“Tarhiji,” Zujj, the military commander of House Alaa said contemptuously.

“Yes, but there are a lot more of them than there are of us. And Blaise has empowered them. We’re the reactionaries coming to take away the freedoms they have gained. A man who stands to lose everything is likely to fight like a cornered badger… zanjabiil,” she amended to a Takisian creature of like disposition.

“Well, what else can we do? We have to restore the proper order.”

Yimkin was the only Raiyis with the balls to have actually entered the territory of House Ilkazam. He shook his head, the bells braided into his lush, full beard ringing softly.

“We can’t. Whether we like it or not, Blaise has forever altered this society. Unless we kill every Tarhiji above the age of five, they’re not going to forget.”

“Without them we have no economy,” grunted Quar’ande of House Ss’ang.

“Selective mind wipe?” suggested Zujj.

It just solidified Tisianne’s belief that most military men were basically very stupid. She didn’t even have to respond. Zabb took it for her.

“There are roughly seven hundred million people on this planet. Are you going to volunteer to head this project?” Zujj flushed at the delicate lash of sarcasm wrapping each word.

“So what do we do?” Yimkin asked.

Tis yanked the jeweled combs from her hair and raked it back nervously with one hand. Zabb winced as the careful coiffure provided by her maid was harrowed.

“Somehow we must take the moral high ground from Blaise. We must offer the same franchise to the Tarhiji which he is offering, but preserve those elements of our culture which are dear to the Tarhiji as well as to us.”

“That’s lovely, Tis,” Zabb said. “But social engineering will have to wait until the war’s over.”

“You don’t like to hunt, do you Jay?”

Blaise sighted down the barrel of the overly long rifle and squeezed off a shot. The beautiful little creature grazing fifty yards away jerked straight into the air as the laser struck, collapsed. Jay realized the creature had been tethered. His breakfast gave an unquiet roll.

“No, I don’t like guns.”

“This is a very pretty gun.”

Blaise offered it to the detective. Jay glanced with disinterest at the scrimshawed bone inlaid in the butt, jewels forming the eyes of fanciful carved Takisian critters.

“Make a great walking stick.” Jay pushed it away clumsily with his fingerless hands. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought the point of hunting was giving the animal a sporting chance.”

“No, the point of hunting is killing. If you’re honest, you admit it. If you’re not, you talk about the thrill of the chase, and all that other horseshit. But I’m not a hypocrite. I know I like to kill things.”

“I like an honest psychopath.” Even as the words fled past his teeth, his brain was screaming stupid.

Jay cringed as he saw the barrel of the rifle swinging around to bear on him.

“Jay, Jay, Jay,” Blaise tsked. “What a funny fellow you are, but a little more of that, and I’ll start thinking that you prefer my grandfather over me. You don’t, do you Jay? We’re such friends.” So soft, so sweet, so crazy.

Jay cleared his throat. “Yeah, real pals.”

Blaise frowned and drew his hand up and down the barrel of the rifle like a man masturbating. “I was probably hasty when I cut off your fingers. If you had them, I could send you back to House Ilkazam, and you could pop my grandfather to me. Tachyon’s made a lot of problems for me. She’s the one who wrecked my alliance.”

“I thought you did that all by your little self. You’re the one who called in the Network.”

“Jay, don’t make me doubt your loyalty.”

“There’s not going to be much left of this planet after you and the Network get finished fighting over it.”

Blaise flashed him a happy smile. “Yes, that’s right. And sooner or later Granddaddy will come. The brat will draw her.”

“Glad you realized the kid was useful to you.”

“For the moment. I decided it would be a lot more satisfying to kill her in front of Tachyon.”

Blaise nuzzled his cheek against the rifle’s stock and took aim. Jay turned and walked back toward the House. Behind him the rifle fired, and another animal died.

“You Ilkazam will ultimately conquer.”

Tis stopped dead, stared at Bat’tam. “What?”

The noble gestured. “Look around you. This was Rarrana. Now it’s a military hospital. Most Houses are so rigid. They would rather die than give up their traditions. You and your cousin have turned tradition on its head. So you’ll survive – and you’ll ultimately win.”

Tisianne surveyed the large sun room. Wounded soldiers representing the cream of man and neutered womanhood of nine rival Houses played with Ilkazam children, talked, and were cared for by Ilkazam women.

“Tri’ava says it’s all a cunning plot for House Ilkazam to raid the gene pool of the other Houses. But she always was a jokester.”

“It may come to pass. I just hope it is not necessary to breed with the blind,” Bat’tam said.

“That’s a more difficult prejudice to overcome – I feel it myself, but overcome it I suspect we must. And it could be beneficial. If our entire populace were mentats instead of a tiny percentage, we would be formidable rivals to the Network. Assuming the Network gives us time.”

“Tisianne, forgive me, but I am too old to become a shopkeeper. I think I will continue to be an idle ornament.”

They left Rarrana and continued to the medical facilities. Bat’tam had to stretch to keep up with her double quicksteps.

“You have missed your human very much.’

“Yes.”

“Have I been no help?” Bat’tam asked.

“You’ve tried, but you place too much pressure on me. You want too much from me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

Mark had been housed in Shaklan’s old room as befitted a hero of the House. Tis lowered the bubble to the table and tried not to think about the last time she’d done this. Roxalana arrived as the last of the nutrient fluid was draining from the bubble.

Tis pulled back the clear material and gently removed the breathing apparatus, wiped Mark’s face dry with a soft towel. The blue eyes opened, blinked in confusion. Tis smiled and slid the glasses back on Mark’s nose.

“Welcome back, Mark, I’ve missed you.”

“We have all missed you,” Roxalana said as she helped him to sit up.

The ace’s mouth opened, and a grating sound emerged. He stretched wider, and out fell a series of nonsense sounds. Mark stared, terrified, at Tisianne. She wasn’t in much better shape. She looked wildly to Roxalana.

Tis rushed to the monitors and began a medical check. The sounds Mark made were becoming more panicky by the moment.

“No sign of brain damage. No physical cause in the vocal cords. What is wrong with him?”

Roxalana cupped Mark’s face between her hands and began a mental scan. He was calmer when she released him, but there was a wealth of pain and loss in the blue eyes. Mark glanced down and realized he was naked. Blood flared in his cheeks, and Bat’tam quickly covered Mark’s privates with a towel.

“It’s very puzzling. It’s as if he has somehow lost control of his speech centers. There’s no physical damage, but he can’t string sounds into coherent words.”

“Starshine was a poet. A man of words,” Tis said slowly. “Perhaps the trauma of the death -”

“But what died?” asked Bat’tam. “Who are these individuals?”

“I’m not certain. I have suspected that Mark’s wild card allows him to make various aspects of his personality manifest, but I’ve had no empirical evidence,”

“Until now,” Roxalana said.

Her hands played through his long hair and tickled down his chest. She had very long nails, and they were inset with tiny jewels in a matching pattern to the ones on her face.