The southern icecap collapsed one evening as the sun went down on Nova's little island. Within days, the temperature in the northern forests had dropped below freezing. The villagers burned whatever material they could find.
    The fern-trees burned too quickly to be of more than momentary comfort. Nova watched impotently as the old ones and babies died. The stronger ones - those with little regard for the fate of their fellow Guaganides - seized control, reserving goods and supplies for an inner cadre. Even the healthier people could not survive without the cooperation of the whole. When Fay succumbed, she sought out Jemma.

    Nova found the Protector at the aerie palace. Jemma sat in the middle of the dais. The pillars had been heated and made the area toasty warm. That the Velorian reveled in comfort while her people suffered came as no surprise to the Guardian.
    "They are dying."
    "I know."
    "Save them."
    "How?"
    "I don't know."
    "Yes. Every time the icecap collapses, I wonder what else I could have done differently."
    Nova stopped. Every time? Were these winters cyclic?
    "But you do nothing, now, when they need you."
    "What should I do? Carry them all to shelter, and feed them until the winter ends? How does that fit in with your Enlighted rule of non-interference?"
    "They are hungry and cold. They need a leader, someone strong and sure to show them a new way to survive and to…" Nova paused. "They await a hero."
    "Yes." Jemma lay back on the dais and closed her eyes. "So do I."
    "You're waiting for a hero?"
    "Yes."
    Nova made an impatient noise. "You need a hero?"
    "No, but he - or she - will need me."
    "You'll help them if they come here and ask?"
    "No."
    Getting information from the Protector was like putting out a forest fire with a spoon and cup, Nova thought, and turned to leave. Jemma's next words froze her into a pillar as still as the ones of stone.
    "They have many P1 alleles, you know."
    Nova's mind worked furiously. "These aren't palaces, they're temples."
    Jemma nodded.
    "If they can reach one, they are worthy of being heroes?"
    The Protector shrugged. "They come and leave stronger."
    "You can transmit the retrovirus?"
    An infinitesimal nod. "They return to their villages and lead. Have you listened to their legend songs?"
    Nova had, but had never made the connection between the heroes in the songs and the attributes of a partial P1 enhancement.
    "So you'll wait and hope someone finds you in your cozy den. I prefer to take action. The southern continent is warmer." Tossing her chin defiantly, the Guardian turned to leave.
    A sharp glance from the usually languid eyes stopped the girl in mid-stride. "You'll save them as if they are your pets. They are not."
    Where did assistance or protection end and interference or interdiction begin? Her innate sense confirmed that Jemma was correct. Defeated, Nova walked toward the edge.
    Softly enough to be ignored, Jemma whispered, "Sunchild? I know that a hero will come in time but, for your own peace of mind, bring hardwood from the south for their fires. It burns hotter and longer."

    A hero named Mez-tra-valin-tor-calt appeared. She had sought out the Golden Goddess wanting explanations of why her mate, children and children's children had to die. She had found the Goddess, no answers, and a new purpose.
    Her tremendous strength proclaimed the goddess's sanction of her right to lead the people. She gathered the Gauganides into a loose confederation and defeated the pantheon of warlords who had taken control after the disaster. The winter lasted ten years but the climate never recovered. The fern-forest had died and the animals with it. Life was difficult, hand to mouth. Under her guidance new ways of surviving were found, most having to do with the ocean and fishing. After that innovation, no one starved.
    The leader recited an ancient epic (Nova wondered how much had been suggested by Jemma during Mez's time with her goddess) in which the people followed the pearls of the sea to a new land. The people crafted reed boats and, when they discovered the southern continent, Mez ordered a mass migration. The islands became oases in the quest. The inexperienced mariners learned that the piscinates were friendly and would happily drag the ungainly boats to the next island, and onward to the strange new world foretold by the words of a long-dead poet.
    That land was not much like the one they remembered from the time before the snows, but not so very different either. As if to bless their new home, a mountain appeared overnight and the pebbles of its slopes were considered holy.
    Her enhancement had given her extra years but no one, not even the Galens, were immortal. Songs were sung for Mez-tra-valin-tor-calt at her passing, decades later. Nova listened from her vantage point in the darkness of the forest. A lifetime had passed since they, both far more innocent, had exchanged a momentary glance, but the Guardian cried as if it had been yesterday.
    Had Mez found any comfort in her new abilities and expanded lifespan? Or simply an additional burden? Nova knew her answer to that question. But, as the native woman had no doubt discovered, once the yoke of responsibility is received there is no casting it aside.

