I Dare by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Read Free Book Online Page A

suddenly proved illuminating. It had been found then that certain modifications to a standard stasis box produced interesting reactions in a dramliza confined therein, not the least of which was an effective neutralization of wizardly abilities. Commander of Agents had ordered such a box constructed, and rendered mobile. It was even now in the final stages of testing. When it was completed, Anthora yos'Galan would give up her residence at Jelaza Kazone, from which base she might provide unknown, and potentially disastrous, assistance to her scattered kin, and live at the pleasure of the Department.

    It was possible that Korval's wizard had value to the clan, though the clan left her alone and unguarded upon Liad while the rest fled to safety—somewhere. The Commander accepted that Anthora, too, might hold value as a hostage. It might be—should Val Con yos'Phelium not survive his recapture—that his half-Terran foster-sister would fulfill the roles intended for him, even to the ultimate destruction of the clan. Commander of Agents allowed himself some flexibility on this point of planning, pending clarity from the team sent to recover yos'Phelium.

    Commander of Agents allowed himself a small smile before he pushed back from the desk and rose. Strike at the heart—once, twice, thrice—and Korval would fall.

    It was well.

Lytaxin
Erob's Medical Center
Catastrophe Unit

    MED TECH PER VEL sig'Zerba jumped to his feet as the door to the catastrophe unit slid open.

    "Sir, I regret," he said to the white haired man who entered. "This area is forbidden to—" He stopped, staring quite open-mouthed at the second . . . person . . . to violate the area—all two-and-a-half meters of . . . it—magnificently shelled and bottle green, luminous eyes as round and as yellow as moons.

    The door slid closed. The med tech, with difficulty, returned his attention to the white-haired man.

    "Sir—Lord yos'Galan. We had discussed this matter, sir. The catastrophe room is forbidden to all but medical technicians. The instruments are very delicate and the life of your kinsman depends upon their unimpaired function. It is natural to wish to stand close to kin who are in such desperate case, but, truly, sir, he cannot know whether you are here or elsewhere. You best serve him now by recruiting your strength and preparing yourself to show him a calm face when he emerges from the unit."

    "These machines, also, sing of discord," the large green person rumbled. "Where is the device which imprisons our brother?"

    Med Tech sig'Zerba blinked. "The catastrophe unit is there." He moved a hand toward the black rectangle, its domed lid bristling with readouts, monitors, alarms, and regulators. He looked again to Shan yos'Galan and bowed slightly. "Since you are here, I will tell you that the latest data has been analyzed. Repair has been successful on many fronts. Cerebral function has been stabilized, so we may put the fear of seizures and random states of alt behind us. Blood systems and the functions of the organs are as they should be." He hesitated.

    "And the damage to the nervous system?" Shan asked quietly, tasting the man's reluctance almost as his own. "How goes the repair there?"

    The tech sighed. "Not well, alas. Repair may only occur where some system remains. Regeneration . . . has met with variable success. The latest analysis yields an estimate of forty-five percent function." He inclined his head.

    "This means that your kinsman will not be able to pilot a spaceship, an airship, or a landcar. With practice, he will very likely regain his ability to walk, to grasp objects, and to throw them." He took a breath and met the white-haired man's intense silver gaze. "This is not so bad, if your Lordship will but recall the state in which his kinsman entered the unit. We had all despaired of his life, then. That he has regained so much is . . . cause for joy. That he has lost some things which he will never