She pointed to the boiling mud. 'You haven't told me how you tortured my sister.'

Kratine sniffed the air, trying to know her intentions. I told you, I wished to spare you the details.'

I think you didn't want to anger me.'

Kratine fell silent. Chaneen began to circle him. He followed her carefully, turning as she moved, until his back was to the pool of lava. Then Chaneen began to walk toward him, forcing him to move back.

'But I know Kratine,' she said. I know everything you did.'

'It was necessary,' he said anxiously. 'You would have done the same in my position.'

Chaneen pressed him within inches of the pit. The illusion of his human form quivered as his fear mounted.

'You survive at another's expense,' she said. 'You delight in causing pain. Where is your throng of brides that witnessed my sister's torment?'

'I had them killed.' He glanced over his shoulder. He had nowhere left to go. For a moment his head was much larger, his teeth sharper. I knew you were coming.'

'You're lying. You murdered them in your despair, for they no longer pleased you, not after my sister.'

'You cannot threaten me here, Chaneen.'

She raised the hand that held Rankar's ring. 'Can't I?'

'You cannot stop my curse, ' he said, as a sickly yellow fluid began to collect on the floor at his feet. 'I will be young again, and live forever.'

'If that lime should ever come,' Chaneen swore, 'the joys you believe you 're going to recapture will be like poisons to your soul. The sunlight you long for will b.u.m you. The fresh waters you crave will blind you wherever you go. You will buy your youth at a bitter price.'

'I'll drink of your children's blood.'

'Nothing you drink will take away your thirst.'

'You are beaten, Chaneen. Face it.'

She allowed herself a soft laugh and watched him tremble. His face ran like melting wax. A gaping hole appeared where his mouth had been. His nose turned into a dripping snout.

'You are a fool,' she said. 'You have your spell, true, and your spirit may one day crawl again. But you have been tricked. You have been used, Kratine. Those G.o.ds you invoked who gave you your plan, those respectful to Asure. They're nothing more than demons from the deep. You think you will possess others. You are already possessed, and all because you are a coward. You shake at the thought of what is behind you. One more step Kratine, and you will burn. And I can make you take that step!'

I meant your sister no harm,' he pleaded as his human clothing vanished completely. 'It was necessary.'

Chaneen grabbed his scaly neck and held him above the lava. 'Always with you it is necessary!'

'Spare me, Chaneen!'

'How does it feel, devil?'

'Please?' he begged, trembling in her hands.

She loosened her grip, ready to drop him in the pit. 'She was my sister!'

'You can't do this!'

'You murdered her!'

'She made me. Please, Chaneen! No!'

Chaneen heard Janier's cry in his cry.

'No,' she whispered. She pulled him back from the pit and released him. I won't harm you. Perhaps that will mean something to you, after all that you've done to me. I don't hale you, Kratine. I only feel sorry for you. Live a few more days, if you must. You are old. You will die soon, anyway.'

Kratine bowed low at her feet. 'You are merciful.' He stood and went to touch her hair, but then lost his nerve. 'May I ask what your intentions are now?'

'You may not.' Chaneen stepped to his throne and raised her arms. Once again the sunlight filled her body and she began to dissolve. 'This curse of yours is indeed powerful, but so am I.' She smiled. 'It will be well met.'

Only when the shadows of twilight began to cross the trees was Chaneen found walking in her Garden again. What remained of her children had gathered at the foot of the steps that led into her palace, awaiting her return. The sight of their beautiful faces filled her with love as she approached. But she knew such love would only make her goodbye more difficult. Pastel, guided by a friend, greeted her with a handful of flowers. He knelt at her feet.

'My Queen,' he said. 'We have heard rumor that janier has crossed into Asure with our army. Then in the morning sky we all saw a huge flame fly across the heavens. We beg to know what these things mean.'

Chaneen motioned for her children to sit comfortably beside the steps. Then she spoke. I have sad news. The remainder of our warriors are dead. They perished in Asure, along with your Princess, Janier.'

