Image via Wikipedia

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Fellow Triond author Jason Ward had begun a serial novel called *The Dark Realm*, based partly on my own fictional universe (*A Ring of Stars*). Just for the fun of it (and because he had originally invited me to contribute to another serial that I know much less about), I thought I’d write my own short stories based on his series in return. He has withdrawn *The Dark Realm* since, but I’ve decided to keep up my own derivatives anyway…

= = = = = = =

Miranda Bridgewater lay on her back in the bed that had been provided for her by her hosts. The room was very nicely furnished without being ostentatious, had everything she needed for body, soul and spirit, and was equipped with whatever she needed to contact whoever she needed or to learn whatever she needed to know. Only certain too-rigid protocols with regard to rank (at least to Miranda’s way of thinking) interfered with her contacting the bridge personnel or the strange group of young people that had rescued her and her two sisters from eventual death.

At the moment, though, Miranda’s always-busy mind was preoccupied with other things than her hosts’ ranks and protocols.

[Now I have no Roger, no family, and no trust,] she thought, recalling what she’d said to her younger sister Melanie earlier that day. [If we hadn’t been found we probably would be dead by now, but maybe it would’ve been better to die. And on top of it all, I’m still kicking myself because I couldn’t figure out how to repair the damage Roger’s ill-timed bomb caused. I still can’t. And I’m supposed to be the genius in the family.]

[Huh. Genius. For all the good it does me. Martha’s got the looks and the suitors and the leadership - and all the arrogance that usually goes with them. And a right cross to match,] she added to herself painfully and almost tearfully as she touched her face, still badly bruised from where Martha had hit her in fury. [She even tried to boss around that blue-haired boy, Cumulus, who could’ve ordered his little brother to electrocute her for trying. I almost wish he had. I love her despite herself, but blast her, she needs to be taken down a peg or two!]

[This is unproductive. I need to think about something else, or I’m going to lie awake all night. Maybe I can figure out some other things and put my mind more at rest.]

[Let’s see. Our hosts’ ships have the same insignia as ours: the Ark of the Covenant. Yet they’re not from the Covenant Sphere and Annexes. Their ships have titanium hulls, but they’re linked by durin chains. That alone means the Lord Davidson’s involved with them, one way or another. They know of our Realm, but they’ve never been there, and they don’t know how to get us there. Their records show that their patriarch was a Covenant Citizen who came here via the Portal of Twilight, under the Lord’s own escort, but they’ve never seen the Lord since. They know about Lightchildren, but they’ve never seen one of them either. They don’t know about Guardians at all, for some strange reason, although Abram Fisher must’ve known of them. And yet, they say they all have unusual powers - some of them more than enough to outmatch some real Lightchildren. I mean, when was the last time anyone saw a Lightchild fly without the aid of his Guardian? Or wield lightning from his fingertips? Even a Fleetman with a Starblade might have trouble dealing with that, were it not for his Guardian.]

[The Lord must’ve sent their patriarch here for some reason, but that information seems to be classified to strangers on their computers. And it also seems to be slowly fading in practice. From what we saw and heard today, they have a Great Commission, but they don’t even agree on how it should be carried out. Dissention in the ranks within such a leading family spells trouble for sure. Huh, I should talk; my sisters and I are living proof of that.]

[And I’m stuck in the middle of the proof, between bossy Martha and dreamy Melanie. Melanie’s a lot easier to deal with, and she’s very sweet and talented, but she lacks backbone. If there’s one thing a Starbard needs, then it’s backbone. Starbards often need to act as Special Ambassadors for the Covenant Sphere. It’s not surprising that her application to the Circle of Starbards has been held in abeyance. She has a lot to prove to them. Almost all Lightchildren are chosen by the Lord Davidson through other Lightchildren, and usually when the candidates are no older than ten Standard Years. Few ever become a Lightchild, let alone a Starbard, on their own initiative. But you have to admire Melanie’s guts for trying. If she’d made it, she’d have had a wonderful life, and an incredibly long one, forever young and beautiful - along with a Guardian to help her grow in personal balance in ways no mortal teacher could.]

[And then there’s me: brilliant, plain, stubborn me. The monkey wrench in the whole works, supposedly more loyal to the Covenant Way than both my sisters and both our parents put together. How could Dad be so stupid as to think the Lord Davidson wouldn’t give him enough rope to hang himself, one way or another? And how could Roger and I be so stupid as to think that we had to take matters into our own hands? We claim to trust the Lord, yet we didn’t let Him deal with the situation in His own way and His own time - and so He used us despite ourselves and made us pay the price of our own folly. I guess we all got off easy, considering everything. But I wish I could tell everyone back home that my sisters and I are safe. I wish I could tell them just that, if I can’t go home myself.]

[Go home. Well, this is my home now, and I’m as much at fault for that as anyone. I guess I’d better start getting used to it. If only our hosts’ speech wasn’t so coarse; it almost qualifies as a sub-dialect of Ersatz. Even Melanie had some trouble following it at first, and she has by far the quickest ear of us all. I guess that’s what happens to Adamic when it’s cut off from its roots and nobody takes care to nurture the graft properly. Maybe I can find out more about their linguistic history in the morning.]

