The next morning, the transport halted. Brian waited for the rattle of fresh water and food but, after several minutes, realized that everyone else had collected their belongings and stood in loose groups. The gang that had camped around Cyn was the largest, more than half of the warriors had formed ranks with her.
    Arish asked, "Where should I put the boys, Baycoo?" Brian glanced at Cyn who was tightening her belts and staring down two other leaders. The third, Conan, wouldn't even look in her direction.
    Brian saw Kennan taking a visual account of his archers, and Terrell gathering a couple of men to him - slim wiry ones who carried paired daggers and whip-thin swords that were as lithe as their owners. Another man, Brian thought his name was Greg, was surrounded by warriors wielding huge weapons - double-bladed axes, bristled maces, and broadswords that required both arms to lift and swing. Arish had ten men waiting for him all armed, as Cyn (and himself) were, with a sword and dagger.
    "Why ask me?" Brian said.
    Arish tugged on his mustache and said, chinning his inference, "You're at'er back, aye?"
    Brian looked at Cyn again. "Her back?"
    "Her second, ex-oh, nick, ell-tee, her deputy," the big bald man said. In his eyes, Brian saw a flicker of doubt. Doubt, undoubtedly, was a bad thing because Arish's hand strayed toward his dagger slowly but resolutely, as the thought of possibly ousting Brian as Cyn's second formed.
    In that instant, Brian made his choice and took the job, before Arish claimed it by assassination. "Yeah, I'm that. I meant... What are they going to be good for, anyway?"
    Arish, hand rerouted innocently to rest on his belt, withdrew his momentary mutiny and said, "Who knows?"
    Brian looked the boys over. "They're kinda small but they'll grow, I guess. Give the twins to Kennen, and the skinny one to Terrell. Keep the other three with you, for now. 'Til Cade decides where they fit in this cadre."
    Arish grunted and went to sort the teenagers into their respective - regiments? As if Brian had every right to decide. The Samaritan gave him an appraising once over then turned to listen to Greg's 'One for the Gipper' spiel.
    Cade had established dominance over the smallest of the independent groups, and that leader and his four men melted into Cyn's warriors without a stir. The other captain acquiesced just as a squeal heralded the hatch doors being unbarred. His band, however, retained its identity and swelled the Cadre with a separate regiment. Kennen caught Brian's eye and pointed at the newcomers.
    "Later," Brian mouthed and the archer slapped his crossbow. Whatever that meant. Feeling as if he'd been dumped into a role without a script reading, Brian realized that, though the warriors would look to Cyn for leadership, they all looked to him for direction and he wondered - not for the last time - how the fuck that had happened.

    The sun blinded him as he stumbled over the hatch. The knobby tread on the bottom of his running shoes, perfect for concrete sidewalks and asphalt roadways, dipped into the uneven and rough-hewed surface of the ramp, which had been designed for other footwear. He bumped against some barricade and, snagged by the too-efficient traction on his soles, fell.
    Ribald laughter and ungentle kicks from the men he tumbled under accompanied his descent from the cattle car. His momentum carried him off the ramp and he landed face-first in an inch of sand. Rolling over and spitting dirt from his lips, Brian opened his eyes as a shadow covered his face.
    Cyn stood over him, speculation in her eyes and with her dagger half pulled. He had botched some test of worthiness and, reading her direct implacable gaze as his sentence, he knew that such early failure meant death in this roughshod world. Like a horse with a broken leg, she'd put him down rather than spend the incredible effort needed to fix his status - and hers - among the troops.
    Letting her dispassion anesthetize him, he accepted the judgment. A figure loomed behind her and Brian caught the sheen of metal. With a move dimly remembered from high-school gymnastics, he kicked his legs, gained his feet in a snap, and drew his blades. Later, he'd remembered how startled Cyn had been by his sudden action and would cherish the rarity of surprising her in battle - but he never said a thing. She really hated to be laughed at and was, as far as he could tell, always PMS-ing.
