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Zhevra's Dance Novel

* * *

Later that night, Dame Qithka Cannagrrh and her entourage met with Zhevra at the steps outside the great, dark wood doors of the Villa keep. Knirr was below them, loading baggage into the grav-van that was to deliver Zhevra to the Downport for shuttle lift to a Society liner in orbit and waiting.

“I once wore a ballistic single piece on my field journalism, young cub,” criticized Qithka, “but you…I’m glad now that I gave you that pistol. It’s your married tail. You will be beating off males and having to ignore the wolf whistles and cat calls in that outfit, Zhevra.”

“I have my reasons, Alpha,” replied Zhevra. “Hold the fort until I bring home your brother, my husband?”

1_A_Plan.jpg


“Oh, don’t you worry,” assured Qithka. “I’ve fight in me still. After this past season, I expect the next generation of magazine journalists will be interviewing me on the happenings here at Cannagrrh Villa and asking about the wild ‘red-pelt’ who I nursed to health and brazenly named my heir.”

“Gevaudan is your heir and I will bring him home, especially to finally heal the scars on this Pack,” challenged Zhevra though she bared her neck in abeyant supplication to the Alpha above her on the steps.

1_Bring_Him_Back.jpg


“I sometimes pray to Gev’s Runetha Saetedz that you are right and that the forensic experts have been wrong all these three years.”

At that, Zhevra curtsied without a dress to the Dame who nodded a respectful and charismatic head bow in return. Then turning, she stepped down to Knirr Cannagrrh who had the door to the grav-van opened for her.

“Thank you, friend, for all you have taught me,” said Zhevra as she fell into a tight embrace with the gray female. Still in her civilian attire and Unequal belts, Knirr’s grip was powerful.

1_Farewell.jpg


“Thank you, friend, for all your qualities,” returned Knirr. Hugging the smaller female back, Knirr felt the same nuzzling on her chest and shoulder. A shudder of emotion must have caused her to say, “I will miss you, Zhevra.”

Zhevra opened her eyes from the hug, “I will miss you, Knirr. Watch for us to return?”

“Absolutely,” answered Knirr who then released Zhevra and helped her into the vehicle.

The grav-van lifted and glided on its contragravity field and sped in an arc toward the Downport to the waves of Pack Cannagrrh.

END OF BOOK ONE
 
BOOK TWO

XXIII. Regina (Spinward Marches 1910) A788899-C, Jumpspace to Gnoengungag (Gvurrdon 1923) B759623-7 of Zhevra's testimony
Even decades after the Equality War, the Dzen Aeng Kho had not reclaimed all of its former worlds. This put Dzuerongvoe on a peninsula of its Coreward worlds that had returned to the Council of worlds once released to vote on whether to return to the Society from Thirz Empire occupation. The Thirz had their own problems and tensions were causing strain in that polity of late. Because of the two polities and the undecided worlds yet to make a decision, Zhevra’s liner, a passenger vessel with three parsecs range per jump transit, took a Trailing tack before heading Rimward towards her destination of Gnoengungag. She had to remind herself that though it felt like only months had passed, a summer on Dzuerongvoe at Cannargrrh Villa, in truth three years had passed since Gevaudan’s Jump. It took the liner five weeks of jump transit and an extra week to refuel along the way at route depots along the jump lanes at one hundred diameters. This was done so the vessel could precipitate from jumpspace, immediately dock at the depot, refuel and as the well-paid Astrogator on the bridge began running the numbers for the next jump. It was a timed system and the liner earned itself generous tips from the passengers, dignitaries mostly travelling to and from the Council sessions. Zhevra guessed that the Dame had pulled out some VIP pass or barked loudly enough to get the heir to Pack Cannagrrh to Gnoengungag at all haste due a Dame.

Though surprised that it was not some Pack Alpha boarding their vessel but a red-furred outworlder from the Wilds as their charge, the crew did not harass Zhevra on the journey. She spent her time in the spacious commons area to re-read the probate court documents and the procedures needed to lay claim to Gevaudan’s legacy. Dignitaries, Emissaries and Alphas from other Packs still shunned her and departed the cabin whenever she emerged from her stateroom.

Zhevra was eventually joined halfway through her travels on the liner. An Emissary and priest of the Church Of The Chosen Ones sat down before the Suedzuk who was trying mint tea, a first for Zhevra. Though the Church-controlled world of Aegadh was just across the border, in the Thirz Empire and on the so-called Edge, Emissaries worked full time across the line of contention to cool the embers of a Cold War between the Thirz and the Society of Equals. Still paranoid of further reprisal against their communistic state, the Council spent far too much money on its Spinward border, hiring mercenaries and Privateers like Dhueth and Knirr Cannagrrh’s company for patrols and police actions. The Thirz in return tried to tell the media that their true concern was that the Dzen Aeng Kho was too focused on the Thirz and not enough was being done to Quarantine the Society’s Trailing borders against Virus and gradually declining vampire incidents. Zhevra and the priest, a male named Gvanduekh-ak debated as objective as the Church and a ‘Wildsider’ could allow on the choices the Society of Equals had made.
“Ancients, I’m no historian or political scientist,” Zhevra declared. She felt that the Dzen Aeng Kho should evenly distribute the polity’s forces for any threat, but that was the Engineer in her talking.

“Funny thing you should mention Ancients, ma’am,” noted the Emissary-priest aloud. “How do you – what did you call yourselves – Soodzook feel about the Ancients that Chose the Vargr for their attentions?”

“Do you want the long or short answer?” asked Zhevra. Gevaudan had taught her about the Church Of The Chosen Ones, Vargr who believed that the Ancients had for some unknown purpose selected the Vargr for uplift and perfection to greatness above and beyond the other Major and Minor races of Charted Space. The Church also believed, with miniscule and debatable, deductive syllogisms that the Ancients had repeatedly returned to Lair to conduct further improvements that produced the various sub-species of Vargr for even further versatility and capability. The religion as falling off as bookstores ran dry of followers or funds to keep up shop. Now, decades after the Collapse and all eyes on Virus encroachments, the Church was little more than a mild movement that saw surges on university campuses.
Gvanduekh-ak, a mottled brown Vargr of various hues offered, “Take your pick, ma’am. I am curious what your kind have thought about our beginnings on a world that obviously has no ties to the genes the Ancients transplanted long ago, if the Solomani Hypothesis is to be taken seriously.”

Zhevra tilted her head to a side in pretend submission, but fired off with, “Our ‘kind’ were too busy being shoved Rimward after the Sack of Gashikan and the extinction pogroms to care how we came to be. We were focused on the then and there of survival to care about creation myths and evolutionary models.”

“So, you don’t care that Humaniti uses labels like ‘chimera’ and ‘dogs’ and the like?” asked Gvanduekh-ak.

“Priest,” said Zhevra as she straightened her head and gazed harder at Gvanduekh-ak, “Labels like that are cubs play compared to what I’ve been called. Want to insult me? Try ‘genocidal’, ‘ransacker’, ‘red-pelt’ or the like, but ‘chimera’ doesn’t faze me any more than calling a Human a hairless ape affects them. It’s not worth the energy and the charisma to listen to fools, priests, evolutionists and anyone else who feels sensitive about their beginnings. I don’t even care what the Ancients looked like or if they even had a form. They’re not my gods, Emissary.”

“What then do you hold as a higher power or way of life?” asked Gvanduekh-ak.

“I considered taking up my husband’s philosophy but as a couple we were too busy to stop and give it consideration,” answered Zhevra, though it was beginning to sound like the long answer to her. “Runetha Saetedz was a hero, a scout, a scoundrel, a pirate and died as all of the above. In his memory, he is preserved by those who continue in his footsteps. He’s no deity, just some Vargr who did things right long enough to show us how to live to the fullest, attain great charisma, and accept the good and the bad in all of us. It’s the challenge of life to select the best choices as each situation demands.”

“And the Ancients?” asked Gvanduekh-ak.

“Show me an Ancient,” challenged the Suedzuk. “I can find Runetha’s grave on Menorb in the Spinward Marches if I ask around long enough. The Ancient artifacts are just that, artifacts. They don’t prove that they were our Uplifters or beings to model our lives after. Age is a poor substitute for wisdom.”

“You are a smart young female, ma’am,” said the Emissary-priest. “You work off what you can sense and work with directly and take nothing for granted. Good qualities. Have you ever encountered an Ancients artifact?”

Zhevra considered her experiences and said, “No, and I am no archaeologist either. I am an Engineer. I work with what is at hand right here and now. Like some thaumaturgist from Terra, I take what is already proven and present and work wonders with it. No magic, no faith required, no ego to bruise. If my ship moves and does its job, then I reap the charisma and rewards as they become available. Rinse and repeat.”

Gently defeated, Gvanduekh-ak saw that he was getting nowhere with Zhevra and so left her to finish her tea and reading. He disembarked the liner to the jump point fuel depot at Dhallas (Gvurrdon 1919) along the route the liner took to Zhevra’s stop on Gnoengungag.
 
Zhevra was happiest about the journey when she touched her clawed feet on the warm tarmac of Gnoengungag Bay’s Downport, a late spring for the mainworld. Across the heat waves rising off the strip and landing berths, Zhevra saw the Sixth Horizon after three years. The sight of her husband’s white and red-striped ship in the distance made her shake with anticipation and it pained her to have to deal with lodging, her baggage and Startown transit first instead of running directly across the landing field to the grounded vessel. She knew it had undergone decommissioning. She also knew from the legal documents that somewhere inside; Bob and Vincent were giving out tours to paying customers. She slept three years and rehabilitated for months. What was a night or two before taking the tour of Gevaudan Cannagrrh’s ship?

In a matter of three hours, Zhevra Cannagrrh was checked into a hotel on the edge of the Downport but in the Gnoengungag Bay Startown. She had secured, for a fee, a permit for her pistol, a public transit card and declared herself by name and as Gevaudan’s widow. The last file brought on a slew of advertisements as various businesses tried to reconnect with the missing slaver. Assuming Zhevra was Gevaudan’s secretary or representative, even several concubine brothels and service hotels sent electronic greetings. This was how she found Gevaudan’s third wife, Geneveegh’s address as she was doing business locally as a Madam of an establishment. Deleting all the other spam in her temporary inbox, Zhevra took a moment to type a response and greeting to Geneveegh as well a request to have lunch the next day. She purchased an online ticket to tour the Sixth Horizon, but did not use her name in the registration. Then she unpacked just enough of her luggage to set up a makeshift office. From her window in the hotel, Zhevra could see Gnoengungag Bay, its ocean view bright as watercraft sailed about the bay, to and from the horizon of the planet. Changing her angle at the window, she could just make out the white wedge shape of her husband’s Far Scout at one end of the Starport.

Using the hardcopy legal documents, Zhevra learned the Startown address of Gevaudan’s office. Correlating the address online, she found the office hours and typed an electronic message requesting an appointment. Amazingly, a response was immediate and welcoming her to come and do business. The wording was crisp and Zhevra guessed it was Gevaudan’s third robot, some form of drone that had responded. Her husband had never eluded to any living employees than herself as Chief Engineer, the only Engineer other than Gev himself aboard his ship. How autonomous was this office robot or drone? Did it still do business for him? Zhevra decided to have dinner in the hotel restaurant then take a wheeled ground car taxi to the office.

The white sun was beginning to set creating a palette of pinks across the horizon when the taxi deposited Zhevra before an aging strip mall of businesses. She turned to the taxi to ask the driver, “Fare tip?”

The driver, a chocolate brown Vargr of middle age, waved his claw, “Nah. Seeing that frame and your coloration was tip enough and you’ve already paid me when you swiped your transit card. You sure you don’t want me to idle for you? This is an older part of town, ma’am.”

