To Andre Norton, for writing Star Rangers, a.k.a. Last Planet, but not the sequel I felt it desperately needed, and for not being mad at me for threatening her, as she stood among the lovely flowers in her front yard, that I'd do it myself.

To Jean Airey for hours spent on my back porch enthusing about Doctor Who until I lit up, too.

To Judy Bemis and the many fans who've gone out of their way to show me tapes of Doctor Who. You may not see the derivation of Jindigar from The Doctor, or you may feel it's spoiled by the admixture with Star Rangers, but to me, it seems Zacathans and Time Lords share the same Tailored Effects with Dushau.

To Don, Elsie and Betsy—for the spark that lit the conflagration (and for a lovely breakfast at Chicon IV).

To Marion Zimmer Bradley, for introducing me to Russ Galen.

To Russ Galen, for temerity, perspicacity, and audacity, as well as finesse.

To Nansey Neiman, for sheer nerve.

Here must be mentioned those who contributed actively to the preparation of this book.

Katie Filipowicz, editor of Zeor Forum, one of the fanzines devoted to my Sime~Gen universe, and creator of the Sime~Gen chronology published in the Playboy paperback edition of First Channel, made Stephen Kimmel's world-building program work on my computer. She also acquired for me several Ravi Shankar records on which I've based my concept of Dushau music. All this in addition to customizing Wordstar so I could learn the darn thing! She's one of those "without whom..."

Jean Lorrah, my sometimes collaborator and now independent author in my Sime~Gen universe, suffered through the rough draft of Dushau despite her own crushing schedule to produce two books—her first independent Sime~Gen, Ambrov Keon, and her first professional star TREK, The Vulcan Academy Murders–from scratch within 8 months. She showed herself to be a true friend and a magnificent critic.

Anne Pinzow, Executive Editor of Ambrov Zeor, the oldest of the Sime~Gen fanzines, and Roberta Mendelson, of many talents, Gail Lichtenberg and Susan DeGuardiola, all read and reacted to the rough draft.

There is no way to thank such people except to pray the finished product justifies their investment of self.

Further information about any or all of the above, or about forthcoming Dushau, Sime~Gen or Kren novels or 'zines is available by sending a self-addressed stamped envelope with your request to:

Ambrov Zeor

Dept. D.

P.O.B. 290

Monsey, N.Y. 10952

THE KAMMINTH OLIAT HAS RETURNED, AND IS SCHEDULED TO RECEIVE COLONIZABLE PLANET DISCOVERY HONORS. IN THE NAME OF EMPEROR RANTAN, ALL SURVEY BASE PERSONNEL ARE COMMANDED TO ATTEND THE AFTERNOON AUDIENCE.

The words crawled onto Krinata Zavaronne's desk screen and refused to be banished: an imperial command.

She swore. As a programming ecologist she was "Survey Base Personnel." The new Emperor would not allow her to put duty above protocol, even though with the food riots and threats of whole species seceding from the Allegiancy Empire, her work was more critical than ever. The Emperor obviously hoped pomp and ceremony would whip up a sentimental loyalty to carry them over the crises. But Krinata knew this was the worst possible time for her department to delay putting new planets on the open market. When the throne was vacant, I got things done faster.

In the privacy of her office, she squirmed into the formal red taffeta tunic. It fit tightly down the arms while blousing above her knees and made her feel silly.

It's a mistake, that's all. She was Kamminth's debriefing officer; she should have been asked before this useless ceremony was scheduled.

She'd have said, "No. Absolutely not!" And that would have been the end of it. Exposing the seven members of an Oliat to a public ceremony before they'd been debriefed and dissolved the peculiar psychic bond among them was nothing short of public torture.

She'd failed one of her Oliat teams by assuming everything would return to normal now that they had an Emperor again, so it was up to her to do something about it. As she draped the black sash around her waist, then up over her shoulder and fastened it to show the three linked circles of her family crest, she bent over her screen and punched up Finemar, the infirmary's Sentient computer. The Emperor's command remained overlaid on the screen.

Finemar projected himself onto her screen as a Lehiroh male—the Emperor's species—visually indistinguishable from human. He greeted her pleasantly, adding, "I'd have expected you to be on your way to the Audience, Krinata."

"Has Kamminth's reported in to donate blood yet? Have you done their physicals?"

"Kamminth's Oliat lost a member on location and returned badly disoriented. I'm treating them for Dissolution shock. On order of Emperor Rantan, I have just released five of them, against my judgment, to attend their Honors—"

"Which five?" demanded Krinata. "Is Jindigar..." Is he dead? A hollow panic seized her guts.

"The Receptor Jindigar is attempting to become the team's Outreach during the Dissolution." Finemar named the surviving officers of Kamminth's Oliat, adding that the Outreach had been killed, and he had the Inreach under heavy sedation, despite the Emperor's demands. "Do you think I'll get in trouble?" fretted the Sentient.

"No," reassured Krinata, hugging a sense of relief to herself. "But get Doctor Phips to countersign your order."

"Now, that's a good idea!" Finemar signed off.

Krinata grabbed her leptolizer, the jewel-encrusted symbol of her station, from the activation slot on her console, secured it to her sash, and headed for the throne room, arguing with herself. Rantan has no right to do this to an Oliat, no right! But he was so new to the throne, he probably didn't realize. Even so, his advisors should have warned him. But obviously, they hadn't.

As Krinata crossed the open rotunda between Survey's office building and the refurbished palace, Honor Guards saw her leptolizer and snapped salutes to her.

She couldn't get used to that. There had been no palace guards since she was a child. In the government hierarchy, she was the most minor and powerless functionary. Her hereditary rank in the third oldest family of Pesht, tenth Terran colony to join the Allegiancy Empire, had never meant anything to her. But she'd gladly use it to spare Jindigar. Or any Oliat! she told herself.

Her costume got her past all the guards inside the palace along the route to her proper entry to the audience chamber. But when she turned aside, she had to stay in the midst of the crowd heading to the front of the chamber, where higher-ranking nobles sat. Finally, she turned into a deserted corridor, carpeted in dark red, lit by mock torches, hung with the banners of the Emperors.