They move away in peace with themselves.
To new worlds.
Because there are so many in a Universe.
And there are so many universes to explore.
(Carlos Trillo, Robin of the Stars)
Gliese 614 IV, coordinates 285.747/+79.016/20052.661
July 25th, 666 GE
On the holo-screen, the man’s face was grave—as one might expect from someone contemplating suicide.
“… and I think it’s time for me to go. I know I’ve been exposed, but it’s not the Holroyd Society’s justice I fear. I’m a traitor, I admit it. I passed on the names of our agents to the Apostles. I did it for money, of course—but also in the name of my werewolf heritage. Only now do I understand the terrible consequences of my actions: so many friends and colleagues died because of me… No. It’s too heavy a burden to bear.”
“Stop,” Twiglet said sharply. “Fern, can you rewind to where he says, ‘I’m a traitor, I admit it’?”
Lescovar shot her a sideways glance but complied. The footage rewound a few seconds.
“I’m a traitor, I admit it. I passed on the names of our agents to—”
Twiglet leapt up and grabbed his shoulder.
“Freeze! Now play it frame by frame.”
Fern snorted and looked to Honorable Bernala for support. The Master, seated comfortably, observed the exchange with mild curiosity, idly turning his wolf-headed cane between his fingers.
“Come on, Twiglet,” Lescovar complained. “What exactly are you looking for? You’ve been wasting my time with this clip for half an hour. There’s nothing suspicious about it. You’re not the only one who finds it hard to believe Wang was the spy—but facts don’t care about your feelings. People aren’t always who we think they are.”
“Durrell wasn’t a spy,” the mahjit hissed. “And I’ll prove it. I’m increasingly convinced someone manipulated an old recording of his to fabricate this confession. Now—are you going to replay it, or not?”
Muttering under his breath, Fern did as instructed.
“This time, mute it,” Twiglet added. “It’ll be easier to see what he’s actually saying.”
She leaned toward the holo-screen as the frames advanced slowly.
“Again… again… slower… Freeze.”
Fern rolled his eyes.
“What?” he asked, raking a hand through his hair.
“There.” Twiglet pointed at the frozen image. “This is where he’s supposed to form the word ‘traitor.’ In Standard, the t is a dental consonant. Watch his lips. He’s not articulating a t. It looks more like an n… or possibly an l.”
Fern stopped fidgeting and leaned closer. He blinked.
“All right… you might be onto something,” he admitted reluctantly. “But what does that prove?”
“You still don’t see it?” Twiglet shot back. “He’s been dubbed. The real traitor stitched together fragments from dozens of different recordings to make Durrell say whatever he wanted. It’s excellent work—almost flawless. If I hadn’t already suspected foul play, I might have believed it myself.”
“But why Durrell Wang?” Hwan Bernala asked quietly.
Twiglet started. So absorbed had she been in the analysis that she hadn’t noticed the Master had risen from his armchair and was now standing behind her.
“Well,” she said slowly, “the fact that Durrell falsified his own DNA profile to join the Holroyd Society made him the perfect scapegoat.” She turned to meet the Master’s lined, white-bearded gaze. “And his research was heading into dangerous territory…”
“Go on, Twiglet, please,” Bernala urged.
Twiglet chose not to mention the message she had found in the OCC unit. It was personal. There was no reason for anyone else to see it—and Durrell would not have wanted certain details made public.
“According to Durrell, the werewolves may have genetically engineered a completely pure individual of their species. He would appear human… but in reality—”
“The Son of Night!” Fern interrupted. “Also known as the Antichrist. Bah! It’s an old myth. The Holroyd Society debunked it long ago. I’m astonished Wang wasted time on such nonsense—and now you, Twiglet?”
The mahjit unrolled her tongue, ready with a sharp retort, but Bernala intervened.
“As Fern said, the Society has closely monitored the werewolves’ genetic experiments. We concluded that an individual with 100% lycanthropic genes would not automatically become the Black Messiah. From childhood, the subject would require proper indoctrination. If he survived his unstable personality, he would still have to endure the trauma of the first metamorphoses without losing his mind. A century ago, the werewolves attempted to select the Son of Night from ninety-nine pure human children. If memory serves, only one survived to adulthood—and he committed suicide in his early twenties.”
Twiglet nodded.
“I’m aware of that, Master. But a hundred years is a long time. The Apostles may have learned to control psychosis in pure subjects… or they may have simply expanded the sample. Yesterday afternoon, I recalculated the synchro-complex coefficients of the Holroyd-Skunks equations. The integrated catastrophic probability peaks on October 12. A disaster is imminent. We cannot dismiss any possibility—however improbable.”
“Hmm…” Bernala murmured.
He leaned on his cane and returned to his chair, lowering himself slowly. For a moment, he gazed out at the monotonous reddish landscape beyond the window.
“Tell me, Twiglet,” he said at last. “Assuming you’re correct, and the werewolves have indeed created an evil Messiah… what do you propose we do?”