Zhevra patted her holstered weapon and answered, “Thanks for the ride. I can handle myself. Have a good evening.”

Nodding assent, the taxi driver pulled away and was gone.
 
A marquee sign above the simple door to a warehouse office displayed a likeness of the Imperium Far Scout, Gevaudan’s Sixth Horizon. It was an older photo, blown up to the sign’s size. In Gvegh it read:

HORIZONS COURIER SERVICE

With no other contact information on the sign to take note, Zhevra stepped up to the door and found it unlocked, still open for business she guessed. It was not late and what robot or drone asks for better hours? The lights were dimmed but gradually brightened as motion sensors registered her movement on the first step inside.

“Hello?” Zhevra called.

The office was simple. Before the door was a long counter which partitioned off a simple desk with no computers, everything in hardcopy folders, papers and a mug of writing utensils. Gevaudan must have worked off the grid here, Zhevra deduced. With the threat of Virus during his travels, the Courier-Slaver had done business by hand and with the help of the office drone, wherever it was. A door in the back of this first room must have led to a narrow warehouse obviously for depositing small cargos. With the small cargo capacity of Gevaudan’s Far Scout, he did not need much. Dealing mostly in passengers, their baggage and one or two lots of small commodities, the warehouse was probably empty of ticket items or speculatives. Zhevra’s husband rarely completed a slaving run without emptying purchased commodities before taking on purchased concubines from Rorroksueknea’ slave markets. She remembered in the two years since becoming crew that ocassionally a valuable small cargo would earn her and Gevaudan a celebratory date of shopping, dinner and a holovid at a theatre. It pained her to remember and a chill ran up her spine.

Zhevra looked about the office. Before she could round the service counter, a sphere she had mistaken for a planetary globe in the dimmed corner lit up a field to her Awareness. It was the drone. It’s Mag and Lek were static and rounded and yet it levitated in the air with the use of an integral contragravity floater. Its outer surface was made of sensors, a speaker box and was protected by a hard, impact plastic of a high-tech world, likely the Third Imperium. Everything that Gevaudan owned seemed to come from there except the distinctly Vargr items and that odd maul hammer hanging in the Far Scout’s ship’s locker.

“Salutations,” sounded the drone. “My designation is Moon and I can help you sign on to service from Horizons Courier Service. Are you the person who contacted us earlier?”

Talking to a drone was more formal and lacked a person-to-person feel. Coming aboard Gevaudan’s ship for the first time, Zhevra had to warm to the two Vargr-shaped Bob and Vincent, the two being Servitor robots with crew task sets in their programming. With the pair, Zhevra was able to assign them a modicum of false charisma as they obeyed the Captain of their ship. With the sphere before her, she found it hard to relate to a floating ball lacking anything remotely exuding charisma. In trying to find which ocular sensor to focus her attention upon, as one might look into the eyes of another living Vargr, Zhevra hesitated.

Rather than speaking, her confusion mounting and anxiety growing from this place, a part of Gevaudan that Zhevra had no contact, she produced from her tan lady’s bag the legal documents and laid them out in order over the service counter. “New file. Scan and save, drone.”

The floating drone obviously named by Gevaudan as Moon floated gently and purposefully over each document long enough scan, read and save each piece of hardcopy. After the last of the short stack of papers were saved, Moon then said in its monotone, genderless voice, “Are you Zevra Cannagrrh, ma’am?” Zhevra nodded an affirmation. “May I scan a form of identification for confirmation please?” Zhevra dug into her purse again and showed the drone her Society of Equals identification card.

“Correction: Zhevra,” added the Suedzuk.

“Acknowledged pronunciation.”

“As Gevaudan’s mate and subordinate and until he returns to this office, I am in command. Acknowledge,” ordered Zhevra. With a drone’s lack of charisma and her lingering technophobia of robots in this era of Virus, Zhevra could not take chances.

“Per law, formal registration of change of authority will require 36 hours,” noted Moon aloud. “Until then, temporary command is acknowledged to Zhevra Cannagrrgh. Orders?”

Zhevra then realized she now temporarily owned this drone designated Moon. “Partition the file in memory and save. I-, I am here to look for clues that will aid my search for Gevaudan Cannagrrh.”

Moon floated over to the file cabinets and used a red laser pointer beam. Then it said, “Here is where Gevaudan Cannagrrh kept the business records, licenses and other notes.”

“You don’t have them saved in memory?” asked Zhevra.

“Negative,” reported Moon. “Protocol in place as of 112-1132: No online contact with any entity originating from a starship, spaceship, shuttle or device with a net protocol address of Gnoengungag Bay Downport or orbit. All incoming electronic transmissions are to be scanned first for Virus before responses may exit this office and drone.”

Zhevra was then aware that she was lucky to have contacted the office from the hotel. “New orders, drone,” Zhevra said to the sphere. “All business is now on indefinite hiatus effective immediately. Any open tickets are to be cancelled and money refunded.” She rigidly spoke as if adressing the ship’s computer aboard the Sixth Horizon which too had a voice interface Zhevra almost never used and Gevaudan never needed with his cybernetic integration rig. “Your new task set is security, alarms and electronic notification to law enforcement of intrusion of the premesis by unauthorized personnel. Save and acknowledge.”

“Saved and acknowledged. There is a file which funds cannot be returned, ma’am.”

Zhevra nodded. Unfinished business with clients with no names. Gevaudan had such passengers and freight clients in the past, during the two years she spent with her husband. “What file number is it? I wish to see that one first.” The Suedzuk did not want unfinished business catching up to her now that her husband was no doubt listed as Missing, Assumed Deceased since 1187. She hated thinking of that label, M.A.D. It gave her tremors in her claws and tail. Gevaudan was certainly mad that night on the bridge.
“File cabinet C, number 34. Authorization granted.”

Zhevra stepped around the service desk after collecting the Society of Equals legal documents and stuffing them in her bag. The third file cabinet labeled with a Galanglic ‘C’. Did her husband want only those who could read Galanglic to be able to peruse his records?

Zhevra pulled open the hardcopy file drawer and began clawing through the folders until she came to number 34. Pulling it out, she saw immediately that it was a thick Courier ticket to deliver a second and sealed folder, colored in red and white stripes around its outer edge. It was dated as received in the year 1122, well into the Human Rebellion of the Third Imperium to Rimward. The office had logged its arrival, but Gevaudan must have either missed it, incorrectly decided it was bogus somehow or otherwise dismissed it for other sources of income. The sealed hardcopy was thick and felt like more papers that were stacked cleanly insided the envelope. The ticket folder, number 34, showed the Courier request with no sender but addressed to, “University of Regina, Regina/Regina (Spinward Marches 1910)” Zhevra read it aloud. “This parcel is-,” she did the math in her head quickly, “sixty-eight years old when it arrived.”

Moon augmented the stamp with, “Pre-paid, lacking return address and identification. Gevaudan Cannagrrh filed parcel File C, number 34 and did not save notification for later. Anomalous file, reasons unknown.”

“Was he already committed to other business files at that time?” asked Zhevra who did not look at the drone.

“Affirmative, File C, numbers 30 through 33,” Moon reported.

Zhevra pulled those files too and went to sit down at the office desk. It was going to be a long read through the night. Files 30-33 were high value passengers for the staterooms with entourages relegated to low berths on the Sixth Horizon. Since the identities of the ticketed passengers were Emissaries and travelling military officers, Gevaudan could not then refuse their charisma and station. As her husband had not begun slaving until after the Collapse, these passengers and the year noted put the Society of Equals three years past the Equality War with the Thirz Empire in which the the Dzen Aeng Kho lost their capital world and much of their original territory. It would have been natural for the polity to still be reeling from its loss and much consolidation of its remaining worlds and interstellar infrastructure would be a buzz of travelers Gevaudan would be hard-pressed to turn away. Each passenger was paid in certified currency from the polity and Gev had done his work in one of the fastest Courier ships still available after the Equality War was cooling.
 
Then Zhevra closed and pushed aside the finished files. Each had been lightweight, business concluded and Zhevra now knew why file 34 had been swept under the carpet. Businesses that did not cater to high-charisma clients soon found their licenses pulled for false advertising or other trumped-up infractions. The Dzen Aeng Kho was a communistic state then as it remained in Zhevra’s time. It was a Society of Equals, with some being more Equal than others. She had seen that up close back on Dzuerongvoe and at Cannagrrh Villa, Gevaudan’s home.

File 34 was sealed, never having been opened. Zhevra tried to imagine it in her husband’s claws when the three before it were more demanding. She also imagined Gev putting all four in the cabinet and then forgetting about 34, meaning to come back to Gnoengungag and deliver the mailed parcel. It would have been easy just to toss it in the captain’s cabin and journey Rimward to the Marches. Finally, the Suedzuk Vargr allowed herself to truly consult the drone, Moon. “Is there any reason Gevaudan might have harbored that kept him from delivering this parcel to its address of…Regina?” Zhevra asked, again reading the address world aloud to the drone.

Moon took a second to load the requested data and reported, “Saved recordings indicate Gevaudan Cannagrrh travelled Coreward from Spinward Marches Sector and the Domain of Deneb under orders directly given from then-Duke Norris Aella Aledon of Regina subsector in 1109. Details withheld by Gevaudan Cannagrrh, reported to be under a ‘Silence’ restriction. On board were one Dame Qithka Cannagrrh, one Uthka Varzeekh and drone unit Moon.”

“You were with Gevaudan then too?” asked Zhevra. Now learning that this drone had spent a good time with her husband, long before her own birth, gave the floating sphere a modicum of charisma in pseudo-camaraderie with Gevaudan.

“Affirmative. Drone unit, designated ‘Moon’, purchased and online in 1108, Ling Standard Products Scout Drone by one Gevaudan Cannagrrh on mainworld Rhylanor/Rhylanor (Spinward Marches 2716).”

That year put Gevaudan confirmed present during the Fifth Frontier War, deduced Zhevra. Gevaudan, when he proposed to Zhevra, was old enough to be her grandsire or better. Surely the ‘pills’ referred by Dame Qithka Cannagrrh then were anagathics, the anti-aging medicines and formulated for Vargr physiology. Her husband was in the middle of the War between the Third Imperium and the Outworld Coalition of the Zhodani Consulate, the Sword Worlds Confederation and the various polities and Corsairs out of Gvurrdon Sector.

Zhevra recalled then her probing questions with her husband as she had served in the Enclaves navy, but he was never military. The Fifth Frontier War topic had come up and Zhevra had asked if Gevaudan had taken sides for his Society of Equals. He had remembered aloud that while the Dzen Aeng Kho had indeed sent a few squadrons in participation of the Outworld Coalition, Gevaudan and his Sister-Dame were already present and ignorant of the coming War until it was too late to avoid suspicion of being forward spies. Zhevra’s mate had snickered at the two times he had been arrested when his Courier’s insignia was recognized and landed him in an overnight lockup. The Imperium Humans of his mercenary Artemis Group had to bail Gevaudan out and appear as advocates in court to clear his ethnic Vargr name the both times he was arrested.

At last, Zhevra dug into the desk and found a pocketknife to open the sealed, red-and-white parcel, of file 34. Zhevra addressed the orbiting drone, “As current owner of Horizons Courier Services, I am breaching the parcel in a matter of safety and in interest of searching for Gevaudan Cannagrrh and the parcel’s original sender. Save and acknowledge.”

“Saved and acknowledged,” confirmed Moon.
 