    Every moment lengthened, and every movement seemed discretely frozen as if caught in the flash of a strobe light. In the one-two-three trick that the barber had taught him, Brian swung his dagger up from his side, past Cade's shoulder, diverting the downward arc of Conan's sword. In the 'Two' he thrust his arm forward and felt his sword enter flesh as a pause, a give, and then a smooth through. And then the 'Three', a slice to pull his weapon up and out of his adversary, inflicting more damage with the edge than the point.
    Peripherally, Brian noted that Cyn, after whirling toward the attack, had reversed her dagger, cocked her arm and thrown it beyond Conan. Judging by the straggled gurgle, she'd hit her target. A moment later, Piter writhed on the ground and clutched at his throat, his fingers dripping from self-inflicted cuts as he attempted to pull the knife from the tough cartilage. Finally he succeeded. He burped a bubble of blood, spat and wheezed with a liquid pop spattering crimson-stained saliva. A weak cough failed to clear his lungs. The slurping sounds slowed with each breath growing more labored.
    Brian focused his attention on his own opponent who still stood upright. Conan gasped repeatedly, and his eyes widened as they strayed to the stump at his shoulder and the bright orange-red blood pumping from the neatly severed arteries. He looked at his detached arm lying on the blood-muddied ground with its disembodied hand twitching around the hilt of his long sword. Conan opened his mouth in protest, but only "buh, buh, buh," escaped through the slack lips. Then he sighed and dropped to his knees before tilting over. He died with a mildly surprised expression on his face.
    Centered in the alien chip in his neck, but spreading rapidly, euphoria pulsed through Brian's body. A nanosecond of pure bliss. An orgasm of the mind. 'Ah shit,' he thought as the ecstasy passed. He could get used to that rush. Now he knew how the Lords encouraged the killing.
    Beside him, Cyn drew a ragged breath and he knew she'd gotten rushed, too. Even based on their short acquaintance, he'd bet she hated the loss of self-control more than the reward was worth.
    Only when she was composed did he glance at her. For a long moment, she didn't say anything. Then she spat in the dirt and gestured to her comrades. "They ready?"
    Brian checked each of the captains for a nod before replying, "Ay-ese, Cade's Cadre is ready." He wiped his blade, as he'd seen her do, on the tail of his tee shirt and sheathed his sword. "Aw, fuck." He held out his hand to reveal a paper fine cut across the palm. That sword was damned sharp.
    Cyn snorted, shook her head, and then took command of the entire band as if Conan and his friend had never stood in her way. Brian gripped his fist tightly, holding the cut closed. Later there would be time for the medic to see to the wound. For the moment, he was just glad to be alive and thankful that Conan had intervened in the execution, giving Brian a chance to redeem himself in Cade's estimation.

    Though given no orders by anyone that Brian could see, Cade's Cadre - and the teams formed in the other cars during the journey - followed a trail from the railhead to a lane, which became a road as other lanes joined with or bisected it. The road, narrower than any he'd ever traveled, paralleled a pristine beach, sometimes rocky and other times white-sanded. The waves, far smaller than those to which Brian was accustomed in his California, lapped in cross-patterns against the shoreline. A steady sea breeze cooled the march during the hot afternoon. In the dusk, however, the wind chilled his arms and legs. He envied the other soldiers the layers of cloth and leather that shielded their skins.
    At nightfall, the companies fell out and found sheltered hollows in the dunes. At regular intervals along the beach, men gathered driftwood and brush to build tiny fires within the boundaries of each separate campsite. Cyn disappeared for a while, coming back long after Arish and the other captains had organized duties in the Cadre's bivouac. She approached the fire where Brian squatted. One by one, as if each had been awaiting her return, her captains gathered around her.
    "We true?" Arish asked.
    "Ay-ese," she murmured. "The others agree." She tilted her chin toward the other campfires. "The drawing is thataway." She poked a thumb in the direction of the day's journey. Brian stood and faced that course and felt a wrenching sensation in his gut.
    Arish chuckled. "No doubt the ell-tee can feel the tug."
    "What is that?" Brian asked, sitting down among the others. He nestled down behind a partly buried log where the wind didn't buffet him.
    "The Tug. The Draw. We all feel it pulling to where the Lords want us to go," Greg told him in a gruff voice. "If you fight it for long, they send punishment."
