"Evasive maneuvers!"

Cliff grit his teeth as Maria called out the command, the muscles in his back and arms tightening. He knew evasive maneuvers were necessary, but it wasn't the command itself that had him wound as tight as a child's wind-up toy. Maria led Quark, not he, which he had approved of her leadership in the first place. Her command was only a natural thing.

However, it was the reason for her command that had Cliff more than a trifle annoyed. According to Marietta, the long and short-range scanners detected some anomalies in their warp field, and they immediately left gravitic warp in an effort to not destroy The Diplo. The ship had seen some hard times, but she'd always managed to come out in one piece. Maria wanted to keep it that way since building new ships required money, and Quark's funding had already taken a hit with losing two of its smaller vessels. Cliff didn't blame Maria one bit for wanting to preserve The Diplo for as long as she possibly could. The ship had become the only home the young woman truly had known and come to love. Leaving warp with an anomaly approaching was a good way to at least help preserve the ship.

Except, in this case, keeping The Diplo in one piece would prove to be a challenge. The anomalies Marietta detected weren't the average kind they could evade upon warp-out and then re-enter warp. As he grit his teeth, Cliff glared at the images on the overhead screen. Two Executioners greeted his vision as well as a sleek, white-hued spacecraft of unidentified origins. The Executioners flanked it to either side, and they were preparing to attack. Cliff could tell by the way the space in front of them started to glow, and he possessed his doubts as to how well The Diplo would survive the onslaught. To deal with one Executioner was bad enough. Two . . . well, Cliff didn't really like the odds, and that was with knowing Maria's capabilities with her powers of Alteration. He didn't need to turn his head to know she was fully prepared to unleash as much of her powers as she was able. She still hadn't reached her full potential since the first time her powers manifested, but Maria was determined to not give up.

"Evasive maneuvers engaged, Captain!"

"Stand down."

A chilling rush overwhelmed Cliff, and he felt the blood draining from his face the moment he heard the Creator's voice. It filled the ship, sounding as if Luther stood right behind him, which, knowing the blond's capabilities as well, could have very well been possible. The two Executioners were still winding up their powers, reaching full force capacity. He remembered how one Executioner obliterated The Aquaelie, leaving nothing behind but space dust.

"Like hell we're going to stand down," Maria said with a growl. "Lancar! Steeg! Ready the weapons!"

"Then you will be destroyed. That is not something I am wishing for . . . at this moment."

"What?" Maria sounded as astounded and confused as Cliff felt. "He's the one attacking us! You're the one attacking us, Luther!"

"Don't flatter yourselves too much, Data," the Creator sneered. "You're not as worth as much effort as you believe yourselves to be. I'm after someone else. You're simply . . . the means to find that someone."

"Captain, I'm detecting two spacecrafts coming out of warp behind us . . . They're Vendeeni!"

Marietta spoke as the two Executioners unleashed their powers of Destruction. The Diplo shook, tossing some of the crew out of their seats and onto the floor, and Cliff grabbed the armrests of his chair. He saw the blasts from the Executioners were parallel to The Diplo but not aimed directly at her, and he knew in those scant few seconds of the attack, the Vendeeni didn't stand a chance. A bright flash of intense, white light filled the screen, blinding everyone on the bridge and disrupting Maria's flows to her symbological powers. When the light dissipated, the Executioners and the white ship remained.

"Such nuisances," Luther said in a muttered tone. "The Eldarians and Morphus are preferable to such disobedient data."

"Status report," Maria called out. Immediately, the crew flew into a frenzy, assessing the damage to the ship and their fellow teammates.

"Minor damage sustained, Captain," Marietta said. "Shields are down to eighty-nine percent, but we're otherwise okay."

"I told you I was not out to destroy you as of this moment," Luther said in a smug tone. "You really should learn to trust your Creator."

"Like that'll ever happen," Maria fired back. "What is that you want, anyway? You said you were looking for someone."

"Yes. I am looking for someone, and you will tell me what you know if you wish to continue existing," Luther said. "I seek the data known as Fayt Leingod. I understand he was to meet you and some others at the Hyda IV location."