Zhevra read through the night the tightly bound folder containing a report in printed and small-font Galanglic, an Imperium seal of the University of Regina was present on the folder, its title page and each bound piece of paper had stationary borders and page numbers. The title of the report read:

The Tsunami Mission
Directed, funded and authorized by

Mikirshu Gimudin, Dean Sociology
University of Regina, Main Campus​
Thesis: It has come to light certain questions as to the reasons for the Frontier Wars, reasons that to date have not been answered by the Diplomat Nobles of the Zhodani Consulate. Pattern indications show a higher probability that Rhylanor/Rhylanor was a target world of the latest, Fifth Frontier War. The Department of Sociology has heard these questions and routinely discounted the theory that Rhylanor possesses some quality or condition that the Outworld Coalition felt the need to wage war to claim for themselves. With proposals of a deep survey mission along the Rimward border of the aforementioned Consulate to observe and confirm disturbing reports of unrest and movement of large numbers of peoples Rimward for reasons still undisclosed or unknown by those Zhodani in the Spinward Marches given to the Office of the Deans; without funding this mission is denied. Therefore, I, Mikirshu Gimudin, being of sound mind have secretly subverted small amounts of funding from the Department of Sociology and of my own assets to assemble, train and launch this Tsunami Mission.


Zhevra read on into the report which told of a deep probe Scout mission by a crew of ex-military veterans, former Scouts of the Imperial Interstellar Scout Service, volunteer scientists and experts on Zhodani culture to travel Coreward, into Gvurrdon Sector in the year 1115, just one year before the Rebellion in the Third Imperium and the Equality War between the Society of Equals and the Thirz Empire. Zhevra imagined a secretive vessel, disguised as a Vargr hull of seemingly normal class and crewed with both Imperium Humans and Imperium Vargr to observe the behaviors and traffic of the Zhodani Consulate. This Dean, Mikirshu Gimudin, must have been very careful to redirect small amounts of university funds then, to bankroll the mission.

The Suedzuk went on to read that the mission launched and traveled Coreward from Regina, passing through as many non-aligned worlds, worlds owing no loyalty to the Zhodani Consulate or any Vargr Extents polities, so as to raise as few questions of their route and secret mission. Likely, since the mission was a probe into the doings and business of the mysterious and often psionic Humans, precautions and their own trained Psion would be required on such a ship.

Zhevra saw in the report how the Tsunami¸ a re-named ship in Gvegh language, penetrated in and out of the spacelanes of the Zhodani Consulate and neighboring Vargr polities, one such being the Thirz Empire as it was unavoidable. Zhevra traced the jump path recorded in the report and illustrated on visual aids. Pretending to conduct trade in commodities as they journeyed ever Coreward, the Tsunami had many close calls with the Tavrchedl’, the telepathic Thought Police of the Zhodani Consulate, an offshoot of the need up hold the Path of Morality the Zhodani upheld in themselves and all within threat range of the polity. The telepaths could read minds of unshielded dissidents, miscreants, and lawbreakers and it was their hope to head such mental considerations off before the deeds could be done, often by ‘re-education’ through psionics. The Dean, Mikirshu Gimudin, was not on the mission having to stay behind and cover for the secret probe flight for as long as possible.

The Tsunami Mission found that more and more vessels travelled with passengers Rimward and Spinward than Coreward or Trailing. Still unable to fathom the reasons or gain answers from those who they had interviewed clandestinely for fear of discovery, the Tsunami continued Coreward. The disguised survey ship met with Vargr patrols, conducted semi-lucrative trade and those profits kept the mission funded. Zhevra read that eventually, the vessel entered Knoellighz Sector, adjacent Coreward from Gvurrdon Sector. Passing between both Vargr polities that were loosely allied or vehemently enemies with the Zhodani Consulate, the Tsunami was witness to both trade between the Zhodani and outright xenophobic battles with empires who distrusted “mental corruption of the Vargr race” by the Humans of the Consulate.

But in the year 1119, four years after the mission’s launch, the Tsunami was about to round the Coreward edge of the Zhodani Consulate and by then had penetrated the social wall and Trailing border several times to take measurements of could only be described as Rimward exodus by Zhodani Humans acting without being able to place why they were relocating ever Rimward. As there was a shortage of passenger liners of the Consulate, many Vargr companies made profits by offering transport to paying customers, though they too could not report as to why entire families uprooted and journeyed into Ziafrplians Sector to find new homes and jobs there. But that same year as the Astrogation charts showed the rounded, Coreward borders of the Consulate, tragedy struck.
 
Zhevra read an excerpt from the Captain’s Log. It read:

“227-1119 Captain’s Log, Captain Vaeos Urkhae of the Tsunami, current position in-system Inafrsti (Knoellighz 0501) preparing to jump after wilderness refueling – Psion Fren Veen stepped onto the bridge this morning wearing his psi-shield helmet but I saw a maddened expression on his face. His clothes, normally neat and tidy, were unkempt and chaotic. I knew the mission Psion had need of no such protection, being that he was a tested, rated and trained telepath and could well protect himself from mental intrusion. He was mumbling, rambling to himself and occasionally to anyone directly next to him. I asked from my station on the bridge if there was something wrong. Then Psion Veen produced a high caliber pistol and fired it at five members, each at their stations. Then he looked at me as he put the hot barrel under his chin and announced his own suicide, “For the Empress!” His brain matter shot from inside the psi-shield helmet and he fell dead instantly. The Ship’s Medic pronounced him dead at 1456 ship time. Other casualties included one death, our lead sociologist Dr. Vallunii. The other four bridge crew suffered treatable gunshot wounds and were rushed to the ship’s infirmary.”

“After calling an emergency mission meeting, it has been decided to turn about and return home. Without our only Psion and head sociologist, we can go no further and must take what data we have collected thus far and return it to Regina.”

104-1120 Captain’s Log, Captain Vaeos Urkhae of the Tsunami, current position Thaerarrg (Knoellighz 0639), preparing for jump - A Vargr Psion in disguise from the Infinity League, a small, capitalistic state in a trade treaty with the Zhodani Consulate immediately to Spinward, has discovered our true mission. We were forced to make a hard jump from inside 100 Diameters to escape System Defense Boats demanding we heave to and prepare for boarding. With the nod from the Chief Engineer, I gave the command to jump. We are now being hunted and the Zhodani may soon know of our spying.

In a mission meeting with the remaining mission directors, we have decided to use a significant amount of our funds to copy and courier the report multiple times back Rimward, through Gvurrdon Sector, to Regina. Though we know we will try our best to rush home, we can’t out-jump the Zhodani and the Tavrchedl’ will find us if we don’t keep our vigilance. Psi-shield helmets have been issued to the entire crew and we fear that we shall remain on full alert the entire trip home.

It was agreed that we should courier many false reports and misinformation as decoys for the true report to penetrate any dragnet the Zhodani might toss before us. Finally, we shall veer away from the Consulate and tread down the middle of the Sector and avoid as many Zhodani-friendly empires as possible.

The Mind Tsunami is the term that our mission psychologist and psioncologist is using to describe the event that drove our Psion Veen to kill himself and the mission sociologist. Though none of the other, un-tested and untrained crew seems to be harmed, a definite and mysterious unease has eroded morale across the ship, myself included. All of us want to rush home, taking as few Starport stops as possible along the new route.”

132-1120 Captain’s Log, Captain Vaeos Urkhae of the Tsunami, current position Oksful (Gvurrdon 1014) – In our hopes to avoid the Thirz Empire, whom we know to be in league with the Zhodani tracking us, we have made a critical error. It has been discovered that the so-called Equality War between the Thirz and the Dzen Aeng Kho has ended in defeat for the latter. Borders have changed and our path, at first thought to be through the Society of Equals has only put us squarely in the jaws of the lead fleets of the Empire who don’t want to be here either. This may be my last entry. A Thirz squadron has assumed that we are masquerading Corsairs from some base within three parsecs of this Oksful system. We must press on unfortunately. The report and the decoys have already been uploaded and sent out.
 
Zhevra then saw the data of the Zhodani movements, the mission called exodus to Rimward. Too many were migrating for reasons unknown and the migrations ended at or around the same time that the Tsunami lost its Psion. There were simply not enough ships to move so many Zhodani and that aggravated the exodus. There was recorded fighting, Zhodani against Zhodani and small uprisings at planetside Downports. Like herd-rats, the Humans were fighting to be the next aboard transports and haulers and none could say why in the transcripted interviews.

Zhevra hugged herself and suffered a triggered seizure as she recalled Gevaudan’s last words to her before attacking his mate-wife on the bridge of the Sixth Horizon, “Empress! Black!” Did something similar that happened to the mission Psion, occur to her husband? What was a Mind Tsunami?

In the middle of the night, Zhevra paused and looked down at the report. This was one of the authentic reports, the majority of the others being decoys sent by courier toward the Third Imperium. If the bound folder with its stationery and University of Regina heraldry crest was any indication, then the report before the Suedzuk was dangerous information some decades old and never delivered to Regina. Had other decoys arrived there? Zhevra asked herself question after question. How dangerous was this report still, in 1190? Was the Tavrchedl’, the Thoght Police still looking for the collected data or did they care? If the report arrived, would it warn the now-Regency of potential invasion or this strange Mind Tsunami?

It was clear by the actions of the mission, that Zhevra could not up and ask the Zhodani for fear ‘re-education’ many other Humans accused them of in their own society. But she had also heard of psionics reforms, legalized and registered Psions since the 1130s in the former Imperium, now renamed as the Regency of the Spinward States. Gevaudan had told her the history of legalizing psionics and Psions in the Marches before her birth in 1152. Could the Regency’s Psions help her understand what happened to her mate-husband if she were to deliver this true and authentic report, even decades old and from before the Collapse and the Quarantine War against Virus?

If the University of Regina had a Psioncology Department, then Zhevra would trade the report for help from the Regency Psions, trained psionic citizens who undertook an Oath after the advent of the Psionic Renaissance. Without the threat of ‘re-education’ as in the Zhodani Tavrchedl’, perhaps she could persuade the current Dean of Sociology to permit Zhevra an audience with them.

It would be a long shot. A fast run to Regency and would require jumping the Quarantine Line against the Vargr Splinters. Such a maneuver was impossible for a ship with only three parsecs jump range. The Sixth Horizon had four or “Jump-4” as it was called by Engineers like Zhevra. Else, she would have to endure weeks or even months of queued waiting list times for her ship to be searched and scanned for Virus and its cargo inspected. The Regency Quarantine Service was very strict and any sign of cloak and dagger, such as the report Zhevra now held, would get her arrested without questions and at the point of laser weapons.

There was a personal mirror sitting on the desk and pointed at the desk’s chair. Zhevra, looking at Moon, the office, the report and settling on her reflection met with her Wildsider self again. What do I do? she asked herself internally.

What would Gevaudan, a hero, do? That side of her that had told Zhevra to take a chance with Gevaudan rather than remain a scavenger Captain’s slave, was using Gevaudan’s religious philosophy against sane reason. Zhevra knew that there was no such Psions she could ask about Gevaudan’s Jump out here in Gvurrdon Sector. Her answers could come however from behind the walls of the Regency, if she dared the Quarantine Line. It was a heroic dare and a deadly notion. But if the report landed in the hands of the University of Regina, they could clear her name and justify her actions. And with a little persuasion, she might get her audience with the Psions of the Regency.

“There is an intruder outside the establishment’s door after hours, ma’am,” warned Moon.

Zhevra looked up from the report and hissed, “Lights off, call a taxi, the cops and keep quiet.” The drone remote deactivated the office lights to drown it in darkness. Zhevra grabbed up the report as her eyes adjusted to the dim. Pulling her pistol that the Dame had gifted to the Suedzuk, she felt her way around the service counter and up against the front wall next to the door.

