It took a week for Azalel to gain enough strength to walk unaided, and even then her friends refused to leave her side. They became a regular sight; the Terran girl walking in a circle of three Protoss and one other Terran. The outside air worked wonders for her; her body was apparently relieved that it was no longer in the hot, burning sun of Shakuras and gained weight in fat—on the vicious planet she had lost all body fat to the vigorous workouts and the eating of tasteless, vitamin-enriched food.

The warp gate itself was shut down and dismantled, having been declared much too dangerous to be used. And after days of study none of the scientists ever found what had changed the frequency of the warp gate, leading to times and places unknown. Which did not comfort anyone in the slightest. Another one was to be built; using none of the materials the other had been, in fear that any of the pieces might have caused the incident.

After she was released by the Healers, Azalel faced a new problem: her home. With her father gone, she no longer saw the point of living in their little cottage. It pained her to see it so empty, but she had nowhere else to go.

"You could live with me," George offered one day as they stood and gazed across the small meadow at the graceful metal structure. "My parents adore you. And you said it yourself —High Templar Xarral was going to give you to them anyway, so we're practically brother and sister."

"Practically. Not completely," Azalel replied softly. She rubbed her wrist. She had refused to allow the Healers to remove her psi-blade, a decision that had probably enraged the Judicators of the Conclave (for they undoubtedly knew). Judicator Lesin had tried to tell her that Terrans were not allowed to handle a Khaydarin crystal, but she replied that a Protoss High Templar had given it to her, and she would never take it off.

Does it still pain you? Z'lirra asked, having noticed.

"Sometimes."

You should have let them at least fix it, Zyram said reprovingly, and Tolar agreed.

"If I allowed them to take it off I would never see it again."

"She's got a point," George said airily. "Protoss are so stuck-up."

To which Z'lirra and Zyram picked him up and tossed him about twenty feet away into a bush. George lunged to his feet and leapt for them, and they ended up doing a wrestling free-for-all.

Tolar reached over and encircled Azalel's waist with one strong arm, pulling her close. She glanced up at him with mild surprise as he brought her a little farther away from the tussling group. "What is it, Tolar?"

I… he hesitated, uncertain what she would say. I am going into the military service.

She stiffened, trying to pull away from him, but he tightened his grip. "How could you? After—after what you saw in Shakuras—"

I know. And that helped me make my decision. He paused, giving the impression of letting out a long breath. The Hybrids are going to return, Azalel; there is talk of a growing number of disappearing vessels and murdered citizens. And Ulrejaz and his followers are still out there, somewhere, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

"What are you talking about? Ulrejaz's followers probably died out—and Ulrejaz himself is most likely dead…"

No, Azalel, you know that they are not all gone. Ulrejaz is, as you say, most likely dead, but what of the rest of them? What of the Hybrids? Military service has stepped up in the last few years and I think it's because they know something will come up, is coming up. This age of peace will not last forever.

Tears were forming over Azalel's eyes, and she dashed them angrily away. "I don't want you to die like Father did," she whispered.

I know. I know. He hugged her hard. But I am not leaving until I finish school, and in the meantime… I would be honored if you would join my family, at least until you find a place to live. Maybe even—he stopped.

"Maybe even what?"

Maybe you will be able to come with me when I go to Aiur for study.

She hesitated. Though she never wanted to see battle ever again, but… she was closest to Tolar, and if he left… well, she would be alone. He was the closest thing to a boyfriend she ever had, especially since Xarral had chased away all other potential suitors in fatherly jealousy and he was the only one she was allowed to keep around, closer than Zyram, Z'lirra, or George. "What about the Protoss? I visited Aiur once when I was little, but I don't think they'd take too kindly at me living there. They're still very protective about their homeworld. Uh… you, too, being a Protoss…"

He laughed. The Judicators wanted to "keep an eye on you," remember? I don't think they'd disagree. And the Conclave keeps saying that the Terrans are allies, but they do not allow any of them to colonize Aiur. Sooner or later a Terran will live there, and it may as well be you.

She hated to admit it, but Tolar was making several very good points.

I already have spoken to my parents, he continued coaxingly. They think it is a wonderful idea, even the moving-to-Aiur part.

"Tolar…"

And the art there is incredible. The artists would love to speak to a fellow if alien artiste and see her views on things. Did you go to any of the art houses when you went there last?

