Location: In Divis Mal's territory.

Patric had been sitting in his niche for some time now. Passing the time by watching soldiers through the telescopic sight and eating dried figs. He could sit here almost indefinately, waiting for that single moment that would change the course of the Empire and end Divis' life.

It was then that he heard commotion overhead. Someone was being chased up on the hilltop. Someone of cunning and skill, that could be deducted from the sounds of confusion and pain.

Patric put the AR aside and took a Glock from his backpack. He slowly moved to the very entrance of the niche. When he reached it he checked that no guards were looking his way and then he slowly stuck his head out and looked upwards.

Cliss was covering the ground rapidly now, the breath sobbing in her lungs.

Damn it, people were meant to *respect* the old, weren't they? Not get suspiciuous and threaten to haul them up before the authorities just because they asked a few questions, or absent mindedly wandered into a sensitive area.

It was only because they had assumed that "old" and "feeble" were synonymous that she had been able to get away at all. And Cliss hated violence. More when she had to endure it than to inflict it - but even so.

As she crested the hill, she knew she could not keep up this pace for long. She started moving downwards, hearing the shouts behind her, hoping the slope would give her momentum.

It did. Rather too much.

Her gasps for air turned into a gasp of horror as the run became a slide, an uncontrollable rush and then a sickening fall into air ...

But only for a fraction of a second. There was a thud as she connnected with something soft and living, an agonising bang on her ankle, and then she was still.

Cliss drew a breath and looked around, pulling herself off the unfortunate individual who had taken the brunt of her fall. She was not heavy, but he lay unmoving ... She checked his pulse and nodded, satisfied.

She glanced around. A well-protected place, invisible from above and below, she would judge. And overlooking the city too. Hmm ... that was interesting.

She looked back at the unconscious man and her eyes widened as she saw what the metallic object was that her ankle had connected with. Perhaps this place was less safe than it appeared after all.

She moved cautiously and relieved the unconcious figure of as many weapons as were immediately visible. She doubted she had got them all, but it was a start. It made an impressive cache to the end of the niche. She seated herself in front of it and looked at him grimly as he began to show signs of recovering consciousness. Doubtless this set up would at least make him pause before attacking her.

She cradled the Glock on her lap and then raised it into a position that should encourage his full co-operation.

Patric came around little by little. He stayed absolutely prone in his position, letting his body and mind collect as much strength and sense as it could before confronting this new situation.

He heard only one person breathing. He could still hear the guards patroling. That would mean that this was the running intruder he heard recently. He went through his latest moves in his head. It must have been an accident. The intruder - she, judging by her smell - must have jumped over the top as he looked out to se what happened. That meant that his position was not yet known to Divis. The fact that he was not dead yet also meant that this person probably was not a killer or a brute. This was someone with a purpose.

Slowly he stretched muscle after muscle, trying to find out how well he had been searched. Quite professionally it seemed. He just had some small trinkets left on his body that could be considered a part of his arsenal.

He twitched his leg, as in spasm, to get his captor's attention, without scaring her to shoot in reflex. He spoke slowly and softly without moving his head or doing anything at all with his body.

"I am no threat to you. I am not your enemy. I take out vermin and I am here to figure out if Divis is that or if I should go elsewhere. Who are you?"

Cliss considered him carefully. No sudden movements ... that was good. This man knew what he was doing. What he was actually saying was interesting ...

But they didn't have a lot of time. Those people who had seen her disappear over the top of the hill were doubtless going to take the path down to the bottom and look for her broken body. And when they didn't find it - well, they would start checking the cliff very carefully. By then she wanted to be long gone.

She spoke quietly - not in a whisper that would send sibilants hissing into the air, but low enough not to be heard by anyone not on the ledge.

"Sit up. Very, very slowly. Who am I? I'm an old woman, and one thing you should learn about old women is that they have very shaky hands. The least little thing startles them and their hands shake. And then this gun is liable to go off with a loud bang - and even if it doesn't kill you ... and my guess is it would, because you look like the kind of person who keeps a gun like this in working order ... but even if it doesn't kill you, then there are going to be a lot of people here who I don't think either of us want to see."

"So take your time."

"Oh, and by the way - sorry I knocked you out."

Patric smiled for himself as he sat up. ~Why did every semi to fully professional killer or gunman do that itchy/shaky/nervous triggerfinger routine. The old woman was holding a Glock. It was a state of the art weapon that did not have a regular safety catch. It had a grip safe. That meant that you had to hold the gun squeezing the grip firmly from both front and back to release the safe.~

Patric had set the weight to almost two pounds of pressure to release the safe. And he knew that the woman held the gun with far more power than that. But yet she went with the shaky hand stunt.

Patric sat up in a slow and controlled motion. Focusing on the old woman.

"So I am up", he said in the same soft manner she had just used. "In just five to ten minutes we will be found thanks to you. I suggest that we get the hell out of here before then. I have a retreat route set and an alternative hiding place. If you could trust me enough to get my gear and let me lead the way we might still be OK. Otherwise we will both find out if Divis is a tyrant or a king."

"Oh by the way, you can keep the Glock for now if it makes you feel better."

"Thanks," said Cliss. "It does. Even if I decide to trust you for the moment - and it doesn't seem like I've got a hell of a lot of choice - I don't trust anyone else we run across. Yet."

She rose to her feet easily, not even bothering to pretend a decrepit old lady's stiffness. That disguise was going to serve no purpose at the moment.

She reckoned she could rely on him not to kill her in the immediate future - like her, his focus would be on avoiding capture. After that ... well, they would wait and see. It was going to be bad enough as it was ... her ankle still ached from the fall, and he had been out cold

for a good three minutes.