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Reaching out with her Awareness, Zhevra could feel a living, bioelectric field outside the door. Then she heard the testing of the locked doorknob. She held her breath. A minute flew by but felt like an eternity as Zhevra continued to ‘feel’ the fields of the intruder outside. Was it a Tavrchedl’ or some thief in this older part of town? Surely, no one had up until now decided Gevaudan’s office held anything valuable, right?

The field of the intruder changed, its Mag and Lek rising over the course of six seconds. But then the field was gone. Not just walking away or hiding nearby but gone. A siren of a law enforcement vehicle was heard in the distance. A pair of ground car headlights appeared in the strip mall’s front lot just as Zhevra heard an audible snap! sound outside the door. A horn from the car sounded and tires screeched to a halt.

Zhevra hefted her purse, holstered her pistol and burst from the door, “Handle the cops, Moon!” Then she darted from the front office door to the taxi. She saw that it was the same chocolate-furred taxi driver.
Below her on the steps to the office door was a ring of water vapor and tiny sparkles of metallic dust. Lanthanum! Someone in a Teleportation Suit had just jaunted from the doorstep before the headlights of the taxi shone upon the door. Teleportation, the psionic talent of short, dimensional ‘jaunts’ by a trained psionic had just taken place. She had felt the fields change, telegraphing the buildup of the jaunt. Gevaudan, when he had come out as trained in psionics to Zhevra, his wife, had shown her his teleportation. This was no different though there was something new about the fields the being, whoever it was, had given off from their side of the front wall and door, opposite Zhevra.

“Get in, lady!” said the flirtatious taxi driver from earlier that evening. “Knew it! Knew you would be a dame in trouble.” The tires screeched and the taxi spirited Zhevra from Gevaudan’s office. She dared not look in her purse for the report she had stuffed inside. Instead she saw firsthand the fiery explosion light up the entire strip mall, spewing billowing flame, smoke and throwing the front door of the office across the open lot. Gripping the back seat of the taxi, Zhevra concentrated for any sign of the drone Moon. She saw no floating globe exit the flames nor roll out the gaping front door frame. A column of smoke rose into the sky as sirens and lights of passing police cars closed in on the destroyed building. Everything of Gevaudan’s past on hardcopy was engulfed and burned. In a single, incendiary flash and conflagration, her husband’s business was soon wafting ash and charred paper. The Suedzuk had been sitting there in the office and reading while the building must have been wired to go already, perhaps in the warehouse behind the office. Was the unknown jaunter the arsonist or trying to warn Zhevra, or was the goal to herd her out and then level the business?

Zhevra rode back to the hotel in the back seat, curled up and trying to stop the shakes of her PTSD and calm her fears. By laying down in the ground car, the taxi looked unoccupied and the trip was unimpeded though a fire engine truck was seen on the trip back. Creeping from the taxi, she choked back her tears and thanked the driver, “What do I owe you…?”

“Llakhs,” the chocolate colored driver named himself, “And I can’t take money from dames with tears in their eyes. Here’s my card. If you need me to take you anywhere in Gnoengungag Bay, you call me. No questions and no more leaks, especially from those pretty green eyes, lady. Okay?”

Zhevra was touched and still hugging herself against her chills. “Thank you, Llakhs.” Then she turned and padded up the steps and into the hotel. Instead of taking the elevator up to her room, Zhevra worked off her adrenaline and the shakes by taking the stairs in a running climb. By the time she made it to her floor, the former patient was ready for a bed. The pistol the Dame had given her went under her pillow and she counted bullets she’d staggered in the only empty clip. Hollowpoint, anti-Psion round, hollowpoint, anti-Psion round; the Suedzuk assured herself that if the mysterious jaunter entered her room somehow, they would never take such shortcuts ever again.

In her dreams, Zhevra saw Gevaudan on the south beach of Gnoengungag Bay. In the wind of the early morning, he was demonstrating his meager talent of jaunting by teleporting up and down the beach. Both a dream and a memory, Zhevra’s husband returned to her panting and huffing out, “It’s like like sprinting very fast for me.” Then he laid down on the towel they had spread over the sand and the two watched the sun rise. As the white globe crested the watery horizon, the Suedzuk was awoken from sleep by the real solar body beaming her in the face. She had left the curtains open from her view of the Sixth Horizon.

“Cursed daystar,” moaned Zhevra who had fallen asleep next to the pistol now warm with her body’s heat. “Give me back my husband.” Checking the time on a bedside clock, the red and cream female sat up fast. She had not set an alarm and had slept late, dreaming happy memories with Gevaudan. Springing from bed and regretting not stretching first, Zhevra ran for a quick shower the bathroom.

After the shampoo, dryer and brushings, Zhevra sat down and continued detangling her bushy red and cream tail. Her temporary e-mail had a response from Geneveegh. The Madam had confirmed the lunch appointment with welcoming words and an invitation to pick her up at her establishment. Using the hotel phone and Llakhs’ number, she asked for a fare to pick up Geneveegh and take the pair to lunch.

“Sure, I know the place,” said Llakhs over the phone. “Rowr, lotsa good fares to and from there. Know the Madam too. But, of course, I never-.”

“I need to be there before lunch,” said Zhevra pulling on a second two-piece with opposite yellow and black as the first. Then she snapped on her web belt and holster, jamming the pistol home.

“Vroom-vroom!” answered the taxi driver who then hung up. Zhevra imagined the middle-aged flirt hanging his head out the driver’s side window and letting his tongue flap in the wind. It was nothing to be ashamed that Vargr loved their moments of expeditious velocity, especially the older generation.

Snatching up her coveted lady’s bag with the mission report still inside it, Zhevra took a last look in the mirror and gave up impressing Madam Geneveegh, the female who had sent the Get-Well card to her and stated she disbelieved that Gevaudan was deceased after going missing.

Received by Llakhs’ taxi, Zhevra swiped his transit card reader twice and said, “For last night. I’m not crying now.”

Nodding affirmatively and smiling at the female in his cab, Llakhs suggested, “Buckle up then, dame. Girls’ Town is our next stop.” The ground car revved once and then left the hotel for the red-light district of Gnoengungag Bay. Zhevra pressed herself to a corner of the back seat and prayed no one remembered a red-pelted female emerge from the hotel.
 
Girls’ Town was the ward of the naughtier side of the Startown of Gnoengungag Bay. Outside a converted, and redecorated three story warehouse-now-lofts building, hung a sign that read in Gvegh:

THE DEEP END​

The building looked closed for the day as its business was likely the after dark business. Llakhs slowed and halted his cab before a beige-furred female Vargr with a black diamond up her muzzle and terminating between her eyes. She leaned over, looked at Llakhs and asked, “Of course you’re my ride, Llakhs. What synchronicity!”

Llakhs got out to open the door and let the female enter the cab’s back seat next to a nervous Zhevra. The elderly female could have been Zhevra’s dam or better. She had to check herself and remember that her husband had been on anagathic drugs and that this was his third wife.

“Zhevra Cannagrrh! Good heavens, cub. You’re not all that old at all. I’m Geneveegh.” Geneveegh offered her claw which Zhevra politely took in a clasp.

“Geneveegh Cannagrrh-,“ began Zhevra but was waved off.

“Oh, I dropped the Pack name long ago, sometime after Gev and I parted ways. It was amicable, you know. The old albino wouldn’t grow roots and I was not going to be a Stewardess on that Human can of a ship forever.” Geneveegh giggled a lady’s laugh, a sign of one who knew her age and refused to believe it. She wore a deep blue pantsuit and white blouse that was open at the chest suggestively.

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“Madam Geveveegh,” said Zhevra when given an in to speak. It was a sign of charisma to keep talking and hold the floor for as long as one could speak, but Zhevra found a gap. “Gevaudan’s office was bombed last night and I barely escaped with only one of his hardopy files.”

Geneveegh became serious, “Was it Pack? I know that as Gevaudan’s wife and with him missing, you’re next in line.”

“No,” Zhevra stopped the older female, “It was a jaunter, like Gev.” Zhevra paused to say her husband’s shortened name, same as Geneveegh had just before. “I think and I could be wrong, but it was a Vargr Psion. Then the office blew up as I got into Llakhs’ cab. Even Gev’s drone, Moon, seems to have failed to escape the fire.”

“Who would target Gev’s office like that?” asked Geneveegh. “There’s naught but old tickets, photos and a mess of paperwork he never got around to doing there.”

“I think it has to do with this,” Zhevra produced the report on the Tsunami Mission and showed it to Geneveegh.

“Just a moment,” said the Madam who fished out her reading glasses to Zhevra’s surprise. “When you get my age, you’ll get the same looks you’re giving me, little lady.”

Zhevra corrected her expression and then told Geneveegh her story since coming to Gnoengungag Bay, right up to the escape to the hotel. Geneveegh, a master of speed reading, glided an index claw over the report, swishing the lines of text like they didn’t exist.

“Ancients!” Geneveegh said just as Zhevra finished her account. The explicative was aimed at both the red and cream female’s story and the report. “This must be why there are so few Psions around nowadays and why the Zhodani to Spinward are acting so jittery lately.”

“This Mind Tsunami, it’s some sort of propagation wave that drove mad their mission Psion, Madam,” said Zhevra.

“It’s Geneveegh, hun,” offered the proprietress of The Deep End. “You don’t work for me and aren’t a client…yet?” A beige eyebrow raised up over the Madam’s reading glasses.

“Yes, ma’am. Geneveegh.”

“According to this report’s date,” Geneveegh pointed to the bound folder’s date stamp, “this tsunami has already passed three parsecs Rimward of Gevaudan’s Jump in Rorroksueknea. I did the math in my head as none of my employees want to learn the books part of the business.”

“That puts its edge in Spurl, Uthe and Figir Subsectors, Geneveegh,” added Zhevra who was likely better at Astrogation than concubine business.

“Ancients can guess now why all the Psions have disappeared or gone to ground, wherever those lot go when there’s a witch-hunt or they’re not needed. It’s anyone’s guess what the Zhodani Consulate is thinking of when their Nobles and Intendants suddenly lose their marbles.”

“The Tsunami, the ship, had only one Psion,” reported the Suedzuk, “and he said something similar to what Gev said to me just before he attacked me. He said the word ‘empress’, like it was a title. I happened to be wearing my black flight suit when my hus-, when Gevaudan grabbed me and we fought. He said ‘black’, like the color, except as if he meant it with significance.” Was this Empress a ghost or a dignitary from the Third Imperium? Gevaudan was certainly old enough to have lived through the Rebellion though by his account he missed the fighting to Rimward.
 
The two female Vargr had lunch at a restaurant while Llakhs took lunch at a corner links sandwich shop a block away. Zhevra thanked Gevaveegh for believing that her husband was alive. Genaveegh repeated what she had written in the Get-Well card to the comatose Zhevra. To the brothel proprietress, the Society of Equals had little time to devote to a single, middle-class Pack member’s disappearance. To rapidly bring the case to a close, Gevaudan had been declared missing and assumed deceased. Genaveegh believed as she wrote in the card that the entire debacle had been brushed under the rug for reasons unknown despite Gevaudan’s charity project of Vargrtarian rescue of peoples from the Wilds. It did not merit him enough for a cursory confirmation of what the ship’s robots had already uncovered. As she was a divorced ex-wife, Gevaveegh’s protests to both Pack Cannagrrh and the interstellar authorities of the Dzen Aeng Kho met deaf ears.

“I know I may not look like much, but if I can help you, Zhevra, do not hesitate to call upon me,” offered Genaveegh. “Though he and I did not last, you deserve better than what the Society has done. Then there is his office. If the fire was meant to destroy his files, why then did they wait until you were inside to set it off?”

