She looked across the table at her opponent, eyeing him coolly, and inspecting the boys who surrounded him with nonchalance. One of them twitched his nose at the sweet odor of the Activity Hall. The looks she received were all too familiar, yet she had become so accustomed that her pain did not cross her countenance once, even though her mind was fast at work. Like a sideshow attraction, she thought disgustedly. Forever some kind of strange thing to stare at and mock. Well, forget it, boys, . . . I'm not changing.

"Left flank conquered."

Dana's sudden vocalization sounded like a trumpet call in comparison to the utter silence that had pervaded the competition for the past thirty minutes.

Calm amazement gripped her opponent. "I've never seen that strategy before."

"That's because I just created it," Dana replied casually as she rose from her seat. "And, if I recall our agreement, you owe me three merconians."

"How'd she do that?" one of the boys bent over and whispered into his companion's ear. "I've never seen anyone beat you."

"I don't know . . . "

The drone of the Activity Hall consumed the sudden silence between the game players. The sweet, smoky smell of the darkened room filled Dana's nostrils; many thoughts lapped like waves onto the beach of her subconscious mind. I never come here. Why did I bother? A little currency? Something else, perhaps...

"Here." Three glassy disks fell from the boy's hand and rang against the table. He looked up at her, seeming uneasy at her lack of emotional response.

"You're not going to play her again to get your money back?" one boy exclaimed, somewhat incredulously.

The owner of the money glanced back briefly at his friend before facing Dana again. "I can't . . . I've got to go to class. Besides, I probably couldn't beat her anyhow." He smiled fleetingly. "Thanks for the game."

A single eyebrow rose on Dana's blank countenance, but that was the only acknowledgment she gave before her opponent finally turned around and walked out through the group of teenage boys. Once he had left, she asked, "Anybody else for a game?"

"Sorry, I'm broke."

"Me too."

She frowned, and, as she walked away she turned her face toward them and replied, "Who said I wanted to play for anything?"

Davis pulled the air-filtering mask off of his face to talk to the crewman beside him. He was quickly sorry that he had. The gritty, sour taste of Amalgamean sand filled his mouth, and the sweltering atmosphere filled his lungs.

"What are we going to do about these people?" he yelled above the din of machinery and shouting voices.

"I don't know, call the governor, I guess," his workmate replied, flinching from the taste of the sand as he pulled off his own mask.

They couldn't bother sending us better equipment, Davis commented disgustedly in his mind. Nor did they bother sending us better security. I really don't want to deal with the natives.

Another of the crewmen approached the meeting and removed his mask. "Are they at it again?" he exclaimed. "This is the second time this has happened. The governor's not going to want to talk to them again."

"What did they want last time?" Davis yelled.

"Governor said they were probably just riled because a bunch of aliens got rights to their land." The man bent over and spat before continuing. "So, who's gonna deal with them 'til the governor gets here?"

"I'll try to calm them down," Davis said, placing his hand on the pistol at his side for precaution. He put down his drilling equipment and walked to the fence at the edge of the perimeter. As he approached, a man who seemed to be the main instigator of the group pressed up against the fence.

"You dig up demons!" he screamed in rehearsed and highly accented H.E.B.L. (which stood for Human Exploration Bureau Language, a language developed on Earth so that all humans would have a standard language to speak when they first encountered extraterrestrial life). "The Rale cera will possess you, dare you continue to dig! He will possess us all!"

Davis looked uneasily over his shoulder to see what his two crewmates were doing. After a moment of tight squinting, he could see that Manderes was using the communicator. Probably calling the governor, he thought. I hope they can back me up if this group gets too heated.

"Why do you not listen to us? We inhabited this planet before you! We know the secrets of our ancestors! Why do you not listen?" The man's eyes shown from behind a pair of slanted, bushy eyebrows, conveying entreaty and resentment at the same time. For a long moment the two men analyzed each other.

Why didn't the governor say anything about this? Davis questioned himself. Shouldn't we have been told that digging here would interfere?

Davis knew he was gruff at times, but he had always considered himself a fair man . . . and a very curious one. He was not trained to deal with situations such as this, and the interference may cost him . . . but the eyes of the pleading man won over his ears . . .

And instigated his curiosity.

"Okay, I'm listening. Why don't you want us to excavate this site?"

The crowd had calmed at Davis' lack of aggression. Gusts of wind consumed the man's confused silence, but he quickly found his tongue. "The Rale cera! It will possess us all!"

"Who is this Rale cera?" Davis asked with a swelling interest. "Why shouldn't we dig?"

The man looked uncertain, lost for words. His last exclamation tumbled from his lips, with less fervor. "It will possess us all. Why do you dig up demons?"

Manderes came to Davis' side. "What's going on?" he asked, noting with some surprise the suddenly mild-mannered group Davis was facing.

"I don't know, something about . . . digging up demons," Davis replied with a perplexed look.

The spokesman for the group turned around dejectedly and mumbled as he walked through the group, "The Rale cera, the Rale cera, they do not listen . . . "

A young, female Amalgamean put her arm about his shoulders and whispered soft words to him in her native language. He nodded and she released him before coming to the front of the crowd. Tense silence took hold of the group as she gathered herself and faced Davis. "Rale cera, demon of the soul," she began to explain in staggering, accented H.E.B.L. "Demon of the mind. Long ago, we dig, we find Rale cera. Our far fathers find . . . um . . . found. The children of our far fathers not possessed . . . left, later went home . . . find far fathers dead . . . " She bowed her head for a moment before continuing. "Put Rale cera back in ground, where belong. But humans taller in head than far fathers . . . so all will be possessed." She suddenly grabbed the rails of the fence and raised her voice. "Do not dig! The Rale cera will possess us all!"

Davis had completely forgotten the pistol in the holster at his side. He was thoroughly taken up by the young woman's narrative.

"What do you mean by taller in the head?" Davis asked, taking another step toward the fence. "Do you mean arrogant, perhaps?" His eyes were wide, his stance tense and unaggressive.

The young woman scrunched up her brow and replied, "Do not understand . . . arri . . . arrigent."