Once Miranda had thought a matter through that far, she was able to set the matter aside enough to go to sleep, and quickly. An engineer of her caliber had to grab sleep when she could and not overtax herself, and Miranda usually succeeded. In a few minutes she had slipped into a deep but still uneasy sleep.

About half an hour later, and without waking Miranda, what looked like a pane of mirrored glass appeared suddenly and silently in the middle of her room. A man wearing a hooded cloak walked through it into her room softly, softly. A shepherd’s staff was in his left hand; his right hand glowed gently with Light. More gently than the Brownian motion of the air itself, the Hooded Man, Joshua Davidson, the Lord of the Realms, touched Miranda’s forehead with His right index and third fingers and sent her into a dreaming state…

= = = = = = =

“I don’t know whether to promote you or to court-martial you – or *both*!” shouted Sky Admiral Big Cloud at Falcons One through Five, the Sky Cadets who had discovered the *Realmjumper* and its all-female crew. “Maybe I *should* promote you first – so that your punishment after the court-martial would be more serious.”

“We *did* rescue these three young women and recover their ship, Admiral,” Cumulus pointed out. He was the Admiral’s own grandson, and one of the few Children of the Sky of his generation who could go toe-to-toe with him in a battle of wills if necessary. “Their ship alone is a priceless artifact. It comes from the same Realm that Father Cloud himself came from originally: Realm Two, the Covenant Realm.”

“The *Realmjumper’s* overall hull design is first-generation compared to ours, but its matrix drive is surprisingly sophisticated,” added Thunder with his arms characteristically folded. He too wasn’t all too threatened by the Admiral’s personality type and gruff manner, not surprising since he was over four cubits and a span and still growing. “Unfortunately, their navigational system was blown out entirely – their captain says that it was sabotage, and our engineers say that we don’t have the parts to fix or replace it. Their engineer was trying to jury-rig a replacement when we found them. To my untrained eyes, she might’ve succeeded if she just had a little more to work with from her own Realm. But without such a fix, she says, whatever got them from their Realm to ours is completely useless.”

Miranda – the dreaming Miranda, who was looking at a clone of herself standing among clones of her sisters – was glancing all around the bridge while this conversation was going on. She knew she was dreaming, yet everything seemed so real – and to all five senses!

[This isn’t at all what happened earlier today,] she thought. [Even the name of our ship is different, although it fits. *Stargazer*, Dad called it, over Melanie’s poetically-minded objections. But what nerve the Admiral has right now, bringing his cadets to the bridge with us and then chewing them out in the presence of his crew and guests!] She looked with dismay at Martha’s face; Martha’s eyes had an almost predatory look in them. Obviously, Power-Mad Martha (as Miranda called her in her own mind more often than Miranda herself really liked) was relishing every bit of this exchange. By contrast, Melanie was looking rather sick to her stomach; of all of the *Realmjumper’s* crew, she was by far the most sensitive to social niceties and other people’s emotions.

“I value your reports,” said the Admiral, his anger only slightly abated, “and you’ve handled the rescue of both ship and crew in your usual expert manner. But once and for all, you five – and especially *you*, Cumulus – need to learn that insubordination doesn’t pay. You don’t determine how our Great Commission is carried out, not even on a field mission – *I* do. You may think I’m a thick-headed old fool who can’t think his way out of a waste disposal bin, but *I* have training and experience that outmatches all five of yours put together. And *this*,” he added, pointing to his Admiral’s insignia, “means that even when I’m wrong, I’m right.

“Sergeant-at-arms, see to the comfort of our guests. As for you five, I’m grounding you from all field missions for thirty days. Only a Level Five emergency will cause me to rescind that order, and unless there is one, if you use my keycodes to go on a field mission without my permission again, you’ll be grounded *permanently*. Understood?”

“*Yes, sir*!” said the Sky Cadets in unison, although the Admiral doubted that they meant it.

“Very well, then,” said the Admiral. “Dismissed…”

“Admiral!” shouted the man operating the sensor suite. “I’m picking up a powerful matrix drive signature, a thousand kilocubits directly ahead of us.”

“Belay that last order, Cadets!” snapped the Admiral. “Sergeant-at-arms, stand by our guests. A *thousand* kilocubits, you say?”

“Practically to the last decimal point, sir. And it appeared out of nowhere.”

“Who in the Realms uses that kind of precision?” Nimbus whispered to Cumulus.

“Besides *us*?” Cumulus whispered back. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Is it still moving at virtual velocity?” the Admiral asked. Virtual velocity (and Miranda knew this as well as anyone on the bridge) was a way of reckoning a matrix-driven vessel’s speed and direction when it was going faster than light. The velocity was “virtual” because a matrix drive caused a ship to leap many times a second through hyperspace, thus allowing it to avoid relativistic effects when in normal space. Richard Bridgewater’s special matrix drive was designed to use that principle in a special way.