“I think that the jaunter outside the office was also a telepath, Genaveegh,” explained Zhevra. “Papers and files don’t have brains and can’t advertise their whereabouts. I think that the time I spent last night reading the report tipped the Psion off. Whomever it was, they wanted me out of the building and fast so that they could destroy it after they confirmed this report was present. He or she did not want me to take the report with me in exiting the building. Remember that the Captain’s Log said that they set multiple copies through the sector. Reading the report put it through my brain. Minds can be read, not hidden paper. After all these years, they’re still hunting this report.”

“What do you intend to do, little lady?” asked Genaveegh.

“I’m going to take this report to the Regency and warn them of the Mind Tsunami. That is, if they aren’t already warned. I think that since I can’t get answers from Psions out here in the Splinters – they’re all missing or fleeing before this wave’s front – and I certainly am not going to the Zhodani Humans. They were the ones being watched by the mission in the first place. No. I have to take this to this University of Regina. With the report, I’ll barter for their best minds to solve how Gev might have survived what everyone is calling Gevaudan’s Jump, those that care anyway.”

“If that jaunter was telepathic, they will be watching the Starport terminals for your mind, its glowing state of emotions and intercept you.” Genaveegh continued explaining with, “They will use your red pelt against you and warn the authorities against a free-roaming terrorist agent or something worse to get you arrested and take the report from you. You can’t take a liner and the Regency Quarantine Service will tie up any bulk hauler or tramp trader for months that comes out of the Vargr Splinters. They don’t care about the Dzen Aeng Kho or that we’ve managed to hold our own Quarantine Line for this long. Their Line is four parsecs deep and ships of all kinds are easily deputized to watch for any suspicious blockade runners.”

“There has to be a way through,” said Zhevra. “If I get caught up in the red tape of the RQS, the report might be discovered and confiscated, hardcopy or not. But I have to get it directly into the hands of the Humans at this University of Regina.”

“I’m no Astrogator, Zhevra,” Gevaveegh said, “but if I know Gevaudan Cannagrrh, a Scout-Courier, he’d have a means. That male was smart as a whip and sharper than a scalpel. Do you know what I am saying?” The older female put away her reading glasses and finished her meal. She returned the folder holding the report, sliding it across the table to the Suedzuk.

“You are thinking I should bypass the Downport by taking Gev’s ship,” smarted Zhevra. “The Sixth Horizon is fast and has four parsecs jump range.”

“Yes,” smiled Genaveegh. “The robots will help you if you know the command codes. Do you?’’

“I think so.”

“Then test what you know later and find out.”

Zhevra slid the report into her purse and said, “I am taking a tour of the ship later today. If Gev’s office drone is not destroyed, would you Genaveegh go claim it as his ex-?”

“I can try, dearie,” offered Genaveegh. “If that jaunter comes to your hotel, you fall back to The Deep End. From there you can plan how to make off with Gev’s Far Scout.”

“I could reclaim the ship through legal channels now that I’m of sound body and mind,” declared Zhevra.

“Op! That would take months of probate court,” explained Genaveegh. “If that jaunter comes back for you, or me now that I’ve read that report – you no longer have time to fend off a Psion or any agent friends he or she might have in capturing that report. They’ve been laying a dragnet for decades if the dates on that file are of any indication. Some entity does not want those reports to slip any further Rimward.”

“But who are they?” asked Zhevra. “The jaunter outside the office felt like a Vargr.”

“When you say ‘felt’, what do you mean?” asked Genaveegh. The old Madam was quick to catch Zhevra’s slip.

“I can’t tell you, Genaveegh, but just know that the Psion that was there last night was a Vargr and not a Zhodani Human.” Inwardly, Zhevra prayed to Runetha Saetedz, Gevaudan’s hero, that the older female would not pry further. The Suedzuk Awareness was now a secret only held by Gevaudan and Knirr Cannagrrh. She would not jeopardize the elderly proprietress with further secrets.

Genaveegh tilted her head in a gesture of surrender, her neck slightly exposed just enough for charisma. “Okay. A Vargr. That makes this bomber an Oruelaen, the psionic agents of the Thirz Empire or I’m a tabloid reading old maid.” The Madam grinned as if she had just let out a guilty pleasure.

“Oruelaen?” aske Zhevra.

“The Oruelaen are a secret police and secret service to the king of the Thirz Empire,” Genaveegh detailed. “When the Zhodani allied themselves with the only compatible Vargr state in Gvurrdon Sector, the Thirz Empire became a client state of sorts, though the Thirz would never admit it. In exchange, the Humans traded psionic training to the royal family and through them the Oruelaen was formed in defense of the family and the larger state.”

“And these Oruelaen range out this far and into the Society of Equals?” asked Zhevra.

“Has to be,” answered the Madam. “But since this thing, this Mind Tsunami, their numbers must be fewer nowadays. Given the paranoia of the Society against the Thirz, these Oruelaen being a contributing factor, the Thirz have repeatedly kept warning us to look to our Quarantine borders against Virus instead of them. It’s all cloak and dagger and the story is decades old. But if the Oruelaen are still hunting that report, it means that the Zhodani tapped the Thirz Empire who in turn activated their remaining Psions to watch for other copies or false decoys after all this time. I wager too that this dragnet has decayed somewhat after the passing of the phenomenon, pushing the Human and Vargr Psions before it.”

“It was either that or try to weather it by some means,” Zhevra offered a second option. She thought of Uthka Varzeekh then. Was she a Psion masquerading as an eccentric fortuneteller that read old Droyne Coyns?

“Would you want to roll those dice, little lady, if you were one of them?” asked Genaveegh.

Zhevra sighed, “I’m glad not to be one then if what happened to the Tsunami Psion officer and Gevaudan is any inkling of what happens.”

“This Mind Tsunami may not affect Psions only,” suggested Genaveegh. “I’ve been watching the news. The unrest in the Society is getting worse. People are getting restless and there are still worlds out there that have yet to return to the Dzen Aeng Kho because of the Equality thing. I’m Gvegh and though Gevaudan rescued me from the Wilds just as he did for you, I hated having to take that lame Test. I think this wave is bothering normal folk like you and me. Try to remember that night on the ship, Zhevra Cannagrrh. How did you feel when he turned on you?”

“I don’t know,” responded Zhevra. “I was in full survival mode, I fought him as best I could and tried to get to his pistol on his HEV.”
 
“Survival.”

“Come again?” asked Zhevra.

“You were hit at the same time and if the filed testament of the slaves on the Sixth Horizon that night is any indication, only the robots Vincent and Bob were in their right minds. They reported that all was chaos and that the robots had to take command. You could not feel the chaos as Gev had already downed you in critical condition. The concubines reported that they were struck with fear, confusion and an incapability to make decisions for the rest of that jump. Did you not read the entire investigation, cub?”

“I was not given it since I had just woken from a coma,” answered Zhevra unhappily. The Pack had tried to keep her calm and a full disclosure might have triggered her Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder into a deeper and darker state.

“After therapy, the concubines were emancipated by the courts,” continued the Madam. “I offered jobs to a few until they could get back on their feet. None wanted anything to do with Gevaudan, the ship, you or the robots. This mental wave, whatever it is, made the females less mad, but it did affect them as I suspect it has in passing the Society of Equals, possibly other empires too.”

“Is there any defense against this Mind Tsunami?” asked the Suedzuk. Already her ethnicity’s nature was looking for answers.

“Gevaudan used to keep a special mantle cowl hood on his ship to shield himself from telepaths,” remembered Genaveegh. “He said it did the same thing as those Imperium psi-shield helmets when dealing with Zhodani, to protect their minds from intrusion or influence. It was a higher technology having been woven into cloth and not a helmet such as his HEV’s. Being a psionic Vargr Scout, he did not wear it often out here in the Splinters, but he did own one. It’s probably still on the ship, mistaken for a simple piece of his wardrobe. It was gray with a silvery lining on the inside, likely where the shielding was laced through the fabric. If you need to keep a telepath out of your head, then that’s your answer. Who knows? Maybe it will protect you from the wave even though you’re not like the Psion on the Tsunami in that report, not like Gev either.”

“All roads begin at the Sixth Horizon it seems,” mused Zhevra. “Thank you, Genaveegh. Lunch with you has been an eye opener.”

“Hun, you’re the eye opener,” said the Madam. “With that scant outfit, your distinct coloration is going to stand out and provoke attention. Are you sure you’re not a concubine? You could do well at my place, even if you didn’t perform that exact service.”

Zhevra checked herself mentally this time. She could not tell Genaveegh that her Awareness was directly tangent to her sense of touch. The more of her hide and pelt that was exposed, the better she could feel the fields of Mag and Lek about her. Already the older female was retracting her Lek though her Mag was normal. It was a sign of stepping back and detaching from Zhevra.

“I was trained, but never had the opportunity,” explained Zhevra. “No one wanted to buy a ‘Red-Pelt’. So, I never saw a concubine’s bed before Gevaudan.”

“Lucky, female.”

“But I have my reasons for this outfit,” ended Zhevra. “Thanks for meeting with me, Madam Genaveegh. I may have to retreat to your place if that jaunter finds my hotel room. So, be watchful.”

“You be watchful, dearie.”

With that, the lunch was concluded, the two females hugged and took Llakhs’ cab back to The Deep End, the brothel Genaveegh owned. Then Llakhs drove Zhevra to the Downport. The Sixth Horizon tour was scheduled for afternoon tours, giving Zhevra time to think in the cab about what to say to the robots after three years. She owed them her life. Though without charisma, the robots were somehow a nuclear family to Zhevra. And she needed true allies now against the Vargr Psion, Oruelaen or not, that destroyed Gevaudan’s office to get at the report.

* * *

Allain Templeton pointed his pen at the low battery warning light on the recording device and said, “I think we should call it there for today, Ms. Cannagrrh.”

The guards watched Zhevra at the back of the cell as the advocate and the Psion exited. With telepathic Khzaeng gone, the prisoner Suedzuk began to imagine what an escape from this detention facility and retreat to the impounded Sixth Horizon might take. She had no illusions about the wait time for a proper arraignment and court trial here on Regina. Though the courts might take pity on her or give her a fair hearing, the ship and the robots might be scrapped or destroyed outright, especially if any trace of Virus was found on the vessel. It was a chilling thought and it made Zhevra bundle herself in the prison blanket even tighter as the shakes returned, rocking her to sleep.
 
XXIV. Regina (Spinward Marches 1910) A788899-C, Gnoengungag (Gvurrdon 1923) B759623-7 of Zhevra's testimony
Thankful for a dreamless night’s sleep, Zhevra woke the next morning and fell into her routine of stretches and exercises. Exercise in the morning always banished her tremors, shakes and chills in the night. Pushups and crunches got her heart pumping and pullups from the cell’s bars forced her to maintain her muscle tone.

The cellblock was empty except for Zhevra and she felt it was because she was both a Vargr and a female, a rare lawbreaker in the Regency. The cellblock had only twelve cells and Zhevra found she was alone these past days of interviews with Allain Templeton and the Aekhu Khzaeng.
This morning the newer guards returned with the Human advocate and the Vargr Psion. Allain was dressed in his bomber jacket with the broken zipper, some service fatigues and his black boots were loosely laced and opened at the top. He looked less professional and more approachable in this garb, Zhevra decided over her shoulder at their entry. The Psion, Khzaeng was dressed in a medium brown, full-length overcoat with darker brown belt accents. It made the Aekhu look like some poorly paid agent of the Regency with a flair towards something other than a Psion priest or devotee to some philosopy. Her assessment drew only a signature shoulder shift from the Psion who regarded her in return.

Breakfast consisted of a holiday dish, a huge flightless bird, its meat still on the bones, basted and out of the oven. Zhevra’s mouth watered as Allain Templeton unpacked the offered meal. “It’s First Regent’s Day here on Regina,” declared the Human. “I thought you might want to partake, Ms. Cannagrrh.”

