Auxiliary's Revenge: Wheel of Fire, #4

By Jeff Tanyard

Jerry Harper is back home, recovering from his injuries. It won't be for long. He's a strategic asset now, and the government is eager to send him back into action. They want to protect him better on his next war patrol, so he's assigned to a new station: the Agrarian Commonwealth's new battleship. He and the fleet soon jump out and begin their mission.

While in space, horrifying news arrives. The Reliants have invented a doomsday weapon, a virus that targets the Agrarian genetic code. They begin deploying it, and Agrarians are killed by the billions. Jerry is tasked with using his electrokinesis to find the virus's production facility so that a coordinated attack can be made. It might be the only chance the Commonwealth gets before the galaxy's Agrarians are exterminated.

Jerry's health is in rapid decline due to his electrokinesis. He can't afford to push himself. But a Rifleman does his duty, even if it kills him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff Tanyard
• Release date: Feb 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393244288

Book preview

Chapter 1 – Hard Science

Master Sthenys watched the Reliant scientists at work. He paced—so far as a non-corporeal being could be said to pace in a material world—and occasionally nodded or emitted a satisfied grunt. The lab was a white, sterile, cold place, but there was an energy in the air, an enthusiasm that didn't show on those gray faces but permeated the room nonetheless. It gave him a good feeling, a sense that the Reliant Mentarchy would soon get the upper hand in the war in a way from which its enemies could never recover.

In spite of his good feeling, the action in the lab was dull. The room's layout and equipment were focused on research, not experimentation, so the place was mainly furnished with tables and chairs and monitors. The work was mostly invisible, happening via computer and in the heads of the men and women. It was all very orderly and antiseptic and boring. If Sthenys wanted excitement, he would have to go elsewhere.

So he did. He shifted to another room.

This room had no research stations. It had no tables or chairs. Instead, it contained two rows of transparent polymer cage-like cylinders separated by a center aisle. The cages were airtight, rugged things designed to withstand any violent actions from the captives. Each had a door and an airlock for transferring food and toiletries. There were hoses and machines atop each one for atmosphere control and other functions. The cages were designed for a single purpose: to conduct medical experiments on unwilling humans. A few of them were empty. Most were not. The occupied cages held naked Agrarians.

Sthenys strolled down the aisle, glancing at each Agrarian captive in turn. They had all been there for at least a few days, and all were greasy and unshaven. Some of them pounded on the polymer with their fists, their mouths moving in silent curses. Others had pained looks and seemed to be pleading with him in a vain attempt at obtaining mercy. Aside from the dull thumps of the fists pounding, the cages were effectively soundproof. Which was good, because Sthenys wasn't interested in listening to any sodbuster whining. They were a lesser Breed, tools to be used when needed and to be discarded when not, nothing more.

A Reliant scientist stood at the end of the row. She wore a white lab coat over the usual gray tunic of the Mentarchy. She was taking notes on a tablet. She would occasionally glance up at the captive Agrarian woman in the cage just inches away.

The Agrarian woman stood with her hands over her groin, apparently still modest in spite of her predicament. The name on her cylinder identified her as twenty-six-year-old Ellen Treadwell.

The Reliant didn't seem interested in Ellen much at all. She glanced at her with the detached look of a mechanic examining an engine.

Sthenys approached her. Hello, Jadaya.

Jadaya looked at him. Now there was a spark of interest in her eyes. Master Sthenys. It's an honor to see you again. Is there something—

Just observing. I enjoy seeing the results of scientific progress firsthand. Tell me your results so far.

There are no results as of yet. We've been establishing a baseline. This subject—Ellen Treadwell—will be the first to be tested at this laboratory. The others here will be exposed on a staggered schedule. The subjects come from a variety of worlds and environments. We want to ensure that the Agraricide works on all genetic and epigenetic permutations within the Agrarian Breed. This particular subject is from the planet Newstead. We couldn't send Reliants to procure our subjects, of course, due to the current political situation. But there are always some unscrupulous Agrarians willing to betray their own for money. It's a disgusting trait resulting from their insistence on independent thinking, I suppose. They lack the care and guidance of a single ruling mind, and the result is chaos.

Senzon pretended to be interested in the propaganda. He knew she was just telling him what she thought he wanted to hear, but he had heard every argument for every idea in the galaxy, and it was tiresome. Still, that didn't make Jadaya's opinion less true, and even though he had heard it all a million times before, he still agreed with it, so he made the effort to avoid looking irritated for her sake. The mortals needed affirmation from their betters, after all.