"Right," she said. "Grab whatever you want and get us out of here. Fast."

Methodically Patric grabbed his gear. He made no effort to conceal the variety and width of his armory. There was no time for that and he did not really bother either. Damn, he missed the Glock. It was the perfect sidearm in close situations like this.

Patric pulled a cylinder out of a pocket on his right sleve and tossed it to the old lady "Here, screw that on. It goes at the end of the barrel and takes away the noise when you fire it," Patric said and pointed at the silencer.

Cliss nodded and screwed it on tightly without speaking.

The Glock with its 9mm caliber was actually a bit too powerful for a silencer, but it worked well enough. Patric removed the wolfram bullet from the AR and clipped in a standard mag. Then he removed the scope and shouldered the gun. Then he moved to the entrance and rigged a claymore mine. "Don't trip this wire" he said and pulled an Ingram M-10 and fastened the silencer.

He hated this ugly bullet sprayer but it was the only other handgun he had with both high effect and a silencer.

"I am ready, stick your head out and scout the route so you get familiar with it. We will follow the small embankment to the right and rally behind the stones by that tree over there."

Cliss obliged. The route seemed clear enough - although she could see two points where they could be exposed to anyone directly overhead - and even with her injured ankle she reckoned she could make it relatively swiftly and silently. She had no doubts about her companion.

But still ... turning back as he completed his preparations, she said, "Are you completely sure about this? When they get here, if they weren't mad before, they'll be steaming now."

"The alternative is to give up. I see no reason for that. Or I could just toss you out and then they would stop looking for me. But I give you this: If they do not open fire at us, we don´t open up on them, OK? I am not a murderer and I do not know if Divis is evil. I have not been here long enough. So if we get caught and they want to talk, let's talk."

Patric thought this to be just words, he had yet to run into anyone that actually yelled something like "Halt who goes there!"

They got ready to move. Patric looked out. It looked clear, and he could not hear anything from the hillcrest. "Now" he said and then they were off. Patric walked low, and quickly, ready to blow the head of anyone that came in his way but equally prepared to get into hiding and wait for any threat to go its own way.

The old lady followed and she held a good tempo doing that. They reached the first uncovered point along their way.

The stranger was setting a good loping pace, Charis reconised - fast enough to cover the ground efficiently. She still felt in good form after the journey; the run had winded her, but she had had enough time to recover. Her ankle ... well, that was another story.

She paused as they reached the first area that looked uncovered. She would have liked to have heard distant shouts ... the noise of people desperately searching from them ... at a safe distance.

Instead she heard ... nothing.

The only sound was the faint rustle of the wind.

It was downright unnerving.

Then, suddenly, the silence was broken. Over the hill they had come from, a Jeep races, and starts to come down the incline. They can see that it is a hopeless situation... them nearing a clearing, the five in the jeep bearing down on them relentlessly.

"PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN AND SURRENDER! OR WE BURN YOU WHERE YOU STAND!"

Cliss said a single word - one she was prone to use in moments of stress, but unexpected from a woman of her years.

She glanced at her companion to see if he wanted to try anything, and then watched the jeep again with narrowed eyes.

Five of them - perhaps there was an element of overkill (she scrubbed that word even as she thought it) for picking up a single little old lady who had gone over a cliff. Well, she could be charitable and assume that they had wincing gear in the back of the jeep, just in case she had fallen into an inaccessible crevasse.

But looking at those grim figures rapidly approaching, she was not really prepared to take any bets on it.

She looked again at the stranger. It was his call but ... for herself, it might give her the chance she wanted to see the Empire from the inside.

She lowered the Glock slowly, still watching for his reponse.

Their odds were very good indeed. The jeep was moving fast in off road terrain, downhill to boot, and the five persons in it only carrying handguns. If it came to a firefight now, they would not stand a chance in hell to hit anything but air, no matter their skill. When the jeep had stopped however things would look pretty bad. Patric, who stood still on solid ground and could hit a fly on a plastic mug from 20 feet during these circumstances, let go of the M-10. It swung down, dangling in its strap as Patrick swung down the AR from his shoulder and opened up in controlled, three shot bursts, taking out one soldier with each burst. Heads splattered in the jeep. Patric was convinced that the lady could take care of herself, as he after the third burst let go of the AR and rolled left. The Jeep was now coming in close enough for the last two in it to actually hit something. Except of course for the fact that one of the two had to drive. And Patric had not for many years gotten even injured in a one on one situation. He completed the roll as he grabbed the M-10, still hanging in its strap, and opened up on the people in the jeep as he started running towards it. His intention was to kill the soldiers but save the jeep.

As the stranger swung down the AR and opened up, Cliss swung into action too.

Ahead was the route he wanted them to follow. Lovely. When he got through killing a tiny fraction of an impressively well-equipped army, she hoped he had a really easy and fun time getting there.

As for her, she was off and running back the way they had come, zig-zagging fast out of sight, and moving higher on the hill-side.

What was the last two of Divis' soldiers to do now? Sitting in the blood of their friends, in a moving jeep, one of them by the wheel. Had they a choice, but to die?

As she ran, searching for deeper cover where she could pause, she wondered if she should lose the Glock. It hardly went with the little old lady pose that was her best defence against an enemy that actually got a chance to look at her. But she found herself clinging to it as though it represented real protection.

~Don't lose it, Cliss,~ she thought to herself, and for the first time slowed to a walk. The Jeep and the stranger must be a quarter of a mile away. Not far enough if he wanted to come after her, but she hoped he had other things on his mind right now.