“Thoughtful of you, Mr. Templeton.” The two still retaining distance of formality, Zhevra nodded her head a little gratefully to make up the difference.

“Who is the First Regent now?” asked Zhevra.

Allain paused just before the meal’s setting was completed, “Caranda Aledon Alkhalikoi, son of Seldrian and Avery. He took office after Seldrian died earlier this year. She was ninety-three.” Then he sat down and invited both the Vargr to join him.

Khzaeng waited until the chained female sat first before seating himself. While the Human chose the white meat of the baked bird, he and Zhevra each took a huge leg and bit into the darker meat. As it was an unfamiliar observance, the Suedzuk kept her silence. She was unsure if it was a solemn and somber holiday or a celebration and kept eating. The Psion next to her shared nothing of himself but ate of all the side dishes, vegetable and fruits. Zhevra asked herself, though she felt as if he was listening to her mind, if Aekhu had shifted in their own way more towards omnivore diets and away from ethnic Vargr plates. The internal question earned her an affirmative nod from the mottled gray male which displayed more of his dyed blue dot between his eyes. It as a subtle nod and was missed by Allain Templeton who was splitting his meal between eating and setting up his recharged recording device and the files he was transcribing.

* * *

The Sixth Horizon, Gevaudan’s ship, sat where it had for the past three years. At the end of the Downport, the charge of the museum curators of Collapse relics had not moved since being crane lifted from the berth at the terminal concourse. Because the authorities did not possess the command codes for the bridge, the entire ship was lifted and carried to the far end of the strip of gates, away from traffic. The probate courts had tied up in deciding on whom to release the vessel, Dame Qithka Cannagrrh of Pack Cannagrrh or the local Gnoengungag authorities since the ship had arrived without an active or present crew. As a middle-ground, the museum stepped in and offered to pay for the right to conduct tours of the Far Scout, an Imperium design and survivor of sorts of the Virus era.

Bob and Vincent, the two Vargr-shaped Servitor robots of Human-make stood at the airlock door to greet those ticketed Vargr to tour the ship they maintained after three years on umbilical power paid for by the museum curators.

Though the two robots looked to each other upon seeing Zhevra, they continued their tour as she had made no attempt to be familiar with them. Zhevra kept quiet as the tour showed all the cabins, bridge, power and engineering sections. Then Vincent, the bridge Servitor, told stories of Gevaudan Cannagrrh, his charity project and the specifications of the Sixth Horizon to the six tourists, Zhevra being the sixth. Bob opened the Engineering section where Zhevra beheld her old tools, Gevaudan’s Atlas statue and wetbar, and the drives of the wedge-shaped ship. Though the robots did not betray her identity to the other five tourist Vargr, her name did come up when Gevaudan’s Jump was retold. In the low berths chamber she saw which cyro-sleep chamber she had been put in as the ship returned to the Society of Equals.

Zhevra heard for the first time from the vocal speakers of the two robots as firsthand accounts of her last night on the ship. Bob and Vincent told how they had been alerted by the confused and frightened concubine slaves and made for the bridge. Finding the door locked, Bob had to improvise a skill to perform a bypass of the lock from the ship’s access corridor.

There were questions from the other five tourists as Zhevra listened. Why did the robots not use the computer to hack into the bridge security system and unlock the doors? Where did Gevaudan teleport to from the bridge after attacking his mate-wife? The robots explained that because of their anti-Virus protocols and precautions, they were not permitted to interface directly with the ship’s computer and so were required to jury-rig their way onto the bridge to find Gevaudan missing and his wife dying on the cockpit deck.

Vincent concluded the final report on Gevaudan’s Jump with, “…and it has been reported by visiting telepaths who claim years later that the anguish of the Captain could be felt here on the bridge as a remnant psychic residue. But such cannot be verified, being the purview of living psionics.”

Zhevra felt her chills return as she saw the bridge during the tour. Vincent detailed how flight recorders logged a slight drop in cabin pressure, a condensation of water vapor and traces of lanthanum dust from Gevaudan’s Teleportation Suit as it was assumed he jaunted from the ship suicidal while it was in jumpspace transit. The robots were objective and matter-of-fact, omitting opinion and stating only what they found upon entering the bridge. The wife of the Captain lay on the floor, bleeding to death and they moved immediately to stabilize and store her body in a low berth chamber. This part of the tour story brought tears to Zhevra’s eyes which he had to turn her head to hide. Even as she remembered the screams of her husband, the retelling in the robots’ point of view only heartened her to speak up. Looking about the bridge with her eyes only, Zhevra noted the missing orange Hazardous Environment VaccSuit she remembered from that night. Gone too were the heavy pistol, the grav-belt strapped to the space suit and other items Gevaudan kept clipped or belted on it. She also recalled the list of items from the report that were still present on the ship when Vincent and Bob piloted it to Gnoengungag. Gevaudan’s HEV and those items were not listed. Those weeks of one-word vocabulary and Zhevra was trying to remind herself of the last things she saw draped on the pilot’s chair at the helm station.

Zhevra hung back as the tour ended, the other five Vargr tourists exiting the ship.
 
“Vincent, Bob,” asked Zhevra, “what is the flight status of the Sixth Horizon?”

Bob answered first when the two again looked at each other, “We have kept the vessel ready for operations, but there are no supplies aboard, ma’am.”

Vincent gave a second answer, “The Far Scout has been relegated to a de-commissioned status as only those with the command codes can access the ship’s computer for cold-start of the power plant. Though the drives are still technically operable, they have sat for three Gnoengungag years dormant. Suggested test startup routines are in the manuals.”

Zhevra looked about to see the other tourists on the asphalt outside. They were boarding the tram vehicle to be taken back to the Downport concourse. “I have the command codes, Vincent.”

“Engineer Zhevra,” said Vincent. “We cannot give them out. You must speak them as Captain Gevaudan Cannagrrh did in order to gain command authority of the ship. Are you sure you want access at this time?”

Zhevra was feeling her old self coming back, the PTSD melting in the warmth of the vessel. The ship was again familiar to her. “Not yet. I need a little time, but we would be leaving in a hurry, so pre-flight testing would not be possible. Please do not tell anyone that I came by to see the ship.”

“Tourist confidence is assured,” answered Bob.

“Have a nice day,” added Vincent.

Zhevra descended the boarding steps from the airlock and down to the waiting tram. Other tourists were busy with personal devices and brochures from other museum exhibits, eager to move on to other attractions the museum offered. In the last car of the tram, Zhevra watched over her shoulder as the robots closed the airlock hatch for the evening. She was happy that though the Sixth Horizon was now a museum piece, it had not been dissected and torn apart. Vincent and Bob had loyally seen to its maintenance. It would never collect cobwebs or become dusty inside. The Far Scout would be the home to the two immortal machines who cared for it.
The ride to the hotel was quiet and though Llakhs looked in his rear-view mirrors at Zhevra, he kept quiet. Plans were forming in Zhevra’s head and it must have shown on her face in the way he repeatedly looked back at her. Paying for her fare, Zhevra thanked the cab driver. “I may need a ride to the Downport at anytime.”


“I’ve got my phone on me, dame,” assured Llakhs. Then he tipped his cap at her and drove away.

Zhevra entered the hotel through the lobby and took the elevator up to her room’s floor. When the door opened to her room, the Suedzuk was treated to a shock. From her position in the door, she could see the hotel room had been tossed, searched in a frantic hurry. Everything inside was overturned, cabinets left open, cushions and furniture in disarray. Someone other than housekeeping had been there. Her luggage contents were everywhere about their cases.

Out came the Suedzuk’s pistol. Thumbing a side button on the pistol, a red laser sight beamed ahead of the weapon. Zhevra breathed in controlled intakes and quiet exhales. Quietly, she entered the hotel room. Though fearful, she reminded herself that the magazine clip of bullets contained the same staggered ammunition of anti-Psion rounds with deadly hollowpoint bullets. If the Vargr Psion was still here, he was a dead dog. There was broken glass from various shattered items. The searcher or searchers were obviously frustrated in not finding Zhevra or the report in the purse still slung over her shoulder. Were they so oblivious as to think she would leave it in the room?

Since she felt no living bioelectrical fields and cleared each room, Zhevra holstered her pistol and began grabbing up her clothes, retrieving her personal items and packing them into bags. She did so as the tremors came upon her again. Whether it was Zhodani, Oruelaen Vargr, or vandalizing thugs on the low law of Gnoengungag, she did not intend to announce her checkout at the front desk. The red and cream female took stock of what the intruders could have learned from her possessions. Genaveegh’s Get-Well card still rode in her purse in addition to the mission report folder. She gathered up her favorite yellow and black tabard and hip dress, her jewelry, personal items and came to the blessed conclusion that the arsonists of Gevaudan’s office had not learned of the Suedzuk Awareness and still thought her defenseless against psionic talents. Closing her two suitcases, Zhevra discarded the last of her hospital gifts, the paintings and drawings of that dreaded citrus fruit and non-essential clothing. With a cunning effort, she redressed the crime scene so as to conceal that she had ever returned to the room. If the searchers tried to return to the room, it would at first look like she had fled at first sight of the tossed rental. Before leaving, Zhevra deleted all temporary files in her world computer accounts, erasing herself from the local networks. Her name might still be in the hotel, but beyond that, none would trace her without some serious access. With that, she silently said farewell to a public life on Gnoengungag.

She took the stairs two by two and while toting two full suitcases. The escape down the fire stairwells was controlled and dexterous for Zhevra. Though tears welled up, she kept her footing until she reached the bottom of the well and stepped into the public halls. A use of the desk phone and minutes later, Llakhs showed at the rear of the hotel in a receiving dock. The cab driver’s lights were off and Zhevra hurried into the back, greeted him with a whisper and they departed.

“Where to and sorry for the cliché,” Llakhs asked.

“Take me to her,” ordered Zhevra.

“Vroom-vroom,” said the driver and pushed on the accelerator. The taxi disappeared into the night’s traffic.

If Zhevra was found by her name, by legwork done by the Psion who fire-bombed Gevaudan’s office, she decided to become a nameless female in the most mentally noisy place she could imagine that no Psion would dare telepathically penetrate. The taxi took her to The Deep End. Zhevra cleared her eyes of tears to keep Llakhs from denying her fare. She faked a laugh at the appropriate name for the three-story brothel loft. She was happy that she could depend on Genaveegh, Gevaudan’s third wife. There was a newfound camaraderie in an ex-wives club after all.

By the time the cab stopped before The Deep End, the white star of Gnoengungag had descended over the horizon to yield the sky to the stars. Nightlife was coming alive in the seedier side of Gnoengungag Bay. Before he could protest, Zhevra slotted her fare and thanked Llakhs, “Keep safe and keep moving.”

“You’d best be safe here, dame,” said the chocolate-furred male. “Madam Genaveegh has good bouncers. The clientele behaves here.” Then he drove off leaving the Suedzuk to enter The Deep End and exit the grid.

“You, miss, will have to let me hold that piece if you want in,” warned the large Gvegh at the door. The male wore a black evening suit under a black duster jacket. “Madam’s orders and it don’t matter if you’re a vixen or a john.” He held out his claw in a patient gesture. Zhevra saw as his duster parted that the male wore both a black, leather, muzzle belt and a thick, utilitarian-style, Unequals belt about his waist. He had made his Unequal symbols into useful items in his protest of the Equality Test. She remembered her vow to never be condescending or abuse an Unequal or an Inequal.

Nodding and exposing her neck in acknowledgement and compliance, Zhevra safetied her weapon and handed it over, “There’s one in the barrel, so be careful.”

“Yes, Miss-?”

“You’ve taken my weapon,” answered Zhevra, “but you can get my name from Genaveegh, not from me.”