"One. Brikhon's."

Only Brikhon's? There are so many of them there, and most are better than Brikhon!

"Oh, Tolar, I don't know if I'm ready to leave here just yet. This is my home."

It is mine, too, and I will always return here. Tolar pressed her closer, hunched over so he could gaze beseechingly into her eyes with his own gemfire ones. But you and Aiur have something in common, you know.

"I… what?"

You are both beautiful. Stunningly beautiful. He began to stroke her hair, tracing the lines of her scars and caressing her face.

She pushed back on his chest, red with embarrassment and anger. "Cut it out. I'm not beautiful, I'm hideously scarred and—"

No! Tolar said sharply, grabbing her face between both palms. Do not even think that you are ugly! You have a stunning body and a warrior's spirit. You are beautiful

"I think you two should get a room," called a dry voice. Both turned to look at George, Z'lirra, and Zyram, who were walking towards them. They hadn't heard the conversation—in Tolar's case, it was private, and in Azalel's case they were too far away. But they had seen the body language.

"Seriously," George said as they neared. Grass stained both his and the twins' clothes, and there were several bruises on the Terran's pale face. "Don't you agree, guys?"

Absolutely, Z'lirra said mildly. Why, look at their posturing. It looks as if they are about to throw themselves down and mate, right here and now.

Ah, Z'lirra my sister, Zyram sighed, you have become corrupted by the Terran's crude sense of humor. Where has my innocent little sibling gone?

"Little?" George grinned. "Wasn't Z'lirra born three minutes before you?"

Azalel gently tugged Tolar's hands away from her waist as they bickered, walking slowly towards the cottage. "I have to pack," she said, her voice a murmur.

Immediately her friends formed their circle around her, falling silent in respect. When they neared the house and Azalel stepped inside, she stopped, biting her lip and trying not to cry as she gazed around the familiar rooms. There was Father's computer-book, still on and paused at where he had marked it, awaiting his return. But he wasn't returning.

It took her four hours to pack everything—even though her friends helped, she lingered and let her gaze sweep over things that were soon to go. Several times she became too weak and had to sit down, and her friends carried out what they were doing at her direction

Nearing the end she leaned against Xarral's bed, biting her lip and trembling. Tolar had been watching her closely, and as soon as she did so he rushed over. Var'ha, what's wrong?

Normally she would have pushed him away. But she just stared at him, her deep brown eyes tearing up. "I hurt," she whispered. "I ache."

He knew exactly what she meant and gathered her close. Z'lirra, Zyram, George, finish up, he told the rest, who had stopped to crowd around her and comfort her. I think she needs to be away from this house for a while. They hurried to do as he said, pushing things into travel containers as Azalel had told them to.

Tolar brought her outside into the darkening dusk, letting her lean on him as she breathed the cool night air. "I'm sorry," she said, "I… those were Father's things in there… he's never going to be there again. Never."

I'm sorry, he replied. Azalel… I'm so sorry. He pulled her closer, his broad hands stroking her back. It was a very intimate gesture, especially for a Protoss, and if any other Protoss were to see them they would be horrified and break them apart. Ever since a week ago after he brought her home and Zeratul had helped her heal Tolar had been very touchy-feely, holding her close to him for long periods of time as if afraid she would run away. Azalel didn't care—if she closed her eyes she could imagine that it was Xarral, at least for a short time.

"I know you are… thank you," she said softly. After a few minutes she added wearily, "I don't want to be here any more. Tolar, yes, I'll come with you; live with your family. I'll even go to Aiur with you, if they'll let me. If something's coming… then I want to be there with the warriors and help defend our peace."

Tolar continued to hold her. Finally he said, steel behind every word, They'll accept you if I have to smuggle you in.

She laughed hoarsely.

Azalel, are you all right? Asked Z'lirra's worried mind-voice. The gang had come up behind them without them even noticing; not even Tolar, who stopped rubbing her back and moved away a little, but still held her up with one arm as she turned to face their friends.

She studied them. Her friends; her brothers and sister. They all would help her at a drum beat, comforting her at a second's notice. They would always be there, she knew. Even if they grew apart, all one of them would have to do is ask for help and they would all come. And they would all face this growing threat together.

She smiled. "Yes," she said. "I think I will be."