    Uncomfortable still, Brian fidgeted until Kennen nudged him and pointed in the direction of the Drawing, whispering, "Feet toward the Tug." That settled his unease and Brian nodded his thanks, noticing everyone, except Cyn, had done the same.
    "Nice decoy today," Terrell said. "Conan needed deaded, and you two scammed him total." Brian glanced at the captains' faces and knew that none of them believed he had fallen on purpose but had decided to give him a face-saving. Not until much later and until he'd proven himself again, did it occur to him that the others had preserved their own dignity as much as his. By concocting the story about his baiting Conan into a premature action against Cade, they could explain to their subordinates why they followed the newbie ell-tee.
    "Where are we going?" Brian asked Cyn, who hadn't contradicted the gesture - or maybe hadn't heard the comment. She sat in the sand, staring at the black lines that were the incoming waves as they rushed the beach and shattered on the sand.
    She shrugged. "Another camp. Another call to arms. Another battle." She rocked to her feet. "That's all we have left." She rolled her shoulders and retreated into the deeper foliage, where she lay down with her back to her comrades.
    As if that were a signal, the meeting broke up and each sought solitary beds in the soft fragrant grass. Brian stayed near the fire where he could see Cyn's silhouette.
    He awoke cold and stiff, but the rapid march warmed him.
    By midday, he was as hungry as he'd ever been and, after a particularly audible stomach gurgle, commented aloud.
    Kennen chuckled. "Why do you think we're moving double-time?"
    Brian asked, "There's food wherever we're going?"
    The archer captain nodded. "Base Camp." Sarcasm coated his words and revealed a deep self-loathing for the anticipation they all felt. "Food, yes. Tents and cots. Baths. And women. Everything a condemned warrior could want."

    Brian had kept the Cadre grouped until Kennen asked him, "Where do you think they'd run off to?" and, conceding to the logic, he allowed everyone to set their own pace. The 'lost boys' had posse up again and either loped ahead or dawdled to make forays into the surf. In watching them, carefree despite the weird circumstances, Brian identified the roots of a growing mystery.
    Brian, released from his unnecessary shepherding duty, had time to observe and marvel at the world into which he'd been catapulted. The sky, sponged with high gauze clouds, gradated from pale aquamarine to deep azure passing through shades of blue that he was certain had never been named or imagined. The breeze, tangy with brine, had another flavor - wholesome if unidentifiable. He thought, maybe, it was the way air should taste. Nothing but the horizon interrupted his vision. Every landmark appeared sharp and clear with no smog obscured outlines.
    The previous night, before sleep overcame him, he had watched the stars twinkle against a sky darker than any he'd seen. No glow escaped from windows, no flare of headlights cut the night, and no airplane beacons pulsed above. No distant hum of cars, no wafting scent of garbage, no thrum of party music disturbed the silence. The gentle waves didn't crash on the sand; instead they caressed the shore with a swoosh of silk on leather. He heard the soft murmur of male voices, an occasional snort or cough, or a muffled laugh but those sounds died out as the heavens spiraled around a star far brighter than the North Star of his scouting youth. In the otherwise stately reel, he identified Mars throbbing with eternal anger and another planet, though he didn't know which one, by their stubborn immobility and uncompromising radiance.

    Strangely, in spite of being kidnapped and tagged, though bruised and battered, and ignoring the immediate discomfort of thirst and hunger, he felt good.
    The sun lighted everything with a golden wash, and the shadows had edges as keen as his sword blade. Even after he grew accustomed to the pristine qualities of the air and water, some movement on the ocean's surface or bird wheeling above would remind him anew. Some of his comrades wore expressions of satisfaction and he wondered if they were experiencing the same feeling of well-being. Others tromped along, eyes glazed over with disinterest but not discontentment.
    Civilian traffic on the road had picked up. An assortment of odd vehicles passed the soldiers whose lines had strung out during the day. Wagons mostly. Horses or buffalo-looking shaggy necked oxen drew a few, some were mere handcarts pulled by their owners, and most were powered by nothing that Brian could identify. Whatever the means of propulsion, the passengers - as human as he was - spared only momentary glances at the plodding conscripts, though a few dipped a chin or smiled as a greeting.