“No, sir, at low sublight” – an obvious statement, of course, otherwise the unknown vessel would’ve passed the Admiral’s Seven Ships almost instantaneously. “But it’s not using an inertial drive. Somehow, it’s using a variant of matrix drive.”

[This *definitely* isn’t what happened today,] thought the dreaming Miranda.

“Admiral,” said the clone Miranda, “the *Realmjumper* has a dual-phase matrix drive like that. Such a drive’s standard for Deep Space Ships in our Realm, and some private vessels too. Phase I is used for sublight velocities, Phase II for virtual velocities. The Phase I drive creates a stable space-time matrix around the ship and then moves the whole matrix through normal space.”

“It works rather like the old concept of a ‘warp field’, then.” Miranda nodded. “Could such a drive take a ship from Realm to Realm?”

“No, sir. Our father invented a matrix coil that could do it, a variation of our Phase II matrix drive, but it took tremendous power to operate. If that bomb had been near the coil rather than the navigation system, the resulting explosion would’ve taken out the ship, its crew, and all our project staff with it.”

The clone Martha shot the clone Miranda a venomous look. At that precise moment, the clone Miranda and the dreaming Miranda became one and the same.

[The strange logic of dreams,] thought part of the new Miranda. [Now it’s first-person view rather than third-person view.]

“Magnify the image.”

“I’m extending the window projection now, Admiral.”

[They use space-time window technology in their sensor suites!] Miranda thought in wonder.

“I have it, Admiral. It’s now moving at space-normal velocity, using inertial drive.”

The Sky Cadets weren’t all that impressed at first by what they saw. It appeared to be a first-generation, delta-winged space plane, with upswept tails on either rear corner of the wings. It was beautifully finished in deep sky blue, however, and quite large for its type: five hundred cubits from end to end, according to the scaling tool on the sensor window. Its nose was topped by a spacious canopy that screened whatever was beneath it from the harsh light reflected from the nearby nebula.

“Admiral, the ship’s canopy and hull are completely defeating our active scans. The hull must be made of durin, like the chains linking our ships; the radar reflection spectrum is identical. The canopy must be made of something similar.”

“That would be duringlass, Admiral,” said Miranda. “Durin is the metallic phase, duringlass is the gel phase. They’re both completely impervious to normal scans.”

“She’s right, Admiral; except for the black-body radiation that ship’s giving off and the blue color of its enamel, we might as well be scanning a perfect mirror. Check that: inside the openings fronting the ship’s engines are projected-energy weapons, probably tunable *n*-crystal lasers – and they’re *hot*.”

“Estimated power output?”

“Admiral, either of those guns could outmatch any similar gun that any of the Warring Species have on a ship that size.”

“You’ve *got* to be kidding.”

“He’s not,” said Melanie loudly enough to get everyone’s attention. “That’s a *Gazelle*-class Courier. Ships of that class are always *extremely* well-armed.”

“It’s a class variant that I’ve never seen before,” said Miranda. “But the class has been in continual service since well before our time. Anyway, Starbards most often use such ships.”

“What’s a Starbard?” said Cumulus, speaking for all his puzzled command.

“A kind of Lightchild,” said Martha before Miranda or Melanie could answer. Martha almost spat out the word like a distasteful morsel of food.

“Lightchild?” said the Admiral, whirling toward Martha as he said it. “Did you say *Lightchild*, young lady?”

Martha had never let herself be visibly intimidated by anyone in her life, but in the Admiral’s present mood he was almost a force of nature. “Yes, sir,” she replied in the nearly-meekest tone of voice that Miranda had ever heard her use. “Why?”

“I don’t have time to give you a history lesson,” the Admiral shot back, “but *Lightchildren* happen to be a respected part of both our ancient lore and our future hope.”

Martha snorted.

“Can we magnify enough to check the insignia, Admiral?” Thunder asked. “It *should* be very similar to ours and the *Realmjumper’s*.”

“*Can* we, Peregrine?”

“I think so,” said the man operating the sensor suite. “If not now, we certainly can as it gets closer.”

“Try now. Where would the insignia be, young lady? Not you, Captain, your sister Miranda.”

“They’re on either side of the nose by the exit hatches, just behind the canopy.”

“It’ll be a good trick to spot them from this position,” said Peregrine, “but I think I can do it.” Using his touch screen, he moved the space-time window as close to the oncoming ship as possible, matched its course and speed (which speed was now slow and steady), and then rotated the window on its axes until he had it properly aligned. In the light of the nebula the insignia were clearly visible: the characteristic Flag of the Circle of Starbards and a stylized glyph symbolizing…the Lightchildren? But the Lightchildren of Miranda’s time (and indeed of the stranger’s) had no special symbol as a group. Their ability to generate Light supernaturally from their hands was symbol enough for them.

Tableau: the dreaming Miranda now saw the faces of her clone and those of her sisters as they looked at the viewscreen. Martha looked angry, Miranda looked dismayed, and Melanie looked as if she wanted to burst into joyous song.