"Fayt?" Maria echoed. "Why are you after Fayt? And how did you know he was supposed to meet us there? Where's the ship that was transporting him?"

"If I knew where the ship was, I would not need you," Luther said, his tone flat and void of any emotion. "The data known as Fayt would be with me. I was waiting at the Hyda IV location when word came in the transport ship had disappeared in this location. I came to investigate."

"You didn't attack the ship?" Cliff asked, unable to help himself. Luther's image replaced that of the Executioners and the white ship on the overhead screen. His blue eyes were as cold as ever.

"No. I have need of Fayt Leingod alive, not dead."

"Again, why are you after Fayt?" Maria asked, keeping her voice cool, calm, and collected. Cliff allowed himself to relax, only a fraction, and he leaned back in his chair. Sometimes, he forgot he no longer led Quark. He'd take whatever reprimand Maria had for him later.

"Because, unlike the current Executioners program, Fayt Leingod is perfect for eradicating flawed data such as yourselves," Luther replied. "Once he is in my possession, I will begin the process anew again of eliminating anomalies such as yourselves."

"Fayt would never allow you to do such a thing!" Maria said. "Nor will I!"

"You speak as if you and he will have a choice in the matter."

"Fayt will fight you," Maria said. "I know that he will."

"Perhaps he will. Perhaps he won't." Luther smirked. "We would have to find him first, now wouldn't we?"

"Find him . . . What . . ."

"It would stand to reason he is still alive, yes? The transport ship to Hyda IV came under attack at some point while en route to the planet. Wouldn't it make sense for the passengers to be loaded into escape pods so they wouldn't die? Or would Fayt Leingod be foolish enough to remain on board?"

"Nnn . . ."

"Ahh, you're just now realizing the impact of what I'm saying," Luther said, his smirk growing bigger and his smugness more evident. "Perhaps your capabilities of learning aren't as limited as I once believed for data. No matter. How about a . . . friendly wager? To make this more interesting?"

"A . . . friendly wager? Nothing about you is friendly," Maria spat.

"I would say you wound me with your arrogance, but I think it is you who feels more wounded," Luther murmured. "Well, if you are not up for the challenge of finding someone you claim to be your friend, I do understand. And I shall be sure to tell him, when I do find him, of how you really feel about him."

"He wouldn't believe you."

"So certain are you? Then you won't mind taking me up on my challenge of finding him," Luther said. "Whoever finds him first gets to keep him."

"That should be entirely and will be up to Fayt!"

"Not if I find him first."

Luther's image disappeared from the overhead screen, showing the crew on the bridge only the white ship and the two Executioners. The white ship's engines fired up, and the Executioners glided by The Diplo. Luther then flew his vessel over the top of The Diplo, and everyone on the bridge ducked out of reflex. The engines of his ship sent vibrations along the hull of The Diplo, and, when the sound disappeared, everyone on the bridge let out a collective sigh of relief . . . except, perhaps Maria.

"Marietta, I want Luther's ship's energy trail traced, and I want it done like yesterday. Find out if what Luther said about the transport shuttle being destroyed is true. There has to be some kind of scuttlebutt about a missing ship and its passengers," Maria said. Cliff finally turned his chair around to face her. "And, if we can, we need to try and contact Blair. I have a feeling that, if Luther's correct, he already knows where Fayt is, and we won't have much time to reach him."

"On it, Captain," Marietta replied. Maria turned her gaze to Cliff.

"I hope we can find him in time," she said. "I don't want to follow him . . . I want to follow my own leads, but . . ."

"Hey," Cliff said, "Luther's a genius. He's insane, but he is a genius. I wouldn't doubt it if he's set a trap for us. He's admitted he wants to destroy us."

"So why wait to do it, especially if he knows where Fayt is?" Maria asked. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Unless he's going to follow us because he really doesn't know where Fayt is," Cliff supplied. He rubbed at his temples, the beginnings of a headache coming on to him. "We really can't say with Luther, can we?"

"No," Maria agreed solemnly. "We can't."

"Captain, Luther's heading in the direction of Elicoor II," Marietta said. "At least, that's where it appears he's heading. What do you want to do?"

"We can't let him run loose . . ."