"You know, um, . . . " Her face was unassuming and intent, and she seemed somewhat disgusted by her lack of ability to communicate. Davis began to fumble for words as he looked at her. Look at me, I'm acting like a diplomat, he remarked in his mind. "You know," he continued aloud, "big ego, or, um, I guess it's being impressed in a bad way about oneself . . . "

Manderes put his hand stiffly onto Davis' shoulder. "Maybe you shouldn't talk to them, Davis. It's not your job, you know."

Before Davis could reply, the governor's transport sped into the area and made an abrupt halt near the crewmen. It hovered above the ground, possessing no windows to allow one to see inside. After a few expectant moments, with only the wind and machinery to break the silence, the hatch opened and a middle-aged man with a heavy build stepped out, the transport bobbing slightly with the sudden lack of his weight. He squinted his eyes against the brash, sandy wind and frowned as he analyzed the situation.

"What is the problem, Mr. Manderes?" the governor finally asked brusquely as he approached the group of men.

Davis stepped forward to give his own account just as Manderes was opening his mouth. "This group of Amalgameans is demanding that we don't drill, sir."

The governor turned his gaze to Davis and scowled at him.

Doesn't like seeing someone else take control, I see, Davis noted mentally.

"You have spoken to them?" the Governor asked, the furrows in his brow lessening only fractionally.

"Yes, sir, I have," Davis replied without fear.

"And, what is their reason that we should not drill, Mr. Davis?"

Davis did not answer immediately, swallowing the river of hostility that was rising within him. "Digging here seems to interfere with their religion, sir."

The governor's tone became sharper. "I don't care about what seems to be the problem, Mr. Davis. What are their words?"

"They claim that we are digging up demons, sir," Davis answered without the slightest measure of humor in his voice.

The governor blinked without changing his expression. "And we should not dig because of what is obviously an old legend?"

"That is what they want, sir."

"Preposterous. I do believe that the Amalgameans are not living in reality, Mr. Davis. It was their economy that was falling into ruin when we offered to help in exchange for the mines. They cannot have their cake and eat it, too." He turned and looked at the silent onlookers beyond the perimeter fence before addressing the crew as a whole. "Next time, leave diplomatic relations to me. We appreciate your fine," he rolled the word over in his mouth, "work as drillers and your tolerance of the picketers, but we only pay you to drill. Let your superiors handle it next time." On the last remark he glanced into Davis' direction, then looked to Manderes.

Now I know why Manderes was put in charge, Davis thought angrily. The governor can manipulate him. He's always been weak, always worrying over the governor's regulations like they were scripture. Always blindly following his superiors. The teacher's pet.

The governor acknowledged them, Davis especially, with a slight, solemn nod and calculating glance. Then he turned around again to face the assembly of Amalgameans.

"Return to your homes!" he declared with a raising of his hands, palms outward, to the crowd. "We have paid your leaders for the right to drill here, and we will do so! And don't let me remind you that our military is protecting your people! All we ask is that you leave us in peace to do our work!"

The young woman who led the cluster of aliens let go of the fence with an expression of irritated disappointment. "Yes, but the Rale cera," she insisted, "... we are not meaning to make angry..."

"Keep your fairy tales to your own kind! We will not stop work because of superstition! Go home, or I will be forced to bring in troops!"

A large percentage of the throng immediately turned to leave, the sound of the drilling equipment drowning out their mumbled complaints. Only a few lingered, and those who did soon left.

One remained. The young woman continued to stand on the edge of the perimeter, her pupil-less eyes squinted against the dusty wind, her hands again clasping the metal bars of the fence, her irritation now vengeful.

The governor glared at her in silence a few moments before swinging suddenly about, whispering something into Manderes' ear, and heading back to his transport, his sandy footsteps flying away into the wind milliseconds after they had been made. Before entering the vehicle, he turned to face Davis and Manderes and bit off a simple remark. "None of you entertain them. And, by all means, keep them off of the premises . . . without discussion."

As the middle-aged man climbed into the craft, Manderes asked, "What if we can't handle them, Sir?"

"I'll send some troops. Just keep them out."

Without ado, the hatch on the governor's transport closed and the vehicle glided back in the direction it had come.

Davis turned around to find the Amalgamean woman gone.

"Well, that settles that," Manderes remarked with a sigh. "Hey, where are you going?"

Davis turned from his travels toward the perimeter fence. "I just wanted to see something."

"Aren't you coming back to work?" Manderes asked.

"Yeah. Just give me a minute."

"What are you going to do?" Manderes asked suspiciously.

Davis fought off his irritation. "I want to see if they left anything behind."

"Well, all right," Manderes replied hesitantly. "I'll wait for you here."

The governor must have told him to make sure I didn't do anything suspicious, Davis reflected with increasing aversion. He doesn't want me to get too involved, but he doesn't want me to suspect his actions. Or maybe he just wants to see what I find so he can bring it back to the governor. "You can go ahead. I'll only be a second," Davis replied, unsuccessfully holding back all of his exasperation. He knew that his wish to get rid of Manderes was blatantly obvious, but he also knew that, in the game that Manderes was playing, the intentions were meant to be easily inferred.

"No, it's okay," Manderes answered, some displeasure seeping into his own voice.

"Okay," Davis yielded. "Give me a minute."

"Take your time." Manderes put his mask back on and stood like a statue while Davis walked toward the perimeter fence.

Davis slid a card through a box at the side of the fence and walked through the entryway once the computer had identified him. He examined the ground on which the crowd had stood and found a small piece of paper attached to a metal board there. He had seen the old man drop it before the girl came to speak. Davis bent down to read it, but did not pick it up so that Manderes would not see him getting it and try to obtain it himself. Davis remained in a crouch as he hurriedly read what it said:

YOU DIG UP DEMONS. THE RALE CERA WILL POSSESS YOU, DARE YOU CONTINUE TO DIG. HE WILL POSSESS US ALL.

In the middle of the page was an alien writing that he could not decipher. Beyond that, it continued in H.E.B.L.:

WHY DO YOU NOT LISTEN TO US? WE INHABITED THIS PLANET BEFORE YOU. WE KNOW THE SECRETS OF OUR ANCESTORS.

WHY DO YOU NOT LISTEN?

"So, that's why he didn't understand my questions," Davis mused quietly. "But the girl could understand a little bit . . . Maybe she wrote this for him to say?"

