her wrist. "I keep telling you--it's a thumbs up!"

"And I say this one is longer, so it makes more of a friendly greeting!"

The crowd laughed. Ah--it was a comedy warmup for the main speaker. Cambris, though, was equally at a loss for what this bunch needed to hear, and required some coaxing.

Wicca pulled her up. "They think you're a playwright, girlfriend. Get out there!"

Pads and notebooks whispered out of satchels when Cambris came forth. "Shall you fain find joyance in the judgment? How so in a shadow time of changeling twaddle, polemics e'er relumed, and a script ripped unread?"

A girl whose mask sported bunnies raised a gloved hand. "It was effective to put 'ripped' after 'script', since that changes it from an adjective to a verb." The professor nodded approval, but it didn't sit well with a former village matron who brooked no sass from pre-medieval serfs.

Cambris turned pinpoint grackle eyes on Ed. "This mortal dares to intermeddle, pitting piffle jellified against the dissonance of eons."

Ed bowed his way forward, making a self-conscious wave to the crowd. "They're supposed to do that. It's a teaching seminar." He scurried back to his seat.

"I see the problem," Wicca said. "These people don't know when they're being insulted. I always thought the backpacks make them look like little parachuters."

"Chill," Ed muttered.

The audience seemed to enjoy the byplay, so much gimmickry in their estimation.

"Whence your course," Cambris posited, " 'neath doomed skies? Mine own path wends 'tween worlds and words insentient. Naught to our gatherage lends empyreal tryst; none but solace of nocturne and moonmist."

"Hrrmmm." Ed squirmed, but the students were busy writing it down. What else would a "vampire" talk about?

"You said life experience," Wicca pointed out. "In our case, undead experience. Ha ha ha!"

A goateed youth in a logger's cap raised a hand. "Did you get your skills through an MFA?"

Again Ed had to ease on stage to translate for her. "Master of Fine Arts. It's just another degree you go way in debt for, and can't find a job."

It didn't improve Cambris' opinion of today's society. She swept a fluted arm to encompass it all. "Yon commonage is enrapt in a turpitude less loved in my day, and the more avidly they do evanesce."

Prophetic sentiment notwithstanding, the crowd applauded the display of wordsmithing. Professor Turkel, still clapping, replaced Cambris at the podium. "Marvelous. We can almost believe she's a creature of the night. Am I right? I picked up on some unusual word pairs. I think we'll call the style 'Cambrience'." Both laughter and clapping signaled the group's agreement.

The trio headed backstage, ostensibly having garnered a few fans for the horror show. Ed hoped he hadn't soured Cambris' worldview. "Cambris--I tend to talk out the side of my mouth. What's the rush getting back to the Outworld?"

"Pish! These people have a foul taste."

Like Wicca, who used a "soul drain" to recharge her magic--limited to the criminal element at Ed's request--Cambris stalked the same hunting ground.

"Oh that," Wicca said. "This is the most medicated place I've ever seen. You can't find anybody who isn't flying on something."

"Hey," Ed objected. "I'm a regular nature boy. Skip my chapter."

Author Highlights

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Andre Alice Norton (born Alice Mary Norton, February 17, 1912 – March 17, 2005) was an American writer of science fiction and fantasy, who also wrote works of historical fiction and contemporary fiction. She wrote primarily under the pen name Andre Norton, but also under Andrew North and Allen Weston. She was the first woman to be Gandalf Grand Master of Fantasy,^[2] to be SFWA Grand Master,^[3] and to be inducted by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Hall of Fame.^[4][5][6] 

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Biography and career

Alice Mary Norton was born in Cleveland, Ohio in 1912.^[7] Her parents were Adalbert Freely Norton, who owned a rug company, and Bertha Stemm Norton. Alice began writing at Collinwood High School in Cleveland, under the tutelage of Sylvia Cochrane. She was the editor of a literary page in the school's paper,The Collinwood Spotlight, for which she wrote short stories. During this time, she wrote her first book, Ralestone Luck, which was eventually published as her second novel in 1938.

After graduating from high school in 1930, Norton planned to become a teacher, and began studying at Flora Stone Mather College of Western Reserve University. However, in 1932 she had to leave because of the Depression and began working for the Cleveland Library System,^[8] where she remained for 18 years, latterly in the children's section of the Nottingham Branch Library in Cleveland. In 1934, she legally changed her name to Andre Alice Norton, a pen name she had adopted for her first book, published later that year, to increase her marketability, since boys were the main audience for fantasy.^[8]

During 1940–1941, she worked as a special librarian in the cataloging department of the Library of Congress.^[9] She was involved in a project related to alien citizenship which was abruptly terminated upon the American entry into World War II. In 1941 she bought a bookstore called Mystery House in Mount Rainier, Maryland, the eastern neighbor of Washington, D.C. The business failed, and she returned to the Cleveland Public Library until 1950, when she retired due to ill health.^[10] She then began working as a reader for publisher-editor Martin Greenberg^[a] at Gnome Press, a small press in New York City that focused on science fiction. She remained until 1958, when, with 21 novels published,^[11][12] she became a full-time professional writer.