“I don’t know how I know this, Admiral,” said Cumulus, “but whoever’s out there has a Power at least the match of my Daybreaker. He may outmatch all five of us put together.”

“*May*?”

“It’s hard to tell, Admiral, but whoever he is, he’s one tough customer. He could give us some real trouble if he wanted to.”

“You sure it’s a male and not a female?”

“Practically to the last decimal point, sir,” Cumulus replied with a wry grin at Peregrine.

“Explain.”

“Again, I *can’t* really explain it, Admiral,” Cumulus went on, “but I have this vague image of him in my mind. It’s almost like he’s Nimbus with his mental polarity reversed: extraverted where Nimbus is introverted, and vice versa. He has tremendous Power, he’s not afraid to use it, and he’s crazy enough to try anything once.”

“I think I’m going to faint,” Melanie whispered, feeling quite hormonal herself. Martha glared at her, but said nothing.

Whatever else Admiral Big Cloud thought of Cumulus, he trusted his intuition on matters of Powers of the Sky. “Battle…”

“Aren’t you going to *talk* to him first?” Melanie screamed at the top of her lungs. “He’s a *Starbard*, for pity’s sake! His mission’s to make contact – *not* to make war!”

“Melanie, *can* it!” snapped Martha.

“You may be within your rights *technically*, Captain,” roared the Admiral, “but if you override your sisters’ good advice *arbitrarily* like that again, I’ll have you put in the brig – in *irons*, if necessary.” No one among the Children of the Sky respected the chain of command more than he, but he knew when a chain was being blatantly abused, and he tolerated such abuse by no one – not when he had the power to stop it.

“Very well, then,” the Admiral went on once he was sure that Martha’s bluster was cowed for the moment. “Waltz, open a channel to that ship.”

Waltz – [a very graceful-looking lady,] thought the dreaming Miranda – tried to do just that. “Either he’s not able to answer or he’s not willing to answer,” she said at last. “We may not be able to match his transmission protocols.”

“Are you using radio waves?” said the clone Miranda, who once again had become the same as the dreaming Miranda.

“Yes.”

“You’re underestimating his level of technology. He’s probably testing you, to see just what kind of technology *you* have. Try *n*-tetrahedrite transmission at” – Miranda hated to reveal what was a Level One security matter back home, but she saw no other choice – “1.618 megahertz. That should establish basic protocols. The Lightchild will handle the rest.”

It had been a long time since Waltz had used n-crystal transmission, but with Miranda’s help she established the basic link. “Whoever he is,” said Waltz shortly thereafter, “he has a very fast computer – and a very *smart* one. It’s already inferred our standard transmission protocols. Incoming message, Admiral, audio-visual *and* data stream.”

“Is there any danger from the data stream?”

“It’s basic telemetry, sir: hails in Classical Adamic from the *Hind of the Dawn*, by someone named Raphael Goldwing. The linguistic construction is perfect – absolutely *perfect*! A priest should write so well. No malicious software is encoded, sir.”

“Put on the main transmission,” said the Admiral as Miranda hastened to join her sisters.

Once again, the dreaming Miranda got a look at the faces of the sister-clones. Martha looked shocked, Miranda looked amazed, and Melanie looked as if she was about to have the first waking orgasm of her virginal life.

The brown-eyed barley-blond looking down at them (Miranda had now returned to first-person view) looked no older than twenty-one Standard Years and always would, although he was older than that by then. Miranda had to admit that she’d never seen a more handsome Adami anywhere, sensitive and slender though he was – not even among Lightchildren, who (male and female alike) were all attractive people.

“I think you’ve just met your match, Nimbus,” whispered Cirrus with glee; she was one of the two female Sky Cadets, and twenty years old. Jet-haired Nimbus was an unusually handsome eighteen-year-old, and a little conceited about that fact, but even he had to marvel a bit at what he was seeing. For his overall gentle phenotype, the Starbard was the absolute ideal of Adami manhood, yet he showed no outward sign of letting that fact turn his head in the slightest.

“Handsome, sweet *and* a genius?” Melanie whispered to Miranda. “His eyes are *compelling*!”

“Are you Raphael Goldwing?” the Admiral demanded.

The Starbard did the most unexpected thing: he laughed. “*No*, sir! I’m Chris Alan Starbright, Starbard Level Five, Captain of the *Hind of the Dawn*.” His speech was in very good Classical Adamic, though it used more abbreviations and colloquial idioms than Raphael’s did. “Raphael’s my Guardian – and he usually handles navigation, helm, weapons, shields, sensors, engineering, life support, programming and communications, too.”

“So what do *you* do?”

“Watch,” replied Chris Alan, and laughed again. “Actually, Amethyst and I work with him on *all* those things and much more. Amethyst Bellatrix is my First Officer, in case you’re wondering; she’s downstairs at the moment, checking our engine readouts.” His expression became serious, as did his tone of voice. “I came here looking for a ship from my Realm, called the *Realmjumper*. It made an unauthorized flight – one which obviously took it much farther than its designer and crew intended.”