Regardless of the reason for their betrayal, Jadaya continued, the pertinent fact is that some Agrarians are willing to sell us what we need, and the Mentarchy has paid handsomely for these subjects. The test is about to begin if you would like to watch.

Yes, I'll stay for a moment. Please continue with your work.

Thank you, Master. Jadaya made a few more notes on her tablet. Finally, she looked at Sthenys. We will now begin. She tapped once on her tablet.

A white mist sprayed into the cage from a nozzle in the cylinder's roof. Ellen looked up at the nozzle with fear-filled eyes. She turned back to Jadaya and began pounding on the polymer with the palms of her hands. Tears began to stream down her cheeks.

How long for it to take effect? Sthenys asked.

Jadaya slipped her tablet into a coat pocket, turned to him, and clasped her hands behind her back. Our projections indicate that, on average, the first symptoms should appear within twenty-four hours. Severe symptoms appear within seventy-two hours, and death occurs within five to seven days after initial exposure. There are many variables, of course, such as the age of the subject, prior medical conditions, overall robustness, and so forth. But if our research is accurate, most Agrarians exposed to the virus—perhaps even all of them—should be dead within a week.

Sthenys watched Ellen cry and protest. He allowed himself a grim smile. The Agraricide held great promise, and it was the best potential weapon the Mentarch had yet devised. He would know the results soon enough.

Chapter 2 – Ceremonies

Jerry Harper had never lived so luxuriously in his life. Upon returning to Homestead from Sherin Ch'taia, Ealdorman Philip Brewer had insisted that he move into the Brewer family mansion in Mill River County for reasons of safety. Brewer had cited the home invasion at Jerry's house, his value as a strategic asset due to his telekinesis, and the fact that security at the mansion was better than it could possibly be at Jerry's modest home.

Jerry eagerly accepted the offer.

Life in the mansion was very different. He was a little embarrassed about it, but only a little. Getting used to luxury proved easy. A few weeks after moving in, he felt right at home. He was actually starting to dread the day he'd have to leave.

There were servants to see to his needs. There were sheriff's deputies and even some Riflemen around to ensure his safety. The guest room wasn't especially large, but the walls and ceiling were paneled with fine wood, the bed's expensive mattress was like a warm cradle rocking him to sleep, the furniture was upholstered with leather as soft as velvet, and the whole place smelled like old money, like something out of a children's fable. The only thing that put a damper on the illusion was the medical stand next to the bed, the bag of fluid hanging from it, and the tube leading from the bag to the port in his arm.

Jerry gave the tube a resigned stare. He had healed a good bit—Sherin Ch'taia had left him battered and broken—but he wasn't back to his old self yet, assuming he ever would be. It seemed like half his life had been spent being treated for wounds or illnesses. His War Strain medicine, the breathing apparatus, surgery for his wounds, the various shots the doctors had given him... ever since the Claim War, there had always been something. The tube was just the latest reminder of his frailty.

He itched to be free of it, of medical devices altogether, to be able to walk around under his own power, and to generally put his past hurts behind him and get back into the war. Brave Agrarians were fighting and dying, both on other worlds and in the black, and his electrokinesis was a powerful weapon, powerful enough to save many lives. He hated thinking of how many he might have saved had he been there. While they were being killed, he lay in a fancy bed in a mansion, useless, tethered to a machine like an ox to a plow and with servants to take care of him.

Try to relax, Auxiliary-Captain Kajora said, apparently reading his mood. She wore one of her tan working uniforms and had also moved into the mansion at Brewer's request. There was a small scar on her forehead, a reminder of the Battle of Skybridge 2. As Jerry's semi-official doctor, she was in charge of his treatment.

Relax, Jerry said with a sniff. Yeah. His eyes kept drifting to her scar, though he tried to ignore it. Too many bad memories. And guilt, too. It was every Rifleman's duty to protect the Auxilians, and his efforts had fallen short. Kajora's scar was an accuser.

She fiddled with the machine's flow rate. I know you don't like being stuck in bed, but your body needs time to heal. Resting is just as essential as the tube.

I'm sick of the tube, doc, Jerry said, "and I'm getting stir-crazy. My legs are a little stiff and weak, but they work fine. There's no reason I can't walk around a little. I need to get up and walk around at some point, and soon, before I have some sort of breakdown."

Patience. You'll be going back to Stonefell County soon, and you can walk around tomorrow.

Jerry sighed.