“Hmmph,” said the Unequal door bouncer. “As you wish.” Then he allowed her inside.

The second door to the old and converted warehouse revealed a dimmed, tavern atmosphere. Zhevra half expected sports playing on monitors or hear blaring music drowning out voices. Instead, she was inspired to see a hall occupied by a bar, a lounge and an open kitchen that was busy preparing a mouth-watering slab of ribs. It was a tavern, a grill and a whorehouse throughout the ground floor. To the corner, the Suedzuk spotted stairs climbing both up and down. The establishment had a basement, she guessed. Vargr were present in various activities of polite social groups at the bar, the lounge couches or circular tables and presenting meal orders at the kitchen. Music was present, played by a solo guitarist, a female picking out a tune that flowed with and crescendoed to demand attention occasionally. Here and there, concubines some employees and some slaves with ear-hoops in their left ears worked to be social with the visiting clientele, or ‘johns’, who smiled and wagged their tails whenever any worker took interest in them. A few of the bouncers in black suits greeted both the concubines, the paying customers and chatted with bar staff. Zhevra could tell that though in uniform suits, they were trying to mesh with all present, downplaying their roles in the crowd.
 
The concubines were in various states of dress, some fully clothed, some in tempting outfits and more than a few in revealing numbers. Styles and color patterns of the Vargr ranged from subdued to the hypnotic and clashing. Zhevra noted as she moved toward the kitchen counter that there were male concubines present and like the females featured both paid employees and those with similar flashing ear-hoops. The males were limited to wearing loose, gauzy shirts with drawstring fronts and the familiar red kilts she had seen in her days as a concubine. Ever so often a platter was placed on the counter and a concubine would carry it to a circular table and its mix of workers and customers. And as the night began to pick up, Zhevra saw the first of the pairs ascend the steps to the true calling of the establishment.

“My dearie!” called the familiar voice of Gneaveegh. She was dressed in a revealing evening gown of black studded with tiny zircons that resemebled a silky night with stars. Her flowing mane was curled at its most extremes as if the wind had frozen her neck ruff and mane in an eternal breeze. The Madam wrapped her arms about Zhevra and then looked down to see the two suitcases in surprise. Her tone became serious. “What happened?”

“Not here please,” Zhevra said shyly. She was led by the Madam upstairs to the top floor, the administrative section fo the establishment. In Geneveegh’s private chambers, the Suedzuk finally released the baggage and hugged Gevaudan’s third wife.

“They found you, didn’t they?” asked Geneveegh.

Zhevra nodded and told of taking the tour of the Far Scout, meeting with the robots and then discovering her hotel room had been broken into and searched. While Zhevra assured Geneveegh that she still had the report, whomever it was had learned much of the hotel room’s occupant by her possessions.

“You need to disappear, lass,” declared the Madam. “Stay here and discard your name until you figure out what you intend to do next.”

Zhevra agreed with a nod. “How can I use this place to mask myself against a Psion who might be a telepath?”

“Op! That’s easy,” waved Geneveegh. “You just need to wade into our world a little and let it distract most of your mind. Most telepaths are embarrassed to peek into the minds of vixens and johns. Oh, you don’t need to do anything that would tarnish your wedding ring, hun. Just mix in, fantasize occasionally and glide under the surface noise. Meanwhile, you plan your next move. My crew are loyal. The Deep End is a place you can depend.” It was the same pun she had thought of in the back of Llakhs’ taxi.

“The Unequal at the door took my weapon,” noted Zhevra aloud.

“Well, that’s Gharvh and it’s the rules, hun,” explained the Madam. To Zhevra, Geveveegh’s fields had a gentle Mag, but a stern Lek. “We get all kinds of needful clientele and everyone can let their fur settle for drinks, a meal and maybe get lucky here. Weapons just make for squeaky wheels. You’ll see.”

The older female helped Zhevra find a spare room in the corner of the building. Zhevra stowed her two cases under the bed and turned to thank Geneveegh.

The Madam shrugged and with an inviting smile said, “If you get hungry, dress nice and come down for dinner. You’re not an employee or a customer. You’re my guest. I’ll alert all the staff that I have a personal guest. No names, okay? Stay off the phone and we’ll get you off the grid in no time.” Then she left Zhevra to get settled.

Zhevra sat for some time to fight off her chills. She felt violated by the Psion who was so close to her at Gevaudan’s office. Who knew what they might have pulled from her mind, conscious or unconscious levels? As close as she had come tonight at the hotel room, Zhevra decided then that she needed off the planet and that she would need Gevaveegh’s help in gathering what she would need to make her escape. The Madam’s suggestions against a liner or other transport stuck with her. It was now obvious to the Suedzuk female that this Psion could get to her. She needed to steal the Sixth Horizon. She could not wait for a court to award her the Far Scout.

Gevaveegh’s advice was so far sound. Thus, Zhevra slid on her black hip dress, the one that exposed her hips and hid her legs under its black expanse. With the dress, she kept her double bras and arrayed her jewelry from the Solstice Fete once more. Ear cuffs dangled a gold bead chain down the back of her mane to terminate in a crystal octahedron spindle. In a mirror, she brushed out her pelt and demanded her wild side guide her once more.

Her reflection smiled at her and imparted advice, a memory, remember what Madam Karrnae taught you. Zhevra had been given a crash course in concubine prostitution, how to move, use one’s tail, smile and be socially approachable. She had no proof that she was being hunted for anything more than the buried mission report. It was time to submerge into the world of the concubines. Her eyes dried and done up, Zhevra turned from the mirror to step into the hallway. The aromas of the ribs and sauce from below caused her stomach to beg for satisfaction. Keeping her almost-forgotten skill set close to heart, the red and cream female descended the stairs.
 
It was a night of eating dinner and watching the gears of prostitution turn for Zhevra. She discovered herself thankful that the customers shied away from her, that they felt her red fur coloration was too much an unknown for to approach. The ‘johns’ kept to other Gvegh concubines. The Suedzuk felt field after field of Vargr pass her as she happily slaked her hunger on a full rack of ribs and spicy sauce. Each time anyone came close, Zhevra could feel their heightened libido Mag and was thankful to Genaveegh to shelter her. Food allowed her to think and people watch at the same time. Vincent had said that there were no supplies on the Far Scout. Those would require a shopping list. She licked her digit claws of the spicy sauce and watched another pairing of patron and concubine ascend the stairs.

At around 10:00 pm, drinks from the bar were flowing in earnest, when Genaveegh brought forth from behind the counter a bottle of the Pack Cannagrrh vintage, the same blood-red wine she had tasted at the Fete. The Madam poured wine flutes on a tray and saw Zhevra watching her.

“Uh-uh. None for you, dearie,” said Genaveegh. “Gotta think straight and not get caught up in all this. You’re my guest, not an employee or a customer. This stuff is expensive.” A concubine slave cursied to the Madam and took the tray to a table and offered up the glass flutes to the seated Vargr.

Zhevra had to agree, that though a stiff drink might calm her, she still needed to stay on track and think like the Engineer she was, not some prostitute or patron. She noted that none of the bouncers in disguise were drinking. It was heartening that in the pre-debauchery scene, there were still responsible adult Vargr present. On Gnoengungag, prostitution was legal, but it was taxed, controlled and remained constrained to Girls’ Town, the red-light district of Gnoengungag Bay. Though she could have stayed and learned more of the concubine lifestyle housed in a middling to upper-class brothel, Zhevra took her empty platter to the kitchen and thanked the cooks. Then she retired to her room for the night.

The Suedzuk spent the next day meeting with Genaveegh. The two detailed her plan and the necessary items to gather so Zhevra could enter the Sixth Horizon, stock it with supplies, give the command codes to the robots and the ship’s computer and lift in one visit, possibly during a tour.

“I’ll send one of my slaves to do the shopping,” suggested the Madam. “Best you stay here and not show your pelt to the public if you want to stay off the grid until you lift, yes?”

Zhevra nodded and said, “I am so sorry to be a bother, Genaveegh.”

“Nonsense, dearie. Gevaudan is a good Vargr though everyone else thinks he’s dead. And you deserve him. I think your idea to trade information for information has merit though it’s risky. Right up Gev’s alley, if you ask me.”
Gevaudan’s philosophy stressed doing heroic deeds and supporting other ‘heroes’, followers of Runetha Saetedz’ scoundrel lifestyle no matter on what side of the law one found oneself. Though Zhevra had never fully agreed with her husband’s path, she found herself running parallel to it in her hunt for him.

The two former concubines shared tales of how they met Gevaudan Cannagrrh over lunch in the kitchen of her brothel. Zhevra learned that Gevaudan had ‘rescued’ Genaveegh from the fallen worlds of the Thoengling Empire and she had no trouble adjusting to life in the Society of Equals in comparison to the Wilds. Like Zhevra, she married him and spent single year discovering their differences. Genaveegh chose a different path, divorcing both Gevaudan and the life of a spacer.

At the noon hours, the converted warehouse was dormant. Employees were out, on the town and conducting personal affairs. The lounge was cleaned by slaves and restocking of food and drinks took place as the two females ate together.

Zhevra changed the topic as the two tried a dairy dessert, a mousse pie. “I feel like a fifth wheel, Genavegh. You have the others going out there and procuring things I’ll need. Is there anything I can do here to occupy the time?”

The Madam scratched behind her right ear in thought. Then she answered, “If you like, and it would deepen your concealment, you can serve drinks from the bar to the tables. Mingle, be sociable, but keep your wedding band on. That way no patrons will mistake you for one of mine. Does that work?”

Zhevra nodded and said, “I can do that. Thank you.”

“If you get any tips, you pass those to the wait staff or the bar,” warned Genaveegh. “You don’t work for me, so have a care please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”
 
Later in the night, the Pack Cannagrrh wine was poured again and Zhevra was allowed to serve the sanguine wine to those who had paid for the special order. After her third tray, she delivered a single glass of the vintage to a single patron sitting on a couch midway between the bar and the kitchen. She saw that the all-gray male Vargr was well-dressed and watching her. With a bit of fantasy, she imagined the male to be someone’s husband and that he was here at The Deep End at risk of his wife’s ire. The Suedzuk set down the wine flute on a coaster upon the coffee table in the square of couches.

“Join me please?” said the gray. He was about to reach for the glass when his gaze glided up her dress and over her red pelt.

Zhevra considered the male and sat down. After all, being approachable and then flashing her wedding ring was the cloud of lust she should envelop her mind from intrusion. She sat next to the male and then froze. It was his fields! They were identical to the Psion from outside Gevaudan’s office! She nearly yelped at recognizing the Gvegh’s aura as it overlapped her own. Her eyes shut as she tried to double-check her Awareness.

“Yes,” said the male next to her then he sipped at the blood red wine. “Don’t shout please. I just want to talk. I am not armed, and neither are you as I can see.” His voice was rich, a tenor of a male who was used to talking and perhaps getting his way. He stared at Zhevra’s bare chest as if he had all the permission to do so.

Zhevra’s mind raced. How did he find her? What was his true intention here? Where was Genaveegh? Her eyes darted left to right in search of Gevaudan’s third wife. Was he reading her mind right now? As this was Zhevra’s first true close encounter with a Psion and not Gevaudan who was merely trained and talented, she worried herself with stomach aches as the tremors in her feet were triggered.

“So many questions in your head,” said the tenor gray. He checked the time on a watch about his wrist. Zhevra saw him reach to look at the watch. Under the male’s suit was the silvery gray of a Teleportation Suit. She recognized it because Gevaudan had owned one. If this was the jaunter from the office, Zhevra thought to Infight him right there.