"Did you find something?" Manderes lifted his mask to shout from his position on the other side of the fence.

Maybe I can pick it up after all, Davis mused as he lifted the board and slyly pocketed the paper clipped to it. He then raised the board to where Manderes could see. "It's nothing important!" he yelled in reply. "Just a clipboard someone left behind!"

"Oh, well, bring it anyway!" Manderes declared. "Are you almost done?"

"Give me just another minute!" Davis answered.

The wind howled through and around the silence that fell about him. It penetrated his thoughts and drowned out the sound of the mining equipment. With the sound he wondered what life on this sand-ridden planet had been like before the Human Exploration Bureau sent a small colony of humans to mine and watch over it. Worse . . . or better?

Suddenly he noticed that something was attached to the fence. He looked up toward the mining site, and saw someone call Manderes. Manderes turned to face the crewman and a short conversation followed. While Manderes was occupied, Davis took advantage of the director's diverted attention, rose, and went to see what the object was.

He found a name tag clipped to a bar of the fence, the plastic card flapping in the strong, sandy wind. Upon closer examination he found that the young Amalgamean woman's face was depicted in a picture in the far left-hand corner. Below it, her name, age, work place, and living space were identified.

"Karia Laschdle . . . " He placed the card into his pocket just in time for Manderes to miss his discovery. Maybe I need to find out more about this Rale cera, he thought as he replaced his mask. And why the governor is so itchy about it.

"Come in."

The door slid aside and the governor stormed into the small office. His features were distorted with anger. "The Amalgameans are getting too aroused, Digra Schistu. I thought you had taken care of it." The governor resented having to use the title "Digra" with Schistu. It implied too much reverence and respect, neither of which he possessed for the man.

A slender, sharp-faced Amalgamean man gazed coolly across the room at the governor. "I assure you, governor, I thought I had finally done so," he replied in fluid H.E.B.L.

"Well, you damn well haven't. They had another one of their pickets outside of the mining grounds today, and they seemed more aggressive than usual. You're not lying to me to put me off so that you can get your damned people aroused enough to get the attention of the council, are you? Because, if you are you Amalgamean son-of-a--"

"Please, give me room to speak," Schistu said calmly from his seat behind the desk, the only piece of furniture in the room. "I've said nothing, and already I am condemned." He furrowed his brow in thought and let out an irritated sigh before continuing. "We Amalgameans are a calm people, so I attempted to reason with them, explain to them that they are in no position to make demands. Yet, they are also extremely attached to religion, and, if threatened, all of the calm dissolves. I tried causing a different threat to draw their attention away from the matter at hand, and it held their attention for a short while . . . "

"What about Digra Milischter? What did you do about the trouble he was brewing? Were you able to silence him, even though you are both Digra?" A sardonic grin was suddenly plastered on his face as he continued his questioning. "Or are things truly equal among religious political leaders, as your people claim?"

Schistu merely glared at him as he responded to the question. "I have found no other choice than to kill him. A quiet murder will take place this afternoon."

Mild surprise appeared on the governor's face. "You didn't tell me that you were going to have to go to that extreme. I don't appreciate you taking such drastic measures without speaking to me first." The governor seemed to consider Schistu's idea, and finally continued, "It's too obvious. The Amalgameans will immediately put the blame on us."

"Do not worry, governor. You must remember, I am an influential man." The irises of Schistu's eyes changed color spontaneously and a smile tugged at his lips. "One of my most devoted servants, whom, I shall add, views me as what would be equal in your culture to a prophet, will be piloting the transport that Milischter is riding onto the Filidgris continent in four days. I have instructed him to cause a crash landing, killing himself, the Digra, and all others on the transport, as well. He will leave behind plenty of audiovisual evidence that should prove it was a crash landing, if any suspicion were to arise."

"And he will give up his life because you tell him to?" the governor asked, a visible amount of disbelief encompassing his countenance and voice.

"Why, yes," Schistu replied with a smile. "He believes that it is for the good of our people. Without a leader, the rebels will be defenseless."

The governor soaked in the information a moment before beginning to speak. "Very good, then. I suppose we shall see results after that is taken care of... Is there anything else that I should be aware of?"

"Perhaps..." the Amalgamean drifted off thoughtfully.

"Well, what is it?"

"It may be nothing, but a certain Amalgamean writer seems to have taken the interest of the people."

"Who is it?"

"I do not know," he replied with a wan smile. "All of his writings are anonymous. But he does generally give a concern towards the issue of the mining site... I am attempting to find out who it is, but, otherwise, I have found no problems. The writings have not been extremely aggressive or influential."

"What does his concern seem to be?"

Digra Schistu remained silent in thought for a moment before replying. "I would say the writings are philosophical in nature, and deal mainly with the rights and wrongs of the situation. He does not take sides...considers all positions without prejudism. I would guess that is why the Amalgamean people have not quite taken to him. Not seriously, anyhow. He is not pleading their case completely."

"Then," the governor asked, "what's the problem?"

"I could be wrong, but I detect more intelligence...I would even venture to say even a bit of hidden prejudism...behind the words he puts down on paper. Do not ask me how I detect this...I just know how my people are, how they write, and there is a bit of slant, whether deliberate or not. It might plague us later on, who knows? Yet, like I said earlier, it may be nothing." Digra Schistu became silent and an expectant look crossed his face.

"What else?" the governor said a bit bitterly, as if he knew what it was that Schistu wanted, despite his question that implied otherwise.

"You know what is on my mind," Schistu said, his eyes flickering when he saw the governor take on an obviously disgusted expression at the reading of his thoughts. He turned his face downward to look at a paper lying on his desk, the motion hiding the grin on his face. He looked back up-- his countenance suddenly sober--and continued, "You guaranteed me that today you would define my percentage of gain in this endeavor. I will not send one of my finest followers to his death until I am assured that it is worth my while." Digra Schistu's face darkened noticeably, in a manner that was completely contrasting with the image he had presented during his entire conversation with the governor. The governor seemed to notice the change in the Digra's demeanor and frowned apprehensively. Schistu continued, "Your tone of questioning seems to imply to me, governor, that, deep down, you truly have no intentions of giving me my share."

