D'Alken sleeps in the arms of one of the maids, the girl's down-feathered arms wrapped around him, her soft legs entwined in his. A second girl spoons against him, breasts to back, whispering sweet bird song to the gentle song of slumber. He had rewarded himself tonight, because he had honored his master by being perfect as his duties.

In the room adjoining, Alex's door unbarred so he might be of immediate access should D'Ken need him, The Majestor and his sister/consort are asleep, heavy sleep from too much wine and too much food. They do not hear the soft sound of a panel slide open, or feel the wind from the revealed passage.

But someone does, someone without the downy feathers to shield him from the sudden chill.

D'Alken sits up, dislodging the girls, who begin to protest. "Shut up." He snaps, in a dark whisper, the bird song of formal Shi'ar gone from his voice. He slips out of bed, half dressed and barefoot to the door. "Stay." He presses his ear to his master's door.

He hears nothing, but there is a coolness coming beneath the door that tells him something was wrong. He retrieves his sword from the pile off crumpled clothes on the floor.

What happens next happens quick enough to almost defy explanation. He throws open the door, just as a sudden whistling is heard, a howling evil sound. Running with a long legged, graceful gait, he swings his sword as his master had taught him, and something slams out of the air, to shatter against the blade, one sliver of shrapnel creasing his cheek.

D'Ken and Deathbird sit up, startled from sleep. In that one panicked moment they do not see the panel that slides shut, or the figure that had ducked back inside it. They see only their loyal servant, poised to attack, standing over their bed with weapon drawn, eyes wild, fur matted. When he sees they are awake, his gaze focuses and his arm lowers to his side.

"D'Alken!" gasps the Majestor.

"Did you see?" Deathbird cries, "He tried to murder me! He tried to murder us both!"

The slave's eyes go wide, "No!" he cries, "No, my master, my dearest mattress, please! I was in my room. I felt a chill and I came to see that your curtains were drawn."

"With a sword!" Deathbird accuses.

"I felt something was wrong." D'Alken falls to his knee, "Please, Master, I would never try to harm you. You must believe that."

"D'Ken, there was no one else in this room!: Deathbird snaps, "He is a liar and an assassin."

The Majestor picks up a shard of metal, the hilt of the dagger that had been thrown at their bed. "D'Alken, go to Gladiator. Tell him to have the palace searched. I want to know that there is no one unwelcome in this palace."

"D'Ken!" Deathbird protests.

"My wife, be still." The lord of the empire says, "I don't know what happened here tonight, but D'Alken did not try to kill me. In fact, I believe he saved my life."

The slave presses his forehead to his master's bed, his brown eyes wet in that disconcerting human way he can't always help. "I am grateful for your trust, my Master. I seek to protect you. You are my master, my father, my only. I have nothing but love and fear for you."

D'Ken puts his hand on D'Alken's head and is surprised he has not noticed before now that the boy has become a man in his service. "Go to Gladiator."

"Yes, Lord." D'Alken rises, grateful and relieved. "I am already gone." He answers as has become his habit. And, then he makes good on his word, disappearing into his room to throw on his gown and shoo away the pair of frightened maids who had peered once or twice around the doorframe.

The Majestor gets out of bed and begins to dress.

Deathbird stays where she is, looking at the shards of the abandoned dagger. "Blast." She murmurs.

"Doctor, his power levels have spiked!" Kathy gasps, alarmed, as warning lights appear on the device on her son's collar. She slips a hand between his pajamas and the slim black suit he wears. There is a definite rise in his body temperature. "What is happening?"

Abdol checks the little monitor. "The levels are higher but not frighteningly so. "Look at his eyelids."

Kathy turns his son's head, and beneath the closed, bruised lids, his eyes mover rapidly back and forth. "Oh, my god, he's dreaming. Doctor, Alex doesn't dream. In fifteen years, he has never shown any signs of REM before. His mind isn't capable you always told me."

Suddenly, Alex flinches out of her grasp, and a stripe of blood creases his cheek.

"What the..." Abdol gasps, looking sharply at where Andrew's body lays slumped motionless. She shows no reaction.

Kathy touches the blood, wonderingly, and wipes at it with a corner of the sheets. A thin scratch crosses his cheekbone, absolutely without cause. "What is happening?" she asks, again.

"I am going to end this. He's not responding well." Abdol says, decisively.

Kathy puts out her hands. "No, no, Doctor, wait." She says, "Please, give this a little while longer. Something is happening, at least something is happening. I don't know what but its his only chance. Its been fifteen years. Just a few more hours."

Abdol sighs and goes to the door. He leans out and calls to one of the nurses, "Annie, bring in Alex's drain, please." He comes back to Kathy. "Let's lay him on the bed beside Andrews. If we are going to keep this up, we are going to need to make sure he doesn't explode on us."