“Let’s not fight, Zhevra,” said the Psion who confirmed his telepathy to her. Patrons and concubines passed and smiled to her and the gray Gvegh. “I came to make an offer. You have something I seek and I don’t want to harm you or anyone here. Everyone is having the time of their week, month and even year tonight. Except you, that is.”

“Leave me alone,” whispered Zhevra. “You destroyed my husband’s office.”

“I waited until you were headed for the door. I was to destroy that file. When you made off with it the other night, I was forced to report to the Tavrchedl’. Do you know who they are?”

Zhevra recalled the Zdetl word she had learned. Though she did not speak Zdetl, that word was remembered. It meant “thought police”. Zhevra nodded and wished that someone would come and tear her from the gray telepath.

“Now, if you don’t go upstairs and bring down that folder,” said the gray, “your next visit might just be from the Tavrchedl’. I don’t want that either.”

“You’re Oruelaen,” whispered Zhevra who was still looking around for Genaveegh and fighting off her legs’ tremors at the same time. “You’re a Thirz.”

“Very good, Zhevra,” the Psion said. “You’ve done your homework about the Thirz and the Dzen Aeng Kho. My first assignment this far Trailing was just to watch the Society and make sure their Quarantine Line against Virus held and report back if it was breached by vampires. Now, I have to watchdog for that report and all its decoys. Take heart, Zhevra. I’m the only Oruelaen on Gnoengungag.”

“You ransacked my hotel room, fiend,” accused Zhevra.

“I had to as an Oruelaen,” said the male beside the Suedzuk. Waves from pairings as they headed upstairs were returned by him and by Zhevra trying to keep calm and think of a way out of the encounter. “Again, I did not want to harm you and that red pelt.”

“I am no Red Pelt, mind invader,” growled Zhevra under her breath. “And you are a liar. You don’t have direct contact with the Zhodani this far out from the Thirz Empire. It would take weeks to alert them. I am an Astrogator, Psion. I know the flow of communications takes time.”

The gray frowned. “How did you do that?” he asked seriously. There was a hint of frustration in his voice. His fields changed as his Mag shrank and his Lek shot into intensity. The Psion’s fields had polygraphed his lie to Zhevra’s Awareness the moment he said it. And at such close range and heightened fear, Zhevra read it like a lifeline to safety.

“Oh? You don’t like being read like you do to others?” asked Zhevra using Socratic volley questions.

“I’m shielding my mind,” admitted the Psion. “You can’t penetrate it.”

“I am no Psion either,” said Zhevra who crossed her legs to lock her tremors at the knees. “And you are about to leave. Look.” Zhevra nodded to the bouncers to either side of Madam Geneveegh behind the couch as she crossed her arms over her exposed breasts.

Looking confused at being read and at the same time being surprised by the Madam and the security, the gray Psion put down the wine glass and looked over his shoulder at Genaveegh.
 
Genaveegh wrinkled her muzzled at the gray Gvegh. “Thirz spy,” she said as she held up a cylindrical device that was vibrating in her right claw. “You can’t probe someone and keep your attentions on all the other minds about you, can you? This is a psi-squealer, Psion. It detects brainwaves using psionic talents within its detection range. It comes from the now-defunct Third Imperium where they killed people like you on principle.” The elderly female bared her teeth, a clear challenge to fight.

The gray loosened his collar nervously. This late at night, most of the patrons and concubines had either paired off for an upstairs tryst or left the establishment already. He was alone and up against gathering bouncers, a Madam and Zhevra next to him. He closed his eyes and said, “Remember, Zhevra, that I offered the easy route.” Then, in the dim glow of the lounge, a moist mist rose up around him. He was jaunting. The bouncers moved to grab him in their claws and clasped nothing as the Psion teleported, his Teleporation Suit dusting the couch with a barely-visible lanthanum powder. In the span of six seconds the Psion had jaunted from the brothel.

“I want Gnonengungag Bay authorities on the phone right now,” ordered Genaveegh. A bouncer moved to obey the command.

“He found me, Genaveegh,” sobbed Zhevra who could no longer hold back the shakes crawling up her legs. “What do I do?”

“This Oruelaen is a pervert in reading your mind from inside a brothel. Even worse that, he brazenly came in here to accost you. You see him again, you kill him, get me?”

Gharvh, the Unequal head bouncer produced Zhevra’s pistol and gave it to the Suedzuk.

“I have to go, don’t I?” asked Zhevra crying as the Unequal helped her to stand. His strong arms guided her to the stairs.

“Lass, we’ve got your supplies and lift needs,” offered Genaveegh. “You have to do the rest, or else the Oruelaen will come back with more spies and make things hard on all my employees and the establishment. You’re all set to implement your plan.”

“When?” sobbed Zhevra who nearly tripped on the first stair.

“Tomorrow morning,” suggested the Madam, “I’ll have Llakhs straight-shot you to the Downport. You take that flying can and you run for the Regency, get me? Don’t look back and avoid the dangerous parts of space. Don’t communicate any more than you have to and make that ship jump when you say jump.”

“What about Traffic Control?” asked Zhevra.

“In this day and age, after the vampires took most of the ships, there ain’t a Vargr block of space junk that can catch the Sixth Horizon. A can it may be, but it’s the fastest.” Genaveegh’s age was showing in her language as she grew more agitated by the invasion in her brothel. “You put the hammer down and head Rimward four parsecs at a time. I figure about eight jumps will do you. That gray cur will take that long getting a message to his pals in the Thirz Empire, long enough for you to run the Quarantine Line of the Regency. Everything else is up to you. You’re a smart, red-pelted lass, Zhevra Cannagrrh.”

Unable to climb the stairs, Gharvh helped escort Zhevra to her room. “Thank you, Gharvh. I’m sorry I can’t walk. I-I get the shakes when-“

“I do too when I think too much about the gangs that like to pick on Unequals who still have their teeth,” said Gharvh. “Just get into bed. I’m on watch tonight and if I have to I’ll stand outside your door. Anyone gets past me, you shoot first and ask the corpses later. And thanks for not using the U-word.” The bouncer pointed at his black leather belts as he said the last sentence.

“My best friend still refuses the Equality Test, Gharvh,” explained Zhevra who was slowly calming down. Though the tremors were falling off, the chills up her spine threatened her sanity. “I wish now that I never took it. This Society would be much better off.”

“You know,” said a wide-eyed Gharvh. Though he assisted Zhevra to sit on her bed, he retreated toward the door to the room. He was visibly surprised, his mouth hanging open on the last syllable.

“Yes,” said Zhevra remembering that night in her bedroom with Knirr Cannagrrh tearing her down for putting on the Unequal muzzle and belt and branding her with the lesson she had requested, “I know.”

“That settles it, friend,” said the Unequal bouncer. “I’ll load your stuff and if you allow it, I’ll ride shotgun in the cab.”

“You don’t need to do that, Gharvh,” offered the Suedzuk.

“Anyone who knows is worth helping,” explained the gentle Gvegh. “Please?”

The tears flowed again and Zhevra could not hold back her sobs. She shook with the chills and pulled on a nightshirt over her exposed torso. To answer the bouncer, Zhevra could only nod her head, acquiescing.

The door closed and Zhevra was alone, her pistol in a vice-like grip.
 
XXV. Regina (Spinward Marches 1910) A788899-C, Gnoengungag (Gvurrdon 1923) B759623-7 of Zhevra's testimony
Zhevra woke the next morning as the light from the white star of Gnoengungag penetrated her sleep. “Curse you, daystar.” Remembering where she was and her tasks to come, Zhevra got up from bed, stretched and exercised per the instructions of her past therapists. She found such activities not only helped her body, but it dispelled any bad dreams or seizures from PTSD. This day she needed all her faculties, so she showered in the communal bath area alone. None had risen yet and she was grateful for the hot water and the temporary silence of her Awareness. Like its sense-mate, touch, Zhevra’s Awareness could not be turned off unless it was insulated by such fluids or immersion in something she could not ‘feel’ through. Akin to ear plugs for the hearing person, dampening the Suedzuk Awareness robbed the sense, but gave a moment of repose, a silence of the sense of touch and aura fields. In the hot shower, Zhevra breathed easier.
Dressing once more in her double thong and double bras of black and yellow, Zhevra added the web belt. As she holstered the pistol, she wished she had the weapon on her when the Oruelaen had engaged her in his invasive conversation. The Suedzuk promised herself to find Gevaudan’s psi-shield cowl hood and forever block out telepathic mind reading. She now despised Psions, holding her husband apart from them as he was never a Psion proper and had no talent in telepathy. Zhevra considered Gevaudan a jaunter and a ‘sniffer’, but never rated in reading minds. She was grateful in the memory that he stopped testing his mate-wife with his strange olfactory conning. It meant he trusted her though he never said such. His fields gave him away, she remembered.

Gharvh helped the small female load the suitcases and small cargo containers full of supplies, toiletries and other needs for the lift of the Sixth Horizon after more than three years. The cab driver, Llakhs was idling his taxi as he was joined by the Unequal in the front seat. Zhevra said her goodbyes to Genaveegh before getting into the vehicle.

“You go find that albino and bring him back,” ordred Genaveegh. “He owes you an explanation for mauling you anyhow.”

Zhevra countered with, “I’ll find him. He had a plan, Genaveegh. Gevaudan had to have had a plan, even in the azure of his eyes. The Mind Tsunami may have taken him from me, but to jaunt from the ship, he had to be coherent for the six seconds it took to spool up his talent.”

The two females hugged. Then Zhevra climbed down into the backseat of the cab. “Go.”

“Vroom-vroom,” hummed Llakhs.

The ride to the Downport was quiet. Llakhs asked no questions and drove like he was destined for a racing trophy. Traffic melted before him making Zhevra wonder if there was a psionic talent for driving like a madman. Rather than taking his passengers to the concourse and terminal gates, the cab driver detoured to the tours office that sold the tickets to tour the museum’s Far Scout at the far end of the Starport landing field and runways for aerospace craft.

The white wedge of the Sixth Horizon remained berthed as the first heat of the day heated the air above the asphalt. Stopping the taxi at the ticket office, Llakhs said, “No questions, no fares, no soppy kisses goodbye, dame.” He meant to refuse her fare for the ride. Zhevra did not argue as Gharvh unloaded the items from the vehicle.

The Unequal bouncer in his black leather belts and Zhevra Cannagrrh walked the rest of the way to the dormant ship. He carried most of the other bags himself as the Suedzuk hefted her two suitcases. Ahead, the airlock door opened and she could see one of the two robots look out at the approaching pair.

Gharvh then admitted to an addition to the plan, “I have some of my bouncer buddies in the Downport, ready to set off the fire alarms in the bathrooms of the terminals outside the security checkpoints. When you see the fire trucks roll, you should be able to lift in the confusion. Got it?”

“Got it,” said Zhevra. Her eyes were locked on the robot she recognized as Vincent, the bridge Servitor robot. It was a homecoming for her and no tears or tremors threatened her this time.

The second robot, Bob, emerged from the airlock and descended the stairs to the ground to meet the pair. “Greetings, sir and ma’am. Tours are not yet open today.” Bob was again ignoring that Zhevra was right before the robot with tact.

“Bob, load these supplies onboard while I go have a talk with Vincent and the ship’s computer,” ordered Zhevra Cannagrrh. She turned to Gharvh and thanked him with, “I know and others will know if I have any say about it. In my bags are gifted belts. If I have to, I’ll belt them on to make a higher quality become reality.”

Gharvh’s eyes brightened and he had to sniff to keep from filling up his sinuses, “You do that. When all are this higher quality, these won’t be worn by anyone and everyone will keep their teeth. Take care and Ancients’ speed to you.”

The Unequal bouncer hugged Zhevra Cannagrrh and then set off the way he came. Zhevra turned and climbed up the step to the airlock where Vincent waited.
 
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