"Don't get that threatening look with me, Schistu," the governor replied aggressively. "I needn't remind you that I don't have to give you a damn thing."

The Digra rose suddenly from his seat and declared with thin patience, "And I need not remind you that, Governor, neither do I. You know as well as I do that my position in this matter is necessary for successful completion." His eyes burned a bright red. "I am not the easy fool you have taken me for."

The governor rose from his seat as well and bit out, "You may think you've come over as a boy scout, Schistu, but I'm a bit more intelligent than what you've believed, as well." He pointed his finger at Schistu, as if in accusation. "Don't you think I've seen your type in politics before? If you can be sly with your own people and take advantage of their trust, don't you think I know you could do the same thing with me? I'm going to give you your share--don't you doubt that for a second. If I don't, I know you 'll make my life a living Hell! You're a dangerous man, Schistu, because of your intelligence...I know that. And that's precisely why I need your assistance." The governor approached the Digra's desk and spoke in a lower tone. The Digra seemed merely to be tolerating his speech. "But don't you forget...your help isn't absolutely necessary. I could just as easily submit your people to immediate slavery through violence. I've got the troops, I've got the weapons...I've got the upper hand. If forced to, I'll put on my iron glove. I am an equally dangerous man, Schistu."

Schistu laughed. "The H.E.B. will kick you out if they find out what you are up to! The Amalgameans will report you through the Digras...whom, at the moment I have subdued! So you see, it would be unwise to pursue your efforts without my assistance."

"Perhaps... but there are others ways of silencing people. You have said so yourself."

"Yes, there are," the Digra replied in an embittered tone. "And, that, I suppose, leaves us in the midst of what humans call a Catch-22."

"It does."

"And, even though I do want my money, I equally wish that my people remain unharmed. As you wish to get access to the mining site without difficulty." He made what seemed an extreme effort to calm himself. "Now, since our positions have been made clear and the masks thrust aside, let us continue our business. I would prefer forty-five to fifty percent of the outcome. I will need to use some of it to calm those people in my race who are able to be bought."

"I suppose that is reasonable. You have certainly put forth fifty percent of the effort. I will think it over and let you know my decision in an hour." The governor controlled his seething before finally putting an end to the confrontation. "Well," the governor said as he headed towards the door, "if those are the last of your troubles, I am concerned about the sudden interest a Mr. Davis has suddenly found in the problems of the Amalgamean people. As you said about the writer, it may be nothing, but I'd like you to keep an eye on him..."

The governor eventually left the Digra's office and returned to his own. Before he turned into the hallway leading to his study, he approached the receptionist's desk, placed some papers in front of her, and bent down to whisper into her ear, "I want you to send somebody to keep an eye on Digra Schistu. He's getting too high and mighty. And keep an eye on him yourself."

He rose and acknowledged her solemn nod and slanted eyes. With a powerful gait, he then headed back into the direction of his office, smiling broadly.

Dana wandered the halls of the Amalgamean outpost idly, the three merconians she had won pressed into her sweaty palm. They were a reminder of the way her life had taken; instead of three friends by her side, there were three, small pieces of glass in her hand, worth enough to buy her a nice meal at the Crossroads (or the Bull's Eye, as it was affectionately called.)

There was only one place in the entire station she could go to feel as if she belonged. She stopped in front of its doors at the end of her walk and requested entrance.

"Who is there?" a strong, singsong voice asked from behind the door.

"Hey, Shenira. It's me, Dana."

"Come in young one. Do come in."

Dana waited for the door to slide aside and stepped in. Shenira's bluish face shone over the top of her computer terminal as she looked up from her typing. Even though she was no longer gazing at the screen, her hands did not stop for a moment in their constant clicking of plastic keys.

"Hello, Dana," she greeted her young friend with a slight accent that Dana had never been able to place.

"Every time I come to see you, Shenira, you are typing. I've never asked before, but what in heaven's name are you writing?"

"Letters, Dana, letters. Just because I sit in my quarters most of the time and accept visitors without appointment, does not mean that I do not have a job." She smiled and her irises gradually turned from navy blue to orange, an indication of happiness. "What brings you?"

Dana sat in the couch at the side of the room, and the soft cushions enveloped her. "Just to talk."

Shenira glanced at the screen briefly and replied, "That is as good a reason as any I know."

Dana began to finger the tassels on a pillow as she asked, "What do you do, Shenira? I've known you a month, and I still don't really know you."

"Knowing facts doesn't always mean you know somebody. You seem to have taken a liking to me, and all you have to go on is my personality." She stopped typing and looked at Dana. She made vivid hand motions as she spoke. "Let us say I killed someone long ago. I changed my ways and became a humanitarian, but all you knew about me at first was that I had committed murder. You would probably ostracize me for fear of your life. Ah, but let us say you did not know I had committed murder. You might see my kindness and take me into friendship." She went back to typing. "I am a diplomat to the Earth people," she stated with a sudden shift to the original conversation.

Dana laughed at Shenira's strange way of answering questions. She was familiar with her offhand manner of speaking, but the exact approach changed from day to day. "You didn't really kill anyone, now did you?" she said with a chuckle.

Shenira looked at her and laughed herself. "Of course not, gentra."

"Gentra?"

"Well, it means silly in the Earth language." She pulled her long, slender hands away from the keyboard again, and her expression became serious. "What did you really come for, Dana?"

"Oh..." Dana sighed and began again to nervously play with the pillow's tassels. "I just played chess with some boys and won three merconians."

"Such a tragedy," Shenira replied with a humored grin.

"I don't know, I'm just tired of everyone being so stand-offish around me. I don't like to admit it, but I do get lonesome sometimes."

"Ah, I see." Shenira sat up, her atypical tall and slender body seeming moreso as she did. "I was that way when I was young. I still am, but have improved somewhat since my adolescent years. I will not lecture you, but, do examine yourself. You might find that pride is at the root of your problem."

"I respect your advice, Shenira, but I really don't think that's it."