"But we also don't have a cutter to spare," Cliff said.

"I know," Maria said, moaning, and she buried her face into her hands. "Ugh, why did this have to happen and now, of all times?"

For several long minutes, Cliff watched Maria, and she raised her head from her hands to stare at the monitor. Her expression turned from one of anguished torment to unreadable. He knew he didn't envy her the leadership position. While he knew what he'd do in her place, it still didn't mean he wouldn't have felt the same agony.

"Maria . . ."

She tilted her head in his direction.

"Let's worry about Luther later," Cliff said, mentally cringing with each word he spoke. Still, it was something that couldn't ultimately be helped. Somewhere, Fayt floated in an escape pod. He might have already landed on a habitable planet and simply waited for someone to come and find him. "Right now, Fayt is our top priority. We don't know where he is, what condition he's in, or anything. I spent more time with him than you did. If he's on an underdeveloped planet and trouble's brewing, he'll end up right smack dab in the middle of it. He's like a trouble magnet that way, and the last thing I want is for him to be killed because he's sympathetic to those who he befriends."

"Yeah . . ." Maria agreed with some reluctance. "You're right. Fayt is more important. Besides, if the transport ship was destroyed in this area, as he claims it was, Luther will be back to this area to retrieve Fayt. Marietta . . ."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Destroyed ships tend to leave behind debris and remnants of energy. Start searching for any kind of an energy signature. Also, find out the name of the transport ship that was carrying Fayt to Hyda IV. The more we know, the better off we'll be in determining if there's any truth to what Luther's told us." Maria turned towards Steeg. "Steeg, I want some probes set up in the general vicinity so when Luther does return, we know about it before he can surprise us."

"Roger that," Steeg said.

"I'm on it, Captain," Marietta said.

"Mirage?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"I want to know what habitable planets are nearby," Maria said. "Escape pods are programmed automatically to land on the nearest one and emit a distress signal, as should his communicator. We're going to operate as if what Luther told us is true, and we need to find Fayt before he returns from Elicoor II. Though I want to find out why he's heading there instead of looking for Fayt."

"Will do, Captain," Mirage said.

"That's easy," Cliff said. "Just contact Elicoor II to let them know to expect Luther. We did teach Nel, Claire, and Albel how to use the communicators we left them."

"We did . . ." Maria paused for a second then nodded. "Contact them, Cliff. Let them know about Luther heading in their direction but not about Fayt or his disappearance. Until we're sure that Luther's telling us the truth about the ship and Fayt being on it, I don't want to start any false rumours."

"On it," Cliff said, turning back to his station. He couldn't help but frown as he set about completing his task. The confrontation with Luther and two of his Executioners wasn't sitting well with him. It felt too easy to escape, as it were, with very minimal to no damage to The Diplo, especially with Luther knowing who was onboard. The Creator could have easily destroyed them as he had the Vendeeni. Something was not right.

'Fayt, wherever you are, I hope you're staying out of trouble. If not, you're going to have me to answer to for whatever it is you're doing.'

xXx-Swords-and-Sorcery-xXX

Luther sighed as he powered off the communications console, sending the entire area into soothing darkness, and he leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his temples. He despised being stuck in the Eternal Sphere the way that he was, only able to access the computers from his Workspace, but then, in retrospect, it was rather fitting. He'd been foolish to even attempt deleting the Eternal Sphere while he remained projected in it. Hell, he hadn't been projected in it, like Blair had believed, but actually able to walk amongst the inhabitants. Luther hadn't told her that, and it suited him just fine.