As Norton's health became uncertain, she moved to Winter Park, Florida in November 1966, where she remained until 1997.^[13] She moved to Murfreesboro, Tennessee in 1997 and was under hospice care from February 21, 2005. She died at home on March 17, 2005, of congestive heart failure. 

Literary career

For a full list of Norton's books, see Andre Norton bibliography.

Norton's novelette "The People of the Crater", published under her "Andrew North" pseudonym, was the cover story in the debut issue of Fantasy Book in 1947.

"The Gifts of Asti", also published under the "North" byline, took the cover of the third issue of Fantasy Book in 1948.

In 1934, her first book, The Prince Commands, being sundry adventures of Michael Karl, sometime crown prince & pretender to the throne of Morvania, with illustrations by Kate Seredy, was published by D. Appleton–Century Company (cataloged by the U.S. Library of Congress as by "André Norton").^[14][15] She went on to write several historical novels for the juvenile (now called "young adult") market.

Norton's first published science fiction was a short story, "The People of the Crater", which appeared under the name "Andrew North" as pages 4–18 of the inaugural 1947 number of Fantasy Book, a magazine from Fantasy Publishing Company, Inc.^[16] Her first fantasy novel, Huon of the Horn, published by Harcourt Brace under her own name in 1951, adapted the 13th-century story of Huon, Duke of Bordeaux.^[17] Her first science fiction novel, Star Man's Son, 2250 A.D., appeared from Harcourt in 1952.^[18] She became a prolific novelist in the 1950s, with many of her books published for the juvenile market, at least in their original hardcover editions.

As of 1958, when she became a full-time professional writer, Kirkus had reviewed 16 of her novels,^[b] and awarded four of them starred reviews.^[12] Her four starred reviews to 1957 had been awarded for three historical adventure novels—Follow the Drum (1942), Scarface (1948), Yankee Privateer (1955)—and one cold war adventure, At Swords' Points (1954). She received four starred reviews subsequently, latest in 1966, including three for science fiction.^[12]

Norton was twice nominated for the Hugo Award, in 1964 for the novel Witch World and in 1967 for the novelette "Wizard's World". She was nominated three times for the World Fantasy Award for lifetime achievement, winning the award in 1998. Norton won a number of other genre awards and regularly had works appear in the Locus annual "best of year" polls.^[4]

She was a founding member of the Swordsmen and Sorcerers' Guild of America (SAGA), a loose-knit group of Heroic Fantasy authors founded in the 1960s, led by Lin Carter, with entry by fantasy credentials alone. Norton was the only woman among the original eight members. Some works by SAGA members were published in Lin Carter's Flashing Swords! anthologies.

In 1976, Gary Gygax invited Norton to play Dungeons & Dragons in his Greyhawk world. Norton subsequently wrote Quag Keep, which involved a group of characters who travel from the real world to Greyhawk. It was the first novel to be set, at least partially, in the Greyhawk setting and, according to Alternative Worlds, the first to be based on D&D.^[19] Quag Keep was excerpted in Issue 12 of The Dragon (February 1978) just prior to the book's release.^[20] She and Jean Rabe were collaborating on the sequel to her 1979 Greyhawk novel Quag Keep when she died. Return to Quag Keep was completed by Rabe and published by Tor Books in January 2006.^[16]

Her final complete novel, Three Hands for Scorpio, was published on April 1, 2005. Besides Return to Quag Keep, Tor has published two more novels with Norton and Rabe credited as co-authors, Dragon Mage (November 2006) and Taste of Magic (January 2008).^[16]

Series

Norton wrote more than a dozen speculative fiction series, but her longest, and longest-running project was "Witch World", which began with the novel Witch World in 1963. The first six novels were Ace Books paperback originals published from 1963 to 1968.^[16] From the 1970s most of the series was published in hardcover editions.^[16] From the 1980s some were written by Norton and a co-author, and others were anthologies of short fiction for which she was editor. (Witch World became a shared universe.)^[c] There were dozens of books in all.^[18]

The five novels of The Cycle of Oak, Yew, Ash, and Rowan, To the King a Daughter, Knight or Knave, A Crown Disowned, Dragon Blade, and The Knight of the Red Beard, were written with Sasha Miller.^[21] The fifth and last novel was dedicated "To my late collaborator, Andre Norton, whose vision inspired the NordornLand cycle."^[22] ("NordornLand cycle" is another name for this cycle.)