"I can give you no further advice, then. If that is not the problem, I do not know what is. Only you can find it." Shenira paused a moment before continuing her typing. Though Dana did not see it, Shenira was watching her reaction from the corner of her eye. Before the silence could become overwhelming, the door to Shenira's quarters suddenly slid open, jarring Dana, but gaining only a curious glance from Shenira's work at the computer. A young Amalgamean woman rushed in, her ponytail flying behind her and her eyes a bright red. From what Dana could tell, she had been at the mining grounds. She stood in front of Shenira's desk silently and stared with frustration down at the female humanoid, waiting for the tall woman to speak first. As she waited, she brought up one hand to wipe sand from her face.

Shenira glanced at the woman cheerlessly, and then turned to speak to Dana. "Dana, I am sorry, but you must go now. I will speak to you later."

Dana nodded quietly and wonderingly as she rose from the couch and left the room, taking a short look behind at the scene before the door closed after her.

[I see it did not succeed.]

[No. The governor came, first chastising the workers for speaking to us, next chastising us for interrupting the work that they so dearly value.]

Shenira folded her hands in her lap, leaned back in her chair, and sighed. [No, don't be so angry, Karia. That will solve nothing.]

Karia's eyes lit up further. [And do not be so calm! These humans do not understand calm! They only understand anger and desperation!]

[No,] Shenira asserted crisply. [So far, anger and desperation have proven useless.]

[You were not there,] Karia insisted angrily. [You did not see how Lanthra Bhischter was put off. Calm? Yes, he was very calm. Yet, those calm words you printed for him to speak did nothing! Until he yelled....yes, when he yelled one of the drillers began to listen. Then I spoke...]

Shenira's eyes became but a slit. [You spoke? I instructed for only the Lanthra to speak.]

[Ah, but what Earth words does he know? None. The driller demanded to know more, and I told. We are nieve, Shenira. We know so little. The Earth people will trample on us! Do understand...we must make demands! What other way is there?]

[I understand your feelings, Karia, but it is our duty to follow the storytellers, those who have passed on the learnings of our ancestors. Calm is the way... Difficult though it may be, it is the only way we have.]

[No, Shenira, it is our duty to change our ways for our times. Perhaps the sheltered life your father provided you has made you too soft, Shenira.]

Shenira's eye shifted to a light shade of red. [Do not mock my father, Karia, or his planet. Just because I am of mixed blood between Amalgame and Jontri, does not make me any less determined to succeed in our cause. I am just aware of the legacy of our ancestors as you. It surprises me that you, who have lived on Amalgame your entire life, are so eager to part with our ancestors' ways.]

[Our ancestors did not have to encounter the humans, Shenira. But we do. And they are not like us. Coaxing, reasoning do little to affect them. Yes, there are some, like the driller I spoke to today... ]

[There are more, if only you would give them a chance,] Shenira pressed with a sigh.

[You have not involved yourself. We have given them many chances.]

[And we will give them many more.]

[I pray that you learn better,] Karia spat before exiting in the same flurry that she had arrived.

Davis walked into a small bar that had recently been built in the Bull's Eye. It was appropriately entitled "JacSera," or, in Amalgame, "The Meeting Place." He didn't go there often...he didn't know why he had decided to come this night. He had made boredom his excuse for coming, but he wasn't quite sure that even that was his reasoning.

His thoughts fell from his mind like dampening rain as the loud music of the bar filled his ears. Tonight seemed to be an oddly busy evening, especially with the Amalgameans. This is strange, Davis thought, a frown forming on his face. I didn't think the Amalgameans were big drinkers.

As he pushed his way through the crowd, he noticed an empty stool at the bar and sat down, a young Earth girl with chin-length black hair to his left and a heavily overdressed Earth woman with curly red hair to his right. He nodded to a short, quiet Amalgamean man, who promptly came in response. The man was the bartender of the establishment, and, when he saw that Davis was from Earth, he braced himself to speak the standard H.E.B. language. Davis had noticed the man's lack of comfort in speaking H.E.B.L. ever since his first trip to the bar. He wondered why.

"You wish what to drink?"

"Do you have an Earth drink called cappuccino?"

"Yes." The bartender turned abruptly after his reply to get the drink.

The whole atmosphere of the place bothered Davis. He had a gut feeling that something was going on. The Amalgameans had always struck him as being very devoted to religion and the proper practices associated with it, and alcohol was not one of those practices. As a matter of fact, they had argued against the establishment of the bar from the outset.

I never questioned it before, Davis pondered as he stared at his reflection in the bar mirror, but why is the governor making such a hassle over that section of the mining grounds? It seems to me that it might be easier to give up that piece of land and let the issue rest.

"You look awful young to be here on a school night," the woman to his right remarked with a flirtatious smile, causing him to frown irritably at her interruption of his thoughts. "No homework, Doll?" She winked at him seductively, as if offering him some homework to fill the void. Her flattery did not affect him; he knew that he was very obviously a thirty year-old man.

"You know, prostitution is against regulation on this outpost," he remarked with a sober expression as he gazed at the bartender.

"Excuse me?" the woman managed as she choked on her drink.

"There's no need to make excuses," he explained calmly as the bartender handed him his cappuccino. The black-haired girl became suddenly interested in the goings-on next to her. "I advise you," Davis continued relentlessly, "to find your business elsewhere, or I will alert the authorities."

The woman gave no counterattack, but, looking thoroughly disturbed, she took her purse from the bar and made her hurried way out of the building. Davis glanced briefly back at her, stared for some moments into his cappuccino, and suddenly began to chuckle as he raised the cup of frothy coffee to his lips.

"That was interesting. You know, the way you handled that hooker."

The voice that made the statement belonged to the black-haired girl to Davis' left. Her speech surprised him, for she had seemed introverted at his first observation of her. "I despise prostitutes," he replied. "I cannot tolerate false people."

"But you like to come to bars," the girl commented, a smirk playing on her lips.

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't. I'm not even sure why I'm here. As you can see, it's not for the alcohol." He motioned toward his half-full mug of cappuccino. "Now, you seem too young to come on a school night, though. What's your excuse?" he asked conversationally.

"I'm not in school," she replied as her eyes drifted to the Amalgamean group that had begun a takeover of the entire left half of the establishment.

"Too bright for school, huh?"