His head ached. It always ached, and his eyes watered with even the smallest amount of light because of it. Some days it felt like thousands of feet running from the left side to the right and back again, feet wearing metal-soled shoes and stomping as hard as possible with each step. On other days, the ache simply felt like an oversized sledgehammer pounding away at his brain. No one in his realm knew of how to cure the headaches when they set upon him. The doctors there were useless in his opinion, anyway, but still he had deigned to hope at least one could help him with such a trivial yet debilitating problem. He hated how powerful his headaches could be and how they affected his ability to work and to think in a rational manner. He hated even more the knowledge that every doctor he'd visited, often at Blair's insistence, had proven to be useless in his efforts to thwart the pain. Too much at Sphere 211 depended upon him having a clear, focused, and pain-free mind. While he did employ several of the best gaming programmers throughout the entire four-dimensional realm, no program or line of code for the Eternal Sphere went into action without Luther checking over it first and giving his express permission for it to be put into use for the Eternal Sphere MMORPG. In looking back at the events leading up to the battle with his creations, Luther realized the creation of Fayt Leingod had ultimately been his doing. From the moment he wrote the codes for Fayt, he'd given the other the powers of Destruction and watched idly as those powers were enhanced by Professor Leingod and his research team. Everything about the blue-haired man had been because Luther wanted it, desired it, and needed it. He just hadn't realized it when the final battle had arrived, but one thing that he hadn't failed to notice was how his head had cleared of any and all pain the moment the abhorrent data walked into his Workspace. Since then, he'd wanted to know which of the three biggest anomalies had contributed to the easing of his pain. Even wandering in the Eternal Sphere felt better on his head than sitting in his office at Sphere 211.

In order to find which one, the first thing Luther had done was track down each of them. Like the fools they were, they had entered their DNA imprints into the Eternal Sphere database while at Gemity. Luther discovered this during his recovery, which enabled him to track down where they were at all times. The first one he'd decided to visit was the one known as Sophia Esteed. She'd demonstrated great symbological powers, greater than what either Maria Traydor and Fayt Leingod possessed, and he thought her to be, at first, the greater threat. It was because of her powers, he learned, that the anomalies were able to enter the four dimensional realm. Tracking her had been the easiest to do as well. She'd returned to Earth, to her family, and to her life with very little side effects from traveling across the universe in order to fight him.

Disguising himself as a faculty member to the high school she attended, Luther approached her as closely as he dared without tipping her off as to who he was. His head, which ached constantly anyway, showed no signs of relief at being in her presence, and, while it annoyed him that the pain in his head hadn't disappeared, it relieved him to know it wasn't Sophia Esteed. She came across as a sweet girl, but she lived too much in a fantasy world for Luther's liking.

With Sophia ruled out, Luther set out to find the next one, Fayt Leingod. According to the data Luther had on hand, Fayt had just boarded a transport vessel intended for the luxury getaway of Hyda IV. The planet had finally recovered from the Vendeeni attack and was accepting visitors once more. According to what he'd watched on the screen, Fayt had agreed to meet with some of the others for a reunion of sorts. Then the ship taking him there had fallen under attack. Like many of the other tourists, he'd made it to an escape pod. Unlike the others, he'd not been picked up by the new Pangalactic Federation, having crashed on an underdeveloped planet. With the pod and his communicator destroyed, no one knew where he was or what had befallen him, but Luther knew.

Since Fayt wasn't going anywhere for a while – probably never again, since he'd participated in the Morldarian transfer ritual – Luther decided to wait to get close to the younger man. As the Creator, he could head to Morldaria any time he wished and get as close to Fayt as he wanted. That left Maria Traydor, and, though he hadn't been on the bridge of The Diplo to be close enough to her, simply hearing her voice over the communications console had grated on his nerves and did nothing to lessen his headache. That left Fayt Leingod.

'Ironic,' he mused. 'I am the Creator, and he is the embodiment of Destruction. We are exact opposites in terms of power. Why is it him? Why is he the one who can ease my pain and allow me to think clearly?'

They were questions he intended to get answers for, but there was one thing he wanted to do first. The Morldarians were an unusual species, a hybrid race between the Morphus and presumed extinct Eldarian races, and every single member was male with a very unique feature. With Fayt among them and Luther's status as the Creator still intact with them, there were many things Luther knew he could do and promised to do. He simply needed to get some familiar faces back into the action, faces that, while affected by the likes of Fayt, Maria, and Sophia, were ones he was quite fond of in any case. For that, he needed to return to Elicoor II, where everything started and ended, to retrieve the ones he wanted. He just needed for those in Quark to think a little while longer that he intended to eradicate them.