    Jemma kept her distance, accepting silence censure without clarification or argument. At times, the younger Velorian wished that she would explain or ask forgiveness because, in the solitude between Ben's visits, Nova longed for company.
    The northern continent lay empty. Vast tracks were barren where the Gauginides, in the attempt to survive, had burned every form of vegetation. Nova watched for signs of recovery, grew bored and impatient with the sluggish reforestation, and began transplanting saplings from the southern lands. She collected seeds and bulbs, pods and fruits. Some failed, some flourished, but the real incentive was when an entire cycle passed and everything survived to self-germinate.
    Hectare by hectare, Nova labored, finding a pastime both worthy and rewarding. Maybe she was interfering in the ecology of her guardianship but, if Jemma's prediction of future ice ages were true, this northern area would be ready for the return of the people. There was no authority high enough, except the Galens themselves, who could persuade her that preparation for such a possibility was in violation of her duty.
    When not gardening on a global scale, Nova examined the icecaps, wondering if she could prevent further catastrophes by careful management of their size and balance. In that endeavor, more than any other, she wished for Jemma's counsel. The Protector had been on world for so long - surely, she had noticed the precursor warning signs heralding the impending disaster. Had she already tried trimming the icecaps? Had it worked, or had some other horrible happening come of the attempt?

    Nova knew that she was looking for excuses to consult with the Protector. The hero had come in time, as Jemma had known she would. The Gauginides were fiercely self-sufficient. One of them had to lead, not a goddess - however revered. How many times and in how many ways had the older Velorian had to watch her people die? Perhaps, by years of trial and error, she had learned the lesson of patience.

    On one of her frequent trips to monitor the northern icecap, Nova realized why Jemma didn't interfere with the growth. The Guardian had kept up her piscinate acquaintances, or their descendants, and swam with them regularly. During a high-speed ride in a kelp forest, she'd noticed eddies of cooler water refreshing the warm brine. The fishy-creatures congregated at the margins of the less salty areas. When she followed one, a chillier stream led her to the edge of the rapidly expanding glacier.

    The aquatic ecology depended on ocean currents to survive. Without the imbalance in temperatures and salinity between the hemispheres, the currents would cease and the water would stagnate. There were no volcanoes or seismic activity to churn the depths with magma. There were no trenches on this ancient planet with her flat sandy-bottomed seas to cause uneven cooling - only the polar ice and its cyclic breakage. Not every floe that fell free caused the extended winter but the recurring major event - while devastating to the land creatures - was absolutely necessary for the health of Gaugan's oceans and the species that lived there. With equilibrium came death, but - as in every situation Nova had ever encountered - change, although uncomfortable, unpleasant, or downright dangerous, was the harbinger of life.

    So she did nothing to slow the natural progression of the ice that would eventually give way causing a planetary shrug and another global winter. She concentrated on the hardwoods and made mighty forests of them in the north. They did, after all, burn longer and with more warmth than the fern-trees. Jemma had been right about that too.

    At first Nova dismissed the tremors as passion caused by her dream lover. The next series opened her eyes, brought her to the window, gazing for storm clouds outside. Ben, streaking through the atmosphere and landing hard on her porch, made her smile but the horror on his face swept it away, like leaves before a hurricane.
    "Arions?" she whispered, not needing his nod to know. She studied the heavens. Her life, to this point, had been spent preparing for this point. Fear and excitement - and guilt for both - melted the steel of her legs.
    "A whole battalion, I think. I tried to sneak in, but they saw me." Nova waited, Ben's mouth moved in a litany of self-deprecation.
    "So, they saw you."
    "Messenger coming in means only one thing, Sunny," he said, through tight lips.
    The Arions would know that a Messenger didn't visit planets for the climate. Any element of surprise had evaporated when he hadn't just stayed anonymously outside their blockade. A battalion... How many troops? How many weapons? How many fighter ships with on-world flight capacity? The answers to those questions paled when the whole picture hit her. Stars! How many Primes?
    Jemma's voice slid like a cool hand on the heat of Nova's fear. "They know the planet has a Protector," She accepted a hug from the Messenger, but her eyes stayed with the other woman. "What they don't know is that we also have a Guardian who knows which rules to break and when."
    "And a Messenger willing to..."
    "No..." said Nova.
    "No..." said Jemma, at the same time. Nova let Jemma continue the thought. Gaugan was hers, after all. "So far, the Arions have accepted Messengers as non-combatants and not killed one outright one, even when captured." Stories of how the female Primes entertained themselves on the bodies of male Velorian detainees were the meat of many rumors but, in every case, the hostage had been released by diplomatic means. "You can't alter the rules - at least until they fire on you."
    Jemma caressed his face and Nova realized that the older woman was fond of the Messenger and worried about him. "Go Ben. Get through the ships and warn Velor. That's all you can do here."