Heads were bowed. Pastel took her hand and there were tears on his face. 'Did Janier disobey your commands?' he asked. 'Is that why they all died?'

'No,' Chaneen said truthfully. 'Janier was with me in the end. Our warriors died protecting us, and none of their deaths were in vain. The mighty flame you saw leap from the sun hit Asure and destroyed it. The flame was the payment the Asurians suffered for attacking us.'

'Then Janier saved us,' Pastel said proudly.

'Yes,' Chaneen agreed. 'Asure was destroyed because of my sister.' She gazed into their faces for a while, seeing the many expressions from which the character of mankind would be born. Then she bid them listen closely. 'What I have to say next is difficult. This war has changed your lives in many ways. With Ranhar's death, your allotted days have been diminished. You will now grow old and die. Your children will do likewise, and their children in turn. It may seem a great tragedy, but it is not. Something beautiful will come of it. A bud dies but a flower blooms. Our people will go on. They will multiply and become great. They will cover this world, and one day they will go to other worlds. That will be a dangerous time for them. You see, the enemy has laid a curse upon those times. It is a curse that must be met if our future children are to return to the stars and be with the G.o.ds. With Rankar's pa.s.sing, my days have also lessened. Therefore I must leave you now before I die, so that I may come again in that time of danger, in the next, season of pa.s.sage, and put a final end to this menace that tries to drag us down to its own path of despair. Tonight, when the stars are bright, I will go into the heavens. But I won't forget you. Although I am far away, I will always watch over you.'

Pastel trembled. 'But we cannot survive without you!'

She stood. 'Yes, you can. You will do more than survive. You will become like the G.o.ds in the stars. And should your path ever stray from the goal, Rankar will return to show you there is nothing to fear. And when the threat of the enemy awakens, I will be there. It is Chaneen who promises you this.'

She walked about the circle of her children and touched each one on the head. Then she spoke to them for the last time. 'This is not the end but the beginning. Go now and enjoy. One day, we will be together again.'

A silent night. The stars shone bright in a clear sky. Alone by the pool of holy waters, Chaneen meditated. Suddenly there was a husk across the whole Garden as faint pinp.r.i.c.ks of light glowed on the liquid mirror, each representing a different G.o.d in the heavens. Slowly Chaneen began to vanish. Her heart filled with the warmth that existed in the center of the sun. Her body became like golden rays of shimmering light, a light that could be in many places at the same time. Fainter and more distant became that light as she expanded out across the universe.

Chaneen was gone, but she had not forgotten her promise. Sitting beside the holy waters was the ring.

THIRTY-FIVE.

Terry Hayes threw back the curtains of his bedroom window, squinting in the bright sunlight. It was two in the afternoon, and he had just woken up. He supposed he should get to work. Sitting down in front of his word processor, he opened the file that held his latest book -Whisper of Pain. He was on page four hundred twenty-one and it was brilliant. He supposed the story would be cla.s.sified as science fiction, but it was really a modern-day morality fable that just happened to take place forty years in the future. It was about a time when there were human clones, who were identical in every aspect to their original counterparts, except that they were all tattooed on their wrists with special identification numbers. The clones suffered from worldwide persecution for not being real. In fact, his first chapter started just as all the clones in the United States were being rounded up for execution. His hero was a man whose wife had died two years earlier of cancer. His heroine was the clone of the man's wife. The two lived together in fear of her true ident.i.ty being discovered. The book was reminiscent of Pinocchio. More than anything else, more than even safety, his heroine wished to be real. Terry was hopelessly in love with her. Her name was Lauren. But I just called her that, Doctor. It doesn't mean a thing.

Before beginning work, Terry reached over on his desk and popped a few capsules of bee pollen in his mouth, swallowing them with the help of a gla.s.s of water. His surgeon had turned him on to the stuff, the day after the doctor had cut out a third of his stomach to keep him from bleeding to death.

Terry had had a bad time after the Hawk and Nova collided.