The good doctor has yet to steer you wrong, said Calael Avisherin from the overstuffed leather-upholstered chair in a dark corner of the room. His yellow eyes glowed slightly in the dim light. You would be wise to heed her instructions.

Jerry glanced over at him. "I am heeding her instructions. I just don't like it, so I'm complaining about it. I'm a soldier. Complaining is what we do."

So I've heard. Agrarians are a strange Breed.

Says a man with fangs and slitted pupils.

Kajora chuckled.

A fair point. Calael took his stiletto from a hidden pocket and began picking at a fingernail.

The door opened, and General Vernon Gardener entered with a pair of men from the Homestead Volunteer Rifles on his heels. The Riflemen were armed with swords and plasma pistols, and they took up sentry positions on each side of the door. They gave Calael the sort of look a man might give a wolf on a leash of unknown length.

Calael ignored them.

Don't try to get up, Harper, Gardener said.

Yes, sir. Jerry saluted him.

Gardener returned the salute. He glanced at Kajora. How is he, Captain?

He's healing slowly, sir, Kajora said, but he'll be on his feet tomorrow and back in Stonefell within the week. We'll begin rehabilitating him in earnest. Then his recovery should accelerate.

Good. He turned to Calael and scowled. I still don't like your presence here, Avisherin. You're a danger to Homestead, and you're a potentially destabilizing influence on the whole Commonwealth. Frankly, the Wheel of Fire simply isn't big enough for a man like you. But your pledge to Harper seems genuine, so if you must exist in this galaxy, then I guess I'm glad to have you around to protect him.

Calael put his stiletto away and gave him a slight smile. Faint praise, General Gardener, but I'll accept it.

Gardener turned back to Jerry and planted his hands on his hips. "Harper, let me be blunt. You're a valuable asset, and we need you back in the fight. Which you already knew, of course. But what you don't know is how you'll be deployed. Or, rather, how you won't be deployed. Which is why I'm here."

Sir? Jerry asked.

I'm talking about the abject lunacy of one Norton Williams of Lightbridge.

The Turtle, sir?

"That's right. The man's a genuine psychotic. He never should have sent you out on a mission with just a squad-sized unit to watch your back. Your ability is way too important to be risked in that way. And then ordering you to storm a castle? What was he thinking? Well, he wasn't thinking, obviously. But that's the Turtle for you. And now we're all dealing with the consequences. Once the dust from Sherin Ch'taia settled a little bit, Ealdorman Brewer made a call to Lightbridge. You would have been proud of him, Harper. He really stood up for you. He had some harsh words for Ealdorman Andy Graves about how the Turtle disposed of you. Graves tried a little halfhearted defense to save face, but I suspect he knew Brewer was right. Turtle Williams is a genius, but he's also nuttier than a squirrel turd, and he's always been just as much liability as asset. And now he's been demoted once again. This is the third time he's been knocked down a peg, if I recall correctly. He went from colonel all the way down to captain this time, if you can believe that."

Jerry gaped. Wow.

Exactly. Gardener snorted. A fifty-three-year-old captain. What a hoot. But that's what happens when you're crazy enough to pull incredible victories out of your hat but too crazy to be trusted with anything really important. He's in charge of a tank company now. It's where he's always belonged, in my opinion. His instincts are best suited for maneuver warfare and units of that size. But I'm no Lightbridger, so I don't get a say in the matter. In any event, the Turtle paid dearly for the way he treated you, and Brewer made that happen.

Well, sir, Jerry said, I'm flattered that the Ealdorman would stick up for me like that. If you could, sir, please pass my thanks along to him.

No need, Harper. He's on his way here as we speak. You can tell him yourself. But I wanted to see you first. I wanted to assure you that things will be different going forward. We intend to use you, but we intend to protect you, too. No more wild risks or suicidal operations. Homestead's got your back, Rifleman.

Thank you, sir.

Gardener shook his head and grimaced. "I'm still angry about the whole matter. If the Turtle was here right now, I'd kick the man in the nuts just on general principle. I'm an Academy man, Harper, and at Homestead Military Academy, we're taught to take our responsibilities as future officers seriously. We're taught to value our men as men, not just as mere tools."

Calael gave him a curious look. Are men from other military schools taught differently, General?

Gardener looked annoyed at the question, but he answered anyway. The Turtle's a product of Raven View Institute, one of the smaller military academies on Lightbridge, and it shows. The Ravens have always been a weird bunch. Some of the best and worst officers ever minted have come from that place. And in the case of Turtle Williams, we apparently got 'best' and 'worst' in the same man.