'This will be fun.'

xXx-Swords-and-Sorcery-xXx

Fayt coughed one final time as he finished emptying the contents of his stomach into the wooden bucket designated for just that purpose. It felt strange, to be vomiting when he didn't feel the least bit sick otherwise, but it was happening just the same. He waited for several minutes after the last bout before finally trusting himself to stand without another wave of nausea hitting him. Holding out a hand to keep himself steady and picking up the bucket to clean it out, Fayt exited what constituted as a bathroom and bathhouse, which did have a porcelain tub large enough to hold six or seven people with some room to spare and deep enough for a person to simply soak up the heat.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed since he'd crashed on . . . whatever planet he'd happened to be, but he knew since the night of that strange ceremony many days had passed, enough to be weeks on Earth. The one he'd been with that evening had spoken to three others after they'd awoken from their slumber, men older than him and one whom he bore a strong resemblance. He'd spoken to them with respect and admiration. Whoever they were, they were clearly important to him, and he agreed with what they were telling him. Whatever it was they were discussing, Fayt could tell by the way they gestured towards him that he was the subject matter. Once the conversation was over, he was led away by the three older men, and he'd lived with them since that day. Already, he'd deduced that the three elders were lovers of some kind. The touches, the smiles, the laughter, all told Fayt what he needed to know, and he knew they were a family unit of sorts. In addition to them living in the house – a very expansive, single story home with many rooms, several of which were dedicated to books and weapons and training – another, much younger male lived with them, and they treated him as if he were their son. However, Fayt hadn't seen the one he'd slept with since the day after the ritual, and he wondered about it.

The clothes they chose to wear were also another indication about them and what they did. The one who greatly resembled the man he'd been with often wore armor. It wasn't the simple leather armor of others Fayt had come across since his arrival, either. The armor itself was burnished black steel with black leather holding it together in all of the right places. A bird emblazoned in silver flames rested across the chest region, and those he spoke to, others who were obvious warriors as well, treated him with the same respect Fayt had witnessed previously.

The other two older men didn't wear armor. Indeed, the garb for the one reminded Fayt of a wizard's robe. Dark blue in color, flowing, they opened in the front to reveal pants and a tunic of the same color, and there were several pouches of various sizes that he kept at his side. When he walked around the city where they lived, he carried a staff nearly as tall as he, smooth, and with inscriptions on the side. The other wore all white from his tunic and pants to his soft leather boots, and a gold chain with a dragon hanging from it around his neck. Each of them were dark-haired with intense dark eyes and tall. Yet, since the day of the ritual and taking Fayt back to where they lived, they showed him nothing but kindness. The one in white often checked on him in the mornings, especially after the sickness had started. If Fayt had to guess as to their professions, he'd have said the one in blue was definitely a wizard, or symbologist, and the other a cleric of some kind. The youngest member of the household wore the color white as well in the same style as the older man. As for Fayt, they provided clothes for him, tunics and pants of the softest materials that reminded him of a baby's blanket, and a pair of leather of sandals. The chain upon his head remained as well. They allowed him to remove it when he cleaned himself and washed his hair, but otherwise they refused to let him take it off.

Within the first few days of that ceremony or ritual or whatever it had been, the strange sickness had fallen upon him. It hit him only in the mornings and whatever feelings of weakness and nausea that beset upon him during that time disappeared as the day progressed. When the white-clad man checked on him, he'd frowned at first but then looked pleased as the examinations continued. At one point since the sickness started, he'd brought a clear stone and held it for several minutes in front of Fayt's stomach. In those few minutes, the stone turned from clear and able to see through to an opaque aquamarine. Since that day, Fayt had been given more than plenty to eat and drink, which said something and for which he was grateful. The three men had always given him plenty of food and water to drink upon his arrival, but, as of late, he felt hungrier than usual. The increase in his appetite worried and confused him. For the most part, he didn't exert himself all that much. He accompanied the symbologist and cleric or one of the servants when they headed into the city proper to buy food, ink, quills, parchment, herbs, and anything else they required, but the markets streets weren't that far from the house nor were the trips that taxing. He'd lived in isolation for some time, traversing more difficult terrain than he currently experienced. The increase in his appetite baffled him.

"Hello."

