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could feel your affinity through your dreams and our encounter in my storm." They gazed at each other
for a moment and she nodded.
"I think we should return to the gathering," she said, but it was obvious to Mark what she'd prefer to do.
His common sense was glad that her reasoning was overcoming desire, but he was still frustrated. In spite
of his fear, he wanted this woman.
"After all, they'll already be talking about my leading you away as I did."
"I'd think around here someone in your position could pretty much do as they please."
"Hardly!" she said, laughing. "Don't you have a little game called politics on your world?"
"So, it's that way here too."
"! wanted to stake out my claim to you right up front," she said evenly, as though the passion of the last
minute had never occurred.
"After all, you outlanders are a prime interest around here. Not only has your arrival significantly shifted
the southern power bloc in my brother's favor, but we've got the guilds who want to get new ideas and
products from you, the priests who either want to try you as heretics or investigate any new truths your
society might have developed, et cetera, et cetera. Besides, I dare say half the women in the court would
be more than happy to make joy with you, if only to experience an offworlder."
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Mark couldn't help but feel a conflicting emotion of excitement at the prospect, mingled with anger at the
thought of being considered only a morsel for bored court ladies. He looked at Storm and wondered if
that was all that he represented to her as well.
"Ah, I can see by your expression what you're thinking of me," she said, drawing her arm through his.
She forced him to look into her eyes.
"Believe me, Mark Phillips, my interest in you is far from casual. Don't take our different standards and
apply them to your values. I'm interested in you, and I plan to find out what you really are."
Storm smiled, and Mark could sense the genuineness of her words. He smiled in return.
"Anyhow," she said softly, "I wanted to get to you first, before anyone else caught your attention."
Storm led him down the corridor and back to the brightly lit audience chamber. Mark noticed that more
than one head was turned in his direction, and a low murmur filled the room at their reappearance.
"So, now you've laid your claim to me publicly, is that it?" Mark said, not with anger but as a statement
of fact.
"Of course! Though more than one of the lovelies out there will try and get to you, as a challenge to me."
"Just a word of caution, if Allic hasn't already given it to you. Watch everything you say or do. Each
person here has their own game. Some of the people in this room would gladly kill their opponents if
given but half the chance."
"I'd think with a god and demigods like you around, that would be kind of hard."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, where I come from, our god has a tendency to severely punish any people who do wrong, or at
least those who don't follow what he thinks is right and wrong."
"Rather narrowminded of him," Storm replied.
Mark couldn't help but chuckle. "Doesn't Jartan punish wrongdoers?"
"Occasionally, when somebody really crosses him, but he isn't the only god, and blasting someone might
create political problems."
"Politics among gods?" Mark asked incredulously.
"Of course. Don't your gods engage in the game?"
"There's only one all-powerful god in our world."
"Sounds rather boring to me."
"I've never taken it up with him," Mark replied, trying to keep a straight face. "He isn't noted for his
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sense of humor."
"I can't understand this god of yours. How can a god have unlimited powers? Wouldn't unlimited powers
create unlimited boredom for their wielder? Our gods placed part of their powers into this world, creating
it, generating the forces so that life can flourish, and perhaps surpass them. With that comes a certain
randomness, which is the focus of existence. For, if everything were preordained, if everything were
controlled, nothing would be left but infinite boredom."
"Jartan has power, as do I, and even as do you. But your power is independent, and not even Jartan can
foresee all that you might do or become. If it were otherwise, he would have gone mad eons ago."
"In other words, there really is free will," Mark stated.
She looked at him uncertainly.
"Never mind. You're saying I might already have enemies here."
"You're vassal to Allic; you've been linked with me. Need I say more?"
As they came back to Allic's group, she was hailed by an older lady across the way, who waved her
over.
"Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, but rest assured, Mark Phillips, I'll be looking for you when we have
time to be alone."
She gave his hand a playful squeeze and turned away. For the moment he was alone, and he looked
around for a familiar face.
Kochanski was nowhere to be found. He noticed Ikawa off in a far corner, drink in hand. Suddenly
feeling somewhat isolated, he started across the room towards the Japanese officer, who looked over the
shoulder of the woman he was talking to and noted Mark's approach.
With a bow and gesture in Mark's direction, Ikawa broke off his conversation and joined Mark.
The look they exchanged was communication enough, and they quickly went to a table set in a quiet
corner.
"I noticed you disappearing with that woman," Ikawa said, smiling. "Half the people here noticed it, and
the other half was told within seconds."
"She certainly came on strong. By the way, she's Allic's sister."
"Ah, that explains why he was laughing when you wandered away."
"What about that number you were talking to?"
"She also came on very strong."
"Yeah, they all do around here." Mark chuckled ruefully. "By the way, where's Kochanski?"
"Oh, you missed that little stir. Right after you stepped out with your new friend, I saw two women in
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blue robes leading him out of the room. Allic said he had been singled out for a significant honor."
"What's that?" Mark asked.
"Just that Jartan summoned him for a private audience. Seems like quite a high honor."
"Honor, yeah," Mark said nervously. "Let's just hope he doesn't get all our butts in the wringer with
some stupid question of his."
Chapter 12
The game of Go had been in progress for hours when Sergeant Saito ruefully shook his head. "Takeo,
you have won again. I have played better than ever and still lost."
Takeo bowed and asked hopefully, "Another? I'll give you a six stone handicap?"
"No, not tonight. I think I'll relax and finish my glass of wine before I retire."
Another of the Japanese refilled his cup, showing good manners, as Saito stretched back on the couch.
"Who would have thought that we could go from the worst pesthole in the empire to this?"
The Japanese wardroom was a sitting room overlooking the pool, and just now it was filled with soldiers
at their ease. They had been a little slower than the Americans to adjust to the luxury of their
surroundings, but were enjoying their new life enormously.
Private Shigeru stirred and spoke deferentially. "Sergeant Saito, are we to work on 'creating' again
tomorrow?"
Saito stretched and replied, "Yes, we have another session in the morning, with a lecture on using
communications crystals after that. I think Pina has something special for us in the afternoon."
"I will never be able to create," Shigeru said ruefully. "Give me a load to lift or a task a man can see, and
I am happy. I am no good at making things that aren't there." And then quickly, "Of course I will keep
trying, honored sir."
Private Yasuma broke his customary silence and said softly, "All my life I have dreamed of being able to
create the things I see in my mind. I watch the American Jose bring things into existence, beautiful things,
and I know that if I could only match his talent I would be complete."
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