Legacy

Cover of Voodoo Planet by Andrew North, artist Ed Valigursky; half of Ace Double #D-345 (1959)

On February 20, 2005, the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, which had honored Norton with its Grand Master Award in 1984, announced the creation of the Andre Norton Award, to be given each year for an outstanding work of fantasy or science fiction for the young adult literature market, beginning with 2005 publications. While the Norton Award is not a Nebula Award, it is voted on by SFWA members on the Nebula ballot and shares some procedures with the Nebula Awards.^[23][24][25] Nominally for a young adult book, actually the eligible class is middle grade and young adult novels. This added a category for genre fiction to be recognized and supported for young readers.^[26][27] Unlike Nebulas, there is a jury whose function is to expand the ballot beyond the six books with most nominations by members.

Often called the Grande Dame of Science Fiction and Fantasy by biographers such as J. M. Cornwell,^[28] and organizations such as Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America,^[29] Publishers Weekly,^[30] and Time, Andre Norton wrote novels for over 70 years. She had a profound influence on the entire genre, having over 300 published titles read by at least four generations of science fiction and fantasy readers and writers. Notable authors who cite her influence include Greg Bear, Lois McMaster Bujold, C. J. Cherryh, Cecilia Dart-Thornton,^[31] Tanya Huff,^[32] Mercedes Lackey, Charles de Lint, Joan D. Vinge, David Weber, K. D. Wentworth, and Catherine Asaro.

High Hallack Library

The High Hallack Library was a facility that Norton was instrumental in organizing and opening. Designed as a research facility for genre writers, and scholars of "popular" literature (the genres of science fiction, fantasy, mystery, western, romance, gothic, and horror), it was located near Norton's home in Murfreesboro, Tennessee.^[33]

The facility, named after one of the continents in Norton's Witch World series, was home to over 10,000 texts, videos and various other media. Attached to the facility were three guest rooms, allowing authors and scholars the chance to stay on-site to facilitate their research goals.^[33]

The facility was opened on February 28, 1999, and operated until March 2004. Most of the collection was sold during the closing days of the facility. The declining health of Andre Norton was one of the leading causes of its closing.^[33]

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andre_Norton

Multicreative people can be overwhelmed

Happy Thursday!

First of all I want to thank our amazing contributors during this difficult time.  You are amazing poets, writers, and artists of all fields. Sometimes you do both.  That is what this blog is all about. You inspire us in a way and take us away from the usual dilemma in our worlds.  You rock on, when the rest of us are beaten by the quarantine and everything else going on the last few months.  I finally am taking a week long break without kids in the next couple days as our family looks after them.

My son has special needs, five therapies a week.  Since the shutdown, I have been the therapist while the main therapists do their sessions online.  I am the OT, the PT, and the Speech therapist.  It doesn't stop there, I keep going off hours to build on his levels to get him where he needs to be.   I have a new respect for all the therapists that do this 40x a week.  Take that as one child per hour. So if a therapist has 6 kids a day...wow, that is a lot.  My own child is enough, I can tell you.  After the public schools closed,  the situation fell upon me to be sure he doesn't fall behind. He is making progress, great strides.

Aside from that, I find the time to write and finish my second book.  You find the time, someway, somehow.  There is a siege in book two and it's not always easy to keep the focus on the flow, the grammar and everything else in the story.  I find my best times to focus is after our son goes down for a nap around 1:30, and sit here to focus. The weather has to be good, too. Not cold, or windy, rain or snow.  Of course I didn't anticipate the buckets out in the lawn.  My husband does tai chi, kung fu etc.  He's an instructor as well and runs a school out in the country so his office has been outside, too.

We're nearing the end of May and I am feeling the state of being overwhelmed doing everything.  Seems like I haven't had a me day, or a few days to recoup.  Writers need those too.  

So do you have an outdoor office?  I highly recommend it if you need a change of scenery.

Again as the quarantine comes to a close hopefully this summer,  I anticipate the book being completed and having that sense of accomplishment.  I suppose that is step one, and the next step would be looking into publishing it.  I also illustrate, so my graphic arts degree maybe helpful but technology has changed so fast.

My thanks to all who have stuck it out here on our blog and looking forward to wonderful posts.   I like the wonderous variety our blog offers and helping others in their struggles with writing, art or anything creative.  That is what our blog is for.    
As I become less overwhelmed with so much, I can take a breath and finally pay more attention to the blog.    