Fayt nearly dropped the bucket he carried out of the bathhouse at hearing such a soft-spoken voice. Startled, he looked for the source. With the exception of the other humans he encountered, young men from a local village, no one had spoken the same language as him, and to hear it without the benefit of a translation device was more than a surprise. Standing outside the bathhouse was the youngest member of the household. He smiled with kindness at Fayt as he exited.

"H-hello," he said back. "How . . ."

"Humans have been on this planet for many centuries, as they like to say," the young man said. "According to the history tomes, we were able to communicate with them for some time until something happened, and the barriers were erected. We learned the language in order to speak with them after that."

"Oh . . . that makes sense." Fayt stood there. "How come you waited so long to talk to me?"

"It is customary to allow guests such as yourself a chance to become comfortable in new surroundings," he said. "My lahrljah and fathers have been monitoring your progress, and they are quite pleased with it. I would ask if those in your village have given you a name to go by, but we were informed the moment you were chosen for my brother that you do not hail from the Green. Do you have a name?"

"Yes," Fayt replied with a nod. "It's Fayt Leingod."

"Fayt . . . Leingod?" He tilted his head, his expression one of thoughtful curiosity. "Most from the Green only have one name . . . you are indeed unusual, Fayt Leingod."

"Fayt will be fine," he said. "And what's your name?"

"Ah, yes. How silly of me to forget." He smiled. "I am Cruen of the House of the Silver Phoenix, Black Storm, and Golden Dragon, and my lahrljah has instructed for me to retrieve you. It is time for your lessons to begin. That is, if you are finished?" His eyes traveled to the bucket.

"I think so . . . it just needs to be cleaned out."

"I shall wait then."

It didn't take long for Fayt to clean out the bucket and return it to the bathhouse. Cruen waited with patience for him then led him to one of the larger rooms of the house. As they walked, Fayt wondered what he'd meant by lessons. He opened his mouth to ask, but the walk to where his lahrljah waited for them didn't take very long. His lahrljah, the older man who wore white to signify his cleric status, waited for them in one of the larger rooms of the house. One wall was covered by shelves, each filled with books and scrolls. Several maps decorated another while tapestries covered the remaining two. In the center of the room was a long, circular table with eight chairs. Cruen's lahrljah smiled at Fayt as they entered the room.

"Greetings, my young friend," he said. "I trust you are feeling well?"

"Yes," Fayt said. "Thank you for asking."

"Has Cruen asked for your name?"

"Yes," Fayt answered. "It's Fayt Leingod."

"Fayt Leingod . . . unusual . . . no matter . . . I am Drovah of the House of the Silver Phoenix, Black Storm, and Golden Dragon. I will be instructing you while you are here."

"Instructing me?"

"Yes," Drovah replied. "Instructing you. I will be teaching you to read and to write."

"To read and write? Your language, right?"

"No." Drovah shook his head. "Your language. It is far more basic than our language and writing system."

"But . . ." Fayt frowned, puzzled. "I already know how to read and write. I learned how by the time I was four years old."

Surprise registered on Drovah's face, surprise and disbelief.

"I have not seen you lift up a book or a scroll to read," he said after a few moments. "And there are plenty written in the human tongue for you to have done so."

"I can't read without glasses," Fayt said. "It's been that way since I was about fifteen or sixteen years old. My mom and dad were the same way."

"Mawm? What is that?" Drovah asked.

"The woman who gave birth to me . . ." Fayt tilted his head. "Who else?"

"Is a wooman like a lahrljah?" Cruen asked. His question seemed to be more directed at Drovah, who was as equally confused.

"It sounds like it," Drovah replied.

"What is a lahrljah?" Fayt asked. Drovah's attention returned to him, still confused, but then he smiled and shook his head.

"What an interesting situation this is," he said. "The Kohvahn said you were different from the others they gathered. Perhaps we should start towards the beginning. You see, I am a lahrljah. A lahrljah is one who bears a child. All Morldarians are able to become lahrljah, and it has been this way for many hundreds of years. Cruen is my child, sired by my partner, Mek. He is what you would call a fighter, a warrior . . . and he is one of the highest ranking warriors in our city."