Interesting. Calael gave Jerry a smirk. A strange Breed indeed.

Jerry rolled his eyes.

Be grateful you're a Homesteader, Harper, Gardener said, and not usually subject to Lightbridge's chain of command. Imagine having to take orders from the Turtle on a regular basis. Makes my skin crawl. We're Homesteaders, and thank the Breeder for that.

Yes, sir, Jerry said.

Before I send you out again, though, I want to get you up to speed on a few things. What I'm about to tell you has already been in the news, so it's not secret, but you've been busy recovering, and Kajora tells me she's prohibited the news in here in order to help you relax.

That's right, Kajora said sternly. And I'd like things to stay that way, General. Is this change really necessary?

I believe it is, Captain. I wouldn't normally go against your wishes on a medical matter, but Harper is going to deploy soon, and I have to get him ready.

She frowned for a moment, but then she nodded.

Gardener gave Jerry a grave look. Harper, I feel like I need to impress upon you the gravity of the situation, so here it goes. There's civil unrest breaking out all over the galaxy. Rosie's Respite, for example, is a bloodbath. There's a full-blown civil war going on there.

Jerry gave Calael a quick glance. The rumor was that a Felid assassin had killed some Paragons there. If so, was that what sparked the violence? Was a certain notorious Harowaith responsible for starting a civil war? If so, who had ordered it?

Calael met his gaze unflinchingly, revealing nothing.

There was a small uprising on Allport, Gardener continued, in the city of River Junction, but the authorities quickly suppressed it. On Plowman's Stop, anti-war rebels seized control of the planetary defense system and declared their planet's withdrawal from the Commonwealth. Some of the Navy men from that world have already deserted. There was even a mutiny attempt on a destroyer, but it was suppressed by the infantry. A few other Commonwealth planets have threatened to withdraw, and they're credible threats, Harper, not just posturing. There have been protests everywhere, including here on Homestead. Some of our own protesters have been waving the old national flags and talking about fracturing our world's political unity. Some of those troublemakers are right there in your own Stonefell County. Some want to resurrect the Nomaian Empire. Others want to bring back the Kingdom of Stonefell. Crazy stuff.

Jerry wasn't sure what to think about that. On the one hand, the timing was terrible; the planet needed to be united for the war effort. On the other hand, the idea of bringing back the kingdom was an appealing one. Jerry's family roots were solidly planted in Stonefell County, and some of his ancestors had lived in the kingdom. He was sworn to Homestead, of course, and he'd do his duty, but his heart couldn't help but beat a little faster at the notion of Stonefell's independence.

Fortunately, Gardener continued, our enemies are having similar issues. The Paragon Hierarchy is having civil wars of its own, including one right there on the capital world of Skytower. The Seagaters are having a standoff with the Draelians across the ocean. There have already been a few skirmishes, and both sides are mobilizing for a major battle. And there have been assassinations in both cities, and other regions of Skytower are getting involved, and the other worlds of the Hierarchy are starting to take sides, but not in any cut-and-dried way. You know how Paragon politics are. It's a total mess. Which is good for us, of course. We'll take advantage of their chaos. But we've still got our own problems, too.

What about the Mentarchy, sir? Any change there?

The Mentarch still rules its worlds with an iron fist. Our intelligence sources have reported some strange things, though. Some Reliants are getting a little... restless, I suppose you could say. Nervous, erratic, whatever. We're not sure if it's their own emotions showing through or if it's the Mentarch's emotions. Either way, it's an interesting development. We're keeping an eye on it and watching for any opportunities.

Jerry wondered if the Mentarch's behavior was related to his encounter with it in the Temple of Kota. If he had indeed scared it, as he thought he had, then maybe it was having a nervous breakdown or something. His thoughts went back to the Paragon he had killed in the forest on Sherin Ch'taia and the reactions to the man's death from his Swayed Reliants. Some of those Reliants had fought back. Some had killed themselves. And some simply went catatonic. There was no way to predict how any single Reliant would react to suddenly having full control of his own mind. The only certainty was in the madness of the crowd. If/when the Mentarch finally broke, it would be a mania for the ages.