Galactica: Overkill Nebula

Aboard Suru, Subcommander Vaterrin watched five Cylon base ships jump into a staggered formation and immediately launch hordes of raiders. His own Batwings were on station in the gaseous nebula, undetectable by enemy sensors, where they maneuvered into ambush positions. The base ships wouldn't commit heavy nukes as yet, waiting to see how their raiders fared.

"Let's get their attention."


Multiple explosions on the Cylon right flank alerted them to an unseen problem. By  now in visual contact with the Batwings, raiders engaged in melee combat. A few blue flares indicated hits on Batwings, whose limited energy screens could handle a few cannon shells until they jumped into killing zones behind their foes. Their lasers took a terrible toll of raiders.

"Secondary batteries, focus fire protocol."

Suru's wing-mounted chain guns concentrated fire on small areas, wiping out whole squadrons. Those raiders not busy with Batwings got through to  launch small nukes against the ship's energy shields.

The Tac officer highlighted base ship icons. "Surviving raiders are falling back. They've engaged main guns."

Flurries of star charges streamed from the slender branched arms of the base ships. Suru's chain guns neutralized some, and the ship nimbly dodged others. Yet too many hits were blossoming fire on the rapidly-draining shields.

"Pulse gun fully charged," said Weapons.

Vaterrin had swung about to  line up with two foes in an overlapping angle. "Fire and jig right."

The ship shuddered upon release of a blue energy spear from the nose. Though a near miss, it continued firing to rake across both base ships, blasting chunks like a fist through balsa wood. It got worse as the plasma reaction began to consume the metal. Both targets went up in a titanic explosion.

"Survivors have jumped out of system," said Tactical. "Coordinates relayed to our Batwings."

"Recharge the pulse gun," Vaterrin ordered. "Jump when ready." That required fifteen minutes, but the Cylons were unaware their jump could be tracked. A terrible surprise awaited them.

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

The blonde Six commanding Base Five didn't know there was a problem until an energy lance came from nowhere to slash apart Base Three in a nightmare of explosions.

"They've tracked us!" lamented a Four. For some reason, his model affected that of an old man in a slouch hat.

The enemy's main guns began to pummel them.

"Return fire!" the Six ordered. "It's them or us until we can jump again!" At first, the foe appeared outgunned. His energy screens were failing, and flashes erupted along the port wing. "Now we have them, whoever they are!"

"Not so fast," said an oriental Five woman. "That's just reactive plates blowing off. We've hardly dented them."

Suddenly Base Five rocked under tactical nukes launched by the pesky stealth fighters, just as their attacker winked out of sight.

"How can he jump so soon?" demanded the crotchety Four.

The foe reappeared above Base Four at a perpendicular angle, unleashing a volley of heavy missiles. The ship's slender trio of upper arms bent at grotesque angles under black-light eruptions. No debris ejected; the ship was collapsing into itself.

"Black hole bombs!" called the Five. All that remained of Base Four was a sparking, twisted nodule of junk.

Base Five shook again, and all went silent and dark, save for chemical emergency lights. They'd been hit with an energy damping wave.

"Hyper jump offline," warned the Four. "Self destruct offline. Raiding party incoming!"

Battery-powered monitors showed a stream of twin tailed transports swarming toward the central spindle, dodging raiders that drifted without power.

"Direct every last centurion there!" the Five barked.

Monitors showed grim scenes of the silvery robots being blasted apart by rockets from much bigger robots. These looked like canister-head frogs with massive haunches. Marines darted about, scooping up centurions who'd been lassoed by steel cables.

"No, no!" wailed the Five. "They're destroying the resurrect chambers!" That meant any Cylons killed would not be coming back. The enemy were well informed, and now they had captured a base ship.

The control room doors blew inward under a fearsome smash by a frogbot. It stomped in and waved rocket launchers around as it swept the room with purple scans. "Site secured," it said in a booming voice of such basso power as to rattle the sternum.

A bearish, dark haired man sauntered in, escorted by marines. "I hate to ruin your day, folks, but we need one of these fancy spindle ships as a gift for one Admiral Adama." His name tag read Vaterrin.

"And what do you want," the Five demanded.

"You, lady. We're going to study your crackpot philosophy, so don't disappoint, you hear? It keeps our interrogators sharp, even though we already know all your secrets, thanks to one of your own."

At his gesture, the marines took them into custody. Technicians swarmed in, lead by a Cylon Five who had defected aboard Galactica. She could effectively fly the ship until its controls were figured out.