“I am Admiral Sky Cloud, of the people called the Children of the Sky. We have both the ship and its crew aboard the foremost of our vessels, where I stand now,” said the Admiral. “The three young women we found stand together before you. The five other young people you see are my five best Sky Cadets. One of them, the group leader, thinks you might be dangerous to us, and I trust his advice in such matters.”

“I only fight those who fight me, Admiral. Back home, most people know better. Those who don’t, soon learn their mistake.”

The Sky Cadets couldn’t help themselves; they all burst out laughing, even Cumulus. The Starbard had delivered those words with all the certainty of a mathematical equation. How *that* must’ve stuck in the Admiral’s throat!

“If only he knew what he was up against,” Nimbus whispered.

“Don’t underestimate him, fool,” Cumulus whispered back.

“Quiet, all of you,” the Admiral ordered. “How did you come to our Realm? Does your vessel have engines like the *Realmjumper’s*?”

“Unfortunately, no. That ship used proprietary technology which is now outlawed where I come from. You see, I didn’t just come from the same Realm that the *Realmjumper* did; I also traveled backward through time. I was born almost seven hundred of our Standard Years after the *Realmjumper* left the Covenant Realm.”

No one said a word for long moments after that. “Then how *did* you get here?” said Martha at last.

“May I ask your name, miss?”

“Martha Bridgewater, Captain of the *Realmjumper*. These are my sisters, Miranda and Melanie.”

“Thank you! I came through the Portal of Twilight, naturally – a special version, created by the Lord of the Realms for that purpose.”

“Are you going to bring us home through time and space, then?”

Chris Alan sighed. “I was as surprised at first as you’ll be, but no. Your parents and you made a *very* serious mistake. You’ll all have to live with *most* of the consequences of your actions. It’s the only way to maintain the timelines among the Realms. Sorry, but those are the Lord’s orders, not mine.”

The Admiral nodded; he appreciated the point. The Sky Cadets and the crew of the *Realmjumper* (all but Melanie, who was still starry-eyed over the Starbard) began to complain vehemently, but the Admiral cut them off.

“*Be quiet, all of you!*” he ordered. “I’m beginning to like this Starbard. He understands the chain of command – *and* he understands that actions have consequences. Captain, would you and your crew like to visit our ship?”

“We’d like that very much, Admiral. If you don’t mind, we’d like to come straight to your bridge. We have that capability. I’d like to meet your bridge crew and all the fine young people I see.”

“Granted.”

“One more thing,” said Chris Alan. “It’s customary for Lightchildren – including Starbards – to bear arms when out-of-Sphere.”

“‘Out-of-Sphere’?”

“Outside of the Covenant Sphere and Annexes: the volume of space back home which the Lord of the Realms rules directly. Our weapon of choice is a durin-duringlass Starblade, which we wear in a scabbard on our belts. It’s a *very* deadly weapon, but I’m sure that as a military man, you understand that capability doesn’t imply intent.”

“Well spoken. All the bridge crew and my Sky Cadets are armed, though you may not spot all the weapons they bear. You may board us bearing your own weapon, so long as you do so openly.”

“Very well. We’ll arrive on your bridge as soon as we get dressed properly for the occasion. End transmission.”

“Are you *sure* this is such a good idea, Admiral?” asked Cumulus after the view screen went blank.

“Why, do you still fear him?”

“*We* can handle him, Admiral,” said Nimbus. “No matter *how* good he is, he can’t beat all five of us at once.”

“He seems peaceful enough,” Peregrine offered. “And if he comes from the same Realm that Father Cloud did, doesn’t that mean that he serves the same Lord and Master?”

“That doesn’t necessarily follow,” Cumulus pointed out. “Leaving aside the example of one of our guests” – he nodded pointedly in Martha’s direction – “there’s something very different about his Power from ours. I can *feel* it.”

“You said it yourself,” Martha scoffed. “He’s crazy.”

“Crazy like a fox,” retorted Miranda. “I’ll bet you anything you like that he’s even smarter than I am, even if he isn’t an engineer. And he certainly seems to be a lot more fun than *you* are.” Martha glared at Miranda, but said nothing.

“Oh, *please*, let him be single,” Melanie whispered to herself. “Starbright, starlight, shine your way into the night…”

Miranda stared at her younger sister. Those words and that tune had come into Melanie’s head suddenly while they were being rescued. At the time, Melanie had hoped that they’d find a Lightchild in this Realm. Now a Lightchild had found *them*, and his family name was Starbright. [Does Melanie have a latent Gift of Prophecy?] Miranda wondered. [Is such a thing even *possible*?]

“Listen to me, all of you,” said the Admiral. “There’s something we can do that can put this new visitor to the test. Captain Bridgewater, you and your sisters may participate if you wish.”

“If *I* wish,” replied Martha, “then *their* wishes don’t matter. Explain your plan.”

The Admiral explained.