She sighed.
“There’s no simple answer. All we have is an ancient terrestrial legend. I assume you’ve both read The Son of Night by Jack Williamson?”
Their puzzled expressions told her they had not.
“In the novel, there are disk-shaped weapons made of a mysterious metal. They emit radiation lethal to werewolves—especially to the Son of Night, the purest of them all. According to Durrell, this isn’t mere fiction. Some of those weapons actually exist. Until thirty years ago, the Imperial Museum of Angelhoelm displayed one. It came from an ancient necropolis on Tr’lang.”
She let that sink in.
“Tr’lang—the werewolves’ presumed homeworld.”
“It’s not ‘presumed,’” Fern snapped. “I have solid evidence that—”
She fixed him with a glare.
“Will you let me finish?”
“She’s right, Fern,” Bernala said calmly. “Please continue, Twiglet. You said the museum had one of these objects. What happened to it?”
“It was stolen…” She gave a humorless laugh. “A textbook coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes… highly convenient,” Bernala muttered, tapping his cane. “Which brings us back to the beginning. If the only weapon capable of stopping the Son of Night has vanished…”
“Oh, but there’s more, Master. The necropolis on Tr’lang was only partially excavated. Many burials remain intact—and they may conceal additional disks. My proposal is this: I volunteer to lead an expedition to Tr’lang and continue the excavation at the site known as Gahannam. The odds of success are slim, I admit. But time is short, and inaction guarantees failure.”
Bernala fell silent.
His gaze drifted across the cluttered walls—trinkets, relics, curiosities—before lingering on the mounted skeleton of Homo Lycanthropus.
“Master,” Lescovar interjected, “this plan is madness. Chasing a mythical weapon on Tr’lang? The holes in her reasoning are numerous. To begin with, Tr’lang is a bleak, frozen wasteland—hostile to humans and even more so to a mahjit. Most of its surface remains uncharted. The fauna is dangerous. The intelligent natives are worse. Ten thousand years ago, it was the werewolves’ planet, but the few expeditions that returned alive reported only the nawpaq—sentient slugs. Vicious, repulsive, lethal.”
“Finished?” Twiglet asked, stifling a yawn.
“Not quite. I haven’t mentioned the jakmurrr—”
“If you’re trying to frighten me with horror stories, you’re wasting your breath,” she cut in. “Cold and darkness don’t scare me. As for dangerous natives—I survived Bageechaa.”
In truth, she felt far less confident than she sounded. But she would not give Fern the satisfaction. And any plan, however improbable, was preferable to passive surrender.
“Fine,” Fern conceded. “Risk your life if you wish. But don’t drag us into your delusion.”
“Relax, Fern,” she replied evenly. “I won’t need your collaborators. I’ll travel with the friends I arrived with. No need to rent a ship.”
He snorted.
“In that case…”
Bernala raised a hand.
“Twiglet,” he said, leaning forward, “I cannot say I am entirely convinced. But I trust your abilities. You have my support. None of us will accompany you—we have responsibilities here, and we cannot afford further losses. However, if you truly believe a team of three is sufficient, tell me what you require. Equipment, materials—within reason.”
Twiglet blinked.
“Thank you, Master… We’ll need thermal clothing. Especially for me—mahjitans are cold-blooded. Excavation tools. Survival gear. I should consult Captain Tokalau—he has experience on dM2 worlds.”
She suddenly remembered she had promised Kyle his salary.
“And… I’ll require fifty thousand credits. Ten thousand of that in gemstones—credit chips may be useless on Tr’lang.”
“Fifty thousand?” Fern scoffed. “You must be joking.”
“What do you need that sum for?” Bernala asked.
“First, to reimburse the captain. The werewolves destroyed my home on Bageechaa—I lost everything. I couldn’t pay him to bring us here. And it might be wise to… encourage him to undertake another journey.”
“That’s rich,” Fern muttered.
Twiglet ignored him.
“We’ll also need funds for local supplies, transport to Gahannam, a guide, and contingencies.”
Bernala considered this.
“We can grant you thirty thousand credits. No more. When do you intend to depart?”
Twiglet exhaled slowly. It had gone better than expected. She had calculated that twenty-five thousand would suffice, but had inflated the figure to anticipate resistance.
“As soon as possible. Tr’lang lies on the far side of the Galaxy—it will take weeks to reach it. The day after tomorrow, at best.”
“Very well,” Bernala said. “Prepare a list. Fern will see to it.”
Lescovar nodded stiffly.
“Thank you, Master,” Twiglet said warmly. “I knew I could rely on you.”
Bernala waved a dismissive hand.
“Do your best, Twiglet.”
“Count on it.”
She felt so relieved she nearly embraced him—but thought better of it.
“I’ll come to say goodbye before we leave.”
Please return to the novel’s main page to read the first eight chapters for free!