As would Divis Mal's soldiers, she profoundly hoped. They could race to the scene of the shooting - yes ... with her goodwill ... as long as they forgot about one nosy old lady who gone over the side of a cliff.

The legionnaires in the jeep, realizing that they were not merely after an old lady anymore, followed standard operating procedures for situations like this...

First, their mistake had made their lives expendable...

Second, signal the remainder of their sentry...

Third, deny the enemy all resources.

With this in mind, they swung into action. The woman riding shotgun hit the panic button on the black box in the jeep. This armed a localized explosive, that was shaped to take out the front half of the jeep, destroying the engine, making the jeep unusable. The black box also transmitted a short burst to the other half of the century, that had not come along to chase after an "old woman." Unless disarmed within 5 minutes, the trapped charge would detonate...

Then, the woman flipped down the windshield, raised her rifle, and fired suppressive fire to hopefully get the man to dodge out of the way, hoping against all hope that there was someway to survive this situation...

The driver in the meantime, was concentrating on running the man down...

Patric saw the female soldier fibble around with something inside the jeep. Then, very cool, flip down the windscreen before taking aim. At the same time the jeep driver aimed straight for him.

This situation was not to his liking. Patric did not concieve it as particularly dangerous but he wanted at least one of them alive. Preferably the woman. It was his experience that women were far more loyal and less likely to cave in to interrogation than men. On the other hand she would give him that simpe and non-secret piece of information he needed much quicker than any panicky man.

Patric moved in an arc to his right around the car. He only jogged so that he did not lose control over his prey. The bullets jumped uncontrolably about and around him as the poor soldier fought the recoil of her gun, the movement of the car and the manuevers the driver made at the same time. Patric stopped dead in his tracks, lifted the M-10 and sent 15 .45 hollowpoints towards the fiering soldier. Most of them missed but the four that didn't sent her flying out of the jeep, exploding like a new year's firework in red, splattering the surroundings.

The jeep was close now. Patric shot at the windshield that lay on the hood, causing glas and pieces of bullet lead to fly up and obstruct the drivers view. Then he leapt right and spun, drawing his sawed off shotgun. He felt the rearview mirror touch him as his gun bore on the driver. Partic aimed low and squeezed the trigger. The lead hit the driver's groin and legs. Patric spun on and rolled as he hit the ground hard. He was panting for air but he knew he could not rest now. The jeep came to a stop, no preassure on its pedals and no one stearing it. Patric stood up. He fealt blood dripping from the side of his head and checked it out as he walked to the jeep, picking up his AR on the way and reloading his guns. The wound was insignificant, he would deal with it later.

As Patric reached the jeep he had a plan ready in his head what to do. But as the driver was alive first things came first. He walked up to the driver, pressed the muzzles of the shotgun to his head and asked: "What were your orders? Answer now and you will live, otherwise you will die now."

"Orders? What do you mean orders? We are... were... just a patrol. The old woman was not a member of the community, and with the cannibal activity in the area was flagged for questioning. Didn't really expect to run into any trouble... especially not a trigger happy merc."

Patric had gotten the information he needed. He was prone to shoot this soldier regardless of his promise. History had proven that the ones you left to live usually came back and you had to kill them anyway. But a word is a word so he knocked the soldier out and moved him to the passenger side.

Then he slid into the drivers seat and stepped on the accelerator. He knew he had to dump the car. It was an all too obvious vehicle to drive and they would look for it, and find it immediately, but he did not need it for long.

Patric drove the jeep up to the cliffs he had aimed for earlier but he stayed some 200 yards to the south. Then he left the car and quickly moved one of the corpses into the drivers seat and used the dead mans hands and arms to lock the wheel, forcing the jeep to drive more or less straigth. Then he scavaged all the extra ammo and supplies from the jeep and jammed the accelerator with one of the guns. The jeep started to run forward and Patric jumped off. As the jeep went its way with the unconscious solidier in the front passenger seat, Patric had even put on his seatbelt to stop him from getting more injuries when the jeep hit something, Patric went for the cliffs. He moved quickly but not without taking precautions, concealing his steps as he moved. He had not more than reached the base of the cliffs as he heard an explosion. He ran on and climbed until he reached a position of height and cover. There he stopped and caught his breath. He looked around and saw the jeep, burning less than a mile away. He got his scope and could confirm that most of the jeep's front had vanished. Shoot, it was too close. They would come looking for him, and soon too. Well things had their bright spots too. If he could just make it to the night, he would likely slip away and he had been wrong. The soldier in the jeep would not come back to bug him. Patric took care of his arms and waited for nightfall and more soldiers.

Cliss settled her pack more comfortably on her shoulders and looked around her. Below was the palace, the core of Divis Mal's Empire - and she had planned to give that a wide berth until she was ready. Now did not seem like a good time. Trotting in with the cheerful news that she was a rather nosy visitor from a distant land who had just happened to hook up with a homicidal maniac who was planning on rubbing out the army one by one until he got to Divis himself ... well, she hardly thought the assembled throngs would greet her with cries of welcomong joy and delight. Cries of another kind, possibly.

No, the palace was out.

Above was that rather intersting building, the contents of which she had been so anxious to see. As that had led to he chase in the first place, she rather thought she should avoid those absurdly suspicious guards ... and the village nearby.

Benhind her ... she heard more shots. No, definitely not.

Forward it was ... at least until she was well beyond the village above. Then she would start to climb ... and hopefully, lose herself in the surrounding area for a while.

She swung her cloak so that it concealed the Glock as she moved. She walked forward cautiously, but not furtively now. It was still quiet ... but then, as she moved, she heard the noise of someone else moving.

She froze.

But the sound was reassuring. A young high voice, singing a song as its owner moved forward, tapping a stick on the trees.