= = = = = = =

Not long afterward, a flash of pale blue light near one side of the bridge caught everyone’s attention. Amethyst Bellatrix had just transported herself and her Captain using her own Elemental powers.

“Greetings, Captain Starbright, in the name of the Children of the Sky,” said the Sergeant-at-Arms as he walked to meet Chris Alan. He was carrying a crystal-tipped spear, which Chris Alan suspected was more than ceremonial. “My name is Sparrow. Where is the third in your party?”

“Oh, Raphael? He’s here, and he’ll show up presently.” Chris Alan was wearing his full formal uniform, which included the decorative prayer robe that was the mark of a Starbard Level Five.

Martha was flabbergasted. She wasn’t the most intuitive of women, but even she could see that this stranger combined the gentleness of Melanie, the brilliance of Miranda and her own attractiveness and self-possession – with more than a little quirkiness added for good measure. The combination offended her to the bone. [He’s just too good to be true,] she thought.

“Since you’re obviously a trained warrior,” Sparrow went on, “you should know that it’s our custom to test all trained warriors who visit us. You may greet our guests and our cadets one by one while your First Officer watches. They have all agreed to participate in the test. Some of them have military training and some do not – and so some are prepared to engage you and some are not. Expect the unexpected.”

“Agreed,” said Chris Alan. “It sounds like an interesting challenge. Amethyst, if you’d be so kind?” He took off his prayer robe, folded it carefully, and gave it to Amethyst, then walked slowly toward the crew of the *Realmjumper*.

Martha watched Chris Alan’s eyes as they scanned the faces and figures of the three sisters, finally lingering on Martha’s generous breasts. [So he’s a “breast man”,] she thought. [Good. I’ve found a weakness I can exploit.]

But Chris Alan didn’t come to Martha first. Instead, he stopped before Melanie, who looked up at him with half-closed eyes. Rather than kiss her lips, however, he kissed the back of her hand very gently. To Chris Alan’s surprise and great joy, Melanie impulsively embraced him, and he lifted her off her feet and spun her around until she squealed with pleasure. Amethyst hid an amused smile behind her right hand; she’d seen Chris Alan’s way with women before.

“I think the Lightchild has just won Round One,” whispered Nimbus with a grin.

Miranda (still in first-person view) was not used to being noticed by men, but Chris Alan took both of her hands and looked straight into her eyes. His whole expression seemed to soften as he looked at her, and he kissed her between the eyes while stroking her cheek for a moment. “Be brave, Miranda,” he whispered. “Your time will come – *depend* on it.”

At last, Chris Alan stood before Martha. The too-pretty, top-heavy, arrogant girl smirked as his eyes wandered involuntarily (or so it seemed) between her face and hair and her breasts. [He’ll never see my attack coming,] she thought as she prepared to smash his groin with her right knee.

Unfortunately for Martha, she failed to reckon with either Chris Alan’s Gift of Strength at Need (with the speed that it granted) or the trained precision of his sidestep. Not only did she miss him completely, but within seconds she found herself flat on her back, wincing from the pain in her left side where Chris Alan had employed a blindingly fast, left-handed *Krav Maga* counterstrike, and facing Chris Alan’s drawn blade pointing at her throat. Both of his hands were glowing in their own white Light, as was his Starblade.

“Do not move, Captain,” he warned in perfect Classical Adamic as Miranda and Melanie looked on in horror, “or your next conscious moment will be in the Realm of Judgment.”

Every Child of the Sky in the room was aghast. Not even the Sky Cadets had tracked his *left* hand as it struck Martha’s side, let alone his *right* hand as it drew his Starblade. Sparrow lowered the point of his spear in Chris Alan’s direction and lit it, but Chris Alan remained unmoved.

[*Nobody* moves that fast,] Cumulus thought with astonishment. [If he decides to get serious, I’m not so sure we can beat him!]

“Don’t hurt her, *please*!” begged Melanie, who was crying by now. “I know she’s really pushy, but you can’t ask her to be less than she is.”

“She’s obviously a natural leader, Melanie Bridgewater, and she’s just as obviously well-trained in the martial arts,” replied Chris Alan evenly without taking his eyes off Martha, “but she really ought to know better than to take on an armed Lightchild. For a mortal, that can be an effective form of suicide.”

[Incredible,] Miranda thought. [I wanted Martha to be taken down a peg, but not like *this*!]

“Release her, Lightchild,” ordered the Admiral. “*Now*.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice, sir. Hopefully I’ve made my point.”

Chris Alan quenched his Starblade and his hands, sheathed his Starblade without looking in one smooth, nearly soundless motion, and pulled Martha to her feet. The strength in his wiry arms was unbelievable; at that moment, he was five times stronger than a typical mortal Adami of his weight and build.

“Hold your arms up and let me heal your injury,” he ordered in a tone of voice that brooked no disobedience. Martha complied. “With His stripes you are healed,” Chris Alan said cryptically, and a sky-blue glow surrounded his right hand. A touch from that hand and Martha’s pain disappeared completely. Her whole body felt pleasantly warm. Her eyes grew wide.

