“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that my greatest enemy is myself…”

– The Fearless Tiger

* * * * *

The *Hind* was again in virtual velocity; from an outsider’s point of view, it was rapidly winking in and out of normal space. Rafael was flying the Courier while Chris Alan took a break to familiarize himself with Susan, his new crew member. Earlier he’d instructed Michael, Susan’s Guardian, to escort her to the quarters normally reserved for the sergeant at arms. Chris Alan had decided that Susan would best suit that position, at least for now.

Chris Alan was still bothered by what Master Hung had told him, but tried to focus on the mission rather than on his feelings. Dealing with Susan, if nothing else, would distract him from his larger concerns. He walked in on Susan only because her door was open; she was busy doing three-finger push ups with both hands using her thumbs, index fingers and middle fingers.

Chris Alan knocked on the wall. “May I enter?”

“It’s your ship; you can come and go as you please.”

“I hope you like your quarters.”

“So you’ve decided I’m sergeant at arms.” Susan stood up to face him as bold as ever, as if the defeat she suffered meant nothing. She treated it like a fact-of-life thing that was bound to happen at some time, and she was not making a big deal of it.

“For the time being, yes. You prefer something different?”

“Yes! What about First Officer, instead of that little twit?”

“Faith’s a competent Lightchild,” Chris Alan replied mildly, if firmly. Susan had yet to reckon with a Protector’s brand of insight about people, and he knew it.

“She’s inexperienced and weak; she’ll probably run at the first sight of blood.” Susan was wearing a long dress similar to what Yellow Tribeswomen wore; it was evident her time with Master Hung had influenced her greatly.

“I think she’s up to it.” Chris Alan spoke to Susan simply, directly, as he knew Doers and related types preferred.

“We will see how *that* pans out in a fight.” Susan snorted in her bull-like way.

Chris Alan changed the subject. “We’ll soon reach our penultimate destination; I suggest you use the time to familiarize yourself with the weapons systems.”

“Oh, I’m familiar all right, Captain. I’ve spent an entire two hours having Michael confer with Rafael; the weapons on this ship are first class.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Chris Alan said dryly, wondering if it really was one, “but *I* didn’t design the *Gazelle II*-class upgrade.”

“Anyway,” Susan went on in her former lecturing tone, “all I’m saying is if this mission fails, it won’t be because of me, but because of one of those other two.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Come on, are you blind? We have a forty-year-old engineer who’s too distracted with his childish games to ever fulfill his full potential, and a little girl who hates fighting even more than you.” Susan was pacing up and down as if she were a Fleet Admiral on a Sky Island. “The logical conclusion would be to have *me*, the most experienced and trained of our group, be your first officer.”

< Just great – she’s using an appeal to pragmatic logic, > Chris Alan thought, < and trying to overthrow my value judgment with it. >

“Next you’ll be asking to *lead* this mission, Your Greatness.” Chris Alan laughed, but there was little mirth in his reaction.

“I’m just throwing around ideas.” Now Susan stared at Chris Alan with her hands on her hips. “You’re not a lot of fun, you know that? What’s the matter? Can’t you take a joke? Or is it you can’t stand the idea your choices may be wrong?”

Susan was trying to stir him up, all right – but Chris Alan was not up for a shouting match with her, even if he could out-sing her in a heartbeat. The things flying through his mind were many.

“We’ll discuss my sense of humor and judgment another time. Meanwhile, I suggest that you keep your ideas to yourself…*sergeant*.” Chris Alan shot the term as a correction, and the look on her faced showed that it worked. After handing her a cold stare to underline his point, he marched off without another word.

< I know Protectors can be cold, > Susan thought with a shudder, < but man, that stare could put out fire. Lamb Lionheart, indeed. >

“We are landing now, Captain,” said Rafael over the intercom.

* * * * *

The *Hind* had landed in a desert of sun-baked sand. Chris Alan, being the son of an astronomer, noted that the planet’s sun was hotter than Ge’s, although at this distance its visible disk looked noticeably smaller. These circumstances made looking straight into the sun even more dangerous than on Ge – and it made the risk of sunburn higher, too.

The quartet (along with their Guardians, floating over their shoulders in Rest Mode) walked into a dust-blown settlement of wooden buildings and dirt streets. The town was quiet, *too* quiet; and as cliché as that state was, it made Chris Alan feel unsettled.