Unfortunately, Gardener said, no matter how skittish individual Reliants get, the Mentarchy's fleets are still an enormous danger. Several of them have converged at the planet Baseband, and we think more are on their way. We think it's going to end up being a massive super-fleet that the Mentarch will send out against a single target. They hit Lightbridge once but turned back, so RI is thinking they'll try again with overwhelming strength. When we're not arguing with the Lightbridgers about Turtle Williams, we're discussing the repairs at Skybridge 2 and other preparations for this hypothesized second attack. We all agree that the situation looks grim. If this massive consolidated fleet does in fact hit there, then Lightbridge will probably fall. But until we have solid intelligence, we won't know where those ships are going or when, so for the time being, we wait.

Jerry didn't like that at all. He'd already fought in the Battle of Skybridge 2. He'd lost men. He'd watched Lieutenant Allen Slate die right in front of him. He didn't want to go back and fight a second time for space already won with blood.

I do have some good news, Gardener said. After considering your report from the Sherin Ch'taia campaign, and given our need for experienced officers, we've decided to give Lon Mason a battlefield promotion. He's a lieutenant now. We've given him command of a reorganized 42nd B Snake Platoon.

That's great, sir, Jerry said. He'll do well.

There was a knock at the door.

Calael tensed.

Jerry noticed. It was a slight change, almost imperceptible, but he noticed. Calael's hearing was very sensitive, almost supernaturally so, and Jerry figured he could probably identify people coming down the hall by the particulars of their footfalls. That was why he hadn't flinched when Gardener arrived—he recognized the sound of the general's approach. Whoever had knocked this time must have sounded unfamiliar. And if that person looked like a threat, he had no doubt Calael would spring from his chair and murder him before anyone could blink. No one ever believed the wild stories of the Harowaith assassin-monks... until they encountered a Harowaith in person. Then the stories became all too real.

One of the Riflemen opened the door. A pair of men entered carrying instrument cases.

Calael's body language relaxed.

Jerry grinned. Hey, look who's here!

Hey, Jerry, said Bill Finch, the guitarist from Jerry's band. He set his guitar case down on the carpet and offered Jerry his hand. Looks like you lost a tooth since we saw you last.

Jerry shook his hand. Yeah. Took a solid punch to the face on Sherin Ch'taia.

Ouch.

You can say that again. They tell me I'll get some kind of dental implant when the war's over.

Well, that's good, at least. We've been trying to visit you, but they wouldn't let us in until now. Ealdorman Brewer promised we could come up for a visit, though, as soon as the docs cleared it, and they just did.

That was awfully thoughtful of the Ealdorman. It sure is good to see you fellows. How's it going, Clay?

It's going. Clay Ackerman, the fiddler, patted his rotund belly. Been trying to keep in shape. Circular's a shape, right?

Jerry laughed.

We thought we'd play a song or two, if that's all right, Bill said, looking questioningly at Kajora.

I think that would be nice, Kajora said. But Jerry can't play along until he's back home. It might prove too taxing. She turned to Jerry. I don't want you singing, either.

Jerry rolled his eyes. I'm not made of porcelain, you know. I could play a gig tonight if I had to. You're such a wet blanket sometimes.

Doctor's orders. Don't worry. I'll approve you for activity soon. Just not today.

Fine.

Then let's get started, Bill said, opening his guitar case.

Clay brought out his fiddle, and then both men launched into Homestead Blues.

Jerry didn't sing, but he sang along in his mind, grinning from ear to ear. It had been so long since he'd played with his band that he hadn't realized how much he had missed them. For the first time since leaving for the Skytower mission, he felt like he was truly back home.

Calael watched the performance with an expression of puzzled amusement.

Kajora stared intently at Clay's bow, almost mesmerized by the speed and skill with which the big man sawed the strings. She had told Jerry on Sherin Ch'taia that she had become a fan of the band after watching old videos, and her wider-than-usual eyes seemed to confirm it. Her heel stomped the carpet like a metronome, making the medical stand shake slightly.

General Gardener folded his arms across his chest and kept an impassive face, but he couldn't keep his head from bobbing along with the beat.

The Riflemen at the door smiled unashamedly, and at least one of the men knew the words, because he mouthed them silently along with the singing.

The song wrapped up, and Clay finished it with a flourish.

Kajora clapped and grinned.

Very good, Gardener said gruffly.

As soon as this war's over, Bill said, we can get back to our usual gig routine.

Looking forward to it, Jerry said. I'm so sick of war. I'm sick of the nightmares. I don't dream about Blackshoals anymore, but I still dream. It's usually about the Nightfire now. And I don't understand that at all. All I know is that I'm ready for it to all be over. I want my peace and quiet back.

There was another knock on the door. One of the Riflemen opened it.