"Something like that. Too tired of school, more like it. Though, I suppose it's some of the other." Her reply seemed to be placation; Davis was somehow sure that she had probably not gone through a great struggle to graduate at such an early age. Intelligence was reflected in her eyes, however rebellious she seemed, and Davis was immediately taken in by her blunt personality. She turned her eyes back to him and pointed toward the Amalgamean group. "Are you in the government? Watching them or something? I mean, you know, the thing with the hooker and everything made me put two and two together..."

"Oh, God no," Davis said with a roll of his eyes. "I hate everything about the government on this station. I did think it was odd that they were here, though. I wonder what they're up to."

"It's very odd," the girl conferred. "Amalgameans are very religious."

"Oh, by the way, I'm Pierce Davis." Davis proffered his hand and the girl grasped it firmly. "I'm a driller in the sand fields. What's your claim to fame?"

The girl smiled slightly and grunted. "I'm not much for fame, but you can call me Dana."

"It's nice to meet you, Dana."

"Likewise, Mr. Davis."

"Please, call me Pierce."

"I'm sorry, I don't like to get that personal, Mr. Davis. It's too costly."

"Suit yourself."

The green irises of Davis' eyes expanded with the concentration of his thoughts and stare on the group of Amalgameans. The crowd had finally organized into a circle and were beginning a discussion. Images of the day's occurrences flashed through Davis' mind. Was there a connection? He was sure that there was.

Davis slid from the stool and brought his cappuccino with him. Dana turned to watch him and called out above the commotion, "Hey, where are you going?"

"I want to see what they are talking about," he said as he took determined steps toward the group. Dana hopped from her seat and blocked his path. "You obviously aren't quite aware of Amalgamean conventions, Mr. Davis," she said with a sarcastic laugh. "It's not polite to butt into their affairs."

"No, it's not polite," he replied with a bit of irritation, "but what are they going to do to me if I do?"

Dana's expression became grave. "They might hurt you. Your health is a foolish thing to waste, Mr. Davis."

Davis stopped abruptly and gazed into Dana's dark eyes. They seemed to reflect something ominous, but he didn't know whether or not to acknowledge the doom they mirrored. "What do you mean?" he finally asked. "They have always been peaceful."

The black-haired girl's frown deepened, adding several years to her young face. "Do you know what happens to a race, or anyone for that matter, when they give all their kindness, and are constantly taken for granted, Mr. Davis?"

The Amalgamean woman's words echoed in his mind....Why do you not listen?

"They have become disillusioned," Dana continued. "They are frustrated, and someday they will express their frustration. I don't think you want to be the victim of it."

Davis looked somberly at the girl, then at the Amalgameans. Without a word he walked past Dana; this time she gave no resistance. He had not ignored her words, but something told him that he needed to hear their discussion.

He walked to the edge of the crowd; he could hear some of the words spoken by the young man at the center of the group, but he could not understand them--they were all spoken in Amalgame. The most fervent of the people are the young, Davis thought. Even the Earth youngsters seem insistent upon the seriousness of their plight. I wonder if this is all a fight that started as old against old... This group must want the humans to see them, but why be in sight if no one can understand them? Maybe they want everyone to wonder...to be afraid of what they might do. Are they going to start a riot, maybe? Or do they want us to think something like that?

One of the men on the edge of the group turned to face Davis. At the movement of his neighbor, another gazed at the curious Earth man. Soon, Davis found himself walking into the group at the mindless will of his own feet. The Amalgameans were suddenly silent, and did not react to his intrusion with violence as Dana had predicted; only curiosity was seen in their countenances. Suddenly, the speaker of the group called out so that all could hear:

[AK, MAH'SELRAHK!]

Davis almost expected that the statement had been a call to arms and that they were about to pounce on him, but their gazes only became wider with wonder. "Do you understand H.E.B.L.?" Davis asked the man at the center. "What did you say to them?" The tall Amalgamean looked down at the human with an expression of superiority, yet reverence. Davis found himself feeling as if he had suddenly been initiated into some occult organization. "What did you say?" Davis repeated, hoping the young man would understand.

"You are the Listener. You are the Protector," the young man stated matter-of-factly as his moving eyes encompassed his crowd of listeners.

"Who says?" Davis snorted, feeling suddenly sarcastic; a fear had begun to gnaw at the insides of his stomach.

[Met relah denrahk.]

"What does that mean?" Davis demanded.

"You must not know yet...there are things you will learn yet." The man took Davis by the arm and eased him out of the crowd and into a corner. "You must leave here, Pierce Davis. The humans will persecute you if they see you with us."

"You are acting as if I have agreed to engage upon some type of mission," Davis remarked dryly, his voice rising in his overwhelming apprehension.

[Rat welah,] he said as he gazed with deep red eyes into Davis' own terror-stricken eyes. "You have."

"I've made no agreements," Davis replied calmly, yet nervously. He did not like the feeling that these people had put a confidence in him that he had not asked for; the incident at the mines was only a result of his curiosity, not his concern. Yet, despite his unwillingness to hear what the man said, he felt fear gripping him.

"Leave here," the man said again, his eyes changing to a periwinkle color. [Begnu et Rale cera jantera.] He held Davis' shoulders firmly. "You shall see. Now, go."

Davis never took orders blindly, but, once again his feet carried him away without any force of his mind. He began to leave the establishment, laying his cold cappuccino on the bar with a shaking hand. As he walked into the chilled night, across the Bull's Eye and toward his quarters, he could hear Dana's footsteps as she approached him at a steady pace. She stayed at his side in silence for some moments before speaking.

"Do you know what he said before he told you to go?" she asked as she stuck her hands into her pockets.

Davis noticed with a brief glance that she was wearing blue jeans; he hadn't seen those since he left Earth. "No I don't. But I'm curious to know."

"He said, 'The Rale cera knows.'"

"Who the hell is this Rale cera?" Davis blurted. "It has put a sudden cramp on my life."

"I only know the story behind it. I don't actually know what it is...and I'm probably one human who's gotten pretty close to finding out." Dana glanced briefly over her shoulder before looking back at the ground.

"And when he said 'Met relah...den..denruk' or whatever...What does that mean?"

Dana looked up at him with her ominous eyes, the three Amalgamean moons reflected in them. "That, Mr. Davis, means, 'You are the chosen.'"