    The Messenger shook his head and Nova mistook his gesture for rebellion until he, giving the Protector ample time to evade his intent, kissed Jemma, long and lingeringly. She stood motionless, eyes wide and startled, accepting his lips as a statue might. Ben whispered, "Not all, Goddess. I might be good for one other purpose."
    Judging from the tender gestures that followed, Nova concluded that, despite the usual relationship between a Protector and her Messenger, Jemma and Ben were strangers to intimacy with each other. She had never considered that they weren't lovers, that Ben's obvious worship went unrequited, or that Jemma had spent those uncounted years in self-inflicted celibacy.
    The Messenger nested her chin in warm fingers, murmuring something reverent against her mouth. Slipping his hands into the silky mass of curls and tilting her face toward the heavens, Ben nuzzled into the hollow at the base of her throat.

    Nova watched breathlessly, feeling every brush of his firm lips from the memory of a myriad encounters since he'd escorted her to Gaugan. Once, briefly, his eyes met hers over Jemma's bronzed shoulder. He neither invited nor apologized in that look. He had judged her, taken account of her well-being and found nothing in her attitude that warranted changing his methods.
    Poor Ben. Balancing the needs of two Velorian warriors on a single sword. Nova giggled softly as the full meaning of her unintended double entendre settled in her mind.
    Like an echo and in spite of the Arion threat orbiting above, Jemma chuckled as his hands lifted the old tarparl hide covering her breasts, and stroked the supple silky skin. No, not a laugh, she had groaned, Nova decided, when another followed. Ben's caresses stimulated her dormant tissues, which swelled beneath the tawny reptilian leather. The thongs creaked, stretching to breaking.
    As the Guardian watched, Jemma's physique transformed from softly rounded to tautly muscular but still curvaceous - from kitten to tiger - as the Messenger stroked, kissed, and whispered his admiration for the first of his goddesses.

    Nova wondered how Jemma could murmur those quiet yes-es with her lips sealed by Ben's then recognized her own voice as the source. Giving in to an impulse, unsure whether she would be welcomed or rebuffed, the younger Velorinna reached out, slipping her fingers beneath his, kneading the impossibly velvet skin and tightly budded nipple. The already firm yet yielding tissue jumped at the touch of a cooler hand, then hardened further until, even with her greater strength, Nova could not cause a furrow or dimple.
    Ben transferred a kiss to her, letting Nova share Jemma's lips. The Protector demurred slightly, but the glib-tongued Messenger brushed her earlobes with sighed reassurance and her objections became nonverbal moans.
    Fingers basketed Nova's breasts, drawing the tips to points. Ben's hands, Nova realized... Jemma's were balled fists, arms held stiffly at her sides. She accepted their touches but offered none in return.
    Nova forgot her observation as the Messenger continued mapping her body, following curves until each muscle mass had engorged and her breasts were as dense with the power of passion as Jemma's. His chest warmed her shoulder, and his breath swept the tender skin of her neck. Her pheromones and Jemma's mingled, filling the space between the three with a sweetly arousing scent.
    Though she'd never intentionally directed the flow before, Nova found the knowledge of the process innate. Her energy levels climaxed but, as training dictated, her body did not. Every fiber of her joined every other, working as designed to create near invulnerability and acting exponentially on her strength. Muscles, always stronger than average, flattened, filled, and fused. Oddly, though logic told her one thing, her senses lied. Her increased acuity made her feel exposed, not impervious and more naked than she had ever felt - even while nude.
    Abruptly, the silvery-haired Velorian threw up her hands, warding off any further trespass. "Enough."
    The Arions, Nova remembered (though she'd never really forgotten the threat, it had become distant for a time).
    Jemma tapped Ben's smile with her fingertips and ordered, "You. Go." The transformed Protector turned toward Nova and crooked the same fingers, and said, "You. Come. Time to dance on our strings to the puppeteers' tune."
    A frown crossed Ben's face, mirroring the one Nova felt as a shadow on her loyalties. Jemma smirked. "I dance well, my dear ones, and I like the music."

    'Wait,' Jemma had commanded and left Nova in the aerie temple. When all the landers had made planetfall, and Ben had broken away from the mêlée to notify Velor, and Jemma had warned the Gauganides about the invasion, only then was Nova to burst out of concealment and bust the keels of every interstellar vessel in orbit.
    Then she would be free to join the brawl planet side - after taking a quick dip in the sun's corona to recuperate from the rigors of fighting in a vacuum. Nova thought the Protector was being overcautious - twelve ships wouldn't deplete a Guardian even greener than her - but Jemma insisted and Nova promised.
    The sounds of battle broke out, though at who the Arions could be shooting on the northern continent was a mystery to her. A few more landers appeared in sky and Nova sighed, settling to wait a bit longer.

    Into battle with a mad Protector as her commander...

    Which one was madder?
    The one who led?

    Or was it the one who followed?