"They seem to rely entirely on the direct effect of the heat or lightning they generate. The 'fireballs,' in particular have a pronounced blast effect, but I think it's actually secondary. And they seem to . . . detonate the instant they encounter any sort of target or resistance, even if it's only a tree limb or a screen of brush."

"Obviously, none of us-" Arthag's micrometric nod indicated the troopers of his platoon "-actually saw the battle, Company-Captain. But after examining the damage patterns out there, I'd have to say I think Voice Kinlafia's on to something. There's no sign anywhere of the sort of punch-through effect you'd get from our own artillery. And no shell splinters or shrapnel, either. Their artillery seems to be spectacular as hell, and it's certainly devastating to anyone actually caught in what Voice Kinlafia calls its 'zone of effect,' but that zone is smaller than we originally thought, and I don't believe their 'guns' are going to be able to punch through very much in the way of serious cover."

"So you and the Voice think the reason their fortifications seem so . . . spindly is that their own weapons wouldn't be able to penetrate them and they've assumed that since theirs wouldn't, ours can't?"

"Something along those lines, Sir," Kinlafia said, and surprised chan Tesh with a tight smile. "I've noticed that people-whether they're military or civilians-tend to think in terms of the things they 'know' are true. It's called relying on experience, and in general, it's a pretty good idea, I suppose. But in this case, no one has any experience. Not really."

"A very good-and valid-point, Voice Kinlafia," chan Tesh said, impressed by the other man's ability to think when he was so obviously on fire with grief and fury. The company-captain nodded respectfully to the Voice, then turned back to Arthag.

"These here," he said, tapping the sketch with his forefinger. "These are those tube things-the artillery-Voice Kinlafia's just been describing?"

"Yes, Sir," Arthag agreed, and chan Tesh nodded.

There were, he conceded, a dismayingly large number of the odd artillery pieces. Some of them were also clearly larger than others, which to chan Tesh's mind suggested that they were probably more powerful and longer ranged. From the way they were positioned, he suspected they'd been emplaced to sweep the relatively flat ground on the far side of the portal with fire. Given their demonstrated potency, even without the secondary fragmentation effect of Sharonian artillery, that probably made sense. But why in the gods' names had they put them right on top of the portal that way? And with no better cover than they had?

"I think they're going to have a little problem here, Platoon-Captain Arthag," chan Tesh said after a few seconds. He looked up with a thin smile. "I've brought along a mortar company."

Arthag's eyes narrowed. Kinlafia's, on the other hand, began to glitter with fierce satisfaction, and chan Tesh nodded.

"There's a spot right here, Sir," Arthag said, indicating a point on the sketch map. "There's a nice little ravine on our side of the portal, deep enough to give cover to a standing man. It doesn't have a direct line of sight to the portal, but I think it would do just fine for mortars."

"Good." Chan Tesh gave the map another look, then folded it up.

"I believe you said something about supper, Platoon-Captain," he observed. "We're going to need to rest the horses for at least several hours, and I don't mind admitting that I could use a little sleep myself. Let's go find that food, and while I eat, I'd like to talk with your Whiffer and Tracer and Voice Kinlafia."

"Of course, Sir. Right this way."

Once the animals had been picketed for the night, chan Tesh's weary men devoured the supper Arthag's troopers had held ready for them, then fell into their sleeping bags, dead to the world within minutes. Chan Tesh would desperately have liked to join them, but he had other duties to discharge first. So he sat propped against a tree at Arthag's campfire, finishing his second bowl of stew, and listened quietly to the reports from Arthag, Kinlafia, Parcanthi, and Hilovar.

It wasn't a pretty story. Chan Tesh had already heard Kinlafia's report of the initial attack, relayed by Rokam Traygan, but it was different hearing it directly from Kinlafia himself. As the Chalgyn Consortium Voice made himself recount every detail of the horrendous attack, chan Tesh could literally taste the man's anguish and hatred. He wanted to reassure Kinlafia that they would do everything in their power to track down any survivors, but the chances of there being any survivors didn't sound good. None of these men-himself included, he admitted-really hoped to find anyone alive, but they were determined to try.

And failing that, Balkar chan Tesh reflected grimly, I want the opportunity to exact some serious vengeance.

The company-captain was Ternathian by birth and rearing, but his family hadn't always been. In fact, his father had immigrated to Ternathia with his own parents as a youth. Emigrated, in fact, from Shurkhal. Chan Tesh didn't normally think of himself as Shurkhali, but he'd just discovered, over the last five days, that the blood of his father's people still ran in his veins. If Shaylar Nargra-Kolmayr had died in that blood-stained clearing over there, there wasn't a hell deep enough for the enemy to hide in.