“Reach for the sky!” Everyone jumped, but it was only Joe standing in a pose reminiscent of a cowboy from the files Chris Alan had seen of the ancient First Realm.

“Come on, we don’t have time for this,” Chris Alan scolded. But now he recognized the sort of town they were in: almost the spitting image of a cattle town of the First Realm’s Wild West.

“What? Come on, you have to admit that was a classic,” Joe argued.

“From a classic idiot,” Susan laughed.

“My I.Q. is taller than you,” Joe teased, for Susan was shorter and stockier than either of the men. Even fifteen-year-old Faith was very nearly as tall as she.

“Whatever.”

“Stop it already,” Chris Alan shouted with just enough Prophetic voice to get even Susan’s attention, and then began mumbling to himself at how they were all being silly. Faith came up from behind and rested her hand on his shoulder.

“What troubles you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, not now.”

“Come on, let me in.”

“Maybe later, after I talk to Autumn first.” Chris Alan knew a talk with his wife would do the trick.

The Four Stars (as Faith had amiably named the quartet) walked into a saloon and saw many creatures of the cow archetype (horns and all) sitting in Wild West garb and drinking…*beer*. Well, at least they had opposable thumbs and fingers rather than hooves on their front legs…that is, their *arms*. The construction of their…*hands*…was strange all the same. Chris Alan almost felt like laughing, and that feeling lifted his mood a bit.

“Feel at home, Susan?” Chris Alan smiled, then started laughing uncontrollably.

“Ha, ha. Very funny, Captain.” Susan was not amused.

Chris Alan wiped the tears of laughter away. “What’s the matter, Sergeant? Still think I have no sense of humor? Or do you only resent a joke when it’s at your expense?”

Susan folded her arms and said nothing, but Chris Alan had her cold and she knew it.

“Who’s being silly now?” Faith teased.

“Ah, nuts.” Without another word, Chris Alan walked up to the black bull-creature that was seemingly the bartender.

“Howdy, partners,” the bull said.

“Howdy to you, too,” replied Chris Alan, using Tongues at Need to communicate. Rafael translated for the other Guardians, who then whispered in Adamic to their Bondmates.

“What can I get y’all?”

“We’re not here for drinks; we’re looking for someone.”

“Really, by Joe?” < A corruption of the Lord’s proper Adamic name, > Chris Alan realized in passing. “Who?”

“Cody Lonestar.” When Chris Alan said the name, the room fell silent and the bartender placed the glass he was shining on the bar.

“Now look here, boss, we don’t want no trouble in these here parts.”

“Trouble?” Chris Alan gave him the disbelieving eye.

“Told you.” Joe sang in the background.

“Does any one here know Cody Lonestar?” Chris Alan looked around the room but all the creatures looked away. Then there was a growl of a tiger from outside of the building.

“See what you get for calling the devil?” the bartender scolded. “He always comes.”

Chris Alan could hear the clink, clank of…*spurs*? The steady, yet swaggering walk was getting closer and Chris Alan could see the *cows* were afraid, very afraid. Even Faith was trembling. Susan looked as strong as ever, and Joe just didn’t seem too bothered. The bartender ducked down behind his bar.

Chris Alan stood apart, an island of intense curiosity in an almost unbroken sea of fear.

The double wooden doors swung open and a hooded man walked in, wearing black boots with spurs at the back. The man was dragging a cow, but Chris Alan sensed that this was no mortal – it was an Elemental, unconscious and restrained by durin chains. The man simply threw his prisoner onto the floor in the corner and went to the bar.

“Give me a brew,” the man said in a deep, husky voice. The bartender quickly complied.

Chris Alan studied the strange scene. The man stood out, yet he also seemed to blend in. Whoever he was, he paid no attention to the Lightchildren there at the bar as he sat down at a table. The cows around him tried to pretend he wasn’t there, with mixed success.

Suddenly a large white tiger burst in and trotted over to sit at the man’s feet. Gently he stroked its neck while he drank his liquor.

Chris Alan began to walk over, but Faith held his arm, shaking her head. Gently he removed her hand and strode over to the table, Joe following close by.

< Doesn’t *anything* scare the Captain? > Faith thought in amazement. She had yet to learn that Chris Alan’s habitual calm was not the *absence* of fear – for Protectors had a greater capacity for fear than most people – but the *mastery* of fear.

“Cody Lonestar?” Chris Alan began as he sat down at the table.

“Who wants to know?” The man remained hooded under his emerald green cloak, Chris Alan could see he was wearing all-black garb under it.

