JACQUELINE LICHTENBERG

The Dushau Trilogy# 2

FARFETCH

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I must thank the people who helped by commenting on the first draft of this novel: Jean Lorrah, Judy Segal, Roberta Mendelson, and Susan DeGuardiola. In addition, the staffs, contributors, and readers of the three fanzines dedicated to the Sime/Gen universe have been indispensable, particularly Karen Litman, editor and publisher of Companion in Zeor; Kerry Schaefer, who is now the editor for Ambrov Zeor; Anne Pinzow, Ambrov Zeor's executive editor; and Katie Filipowicz, editor and publisher of Zeor Forum; all of whom can be reached through the post office box below.

I'm already working on the third novel in the Dushau Trilogy, and the quick help and encouragement of these people has been vital to this project. But I'm still most eager for comments from the readers—those who have read my Sime/ Gen novels and can compare them with Dushau and Kren, and those who have not yet read any of my other series. I write primarily to entertain, but I can't know if I've achieved that unless you tell me.

So here I want to acknowledge and thank each reader who will write to me about this trilogy. What do you want to see in the next book?

For information about forthcoming Dushau novels, or on any of my other series, send a legal size, self-addressed

STAMPED ENVELOPE to:

Ambrov Zeor, Dept. D-2 P.O.B. 290

Monsey, N.Y. 10952

It may take several weeks to get a response, but be sure that each note, each inquiry is treasured. Writers, too, have bad days, and it could be that your question or criticism will spark the answer to a plot problem or bring you a free copy of a fanzine and a flood of new friends when it's published. If I should ever move, you may still find me through the Scott Meredith Agency in New York City, or through any of my publishers.

ONE

Crash Landing

The computer was moaning to itself, dribbling sparks onto the twisted and buckled bridge deck, dying in agony.

By the glow of those blood-red sparks and the faint emergency lights Krinata Zavaronne could see a small puddle of her own red blood spreading to mix with the deep purple blood of the warm Dushau body she sprawled against. Dying.

No! Not dead yet! We survived the crash!

Driven by sharp urgency, she fought for consciousness, fastening on the nonhuman rhythm of Dushau breathing, groping for the scintillating thrill of the curious psychic resonance she'd once shared with two Dushau.

But her eyes drooped shut, and she slipped back into darkness, swept into what seemed only a dream.

Dazzling sand dunes marched away into the mauve-hazed distance. An unforgiving copper fireball of a sun beat from the bare magenta sky. A small metal sliver lay half buried. in a large dune. She became every grain of sand in the desert. She •was the metal sliver, and the sky and sun, air and sand, balanced in ecstasy, celebrating within herself, the perfection of the Celestial Artist.

Then, subtly, the vision changed.

Death baked the hollow sliver and the protoplasm within. The huge dune ached to swallow the sliver and heal the wound the foreign thing had made in it.

In the far distance a sinister dirty haze smeared the horizon. A vibration in the sands identified it even as vision expanded to encompass it: sandstorm.

But it was veering away from the metal sliver. The rage of the dune, which was herself yet separate from her, reached out and dragged the scouring menace toward the helpless sliver that was also herself, anticipating a vicious satisfaction, a healing triumph. For a moment she fed all her energies into the dune's effort to cleanse itself, and the hissing, seething wind that moved mountains swerved toward the sliver.

Within the turbulent wall of sand, a face appeared–a Dushau woman, young, elegant, bitterly hostile. The face withered with illness before her eyes, becoming suddenly familiar. It was the face she'd seen on the viewscreen as she'd fired on the Emperor's flagship, Desdinda's face, come to life to wreak her sworn vengeance.

Krinata squirmed and wrenched and beat free of the nightmare, pursued by the rising howl of the anguished winds, a howl of betrayal. "How could you!"

The keening wail of storm faded to the electronic sound of the computer's agony. She put one hand to her forehead and found a bruised slash. Head injury. That explains it. The helpless fear and rage had nothing to do with her real self. Already the details of the nightmare were gone.

She wiped blood from one eyelid and focused her eyes on the whirling kaleidoscope of colored shapes—die bridge monitor displays and control stations of Ephemeral Truth. It all began to come back to her. They had outraced the Allegiancy Empire's Squadron, found this system, and crash-landed the orbit-only ship. And we made it!

She pulled herself up, holding her breath against the pain in head and ribs, and found the bleeding gash on her arm. Gripping the pressure point of her left elbow with her right thumb, she twisted free of the torn crash webbing—meant only for Cassrians, not strong enough to hold a human—and staggered to the mangled console that had been her station during their mad flight across the galaxy.

The answer to her inquiry about this planet was still etched faintly into the screen, mocking her. the dushau

OLIAT TEAM, RAICHMAT, DECLARES FOURTH PLANET OF XB333291MS NOT FIT FOR HABITATION, COMMERCIAL EXPLOITATION, OR DOME COLONIES. SYSTEM FILE CLOSED.

Clinging to the warped edge of the console, she turned to look at the only other person on the bridge, Jindigar. He had lied; this was no safe-haven. He'd surely known that. Centuries ago he'd been a member of Raichmat, the exploring team that had evaluated the planet. But he had told her the planet was marginally habitable and had never been reported because it was not commercially useful. So, according to Jindigar, this official record did not even exist.

As the shock of betrayal swept through her, she had to fight off a dizzy wave of deja vu.

The computer's wails became barely articulate pleas for relief. It was a Sentient computer, a half-protoplasmic brain plugged into the ship's circuits. He had named himself Arlai, and had been her friend. But clearly they'd never repair him now. Tears in her eyes, Krinata turned to tug loose Arlai's power cable. Put him out of his misery.

The blood on her hands made her grip slippery, and as she struggled to perform the act of mercy, she didn't hear Jindigar gain his feet. She gasped as his warm, finely napped skin brushed her. He gripped her wrist with his seven-fingered, nailless hand, stopping her. "Not yet," he said.