Cliss felt almost weak with relief. Children she could cope with. It was armed patrols that she hated (Strange, but some of her fellow Witnesses felt quite the opposite).

She stepped forward, allowing herself to become fully visible to the little boy - surely no more than seven. She smiled.

"Hello," she said. "My name's Cliss, and I'm lost. Will you help me?"

Half an hour later, Cliss and her new friend were sitting on the banks of a small stream. He was watching for small fish as they talked; she hand taken a thick roll of material from her pack and had spread it out over her knees.

"I'm making a table cloth for my daughter," she had explained, but the child had been profoundly uninterested. Now her fingers worked busily as they talked, adding loops and knots, sometimes extending the covering in unexpected directions.

He accepted that she wanted to do this without question, just as he had accepted the sweeties she had offered. Obviously, it was all part of the strange world of adults. She had not even had to suggest that the sweeties could possibly be a quid pro quo for information - he was quite willing to chat till sunset to his new friend.

Cliss loved interrogating children. Adults might say things like, "You will never get that information from me. I would rather die, do you hear?" and then you had to spend rather a lot of time and energy showing them that actually there were things much worse than death

before they reached the appropriate state of being pathetically grateful to share information with you.

Children, on the other hand, living within a secure environment, would happily reveal all they knew in exchange for a few sweets and an animated side discussion of why the sky was blue.

Clearly this child was secure - his readiness to chat with a friendly stranger suggested that. No running and hiding, no caution even - just open and natural friendliness. That said a lot that was interesting about the social arrangements of the Empire. Cliss twisted several knots in a line thoughtfully.

"Do they have many parties down at the Palace?" she asked, as a discussion of what he should have to eat at his seventh birthday party threatened to become interminable.

He shook his head.

"Nah. Fireworks sometimes, sounds like. But it might just be night egger-size."

"Night exercise? Does Mummy do that?"

"Sometimes. She's in the legion."

But not, Cliss hoped, in the patrol that had had the misfortune to encounter her and the stranger earlier. She was still unsure about the structure of Divis Mal's army, but a couple of days with her young friend and some of his friends should bring the whole thing in line. Her Mentor in the Corps had been famed for having the entire battle plan of a major strike force from a disgruntled ten year old who had a colonel for a father and a profound dislike of school.

Not that military tactics were Cliss' field of specialisation - her spare wools did not hold nearly enough red for that. Usually, like now, she worked in blues and yellows against the white.

"So," she said, starting a new row. "Mummy's in the legion. And what does Daddy do? Is he still around to look after you?"

"Daddy's gone," said the boy, casually, still intent on tickling one of the minnows in the stream with the long stick he had found. "he left when I was a baby."

Which seemed to worry Cliss's new friend not at all. Interesting.

"Do many of your friends have Mummies and Daddies?" she asked, starting to rummage in her pack for more blue wool ... a slightly darker shade.

"Only Timmy," said the boy. There was no clue in his tone as to whether he thought Timmy should be envied or pitied for this state of affairs.

"And what does Timmy's Daddy do?" said Cliss, re-emerging from the pack, a wisp og grey hair adrift from her braid. "Is he in the Legion?"

"Nah!" The boy was scornful. "Men don't join the Legion. Timmy's Daddy just does the cleaning and stuff."

He considered this.

"He makes things too," he offered at last. "Out of wood. Chairs 'n tables 'n stuff. He made me a horse once."

Well, there were worse role models for a young boy, Cliss thought. But the picture that was emerging was ... well, baffling. If the rumours that had reached the Witnesses had been anything like the truth, this was not what they would have expected.

Indeed, it tended to confirm the alternative view of the garbled reports that had been received. Cliss sighed. She would much rather continue this type of observational work, but perhaps that would not be enough. Perhaps she should ...

And then she heard the crack! of a twig as it gave beneath a heavy foot.

"Mommy!" Timmy shouts as he looks up.

Cliss looks up to see a woman in part of a uniform like the others she saw earlier. This woman dis not have the top for the uniform on, only a sweaty t-shirt.

"Timmy!" the woman mimics. "I see you found a new friend. Hi, I'm Delha, Timmy's mother. And you are..."

Cliss smiles and holds out a hand.

"Hello Dehla," she said cheerfully. "I'm Clissandra. My friends .. like Timmy here ... call me Cliss."

"Forive me for not getting up ... only I've been working on this table covering for my daughter while I've been sitting here with Timmy in this lovely sunshine, and all my wools are spread around."

She saw no need to explain that to stand would also reveal the Glock that was now cradled in her lap.

Instead she selected a toipic of more general appeal.

"You have a healthy and intelligent you man here, Dehla. You must be very proud of such a fine son."

And, she reflected inwardly, if all she had been told of Divis Mal's Empire was true, saying that was as good as showing what the Old-Timers had called a passport in order to elicit the response, "Ah ... you're not from around here, are you?"

Delha beamed brightly, running her hand through Timmy's hair. "Yes, indeed. He's my heart. Unfortunately he knows that, and tries to get away with entirely too much."

Delha caught Timmy as he tried to run off to see another little boy down the hill, and picked him up into strong, muscular arms.

"Now what did I tell you about running away from company?" She mock scolded. The love in her voice for her son was apparent. "You are welcome to join us for afternoon meal, Clarissa."

"Cliss, please, Delha," she said with a smile. "And I'd love to join you for your afternoon meal. If I can just gather my things together ..."

She looked around a little absently. "Oh dear ... I seem to have dropped my stick ... I'm always doing that."

She raised a hand which trembled quite convincingly to her forehead.

"Perhaps back there ..."