“Now you understand some of my *real* Gifting, Captain Bridgewater,” he said much more gently. “I told you: I only fight those who fight me. My Gifts are meant to make peace, not war.”

Martha exhaled and dropped her arms. “Clearly I’ve underestimated you, Captain Starbright.”

“Not many attackers do that and live,” Chris Alan replied and started walking toward the Sky Cadets. The Admiral nodded slightly to Sparrow, who sighed with relief and raised his spear.

“Uh, Captain?” said Martha. “Could you also heal the bruise on Miranda’s face?”

“Why,” replied Chris Alan, “did someone put it there who shouldn’t have?”

Martha flushed, and Cumulus was more concerned than ever. [Can he also read minds?] he thought. [Or is he just unusually intuitive? Either way, we could *really* be in trouble!]

Using the same Gift of Healing as before, Chris Alan healed the bruise on Miranda’s face, then stood back. “What I’ve done will do more than heal your bruise, Miranda. In a few years, you won’t recognize yourself. Enjoy the ride.”

Miranda touched her face in amazement as Chris Alan comforted Melanie with another kind of touch to her face, then walked at last toward the Sky Cadets. The two female cadets waved him off with smiles and giggles. [Too bad, they look every bit as competent as their male companions,] thought Chris Alan with a slight smile.

Nimbus reminded Chris Alan of himself when he was the boy’s age: very handsome, precocious, innocent, humorous, and passionate. [And cocky, too,] he added to himself. [He’s got something up his sleeve, that’s for certain.]

{Don’t do it, Nimbus,} said Cumulus mind-to-mind. {His present Power level outmatches yours at least ten to one.}

Nimbus’ eyes widened, and he began to sweat. {How did he gain so much Power so quickly?}

{His Power, *whatever* it is, is a lot like my Daybreaker; it responds to the need of the moment. All of you, stand by.{

Chris Alan stood next before Thunder. The young giant – the only member of the Black Tribe on the bridge – towered head and shoulders over Chris Alan, arms crossed. Chris Alan was only three cubits, five spans, and three fingers – five feet ten inches – tall, yet he calmly matched Thunder stare for stare, as it were yellow flame against black stone.

[Does Thunder feel no fear at all?] Miranda thought dazedly. [With Chris Alan’s kind of speed, he could fell Thunder like a tree before he had time to uncross his arms!]

Finally, Chris Alan stood before sky-blue-haired Cumulus. Within a few seconds he began to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking,” replied Chris Alan, “that you’d better not quit your dye job.” That pun was almost impossible to pull off in Adamic, but Chris Alan’s gift with words found a workaround, and even the Admiral had to smile slightly at his solution.

Cumulus rolled his eyes heavenward as Chris Alan bent over double with laughter. Most of the rest of those present chuckled, even the younger Cadets. But Cumulus was the resident genius of the Sky Cadets, and the Starbard’s wry sense of humor didn’t fool him for a moment. He knew a fellow walking computer when he saw one, and this one’s brain power alone made him a force to be reckoned with.

[And I’m pretty sure he knows my hair’s not dyed, either,] he thought, guessing right. [He’s just trying to provoke me,] he added, guessing wrong. [I was right: this Starbard’s just crazy enough to try anything once – and that’s what makes him dangerous.]

{All right, Sky Cadets, this is it,} sent Cumulus. {On my mark, we hit him with everything we have. Make sure to avoid collateral damage.}

{Can we at least wait until he stops laughing?} asked Nimbus.

{Yes, that seems fair enough. On my mark, then – no countdown.}

“Ah, me,” said Chris Alan when he finally stopped laughing and stood upright. Cheerfully he looked at the Sky Cadets, who had by then quietly surrounded him in a pentagonal formation.

“Alpha Mode Multiplex, Raphael,” he said with a smile, “*blades drawn*.”

To the sound of a sustained chord that made Melanie think of the fabled music of the spheres, Raphael Goldwing’s awe-inspiring winged figure appeared not once, not twice, but five times. Each clone of himself held his curved blades to the throat of a Cadet like a pair of deadly, indestructible scissors. None of the Cadets could move, even if they dared.

“*Checkmate*,” the clones of Raphael said in unison.

“Since when can Lightchildren do *that*?” Martha exclaimed in a harsh whisper.

“I’m the only one who can, Martha Bridgewater. As the Wielder of the White Hand, I have All the Gifts Without Measure at Need – including the Perspective required to keep from being overwhelmed by those Gifts.”

[The Wielder of the White Hand,] thought Miranda in amazement. [He’s the one the Lightchildren were waiting for, even in our time. No wonder he is what he is.]

 “Chris Alan,” said the clone of Raphael holding Cumulus at bay in an urgent voice, “*this* Sky Cadet can summon Light Without Measure, just as you can.”

“*What*?” Chris Alan couldn’t have been more astonished if he’d learned that the moon of his homeworld really was made of green cheese. “Release them, Raphael. Go to Contact Lens Mode.” Raphael complied, and started feeding Chris Alan alphanumeric data as Chris Alan approached Cumulus. The rest of the Sky Cadets drew near the pair, perplexed.