"Who are you?" asked the Cylon Five.

"Earth Protectorate," Vaterrin replied. "If you  cheat by building robots, then we build bigger ones. If you plant agents, we turn them against you. I guess it bites to be one of you."

Galactica: Decision At Road's End

"Would you look at that." Colonel Tigh gaped with his one good eye at the overhead monitor. The warship confronting them had fighter bays like Galactica, but had made no moves as yet. Of greatest concern was the nose hatch, currently closed.





Lt. Gaeta swiveled at his console seat. "Magnetometer is off the scale. It's some kind of plasma weapon, and we don't want to be in the way if they decide to use it."

"They won't," assured the spirit medium, Madam Sazny. "I'm in contact with my counterpart over there, a woman called Shira."

Admiral Adama wasn't going to let this private tea party go on any longer. He pulled down the intership phone. "This is Admiral Adama of the Battlestar Galactica, representing the Twelve Colonies."

The reply had a curious overlay quality, with the speaker's native tongue subdued in the background. So they had a language translator device. ". . . .Commander Selten of the battleship Suru, representing the Earth Protectorate. Your ship could use some drydock time, Admiral." 

That was painfully obvious, given all the scraps with the Cylons. "Is that something you can arrange, Commander? I'm not sure we have a way to pay for it."

"That's the beauty of it. The Malcosians use a barter system. Their preferred medium is literature: heroic sagas and the like. I'm sure your story would entertain them for months."

Adama couldn't suppress the grin he traded with Tigh

"Our telepath has been apprised of your situation. We need to know if these Cylons have technology similar to yours." Adama answered in the affirmative. "Then they represent no threat to us. We need all the intel you can provide, so I suggest making a visit to your ship."

"Certainly, Commander. We'll receive you in docking bay twelve. Our execs can work out the details."

An honor guard formed up on the hangar deck, composed of Adama, President Laura, Tigh, and the full complement of orange-suited deck hands. The track system pulled an impressive shuttle out of the airlock. It was much bigger than Galactica's Raptors, but less agile--a true heavy-lift workhorse. Behind it, two batwing fighters followed on antigravs. The transport lowered a staircase.



"Render honors," Adama ordered, bringing everyone to attention. The short Colonial anthem played, finished up with its rousing drums.

A detachment of black-suited security came down to flank the stairs. Next came a dark-haired man in blue jacket over gray pants and boots. Behind him was a red-haired woman in green jacket and gray skirt. Some moments passed in diplomatic exchange.

"Our first concern," Selten said, "is that spirit familiar who's allowing you to be tracked."

"By all means." Adama gestured to Madam Sazny, who conducted the red-haired Shira with four of Galactica's marines. It pained him a little to see his Viper pilots all but crawling into the exhaust ports of the exotic fighter planes.

Selten also took notice. "Like them, Admiral? I'm prepared to donate those two, if their IAs have no objection."

"Your AI is that advanced?"

"Not in the way you're familiar with. It stands for Indwelling Animus: computers ingrown by lab-raised brain tissue. It can fly the ship when the pilot is injured. The helmet and suit links translate thought into actions." They began walking toward the ships, causing pilots to make way.

Adama walked up the wing and peered into the cockpit.

"Greetings, Admiral. I am Kiria."

A few muted chuckles broke out at Adama's discomfiture. Already his best pilots, Starbuck and Apollo, were being helped into the personalized flight suits for a test run.

Baltar couldn't believe his bad luck. Now a second witch came to accost his Cylon familiar. And here he was on trial for his life. Well, let them try, because the Six would refuse to appear.

Bracketed by four marines were Sazny and the newcomer, a redhead whose badge read Shira.

"Come forth," Shira commanded.

In a shimmer of haze, the Six began to form. Her tortured shape lurched to grip the table edge. "How is this possible? You have no right. . . ."


"It's possible," Shira said, "because my race developed this talent for this very reason." She made claws of her hands and spread them apart against resistance.

The Six put hands to head in agony. Her form wavered in and out of view as she tried to escape. With a scream, she dissolved to phantom winds.

"No!" Baltar fell to his knees, for the first time completely alone.

On the hangar deck, Colonel Tigh brought unwelcome news to Adama. "The Suru has just jumped."

"Merely a precaution," Selten said. One of the deck hands seemed astonished at how a hovering fighter was pushed with  one hand toward the launch tube. "The Cylons are certain to react to the loss of their spirit contact. I've directed my XO to the coordinates we expect them to arrive at."

"That's suicide!" Tigh rasped.

"Preliminaries," Selten insisted. "I intend to locate their home world and destroy it."