She pointed, hoping that Delha would do the polite thing and take a quick glance in that direction ... perhaps even a few swift steps.

"Timmy, go see if you can find Miss Cliss' stick for me, baby." Delha let Timmy down, and he ran enthusiastically in the direction she pointed out. "Let me help you up, Cliss," Delha offered as she held out her hand to the older lady.

"Well, thank you, my dear," said Cliss warmly, inwardly cursing her luck. "If I can lean both arms on you ... "

She reached for Delha's forearm and pulled herself up slowly and carefully, as though enfeebled by age. In reality she was manoeuvring carefully so that the heavy Glock would slide softly to the mossy ground and then the thick but lighter folds of the covering would fall over it and cover it.

Then she could gather up the whole and stuff it into her large pack ...

Not what she would have chosen, taking a wickedly professional firearm into a trained soldier's house. Given any chance at all, she intended to abandon it as soon as possible now no-one was actually pointing a weapon at her.

But this was the best plan that occurred to her on the spur of the moment. She reached full height and then took two shaky but swift steps forward so that she was directly over the Glock, then over it, so that now she was standing between the soldier and the gun.

Not her favourite position, she felt.

"Oh, my table cover!" she exclaimed and turned to bend over and recover it, to stuff it into her pack - and with it, the Glock - keeping her body as a shield.

The hair on the back of her neck was prickling.

Delha steps over to Cliss, catching her by the arm. "Let me do that for you." She begins to stoop down to pick up the table cover...

Cliss closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and counted to three.

~Let's be honest here,~ said an inward voice. ~It's the safest way in the long run.~

"Be careful," she began. "That where I put the gu ..."

"Mummy! Mummy!" There was a shout and Tommy came bursting through the trees. "Mummy - I found a cave! And someone's been living there."

He threw himself on on his mother in his excitement.

"It must be a man - he left some boots behind!"

"Goodness me," said Cliss in relief. "What a strange thing to do."

And while Delha was looking at her excited son, Cliss stuffed the table covering, Glock and all, into her pack, and swung it over her back.

Delha turned around and picked up Timmy. "Really?" she said in an exaggerated tone of voice. "So what do you think we should do?"

"I wanted you to come to see!" Timmy said, squirming excitedly in his mother's grip. He veritably jumped out of her arms, and started running back the way that he came.

"Hold on, Timmy! Slow down and wait for us!" She looked back at Cliss. "He's always making up imaginary friends.. you'd think there weren't enough children in town for him to play with. Let me catch up with him a bit, and we'll wait on you. That is unless you'd like to head on into town..."

"Is he now?" said Cliss in a hollow voice. "What a rascal he is, to be sure."

She knew what she should do, of course. There were pages of rules in the Standing Orders to cover situations just like this. Observe. Don't get involved. Go along and see if you want to, if you have to. But don't get involved. Don't compromise your observation with personal feelings.

And it was probable ... almost certain the the Stranger was long gone ... was never (even if alive) ever coming back.

But there was Timmy, running blithely towards danger ...

Cliss had never been good with rules. She sighed and slid the pack off her shoulders, back into her hands.

"Delha ... " she said. "Stop him. You shouldn't let him go there. I passed that cave on my way here. It seems to be some of weapons cache. Look ... I found this there."

And so saying, her face wrinkling with distaste, she flicked back the top layer of table covering in her back pack and revealed the ugly black gleam of the Glock.

Delha reached for the Glock. "Nicely kept up." She worked the slide, smelled the weapon...saw that it had not recently been fired. "Hmmm... nice weapon. Cannot have been there long." She looked at Cliss suspiciously, one eye narrowed, and called out, "Timmy! Come back, Timmy!"

After not hearing him respond, she seemed torn between seeing about the situation, and going after him... but motherly instincts won over her legionnaire training. She took off after Timmy down the hill...

Cliss watched her go. On the one hand, she now had a perfect opportunity to slip away.

Yes, and be hunted with a fresh enthusiasm. On the whole, she would prefer to avoid that - especially while that homicidal stranger was on the loose and doubtless, by now, attracting large numbers of trigger happy soldiers.

Or she could take her chance, go down the hill. At best she would get supper and a friendly chat.

At worst ...

Well, seeing the inside of prisons was a rather revealing way of studying a society, one of her mentors had alays stoutly maintained. Cliss had never fully subscribed to this theory, but ...

With a sigh, she moved to follow Dehla down the hill.

As she went down the hill, Cliss could see that Delha had already caught Timmy, and was speaking to him sternly. "...run off like that. Mommy doesn't like you to be alone, okay? Just stay with me for now. We'll go back and get Miss Cliss, and go home for supper." She straightened up, and took Timmy by the hand and started back in Cliss' direction. "Oh! You didn't have to come. I was going to bring him back as soon as I found him. You still want to join use for dinner, right?"

"Indeed I do," said Cliss warmly.

She was not actually into the cultural significance of food ritual herself, interesting field of research though it doubtless was. On the other hand, she was very hungry, and where children ate, food tended to be simple, wholesome and plentiful.

And there was still a great deal she could usefully discover about this land. Whether the stories told about its ruler were true, for example. And the fact that here and here alone, there seemed to be an army of women.

"Do you want this?" she asked, and held out the Glock. "I don't need it."

Where children ate, food tended to be simple, wholesome and plentiful.

And so it had proved to be, with the added bonus of being deliciously cooked.

They had sat long over the food (although Timmy had run off to play with his friends in the village), talking gently ...

Cliss had volunteered to wash the dishes, and she was engaged on this when she heard a knock at the door, and then the sounds of Dehla in conversation with a woman withg a high, light voice.