"Okay," Fayt said, nodding. Since he'd yet to see any females and hearing that words like mom and woman confusing the two Morldarians in the room, what Drovah told him made sense. It was a little creepy since it wasn't a concept he was used to encountering, but he couldn't expect alien races to be like humans. Drovah's smile grew a little, but not with amusement. If anything, it was that of pleasure and excitement at how quickly Fayt was picking up on what he was saying. "So the one I was with that one night is your child."

"You understand. This is good," he said. "And, yes. Fahl is my child as well, but I am not his lahrljah. Mek is his lahrljah and I his sire. He, I, and our other partner, Biknha, have each become lahrljah throughout our lives. You are lahrljah, too, Fayt."

"What?"

The words felt like a ton of stones falling on top of Fayt. He thought that perhaps he hadn't heard Drovah correctly.

"You are lahrljah . . . at least for a short while," Drovah said. "The ceremony you were in with Fahl, it is a transfer ceremony. It is one we've practiced in times of war for the last few hundred years, or at least since the humans came to our planet."

"And they let you do this?" Still shocked by the revelation, Fayt couldn't even determine how he felt. Overwhelmed was the only thing that entered his mind.

"The Kohvahn travel to the villages along the edges of the forests," Drovah said. "They seek out volunteers. They know what it is that we've asked of them."

"But no one told me!" Fayt wanted to shout at Drovah, but something told him it wouldn't do any good. "No one asked me anything! And how can you say that they were asked? All of them were bound when I first saw them!"

"Perhaps he shouldn't have been involved," Cruen said. "The other humans were asked."

"He wasn't asked because he was taken as a prisoner," a deep voice said. With his heart leaping in his chest, Fayt whirled around to see who had spoken and stumbled backwards. In the doorway stood Mek, his arms crossed. He didn't look angry, but he didn't look happy, either. "Believe it or not, Drovah, I spoke with the Kohvahn who brought him to us, and they told me where they found him. He arrived to our country in a strange vessel, and he was armed. According to the one, he tried to escape, but the others believed he reacted to what he was seeing out of fear." His gaze landed on Fayt. "It is a fact you were found with a weapon, is it not?"

"I won't deny that I had a sword," Fayt said.

"That is good then," Mek said, "for it is in my possession until we can determine whether or not you are a precursor to an attack. It could be you've had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but no one wishes to take that chance. We are already at war, and we do not wish to lose more of our children. The rest of your metal chariot is being dismantled as we speak. The Kohvahn, because of your blade alone, weren't even going to consider you for the ceremony. They had wished to send you to the slumlos, and believe me when I say that it would not have bode well for you if they had gotten their wish."

"I remember this part of the conversation with the Kohvahn," Drovah murmured. "Mek is correct, Fayt. The slumlos is no place for a human. It isn't even a place for Morldarians. Those in the slumlos are there for heinous crimes, and they are treated worse than animals. You would not have had much rest or food."

"Drovah believes that you are not a threat to us and I believe in him," Mek continued. "He, Biknha, and I were able to persuade the Kohvahn to enter you into the ceremony. You are able to wield a weapon. That was a factor in choosing you for Fahl."

"I could have fought," Fayt said. His voice choked with tears and anger. He understood that what they'd done was to save him from what sounded like a horrible fate, but he still couldn't believe what they were telling him, either. He? Carrying a child? It was preposterous!

"Against Fahl? Or in our war?" Mek asked. "Because we watched the ceremony, as is our custom. Out of the humans gathered, you not only seemed to know what he was doing to you but enjoyed it as well. As for the war . . ." He shook his head. "While we do not prohibit humans from owning weapons to protect their villages in times such as these, we would much rather keep and protect them from the horrors of this current one. Consider it a source of pride on our part, our desire to protect our lands as much as we possibly can without the aid of humans. They are also not like you, Fayt. While they know enough to survive as long as they have and to raise young, they don't have the same kind of intelligence as you."

Rage coursed through Fayt as Mek spoke. He clenched his hands, and he turned his head way from the Morldarian. The entire situation sickened him, more than what he could say. They had taken any choices he might have had away from him simply because he'd been found with a sword and deemed a threat. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mek approach him. The older man then knelt so they were nearly eye level, and he grasped Fayt's chin so they were looking at each other.