Watch yourself, Balkar! he chastised himself dutifully. You're not really some Shurkhali nomad out stalking another clan for vengeance. You're also an imperial Army officer, with a responsibility not just to the Authority, but to His Imperial Majesty, as well. Neither of them need a hotheaded, out-of-control junior officer at the other end of the multiverse committing them to all-out war with another trans-universal civilization!

All of which was true enough, but didn't change a thing about the way he felt. Or about his determination to seek punishment for the individual responsible for this debacle. He was honest enough to admit that he would prefer to squeeze the life out of the bastard himself, with his own bare hands, but he'd settle for having the butcher's own rulers, whoever the hell they were, hang him for the murderer he was. And Balkar chan Tesh was grimly certain that punishment exactly like that would be one of Sharona's demands whenever diplomatic relations were finally established.

"The one thing that really worries me," he said at length, having absorbed everything as well as his weary mind was able to, "is how close they may be to reinforcements of their own. We have no idea how far this fortified swamp portal of theirs is from their own next entry portal. Or of how long a transit chain they may be dangling from."

"You don't think they could be native to that universe?" Kinlafia asked, twitching his head in the general direction of the swamp portal.

"I suppose it's remotely possible," chan Tesh replied. "I think it's extremely unlikely, though. That's an exploration camp over there, Voice Kinlafia. They-"

"Please, Company-Captain," Kinlafia interrupted with another of those pain-filled but genuine smiles, "I'm not really all that fond of formal titles, and I'm a civilian. I don't have any formal standing in your chain of command, and I fully realize how out of my depth I am when it comes to any sort of military operations. So it seems a little silly to be going all formal when you talk to me. My name's Darcel."

"Of course . . . Darcel," chan Tesh said. "And mine's Balkar."

He smiled back at the Voice for a moment, then continued.

"As I was saying, Darcel, that's a small, very crude camp on the other side of that portal. They're still sleeping in tents, and that indicates they've only recently arrived at the portal site. If that were their home world on the other side, surely they'd already have known about the portal and explored it long since. I realize from Platoon-Captain Arthag's scouts' reports that this isn't a very old portal, but it didn't just come into existence last week, either, so-"

He shrugged, and Kinlafia nodded slowly.

"That's pretty much what I've been thinking," he admitted.

"Which brings me back to my original point," chan Tesh said. "How close are they to the next node in their transit chain? For that matter, how quickly did they get their report of what happened back to higher authority? Do they have a relief force on its way already, the same way we're responding to Voice Nargra-Kolmayr's cry for help?"

"I suppose that depends on whether or not they had a Voice of their own with them," Kinlafia said, but chan Tesh shook his head.

"It depends on a more fundamental question than that, Darcel." Kinlafia looked at him, and the company-captain shrugged. "It depends on whether or not they have Voices at all."

"Surely they do-they must!" Kinlafia said, but chan Tesh only shook his head again.

"You're the one who just pointed out to me-quite rightly-that people tend to operate on the basis of what experience tells them is true," he said. "Well, our experience tells us that there have to be Voices on the other side. But do there?"

"I-" Kinlafia paused, then grimaced. "All right, I see your point. I can't conceive of how they couldn't have Talents, but I suppose it's possible. On the other hand, can we risk assuming they don't?"

"Oh, no." Chan Tesh shook his head vigorously. "I intend to assume they do-I'll be a hell of a lot happier to find out I was wrong about that than I would be to find out I was wrong about assuming they didn't! But how quickly they can respond is the question that worries me the most. Well, that and the fact that they don't know any more about us than we know about them."

Kinlafia looked puzzled, and chan Tesh snorted. It was too harsh to be called a laugh.

"The only thing we know about these people is that they've encountered another party scouting an obviously virgin universe and killed or captured them all." Kinlafia winced, but chan Tesh continued calmly. "And that's all they know about us, too. I'll bet you my last pair of boots that they're wondering whether or not our people got a message out, and for a lot of the same reasons. But we're both only groping in the dark out here, and that makes me nervous as hell. People who don't know what's going on have a tendency to make worst-case assumptions . . . and then act on them."

"I agree, Sir." Hulmok Arthag nodded. "They're going to be nervous, too, if not downright spooked. Our people hit these bastards hard. It's obvious from their trail that they had a lot of wounded to transport. You should see all the bandages at the bivouac site we found earlier today! They've got to be wondering what's going to come after them next-and how much worse it's going to be. The fact that they've dug in shows they're at least taking precautions. They're probably ready to shoot first and ask questions later. Just like they did last time," he added bitterly.

"Exactly," chan Tesh agreed. "And let's be honest here-so are we." He looked around the faces in the firelight. "None of us is going to be inclined to take any chances. And, frankly, I'm not going to be exactly brokenhearted if these bastards give us an excuse to blow them straight to hell. Not after what they did to our people. And that worries me, too."