"Yes, five," she heard as she dried another dish. Then there was a gasp and then ... silence.

Wondering what was wrong, Cliss turned round ... and saw Dehla looking at her sadly, the Glock in her hand, pointed at Cliss's mid-section.

"Ah," said Cliss.

"You're a spy," said Dehla flatly.

Cliss sighed.

"I'm a Witness," she said equably. "Spies ... sell their knowledge. We merely collect."

She sensed her audience was not with her.

"So now what?" she asked quietly.

 

Location: Mars Colony

Delha had sadly taken Cliss into custody, calling into the main base. "I'm sorry about this. I really did like you, too. Under any other circumstances, I'd overlook this. But, they have been really strict about things with the Crysaloid raid on Sectaris V. I heard the Emperor made a trip there personally to find out what had happened. So everyone is on alert. And it doesn't help that a patrol is missing. I would ask you if you knew anything about that, but it really doesn't matter. They have a Mercury team on it, and you're to be sent back to the Homeworld..."

By this time, they had made it to the installation. To a casual observer, it would appear that they just cruised into the installation, but they were scanned 5 different ways before reaching the gate to verify their identity. From the gate, Delha took the contragrav vehicle to the spaceport. "There's really nothing I can do for you. I'm sorry." She looked genuinely sad as she commended Cliss to the guards on the transport.

"This is the prisoner?" The swarthy marine said.

"Yes. Mercury wanted her on earth to question."

"Oh?"

Delha shrugged. "Don't ask me. I just follow orders."

"I comm." He looked at Cliss with those hard eyes. "Hey, over here. Don't give me any problems, and there won't be any problems. You cog?"

"I believe I do, young man, if you are using that word as a derivative of the Latin verb 'cognoscere' meaning 'to know'," said Cliss cheerfully. "Of course, more properly you should ask me if I comprehend ... and a more appropriate verb would be 'comprehendere'. Or possibly .... " She sensed she was losing her audience on this one.

She turned to the melancholy Delha and hugged her .... something that seemed slightly to nonplus the marine.

"Goodbye my dear," she said affectionately. "No hard feelings at all ... it may well be we will meet again. Now, don't think badly of me ... or of yourself for doing your duty. And give my love to Timmy."

She glanced at the marine.

"We can go now," she said encouragingly. "And I'm sure a nice young man like you won't mind if an old lady gets on with her crocheting for her daughter's table covering as we go ... Does your mother go in for crocheting at all, young man, or does she prefer to knit? So nice to keep the old skills alive, I always feel."

And she set out for the ship, remembering at the last minute to affect a hobble rather than a crsip stride.

The marine takes charge of her, examining the tablecloth, looking through the rucksack and the backpack. Once satisfied, he leads her to a rather nice, if small, stateroom. He treats her rather apathetically, though she does notice that even in his apathy he is quite alert. "The trip will be about 3 days. The fabricator is there, and will provide food at set intervals. Your acceleration couch is there. I would suggest strapping in immediately." He shrugs, and leaves her in the room, the door sliding shut.

Cliss experiences an uneventful journey, as she feels the familiar lurch of interspace warp once, then a short break as they assumably traveled to the next warp point, then the lurch again.

During the time they were in n-space, the fabricator spat forth a meal three times a day, rather bland fare. Cliss can assume that it was made to satisfy a wide range of nutritional needs if not extremely palatable.

For the most part, the trip was an extreme non-event, with Cliss left to her own devices. Between a bed, an acceleration couch, a chair, and a table, there was not much to do, though he did not take anything from her.

Cliss looked around the stateroom with approval.

Three days into the trip, and the little room was, she felt, barely recognisable.

Every possible surface had been pressed into service to hold holo-stills of family members performing various tasks from getting born to winning prizes to being paired to having children of their own. The couch was spread with one completed covering ... a delicate crochet-like creation in lemony cream, and deep blue .... A light but vividly coloured quilt covered the bed (it actually did double service as a loose sleeveless jacket).

The food had been simple and nourishing ... no worse and no better than Cliss expected in space travel. And after so many years of perforce eating a very varied range of cuisine ... Cliss reacted to the concept of "bland" like a pig to truffles.

When food was not on the table, Cliss spread out her table covering and worked on it. She welcomed the respite of a few days ... she had fallen behind, and this gave her chance to catch up. She was thoughtful when she saw the amount of deep blue and purple that was becoming necessary - and she had a feeling that more was going to be needed over the next few weeks ...

As ... hopefully ... she discovered some of the answers to the questions that had plagued her long-lived people for generations ...

The ride through the atmosphere (for that is all it could be) was rough, the chair negated the effect of the reentry though and soon Cliss could feel the ride become less choppy. The craft settled to the ground, and soon the door hissed open.

Cliss had dressed carefully in her formal robes. A simple jumpsuit of white formed the base ... over that were added more and more layers of white ... tunics and loose jackets ... all of the finest silks.

Venerable was the effect she was aiming at. Indeed, she had looked in the mirror several times and said the word sternly to herself.

Venerable. Venerable.

Her bulky jacket was now taking up more than its fair share of space in the backpack.

The same swarthy marine stood at the door. "This way, please," he said, nicely, though his weapon was out.

Cliss indicated the pile of belongings oin the table.

"I shall have to carry these iin my arms," she said. "I can't fit them all in my carry pack." She indicated the shawl, "I've been doing a lot of crotcheting."

The Marine looked at her a little suspiciously. He knew ... as she did ... that she had carried everything on board in her carry pack.

But if he opened it to check, he would discover there was no space to spare at all ....