“Could you hold up your left hand, please?” asked Chris Alan. Cumulus did so, and looked on unbelieving as the Light shining from Chris Alan’s upraised right hand ignited the Light in Cumulus’ hand against his will. Raphael analyzed what he scanned and converted it into spectral information that Chris Alan’s eyes could read.

“You’re right,” said Chris Alan in great wonder. “*Whew*! I knew already that you had unusual Power, but *this*?”

“We call my Power the Daybreaker,” said Cumulus. “I sensed that you had something very similar, even before you came aboard. And yet, there’s something fundamentally different about your Power too. That’s one reason why I feared you might be dangerous to us. That,” he added with a grin, “and the fact that you have a screw loose somewhere – just like my younger brother.” Nimbus made a face at Cumulus, but said nothing.

“I see,” said Chris Alan, feeling less unique than he’d felt in a long, long time. It was actually rather refreshing. “But he’s an Inspirer and I’m a Protector, as we say back home – which means we have different screws loose. Raphael, can you shed any light on our broader differences?”

Raphael paused for a few moments while his phenomenal ability to scan those around him and to emulate what he scanned in his *n*-dimensional neural net went to work. “Certain vital elements of this Cadet’s overall Gifting are rooted in his very DNA,” he said at last. “According to my scans, the same is true of the other Sky Cadets and of the other Children of the Sky on this bridge. But *your* Gifting is completely supernatural. It has *modified* your DNA, but it is not *rooted* in your DNA.”

“But our Gifts ultimately come from the same Source, yes?”

“Yes. In particular, both you and this Sky Cadet radiate Light of identical degree and kind. There is no counterfeiting that Light by any means whatever, as you well know.”

“And that means we both serve the same Lord – and woe to us both if we fail to serve Him well! So if all that’s true, Master Cumulus, then why should we be enemies?”

“Why, indeed,” said Cumulus, “especially when you could’ve killed us all easily and didn’t?”

“Well then, Master Sparrow,” Chris Alan called out, “have I passed your test?”

“Completely, Captain Starbright.”

The Admiral stepped forward to join the Sky Cadets and shook Chris Alan’s outstretched hand. The Sky Cadets drew closer, now welcoming their guest with smiles, handshakes and embraces.

“Welcome to Father Cloud’s Realm, Undying Singer,” said Admiral Sky Cloud.

= = = = = = =

“You’re leaving?” said Miranda.

Whatever else her past and her future might hold, Miranda – at least in this dreaming storyline – would never forget the last three days. For the first two days, Chris Alan had regaled her, her sisters, the Sky Cadets, and anyone else who would listen, about his life and adventures, and he gave a willing ear to the stories of his new friends. Only Martha had held back much of herself from Chris Alan, but at least her physical and emotional distance seemed to be a respectful one.

“Yes.” Chris Alan was in his guest quarters, strapping on the few possessions he didn’t keep within Raphael’s miraculous otherspace closet. “I need to return to my own place and time.”

“Is it really true that we’ll make history here?”

“Yes. You see, your story was preserved for *my* place and time … all of the story that matters. Reading it is what motivated me to come here. The Lord had other ideas about bringing you home, but they make sense. There’s an old, old saying: when the Lord closes a door, He always opens a window. You’re meant to fly through that window, Miranda … you and your sisters alike. Not even *I* should interfere with that.”

“Chris Alan…”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for spending so much time with me today. I’ll never forget you as long as I live.”

“Nor will I forget you, Miranda Bridgewater.”

Miranda knew it was too much for her to hope that Chris Alan would kiss her. Even if his own brand of chivalry didn’t prevent his kissing her, he could have anyone he wanted. He didn’t need to kiss a girl simply because he could, let alone a girl as plain as she was…

“You’re not as plain as you think you are, Miranda.”

Miranda started. “You really *are* a mind-reader, aren’t you?”

“Only when I *need* to be.” And he kissed her hand. “True beauty grows from within, Miranda, and transforms whatever it touches. Keep watching the mirror!” And with that, he and Father Cloud’s Realm dissolved into Light.

= = = = = = =

[So it was only a dream after all.]

Miranda had awakened to find the artificial lighting of her room activated. It was full morning, according to the ship’s clock. Sighing, she rose from her bed and headed for the huge bathroom. It was equipped with all the amenities, even a very inviting tub. But such things (she reflected) really were meant for very beautiful women, and she wasn’t sure she had the heart to enjoy them.

Well, at least she could wash her face. Miranda filled the basin before the mirror with water, splashed her face with water, half-blindly sought out the nearest terry cloth, and dried off her face until she could see again. Then, astounded, she clasped the sides of her face with both hands and drew near to the mirror.

Miranda’s face had always been rather oily, and she was prone to acne. But this morning, not a single pimple or blackhead was visible on her radiant, clear skin. Nor could she find any on the rest of her body.

And the bruise that Martha had put on her face was gone.