"I am very certain you understand why we have done what we have done," he said in a soft voice. "That much I can see in your eyes. I do not expect for you to forgive us for wanting to keep you away from the slumlos, but I will not tolerate any disobedience from you over this, either. You are lahrljah now and a guest in our home until the time comes when this war is over and our child returns to alive and well."

"I don't have to like it," Fayt said, sullen. Mek actually smiled a little at his words.

"For now, you don't like it," he murmured. "But as you feel the child within you growing, I am sure your mind will change. I know I did for my first child. And you do not strike me as the type who would hate a child for any reason."

Fayt didn't believe him, didn't want to believe him, but the older man was correct. It wasn't in his nature to hate anyone for any reason. He didn't even hate Luther for his attacks on the Eternal Sphere. It had taken him some time, but he'd started to understand why both his father and the Creator had acted as they had, and there was something more. He couldn't say if anyone else had noticed, but he thought that Luther was in some kind of pain before they'd entered his Workspace. If he could find it in himself to eventually understand and start forgiving Luther and his father for what they'd done, then Fayt knew this situation would be no different.

"I am right," Mek murmured. "I can see it in your eyes. It was the correct decision, pairing you with Fahl."

"Yeah," Fayt said, almost in a whisper. "You're right . . . it's just . . . a lot to take in . . ."

"For most human lahrljahs, it is," Drovah said. "I would not expect you to be any different, though yours, by far, has been the angriest reaction I've ever seen."

"Don't they usually say it's the woman's job or something like that?" Fayt asked, wiping at his eyes. He didn't know when he'd started to cry, but the tears were there all the same.

"That's just it . . . there are none," Mek said. He stood up. "The only humans we ever see in the villages are the men and young boys. Infants appear, but, as far as we have observed, no one is lahrljah. They only become lahrljah when they participate in the ceremonies, and, even then, we do not ask all of them. It is strange how it is they are able to survive at all."

"You mean by how skinny they look?"

"If you mean underfed, then yes," Mek said. "They are healthy, but not nearly healthy enough. You are the healthiest human we have ever seen. Because we paid the Kohvahn to not take you to the slumlos, we were more than fortunate to obtain you, as it were. I am sure it sounds insulting to you, to think of being paid for, but it is how it goes."

It was insulting to hear, even though Fayt knew the reasons were to keep him from being tortured. However, as insulting as it was to hear he'd been paid for to become a lahrljah, it disturbed Fayt even more to hear that the humans on this planet were struggling to get by when the Morldarians were obviously thriving as a culture.

"How come you don't do anything to help them?" he asked.

"The humans? We do what we can for them," Mek answered. "According to our history tomes and scrolls, the ones that have survived the course of time, we enjoyed quite friendly relations with the humans shortly after their arrival to our planet, and their population thrived as much as ours. But then we were invaded by the Shiva clans to the far south. It was an attack no one had seen coming, and, as such, despite our best efforts to protect the humans, most of them were killed in the fighting."

"The Shiva clans ignored our fighters at one point," Drovah added. "It led to an advantage for our ancestors, but the damage had already been done. Because the invaders ignored our people in favor to attack the humans, those who survived, weren't able to trust us. Though we have tried over the years to repair that kind of damage, they still mistrust us. We do trade goods with them and offer them medicines to care for their young, but it's about all we can do."

"Do they hide the women then or something?" Fayt asked. Mek and Drovah spoke with such earnest honesty on the matter, and he felt compelled to believe them.

"We have never seen any woomen either in or out of the village," Mek answered. He then inhaled a deep breath. "Some of the mistrust isn't just on the part of the humans, Fayt. Some of it is on our part as well. There are many things that have happened between our two races since the arrival of humans, and we have had to take precautions in order to ensure we are not wiped out by a surprise attack. I will not say just yet how it is we have done so, but know this . . . whether the humans realize it or not, we do monitor their village, to be sure all is well with them. The only ones we ever see are the men and the young boys. There are no woomen . . . we don't even know what one looks like, and, until you just told us, we have never even heard of them."