Those were strange days. Patches of them occasionally returned to him with vivid clarity, but for the most part they were lost - even now - in a brown blur that bore an uncanny resemblance to Scotch whisky. It was odd when Lauren died how he had turned to that particular drink. His drug of choice had always been vodka. Besides, he hated the taste of whisky. It was like swallowing cleaning fluid. Yet he must have felt dirty inside because he scrubbed his insides out so well he wore away the lining of his guts. He did remember the night he woke up at three in the morning in terrible pain and vomited up a pint of blood. It shouldn't have upset him. He was trying to kill himself after all. But death was one thing. Pain was another. Pain hurt. He called for an ambulance.

But that had been over a year after Lauren died. Many things had happened before he dug deep enough to reach the delicate veins in his stomach. First he got fired. It seemed the paper didn't need a s.p.a.ce program reporter whose astronaut fiancee was cosmic dust. Oh, they'd asked him for a few tearful testimonials before they canned him, but since he'd told them to go to h.e.l.l, it had only speeded his departure. Yeah, Terry, they told him, if you want to finish that next book, now's a good time.

Ricky, his story of the c.o.c.kroach, came out four months after Lauren died. It was released as a paperback original. His publisher had planned to print four hundred thousand copies, in antic.i.p.ation of leveraging his relationship with Lauren into several nationwide TV appearances. They shipped less than half that number. The book came out, appeared to sell OK, and then vanished. But not for good. Six months after its release, his publisher called and said they were doing a modest second printing. Five months after that they did a third printing - twice the size of the second. The book was now in its fourth printing; it appeared to be gathering steam. He received half a dozen fan letters a week, and his publisher had even sent him a small royalty check the previous month, which he had promptly turned over to the hospital where he'd had his stomach sliced open. Publishers Weekly even saw fit to do a half-page article on him. They spelled his name wrong and called him 'promising,' but other than that they didn't step too hard on his work.

So there he was, turning into a minor celebrity, but he didn't give a s.h.i.t. He stopped writing and he kept drinking. He went through his savings fast, because he only drank in bars. He hated to be alone. He hated to be with people as well, unless they liked his special brand of Scotch. He turned into the foul-mouthed fellow who sat at the counter in the bar and watched the big TV glued to the ceiling and made deprecating comments about every p.r.i.c.k and b.i.t.c.h on the screen who had the nerve to look happy. Still, he left the women in the bars alone. It wasn't as if he was afraid he wouldn't be able to get it up for a strange woman. He just feared he might climb on top of whoever it was and try to convince himself it was Lauren - a sick thought, but then he was sick. One year after the ships collided he looked in the mirror and wondered who the guy standing behind the guy with the beard was.

It was then that Kathy Johnson called.

She didn't exactly sweep into his life like a savior. First, he had to fly out to California to see her. Second, she was taking enough prescription pills to make him look like a mineral-water freak. She had moved out of her parents' house and lost her job and thrown away all her money and ... He knew the routine. He hadn't realized she had been so attached to Gary. She'd only spent a day with him, as far as he could tell. But he didn't try to convince her Gary was a jerk. He'd always liked Gary, and besides, he wasn't after Kathy for himself. He didn't even know what he was doing in California. He sure wasn't enjoying the sunshine. Yet when he heard Kathy's voice on the phone, he wanted to see her. He was of course drunk at the time. Still, he felt she would be someone he could talk to. She met him at the airport; she ran her car into a telephone pole on the way home to her apartment. Neither of them was hurt, but when the police arrived at the scene of the accident, he had to hide the little yellow and red pills that had popped out of her bag in the collision.

They slept together the first night. They kept their clothes on and tried to keep their eyes open. He discovered he wasn't the only one who'd been having nightmares. They discussed what it would feel like to swallow a handful of pills all at once. Then she started crying and shaking, and he fell asleep and snored. They made a great couple, Kathy and him.