An old Reliant woman entered. She was long-haired, setting her apart at a glance from the Reliants of the Mentarchy, and she wore an Agrarian dress.

Miss Carpenter, Jerry said, blinking with surprise. I wouldn't have expected you to show up here. It's good to see you, though.

Hello, Jerry. Ealdorman Brewer invited me here to check up on you. He's such a nice man. I'm glad we have someone like him to represent Homestead in the Commonwealth. I've seen Ealdormen come and go, and we've had a lot of worse men in the office in the past, believe me. She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to give him a hug. I'm so glad to see you alive and back home. I was afraid you were going to die on that awful Felid planet.

Calael cocked an eyebrow. 'Awful Felid planet'? Tread carefully, Reliant. That's close to blasphemy. Sherin Ch'taia is sacred.

I'm sure she didn't mean any offense, Jerry said, hoping Miss Carpenter would confirm.

Miss Carpenter gave Jerry a smile and then turned to look at Calael. You must be that Calael Avisherin person everyone can't stop talking about.

I am, Calael said.

Then you and I need to have a talk, young man. I hear you Harowaith are believers in the Breeder, but you've got it all wrong. The Breeder didn't intend for anyone to be an assassin.

Calael's pupils narrowed to slits.

Jerry's mouth went dry, and there was a sudden tension in the room. He really didn't want to see his landlady get killed.

She strode over to Calael, knelt on the floor next to his chair, and patted his arm. You poor thing. You've only been taught one viewpoint your whole life. I can show you another side of the Breeder, a side that's not about killing. His will is about love and order and other good and noble things.

Calael appeared to be caught off guard. He looked more wary now than aggressive, and his eyes shifted from her face to her hand on his arm and back. I'm not sure I—

You're capable of love. I know that for a fact. Jerry's told me a little about you. You were in love with that woman—what was her name? Sheera?

Shishira, Calael said in a low voice.

That's right. Shishira. You must have been so devastated when she was killed. I'll bet you never even talked to anyone about it, did you? See, that's where I can help. I'm an easy person to talk to. And I think Shishira would want you to talk about her, too, so you could work through the grief. Actually, there are people at church who would make even better listeners. Do they have churches on your home world?

Homestead is my home now, Calael said, but I—

You should visit my church, Miss Carpenter said, and take in a few sermons. Maybe talk to the preacher. It'll help you get over your pain. Also, I think you'll come to realize the error of your sinful ways.

Sinful ways, Calael deadpanned. The look in his eyes was a little more wild now, and his gaze bounced between Miss Carpenter and Jerry.

Jerry shrugged. Matters of religious doctrine were not his specialty.

Killing people all the time isn't the Breeder's will, Miss Carpenter went on. You'll see. And after church, I'll cook you a nice meal. Perhaps some good old-fashioned chicken and dumplings. We'll eat and discuss religious things. And other things, too. We'll talk about anything you want. Do you like chicken and dumplings?

I don't think—

I've got all sorts of literature, too. You'll want to read it, I'm sure. You seem like a reader. I can show you where to get started. We'll have little tests along the way, too. It'll be fun. She reached up and patted his cheek. He flinched, almost leaping out of his chair, but she didn't seem to notice. I don't think you're half as bad as they say. In fact, I think you're a good man at heart. You just need direction. I never had any children of my own, you know, so I always enjoy doing things for the young people. It's so easy for them to drift into bad habits. They need their elders to show them the way. You could definitely use a little enlightenment. I think I'll make you my own personal project.

Uh... Calael blinked, his mouth hanging open.

Jerry bit his lip to keep from laughing. The man was actually at a loss for words. Calael had experienced all sorts of wonders and terrors from one side of the galaxy to the other, but he'd never faced anything like Ann Carpenter of Stonefell County, the Reliant who was more Agrarian than most Agrarians.

The Breeder loves you, Calael, Miss Carpenter said with a kind smile, just as much as he loves anyone else. You just have to be open to that love.

Breeder's will be done, Calael said weakly. It was a non-committal thing to say, but it seemed to deflate him. It sounded like a surrender.

Jerry couldn't keep it in anymore, and he clapped a hand to his mouth and laughed. The notorious Gray Death had finally met his match.

There was yet another knock on the door. One of the Riflemen opened it, and both of them immediately came to attention.

General Gardener's posture stiffened, and he saluted.

Philip Brewer, Ealdorman of Homestead, entered the room with a small entourage of people in his wake. He was a short, stocky man with a weak chin, the sort who ordinarily wouldn't warrant a second