Shenira entered the large lobby that resided at the center of the Amalgamean living establishments. Most of the Amalgameans could not afford any type of broadcasting system, so the holographic projection device at the center of this room served as the main source of news for most of them. Even those who did own the NewScreens would usually join in watching the news with their people so that they might participate in the discussions that usually followed. Shenira took a sip of the drink she was holding as she approached the somber Karia. Karia still seemed bitter when she saw Shenira , but did not leave when the woman took a seat at her side.

All heads in the room turned as the active holographic projector showed the face of an Earth reporter. [This is a sector-wide transmission,] the man declared in fluid Amalgame. [Digra Milischter died this afternoon while on a diplomatic mission to the Filidgris continent.]

Both women's eyes widened noticeably, and despair lit up both faces, but no sudden reaction was taken by either. Murmurs rippled like waves throughout the room.

[Though reports are yet to be confirmed, it is believed that a mechanism in the transport failed while in flight, causing an explosion. Investigators have found some of the audio-visual equipment that was on board, and suspect that it was an accident. Some Amalgameans have declared that it was preconcepted murder, but, over the hours, confirmation toward the possibility of an accident becomes stronger. Updates will be given.] The man continued with other events, but everyone was too saddened by the first report to notice the others. [A human reporter,] grumbled one man. [It is easy for him to say 'accident.' How much was he paid to say it, I wonder?]

Karia jerked her head about to face Shenira. All of the calm she had mustered for the past few days broke under the weight of the news report. [Do you see?] she declared loud enough for all to hear. [Do you see? What reason is there in that? What reason, what calm do you see? I see none! Murder! You are too soft, Shenira. You probably believe it was an accident, as well. You are wise about the past, but not wise about the present. Do you see?]

Shenira put her hand to her face and rubbed her cheek thoughtfully and dejectedly. She finally spoke. [Yes, Karia, I see. I do not believe it was an accident.] The people in the room became silent to hear her words. The reverence felt for her was obvious... All eyes rested upon her, all voices waited for speech until she had spoken. She shook her head sadly. [He was a great man and a great leader. He loved his people. Such a way to die... such a way to die.... He did not deserve it.] Abruptly, she rose from her seat, nearly two heads taller than Karia. [Yes, Karia, you are right about change.] She began to exit the room. Many seemed compelled to follow, but they knew that she was going to her office. The only words they heard her call out as she left the room were, [But I am not so foolish as to put change aside when the drastic happens.]

Karia followed, unlike the others. As soon as the women were in the haven of Shenira's office, Karia bit out, [It might have been avoided if you had changed earlier.]

Shenira suddenly swung about to face Karia, her eyes blood red and her face wrathful. Karia looked surprised at her reaction. [No, Karia, I am not there to see the humans first hand. Yes, someone out there, some human, is foolish, evil, I know that. I know that many are like that. But I know also that there are decent humans out there, Karia, and I look for hope in that fact. Always remember the prophesied Listener. Never, never choose anger and desperation as you first action, never! Only when you do not see results from peace do you resort to that! If you do, you have lost already! For you are weak and know no civilized means to present yourself if you do. No, Karia, they have shown their weakness by killing the Digra. We are still strong. And, as the humans say, it is now time to fight fire with fire.]

Dana put her hands in the pockets of her jacket as she walked through the Bull's Eye. It had been seven days, and she was still trying to figure out why that woman had stormed into Shenira's quarters the other day. It seemed odd to her that it had happened so close to the discovery of the Digra's death. Was it a coincidence? And why was this Pierce Davis perceived to be so important to the Amalgameans?

She glanced briefly at the small shops and restaurants that lined the circular plaza, and felt the system's star shine warmly on her. As she walked, she got closer to a group of Amalgameans who were crowded about one of the NewScreens. Lately they had been filled with updates on the death of the Digra, so it did not surprise her to see the group of people. Yet, after three days the Amalgameans had calmed somewhat, seeing that the evidence towards an accident got stronger every day. What did surprise her was that the people were shouting angry remarks, about the humans in particular.

As she approached the crowd, thoughts that had been plaguing her began to plague her again. Was Shenira's allusion to murder merely a joke? Did she know something about the Digra's death? Or did the girl who came in the room know something? She was fascinated by Shenira, but there had always been something decidedly suspicious about her, as if she had a secret... Her dodging of questions, her refusal to speak of herself...

Dana pulled the hood of her jacket over her head and pushed through the crowd. She did not want to become the victim of the group's newfound animosity. With some difficulty she got to the computer terminal and read its contents.

As Dana read, something familiar about the writing kindled her brain, but she could not identify it.

She looked around her, and saw many of the people nod their heads, heard some of them make comments in their native tongue, and felt others shove their way angrily out of the crowd. She pushed her way back out herself and began again to circle the Bull's Eye.

Bright red ornaments in a curio shop caught her eye as she entered, her mind still fumbling over the strange sense of familiarity she got when she read the aggressive document.

Dana pulled her hood down and glanced at a table of figurines. As she looked, a person walked along the other side of the table, gazing at the figurines as well. She rose her head to see what was on the other side of the store, and jumped when she finally saw who was standing before her.

"Hi," she blurted with surprise.

A boy faced her, a faint smile hanging from the corner of his mouth. "Looking for a place to spend those three merconians you beat out of me?"

"Well, uh, actually," she looked down at the figurines then up at him, "I spent them already."

He looked out the window at the crowd of Amalgameans. "They're sure upset over that commentary, aren't they?"

"Yes, and I can see why," she replied while staring absentmindedly out of the window herself. "I'm upset over it. I have an Amalgamean friend, and I understand how it affects them."

"I don't know much about it," he said. "I guess I really don't pay much attention."

"You really should..." she said with candor, indicating in her tone that she did not know how to address him.

He supplied her with his name. "Arin."

"Arin," she repeated, not offering her name in return deliberately, but continuing her earlier statement. "It's important to all of us."

"How so?"

"What if they should decide that it was time for them to learn how to build an H-bomb? And, enough to build it, but perhaps use it, even?"

"You have a point." He looked around nervously before continuing the conversation. "Do you think a human did it? You know, kill the Digra?"