Kinlafia didn't say anything, but the sudden tightening of his face made his reaction to chan Tesh's last few sentences abundantly clear. The company-captain looked at him for a moment, then leaned forward.

"I know you want revenge, Darcel," he said quietly. "Well, so do I. And, as I say, I'm not going to be taking any chances. But if we just charge in there shooting, we're going to make any possibility of establishing real contact with these people even more difficult. And-" he raised his voice slightly as rebellion flickered in Kinlafia's eyes "-if there are any of our people still alive over there, charging in shooting is probably the best way to get them killed after all."

Kinlafia sat back abruptly, and chan Tesh looked at Arthag.

"Our first responsibility is to get any survivors back alive and unharmed. Or, at least, without their suffering any additional harm. If there aren't any survivors," he continued unflinchingly, "then our primary responsibility becomes establishing contact-hopefully without still more violence-and demanding that whoever ordered the attack on our people be held accountable and punished for it. I'm not going to risk any of our people if I can help it, but I'd far rather see the son of a bitch responsible for this arrested and hanged than see this turn into some sort of general war."

Kinlafia looked at him for a long, silent moment, then shook his head.

"I understand what you're saying. Intellectually, I even agree with you. But my heart?" He shook his head again. "Whatever my head says, my heart hopes to hell that these bastards do something-anything-else to give us the excuse to shoot every godsdamned one of them."

He rose, and stood looking down at chan Tesh and Arthag. His expression wasn't really challenging, but it was definitely unyielding, and chan Tesh couldn't blame him a bit for that.

"I'm going to try to get some sleep," the civilian said after a moment. "Good night."

It was said courteously, even pleasantly, but behind the courtesy, Balkar chan Tesh sensed the iron portcullis of the Voice's hatred. The company-captain watched Kinlafia walk away, and wished he didn't understand the Voice's feelings quite as well as he did.

"Sir!"

Chan Tesh reined up as one of Arthag's troopers came cantering back towards the column. The cavalryman reported to his own platoon commander, not chan Tesh, exactly as he should have.

"Yes, Wirtha?" Arthag said as the trooper saluted.

"Sir, we've found another bit they dropped," Wirtha said, and Arthag's eyes narrowed. Then he looked at Parcanthi and Hilovar.

"You two had better go check it out," he said, without checking with chan Tesh. Which, chan Tesh reflected as the Whiffer and Tracer trotted off in Wirtha's wake, was precisely what a good subordinate was supposed to do.

The two officers, accompanied by Darcel Kinlafia, followed the Talents at a bit more leisurely pace. Chan Tesh rather wished that Kinlafia hadn't been present. He'd done his dead level best, tactfully, to suggest that Kinlafia should return to Company-Captain Halifu's fort, since it was essential that they have a Voice available to relay further up the transit chain if something unfortunate-something else unfortunate-happened out here.

Kinlafia, unhappily, hadn't been interested. And, unlike Rokam Traygan, the civilian Voice wasn't under chan Tesh's direct authority. It was obvious that the only way the company-captain could have sent Kinlafia to the rear would have been under armed guard, and he hadn't been able to bring himself to do that in the face of the civilian's obvious pain. So Traygan had been sent back, instead, and Kinlafia was still here. Here waiting for the next, crushing blow if they confirmed Shaylar Nargra-Kolmayr's death, and here where his brooding grief and the white-hot smolder of his thinly banked fury hung like a storm cloud in the back of every mind.

But there wasn't much chan Tesh could do about that. Even if he'd been inclined to change his own mind about ordering Kinlafia to the rear, it was too late. Traygan was already more than halfway back to Halifu's fort, which left Kinlafia as the only Voice available at the sharp end.

Since there wasn't anything he could do about that, the company-captain put it out of his disciplined mind and concentrated on Wirtha's discovery. He wasn't very surprised that the scouts had found another bit of debris jettisoned by the people whose trail they were following back to the portal. If these people did have Talents, they appeared to be remarkably unconcerned about anything a good Whiffer or Tracer might be able to discern from their castoffs. Although, to be fair, given the number of wounded the other side was carrying with them, at least some bits and pieces were bound to get away from them.

It was a sign of how good Arthag's people were, though, that they were searching just as diligently this time around as they'd searched the first time they scouted the enemy's trail back to his entry portal.

The three of them caught up just as Hilovar and Parcanthi dismounted and walked across to the object the scout had found. As usual, Hilovar stopped short, allowing Parcanthi first crack at the energy residues, and the Whiffer crouched over whatever it was.

"A soldier dropped this," he said at length. "Not an officer, I don't think, but that's harder to be sure of. He's wounded, staggering. I can See more wounded all around him. Limping-cursing, it sounds like. They're carrying a fair number of men on those strange stretchers of theirs." He grimaced. "I still can't See how they get the damned things to float that way," he complained almost petulantly, then opened his eyes.