    Somehow the smiles and nods seemed sinister. Brian avoided meeting their eyes, though he couldn't figure out what spooked him about their friendliness. He preferred looking at the ocean, the sky, or even the pink-shelled roadbed to observing the locals, though in the past he'd always liked people watching. Studying any single Atvarian too long sent a willy-shiver through his flesh. Creepy-ish made creepier because he was unable to identify anything specifically disturbing about them.
    Not returning their pleasantries without an acknowledgment seemed impolite, but he couldn't. Brian felt a little better when he noticed that none of the other warriors did either and that the Atvarians didn't apparently expect any reply.
    Atop one rise, stood a wind-sculpted boulder. From the ocean side, small rocks had tumbled down the hill and fanned out in pebbles across the gravelly beach. Cade sat in a stone pocket on the seaward side, cross-legged. Loose strands of hair fluttered a banner of gold that caught on the grainy surface, or whipped across her face unheeded as she basked. Unguarded and at ease and despite the pile of weapons beside her, she looked like any girl taking an afternoon hooky at the beach.
    Brian thought of a question to ask, and clambered up the pitted boulder. He heard the rattle of metal and said, "It's me, Cade." He got to the top in time to see her sheath her dagger.
    "Don't sneaky-pete up on me," she said, without heat in her tone and closing her eyes. He wiped the skree off his knees and sat down in his own cleft of granite.
    "Got a question," Brian said.
    She tilted her head. "You think I have any answers?"
    "I thought, since you've been here awhile..."
    "That I have." Cyn twisted her braid in one fist and sniffed her hair. "I smell like a oinker."
    Brian snickered. "We all do."
    "Ay-ese, but you'll get a bathtub and I'll have to make do."
    "Why?"
    She untied the thong and combed out her hair. Though slick with grime and crinkled from the braiding, she had pretty hair. More than one actress he'd known would have paid any sum to achieve the highlights she'd gotten naturally or by extensive exposure to the sun's lightening rays. With sure fingers and firm wrists, Cade gathered the loose strands and confined them within another thick plait. A routine activity for her, he judged by the quick and tidy results, but wondered if she knew how arching her back accentuated her bosom.
    "They won't have a place for me and I will not beg."
    By a place, Brian realized, she meant privacy. Prickly her would never ask their captors for anything, though she obviously accepted what was openly given, like the food and water in the transport. He longed for a bath and would welcome even a communal one but, considering Cade's overdeveloped sense of modesty, she wouldn't undress or be nude in public for any reason.
    He nodded, storing the mental image of her naked for later, and asked, "How long have you been here?"
    She stretched, yawned, and then tightened the laces on her moccasin-like boots. Checking the placement of the smaller knife tucked within the lining, Cyn tucked her feet beneath her. She stood up and balanced precariously on the edge of her shelf. "Forever. I think I died and this is hell."
    Brian got slowly to his feet and reached out in the direction of her vest. "Don't fall," he said, trying to sound calm. "Cade's Cadre needs you."
    She glanced back at the road. "Nah, they don't."
    "I need you, then. I'm clueless and everyone knows it. I'll be dead in a month without you to show me the important shit." He held out his sword-sliced hand far enough for her to see. Grasping his fingers, she turned toward him. She looked into his palm like a fortuneteller, traced a line causing him to shiver, and shook her head.
    "Not a month. A week." The corner of her lips twitched.
    "Come on. Didn't I get Conan?" Brian said, laughingly indignant, but wondering why killing anyone, even an asshole like Conan, didn't bother him more.
    "Luck. And he was aiming at me." She stepped away from the edge and Brian sighed aloud. "I wasn't going to jump." Cade shot a glance at him and he shrugged.
    "Of course not," he said, while thinking, 'like hell you weren't'.
    Carelessly, as if she really wouldn't have minded falling, Cade tripped lightly down the boulder to the dune. Brian followed more slowly, conscious of the jagged drop to the rocky beach below.
    "You're wrong," he said, risking her ire for the possible laugh and waiting for the question to form on her face. "This isn't hell. I feel too good."
    No laugh, but she did smile. Half a victory. "I know. Weird, ay-ese? It's hard to hate such a beautiful place."