Things improved, though, the next day. They went to the beach and fed the birds. They played volleyball on the sand against two blond high school students, Stacy and Barney. They got their a.s.ses whipped, but it was fun. Kathy threw away her pills, and he vowed to cut down on his drinking. They scored some c.o.ke that night to celebrate their new beginning. They woke up the next morning with their clothes off, wondering if they had called each other by the wrong names during the night. They had an affair. It lasted two weeks. But it was with the memory of Lauren and Gary as much as with each other. It was not sick, though. It kept them from killing themselves, for a while.

Terry still didn't know why he left Kathy and returned to Houston. He supposed it was because Houston was his home and she didn't want to leave Los Angeles. He should have stayed. He missed her. He called her every day until he ran out of money to pay the telephone bills. She missed him, too, but she began to put her life back together quicker than he. She didn't renew her prescriptions, but he returned to visiting the bar on the corner. She got a job in a doctor's office from an ad in the paper. He accidentally shorted out his word processor when he spilled a TV dinner on the keyboard. It was all right, though. His affair with Kathy had taught him that he could care about someone again. It was perfectly all right when she called him and told him about her new boyfriend. He cared for her, but he wasn't in love with her. His love was dead.

He continued to have terrible nightmares. They reminded him of Jennifer's. Monsters, Martians - they clawed through his dreams. He could hardly remember them in the morning, but he remembered enough to know they were mean b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.

He'd just begun to acquire a taste for Scotch when he vomited up the blood. His surgeon visited him the day after the operation and told him he was a sick man. The surgeon asked if he wanted to live. Terry told him he had to think about it. He did want another shot of morphine, though. The surgeon shook his head and told him about spirulina, bee pollen, and aloe vera juice. Spirulina was a blue-green algae that tasted like moldy fungus. Bee pollen was what the bees got high on. Wrinkled women rubbed aloe vera juice on their bodies. His surgeon wanted Terry to take all three daily and enjoy them. He called them the three wonders of nature. He had a remarkably natural point of view for someone who made his living with a knife. He even had an ounce of spirulina powder with him. Terry spat it out when he tried it. His surgeon wasn't offended. He patted Terry on the back and told him to try it with brewer's yeast in a gla.s.s of carrot juice.

It was while recuperating in the hospital that Terry got the idea for Whisper of Pain. He wondered if Kathy's twin sister Lorraine had inspired the story. He hadn't seen Lorraine while he was in Los Angeles, but Kathy had talked enough about her. The excitement of the new book did something for him that even a beautiful California girl had failed to do. This time he did stop drinking. Once out of the hospital, he took spirulina with his morning yogurt - if he was awake - bee pollen with his evening TV dinner, and aloe vera juice all by itself before he retired for the night. The surgeon knew a thing or two about nutrition. Terry healed quickly from the surgery. He wrote at least five pages a day, took an hour's walk each evening, and never looked at a f.u.c.king newspaper. He answered all his fan mail that didn't ask about Lauren. He remained hopelessly in debt.

The phone rang beside Terry just as he began to write. It was Tom Brenner, his old partner at the paper. Tom had called him off and on during the last two years, mainly to see that he was still alive, and once to ask if he could have Kathy's phone number.

'Terry! How're you doing? How's the book coming?'

'We both need editing, but we're both great. How are you? Kathy still doesn't want to talk to you.'

'That's not why I called.'

'Hey,' Terry said. 'I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm glad you called. You want to go to the Oilers game this Sunday with me? I've got tickets.'

'No. I hate football. You hate football. Who gave you the tickets?'

'I won them by calling in on the radio in the middle of the night.' * 'Why are you doing s.h.i.t like that?' Tom asked.

'I don't know. It gives me someone to talk to when it's late.'

Tom paused. His tone changed. 'How are you, buddy?'

Terry forced a chuckle. It still hurt. He knew it always would. 'I'm great, really. Don't worry about me. I hardly think about it anymore. I just write, you know. I think the book's going to have a happy ending.'

'I guess you're wondering why I called.'

'Not really.'