"Same as usual, Sir," he said, standing and turning to look up at Arthag. "They were moving slowly, but steadily. It was nearly dark when whoever dropped this dropped it." He indicated the item with his foot, without actually touching it, and glanced at his partner.

"Your turn, Soral."

Hilovar nodded and crouched down in Parcanthi's place. He stared down at what had been dropped, and his brow furrowed.

"What the hell is that?" he muttered under his breath.

It was a small, square object, made of something that looked almost like glass which had been deliberately opaqued. There were markings on it, but what the alien symbols signified was anyone's guess. Hilovar considered it for a moment, then shrugged and picked it up- -only to let out a startled yelp and drop it back into the leaves on the forest floor.

"What's wrong?" chan Tesh asked sharply, watching the Tracer shake his hand as if he'd just burned it.

"Sorry, Sir." Hilovar looked a bit embarrassed. "It just took me by surprise. It's . . . unnatural."

"That fucking word again," Arthag growled.

"Sorry, Sir," Hilovar said again, glancing back at the scowling Arpathian. "But this thing-it's got the same feel as those accursed ash piles, only stronger. Much stronger. Concentrated as acid, in fact. It prickled my hand so hard it was like being swatted by wasps."

Chan Tesh winced at the image, then sighed.

"Do what you can, Junior-Armsman. We need anything you can dredge out of that thing-whatever it is."

Hilovar nodded, gritted his teeth, and picked it up again. It was obvious that just holding the thing caused him considerable pain, but he endured grimly.

"He's shot through the shoulder," the Tracer said, after a heartbeat or two, in a grating, savagely satisfied tone. "Bleeding into his bandages and hurting like a son of a bitch. Stumbling a good bit. Wishing he could ride on one of the stretchers, it feels like. He keeps looking at them, up ahead."

Then, suddenly, Hilovar shot upright.

"Great gods! There's a woman with 'em!"

"Shaylar?" The name tore from Darcel Kinlafia like a cry of pain, jerking Hilovar out of his concentration, and the Tracer turned to meet his tortured gaze.

"No," the junior-armsman said gently, watching the Voice's face crumple again. "I'm sorry, Darcel. She looked Uromathian-a little thing, pretty as a peach. She was walking beside one of the stretchers. I caught just a tiny glimpse of her. I think the man who dropped this," he held up the surprisingly dense object on his palm, "wanted her to help him."

"A Healer, then?" Arthag mused.

"Sounds like it," chan Tesh agreed, and cocked an eyebrow at Hilovar. "Can you get anything else off of it?"

"No, Sir. Not really," the Tracer said, obviously unhappily. "It's just more of the same. He's just moving slowly-very slowly. And hurting like hell."

"Good!" Kinlafia snarled, and Arthag leaned over in the saddle and gripped his shoulder wordlessly.

"Is there anything else on the ground here?" chan Tesh asked, and Wirtha shook his head.

"No, Sir. We looked around pretty carefully before I reported it to the platoon-captain."

"In that case, may I see it, Soral?"

Hilovar stepped over between chan Tesh's mount and Arthag's magnificent stallion. He held his hand up, allowing the officers to study the object on his palm. Neither of them offered to touch it lest they contaminate it for further Whiffing or Tracing.

"Doesn't look like much, does it?" Arthag murmured, and chan Tesh frowned.

"It looks like glass. But it isn't, is it?"

"It's made from the same thing as those godsdamned 'artillery pieces' of theirs," Darcel said harshly even as Hilovar shook his head.

"Now that's interesting," chan Tesh mused. He glanced at Kinlafia, then back at the Tracer. "It's heavy, isn't it?"

"Yes, Sir. Very dense," Hilovar added. "Surprisingly so, for its size."

"Are those buttons along the side?"

"That's what they look like, Sir," Hilovar agreed.

"Well, I'm damned if I'll try pushing one of them!" chan Tesh snorted.

"If you don't mind, Sir, I'd like to put it into an evidence bag. This thing hurts to hold. I don't know what it's made of, or what's inside it, but it's got that same foul, nasty-unnatural-" he added, meeting Arthag's gaze grimly "-feel. I'm not real anxious to push those buttons, either, Sir, and that's no lie. This thing is damned weird."

"Very well." Chan Tesh nodded. "Put it away. Carefully."

Hilovar pulled a small canvas evidence bag out of his saddlebags and slid the dense little cube into it, then slid both of them into a larger canvas bag slung from his saddle horn, where he'd stored the other bits and pieces they'd found scattered along the trail.

"All right," chan Tesh said then. "We're getting close to that overnight bivouac of theirs, aren't we?"