There was, Cliss refelcted, almost as much of an art in packing badly as there was in packing well. One would need to empty the whole carry pack and start again to fit everything in .... Cliss smiled to herself and moved to the shuttle door.

She was regarded as low security risk, she was delighted to see, and so was unloaded before the standard military landing hall. There were even steps down to the landing hall.

Thirty of them. She counted.

Aloud.

It took her ten minutes to negotiate them with unncessary care and caution, No sooner had she reached the firm earth than she fell over. Her belongings spread over a satisfying distance. She crawled around to pick them up ... and received some help from the baggage handlers, several of whom shot indignant looks at the armed impassive marine.

For her part, Cliss thought that he was looking a little bit uneasy.

When she tripped over her swaying shawl next and fell in the landing hall of the shuttle port, a variety of young officers in legion uniform rushed forward to help. Cliss waved them all away.

"No, no," she said feebly. "I'm under arrest ... you mustn't interfere or you'll be in trouble ... or this nice young man will be."

The young officers glared at the marine as they saw the old lady crawling around on the floor, retrieving her family holo-stills and wrapping them up in a shawl. The marine stood impassively, but by now his face was bright red.

By the time Cliss stood up this time, she was satisfied that her arival on Earth had made a suitable impression. Even if there were no Watchers on Earth, there would be agents. Sooner or later, word would travel back that a Watcher had arrived ...

She made her way slowly and carefully to the door of the landing hall, through it, and stood blinking in the bright sunlight.

The Marine marched her through the station to a waiting vehicle, where he officially turned her over to the care of Mercury, and happily at that if truth be told.

The vehicle was a hover vehicle, unmarked. It was blocky and as the door slid open and Cliss was put into it, she could see that the interior belied the exterior, comfortable if functional.

Cliss was taken from the bright sun of the day into the city proper... if city it could be called. From her seat she could see the sun disappear as she was taken into the industrial megaplex the Earth now was. All space had been harvested for the cityscape; precious little space remained as gleaming towers protruded from the earth's surface all over the planet. The only virgin territory was in New Mexico where all of this had started, the wastes of Australia, where the first Metroplex still held sway, and the protectorates in South America and Africa.

Everywhere the air was cleaner, the weather planned by the devices hidden in the earth to augment the few remaining trees... the parks in the cities, and the the protectorates. The parts that Cliss was taken through were sterile and clean, a shining example of the good of this society. But she was in the upper levels...

Soon, she arrived at the presumed location, the flying vehicle angling towards a wall which opened at the last moment to admit it. The door to the rear area opened, and two men in black business suits awaited her. The only thing to distinguish them was that one was fair-haired, and the other was dark-haired.

"Please, ma'am, step this way," Mr. Blonde said deferentially. "Leave your bags, they will be ferried on later." Though said with all reverence, Cliss could hear the undertone of menace...

 

"Certainly, young man," said Cliss with a warm and friendly smile. "It will be such a relief not to have to carry them with me all the time ... and I'm sure I can trust you not to lose them, can't

I?"

"I'll just keep my handbag ... oh, you call it a purse, I believe. Just a little holo album and a jacket I'm crocheting for my granddaughter."

She held the bag open so they could see. The crochet hook was plastic; it could be construed as a weapon but that was clearly not its function. She lifted out the slim pack of holos and shook them out ... they fell in a long stream almost to her feet.

"That's my granddaughter," she said, pointing to a chubby and clearly well-nurtured child. "Tell me, do either of you have children of your own?"

She beamed at them, packing away the holos.

Both men maintained their grim demeanor, keeping a careful eye on her hands to ensure that she did nothing untoward. As she finished packing the bag, the dark haired man reached for her purse. "You may keep this with you, but I will have to carry it for now."

"Do you know," she said consideringly to the dark haired man, "you have a great look at my son-in-law about you. Something about your jaw ... "

"Now, where are we off to?"

The two men have all of the personality of a rock, and apparently the emotions of rocks also. They keep a close eye on the old woman, while not engaging her in conversation. They shortly arrive at a door, which hisses open at their approach. Inside Cliss can see a rather unconfortable looking table and chairs. The room is well lit from two different lamps, both in adjustable overhead mountings.

"In here, please, ma'am." The blonde-haired one says simply and flatly.

"Cerainly young man," says Cliss cheerfully.

She looks around the room, and inwardly her heart sinks. This is a room designed to intimidate in its blank bareness. And it could so very easily succeed ...

But she had trained for this ... to observe.

"One of the best indicators of a society is the prisons it runs," her old mentor had never tired of saying. Perhaps, Cliss reflected sourly, because he anticipated that so many of his students would be finding themselves locked up ... sometimes for considerable periods of time ...

"Could I have my photos back now?" she asked brightly. "They could really cheer this room up."

She didn't wait for an answer, but moved to the most open space in the room.

"You won't mind if I do my exercises, do you?" she went on. "Have to do them every day, or else my old bones seize up ... "

She moved into the opening position of her ancient routine and looked at them expectantly.

"Maybe in a bit," Mr. Blonde said. "You shan't be here too awful long. Please. Have a seat at the table." He easily took a seat as Mr. Black pulled out another chair for her. "Anything to drink before we get started?"

Cliss brightened.

"I wonder if I might trouble you for a cup of tea?"" she said. "You'll find a sealed pack on my bag. Not the same as fresh, of course, and if you do have any Assam here, I would be most grateful. I realise single estate might be a little too much to ask for ... "

"I do prefer loose leaf rather than bagged, however, and certainly not instant. And I do insist on a non-metallic pot. Metal quite kills the roundness of the leaves. Earthenware is acceptable,

although obviously china or porcelain are excellent in their way ... Our ancestors knew a thing or two, you know."