Tom hesitated. 'You might have to start thinking about her again.'

Terry's heart pounded. 'I don't understand.'

Tom took a breath. 'I was at NASA last night. The boss wanted me to do a bit on Project Nova. You know, the date of their scheduled return is coming up. I didn't want to do it, but what the h.e.l.l, we've got to sell papers. Anyway, I was at Mission Control, soaking up a few sad comments to use in my article when I ran into this guy from Hawaii. It turns out he's an important astronomer. You know they've got all those telescopes in Hawaii up on some volcano. Well, I got to talking with him, and I noticed he was busting with excitement. I figured he might know something. 1 invited him out for a drink. I told him that I was you, and that I had lost my girlfriend when the Hawk smashed into the Nova. I'm not sure why I did that. The lie just came out. I guess I wanted his sympathy so he'd tell me what he knew. I even shed a tear or two. I hope you don't mind.'

'No,' Terry said softly. 'What did he know?'

'Like I said, he's an astronomer. Two days ago he discovered an unusual streak on one of his photographic plates. At first it appeared to be an asteroid, but it wasn't in the book. He took more pictures and discovered that, whatever it was, it was heading straight for the Earth. He* told his partners and they put the observatory's biggest telescopes on it.'

'How big is the object?' Terry asked.

'They're not sure. But this guy thought it was small and bright and made of metal. He told me all this because I got him half drunk and he was thinking I was about to commit suicide because of my poor dead fiancee. He wasn't bulls.h.i.tting me. He was trying to give me hope.'

'You're sure he was who he said he was?'

'I saw his I.D. and checked him out afterwards. No doubt about that.'

'Are you sure an asteroid's out of the question?' Terry asked.

'Let's just say it picked a smart time to show up for a stupid rock.'

'How long till it gets here?'

'Seven days,' Tom said.

'No radio contact?'

'I wish I could come right out and say it, buddy. But I could be wrong. All they've got right now is a streak on a photographic plate. Another three days, though, and they'll know if it's the Nova.'

'But it blew up,' Terry said. 'We saw it. The experts said the ships definitely collided.'

'No one's an expert, Terry, in anything. We're just going to have to wait and see.' He added, 'I thought I should tell you. I'd want to know.'

'I'm glad you did,' Terry said, lying. He knew one thing for sure already. If a few days from now his hope was crushed, he would go back to drinking.

THIRTY-SIX.

A month later Terry pulled his rental car into the parking lot at Edwards Air Force Base in California and climbed out into a sun that was so bright it cast red-rimmed shadows. He stared uneasily at the drab three-story complex at the end of the parking lot where Lauren and Gary were supposedly staying. He stood without moving and let the sweat soak his shirt. Three weeks had pa.s.sed since the Nova had rendezvoused with s.p.a.ce Station One, and the world had mourned the mission's disasters, and cheered the two astronauts who had survived to tell the tale. Terry remembered well the moment Lauren had emerged from the Nova's airlock and laughed happily at the s.p.a.ce station's gaping personnel. It had been without question the high point of his life.

But that had been weeks ago, and the higher one got, the harder one fell. In all that time she had not spoken to him once. True, a heavy blanket of security was immediately wrapped around the station. Terry could understand the need for careful quarantine. The restriction on interviews was unusual, however, and the rule against their speaking to family and friends was absurd. Dean Ramsey said the secrecy was a matter of national security. Yet Terry felt Lauren should have been able to get a message to him if she had really wanted to.

A single edited interview had been taped with Lauren and Gary. Their account of what happened after radio contact was lost was incredible. There had been one Russian survivor - Ivan Zossima. Although emaciated from negligible rations, he had led them far underground to a natural ca.n.a.l filled with water, and then convinced them to explore the ca.n.a.l. Using the hovercraft Hummingbird, Commander Brent and Zossima came to a ma.s.sive subterranean lake, with an island at its center. Unfortunately, the Hawk lost communications with Brent and Zossima at that point, and their crewmates feared they were dead.