"I'm not sure. I know the fields are worth a great deal of money, but I don't understand why the government's making a big fuss over that little bit of land. It seems as if it would be easier to just give it up and keep everyone happy." She headed away, as if her interest in the discussion was dwindling, and went to gaze at another shelf of figurines.

Arin followed her across the room. "If you ask me," he added in an obvious effort to keep the conversation going, "the Amalgameans are overreacting a bit. Not about their religion, but about the death of the Digra. I don't think the government would do something so drastic for land. Anyhow, we have a pretty decent government. Earth government isn't as primitive as it once was. The H.E.B. would never allow something like this to happen. Our representatives are too well selected."

"Perhaps..." Dana said with a great deal of uncertainty in her tone, and expression conveying that she resented continuing the conversation. "But, who said the government did it? I'm sure some of the humans on this outpost are just as disliking of the Amalgameans as the majority of the Amalgameans are to them. They might have plotted it out of spite. Though it does seem a bit unlikely, seeing how well planned it would have been in order to do such a good job of covering up."

"I wouldn't think the Amalgameans would have the ability to write something so aggressive in nature as the document out there. They seem so docile."

Dana picked up an elegant figurine of a tall woman with long hands, and thought of what the boy said. When she put the thought and the picture together, something clicked into place.

"She wrote it," she mumbled quietly to herself.

"Who wrote it?" Arin asked.

She looked up at him, wanting to curse herself for having said her thoughts out loud. "Nothing... If you'll excuse me, I have to go."

He grabbed her wrist as she was turning to leave. "Not so fast. I don't pay much attention to a lot of things, but that was not nothing. Who wrote it?" When she did not answer he seemed to quickly think it over. "Your Amalgamean friend?"

She stared at him with vexation for having grabbed her arm. "Let go of me," she pronounced vehemently and deliberately. She jerked her wrist free of his grasp and turned away without further words. She then walked quickly outside, slamming the door behind her.

After awhile she slowed her pace, being thoroughly dismayed and aggravated when he caught up with her.

"Look, I'm sorry for grabbing your arm."

"Don't be."

"I really am."

"Then leave me alone."

He went in front of her and walked backwards so that he could face her. "You've just gotten my attention."

"A moment ago you didn't seem so sincerely interested in the matter." She scowled at him and walked faster. "Did you get interested when I said something that gave you the possibility of getting a reward?"

"I got interested when you beat me at chess. No one has beaten me before. I'm number one at this outpost, and, if you beat me, I take notice."

She slowed down, but didn't speak.

"How old are you? Do you go to school?"

"I'm nineteen, and, no, I don't," she replied.

"Why not?"

"I don't like it."

"Don't your parents make you go?"

She stopped in her tracks, thoroughly wishing that he would leave her alone. "They can't because they're not here."

"I'm sorry," he replied.

"They're not dead," she clarified, a bit irritably. "They sent me here because of the school, even though I didn't want to go. They said it was to expand my mind. I still expand my mind, but I don't go to school."

"School's not great, but it's not bad either."

"It's all for show. I hate it. I'm intelligent without it." She allowed a cockeyed smile to cross her face when she thought of how nieve he was. "I bet they taught you at school that we have a pretty decent government?"

"Well, yes, but I also gathered it on my own. I used to live on Earth, too. I saw what good it did. Not to mention the fact that my father took part in politics for awhile."

"Well, my father is a politician, and I can tell you, we don't have a pretty decent government, once you get on the inside."

"You seem to know a great deal, despite the fact that you're not living with your father. Did you ever get on the inside personally?"

"I lived on the inside. My father was the dirtiest politician I knew. The best liar in the world. So, I can tell you for a fact that we don't have a pretty decent government."

"Well, he was probably one in a million. I lived in politics when I was a kid, and I never saw a greater bunch of people than the officials at H.E.B."

Dana smiled wanly. Why is he going to such a great deal of effort to continue this conversation? she questioned herself. It's completely obvious that I don't want to talk to him. "Sure," she continued out loud. "They all look that way on the outside. But, let me tell you...I was a curious child (and dangerous, I heard my father once say to one of his cronies) and I hid in places and heard what they talked about behind doors. That's when I found out what my father was really like. It really terrified me when I found out that my father had not only hidden his true identity from the world, but he had succeeded in hiding it from me and my mother, as well." She suddenly realized that she was feeling a bit more comfortable about talking to him. Besides Shenira, she had never held such a long and serious conversation with anyone at the outpost.

"Well, I know what my father was like..." he drifted off. "You know," he said suddenly with a smile, "you're extremely proud. I'm a nice guy, not superficial or anything, and I go to school. I would bet you three merconians that I am happier than you." His smile vanished and he sighed. "Of course, it's not like I haven't had problems. My dad was killed in a war in the Theta sector of the Manie galaxy and my mother had to raise me. We struggled for some time, but now we're doing pretty well. She owns the curio shop we were just in."

"Oh," she replied, feeling a bit sheepish for having directed an insult at his father. "I'm sorry about your father." She turned her gaze to the continuously shifting crowd of angry Amalgameans. She heard a few boos emerge from the group as some humans (who obviously did not understand that the angry comments the Amalgameans were making were directed towards their species) went to see what had been written, as well. She looked back at him and replied, "I'm not always an expert...perhaps your father wasn't like the rest of them."

"Or maybe bad birds flock together and you just happened to only hear their bad tunes."

"Maybe," she replied, again sounding as if she was still attached to her beliefs and again wishing that he would leave her alone. Though Arin seemed to possess an attractive boldness, he also appeared to be just like the rest of the galaxy, assuming that he knew better than she did about what was good for her; she had been summed up and calculated within the first examination. People rarely went past the surface. Yet, she had spoken to him longer than she had anyone of her own age in years...

He looked at his watch and grimaced. "I've gotta go. It was nice talking to you..."

She pretended not to recognize his attempt to get her name.

He saw this, but only smiled and prompted further. "And your name is...?"

"Dana," she answered with a solemn expression, but suddenly smiling inwardly at his tenacity and outgoing personality.

"Dana," he repeated, as if putting it to memory. "I'll see you later."

"Sure," she answered as he ran back towards the shop.

"Now," she said to herself, "it is time to see if I am right about Shenira."