"Now, the water does taste better boiled in a closed kettle rather than a pan ... something to do with the steam being contained, I believe. And some people believe you should take the pot to the kettle rather than the kettle to the pot, but you can hold me an agnostic on that. I really think that is being a little fussy, don't you? But the pot must be properly warmed, of course, with freshly boiled water, and and the kettle kept on the boil so it is still bubbling when poured over the leaves."

"One tea spoon for each person, and one for the pot, that's what I always say. And I do like to see a cosy to keep it warm ... so friendly, don't you think? There's one of those in my bag - I made it myself."

~And a thorough record of ancestor worship rituals on Cygnus 5 it was too,~ she thought wryly.

Then she drew a deep breath and smiled at them encouragingly. They were well-trained, she noted approvingly. Their eyes had barely begun to glaze over yet.

Still, she had yet to give them her exposition of the vexing question of milk in first or milk in last.

Neither of them registered anything other than casual interest in what she said, though Mr. Black looked a bit frayed around the edges.

"Well, thank you very much for the information. Though we do need to get to those questions." Mr Blonde looked to Mr. Black. "Please see what you can find for her. We'll start in the meantime." Mr. Black looked a bit perplexed, but left without saying a word.

Cliss watched him go benevolently.

"What a kind young man," she remarked approvingly.

"He's a nice enough chap, but a bit inflexible at times. Maybe we can get through before he returns."

Cliss turned on him and smiled, the merest glint in her eye. "Now wouldn't that be pleasant?" she said encouragingly.

"Your name?"

"Clissandra Dinstang Tains. Where I come from, that means my maternal clan is Tains, and my paternal clan is Dinstang. All my children were Tains, you see ... The maternal name. And then the paternal name depended on their father's clans. Most were Ficefors, because my first and third were Ficefors ... "

"That's the way we do it in our part of the galaxy .... anyway."

"Oh, and Clissandra is such a mouthful. Most people call me Cliss."

"Your age?"

"Now that's a little difficult to say, because I believe we calculate years a little differently from you. Diurnal cycles and all that ... Still, in your terms, I would be about 128 years, I do believe ..."

"Where do you hail from?"

"Hail from ... Hail from ... what an interesting phrase. I wonder where it comes from. Some of the old phrases are fascinating, aren't they?"

"Well, I could tell you the name ... but would it mean a lot to you? Kyrchae we call it ... But your name for it, I'm not rightly sure of. Isn't that a shame?"

"Your position there?"

Cliss grinned. "I suppose you could say I'm retired on the planet. Certainly I have no position there. I am what my people call a 'grey Panther'. We have finished our working lives .... and now we explore the galaxy. It really is tremendously invigorating."

"Why were you on Baszel? It is sort of an out of the way planet... no real tourism or anything there..."

"Well, I had been told there were some fascinating temples that were not much visited, but do you know what I found?

She leaned forward condidentially.

"Nothing but military installations!"

She sat back in her chair. "It was a great disappointment," she said simply.

"What was your relationship with the man that killed the local troops there?"

"I'm not sure I would describe it as a relationship!" she said archly. "Nothing so improper. I ... er ... just dropped in on him."

"Your son-in-law, eh? Did you like him? How many children do you have? How many grandchildren?"

"Indeed. Well, he can sometimes be a little inquisitive. Even aggressive sometimes, but I tell my daughter it's just his age. And I have 3 birth children and five pod children. Two birth daughters, one son, and two pod daughters, three sons. In all, I had thirty-two grandchildren when last I heard, but another five should have been born since then ... And who knows how many pods started?"

She beamed.

"And I have holos of them all ... I can tell you all their names and all about them ..."

"Where do you want to begin?"

"Well, I guess we begin at the beginning. Always an auspicious place." He pointed to the top holo. "One of your children I would say... which one?"

Cliss laughed indulgently.

"No, no, that's my third! My third mate partner. He was a Denteluce Soth ... My only Denteluce, actually ... most of my partners were Ficefors ... " She broke off and regarded him with what could only be descibed as a roguish twinkle.

"That is seen as a good thing among my people," she said encouragingly. "Ficefors make good pilots, it is said."

"Perhaps I should begin with my mates then," she said thoughtfully.

And she did. In her life, Cliss had had five mates; all of whom she remembered with affection. She dwelt at length and with warmth of the sterling qualities of each of them as they went through the fifteen years of partnership that Kyrchaean bonding required. Each had had their own particular quirks and foibles - many of which were amusing, so Cliss spoke raptly of Teven's enjoyment of rambling (some holos of mountains they had walked up together ...), of Dravos's love of cultivating rare flowering specimens (more holos ... and some digressions to explain which grandchild was holding which specimen .. and why).

When she judged she had dwelt on this topic for long enough, she began on the tale of her children. With a wealth of detail and a sense of dramatic timing that wuld have turned her familial tale into a high-rating holo vid production ... indeed a whole series ... she elaborated on the lives, loves and fortunes of her off-spring, their triumphs and tragedies. She carefully took him through their individual educational history (all, save one, exceptionally outstanding ... and the laggard proved a gifted singer instead; Cliss at length lamented that recordings of this golden voice were in her pack). Then she discussed the partners each had acquired - as some were by now on their third partnering, this too took a little while, as she made it clear that she felt to speak too briefly on any individual would be disparaging ...

By her calculations, she had spoken to the attentive young man for three solid hours without even coming on to the description of her grandchildren, and refereshing herself with little sips of water.

Now she sat back and frowned.

"How odd," she remarked genially. "I wonder where that nice young man is with the tea. I really could do with a cup before I go on."