“Captain Chris Alan Starbright.”

“If I were, what would it be to you?” The man drew his Starblade and lit it, then turned it over. It had two Adamic names etched on its blade: *Ketsef-El* (God’s Wrath) on one side, and *Chesed-El* (God’s Mercy) on the other. It was also stouter than most Starblades Chris Alan had seen, including his own *Shalhevet-Yah* (Flame of the Eternal). Cody held it as if he were prepared for a fight.

“We are also of the Light.” Chris Alan drew his Starblade slowly and lit it. The man nodded when he saw the fiery letters, written in Adamic on one side of the blade and in Angelic on the other.

“Where’s your Guardian?” Chris Alan had been waiting for Cody’s Guardian to come floating through the door, but none had come.

“Chris Alan, that *tiger* is his Guardian,” Rafael explained. Chris Alan’s eyebrows rose.

“What honor brings the Wielder of the White Hand to my corner of the Ring?” Cody sheathed his Starblade calmly as he spoke.

“You know who I am?” Chris Alan asked as he sheathed his own Starblade.

“Who doesn’t?” Cody replied matter-of-factly. Susan rolled her eyes, a fact which didn’t escape Cody’s notice. “But it’s always good to make sure. Only *one* can wield *that* blade.”

“Why didn’t you ask your tiger friend who we were?”

“I like doing *some* things myself…which is something I know you appreciate.”

“Fair enough.” Chris Alan nodded earnestly. “Bakbuk’s been captured – and *we* are going to rescue him. The Lord of the Realms sent me to get you for this mission.”

“O.K., I’ll come along for the ride.” Cody’s response surprised Chris Alan; he expected more resistance. Then again, with people of Cody’s type it was difficult to tell what was going on in their heads, even for a Protector – this side of Prophecy at Need, which wasn’t kicking in to help Chris Alan at the moment.

Cody removed his hood to show a White Tribe male only three years older than Chris Alan, with jet-black hair that covered his left eye. “I’m getting tired of this place anyway. Ezekiel, Rest Mode, please.” The tiger transitioned to a black sphere hovering over Cody’s left shoulder.

“What *was* that?” Joe shouted.

“You mean the tiger?” Cody smiled. “Delta Mode. The Lord installed it two days ago; I found out about it by accident.”

Chris Alan knew better; Cody probably had intuition equal to his own. Was it a “lucky guess”, or was he just more connected to his Guardian so as to notice a difference? Chris Alan suspected the latter –if anybody naturally understood his own symbolic thinking (and that of his Guardian) better than a Protector, it was a Scientist – but he also knew that Cody would never tell.

“So what are we waiting for?” Cody looked pointedly at Chris Alan’s crew.

“Yes, we have to go.” Chris Alan confirmed.

Cody paused at the door and gave the “cows” a glance. “You be good now. You wouldn’t want the Lord to send me back here – *understand*?” They all nodded.

* * * * *

“I assume that your prisoner was this planet’s Archon?” Chris Alan asked.

“That’s right: the archetype for the whole species.” Cody shrugged. “His name’s Aldeberan. He was getting uppity: started calling himself the Bull of Heaven.”

Chris Alan nodded; these were old, old names, dating all the way back to the First Realm. “The last thing we need is *another* Hostile Elemental turning his subjects bitter.” Cody nodded his agreement in turn. “Do you need someone to come and fetch him?”

“Ezekiel’s already taken care of that. The Fleet’s sending a *Seraph*-class ship to get him. He’ll be tried at the nearest Sky Island, and I expect executed. We’ll hear who gets assigned to take his place, I hope.”

“Why did you scare them like that?” Faith came up to walk next to Cody; she was upset.

“It’s what they understand. They *are* bovines, you know.”

“The Lord is about love and mercy,” she argued.

“True, but He is also a Lord of justice.”

“Let me guess: are *you* the executor?”

Cody stopped and turned to her, and without emotion replied, “Exactly.”

“Leave him be for now, Faith,” Chris Alan warned. He knew people of this type better than most; his father was one. While in their *moods*, they could be a handful.

“Well, *I’m* not scared of you,” Susan shouted after Cody.

Cody stopped and turned, scanned her with his right eye, and pulled a small durin knife and threw it at her. Susan side-stepped and the knife flew past to hit a tree behind her. The others turned and saw that the knife had killed some small insect on the tree. Cody recomposed himself and pulled his hood over his head.

“You *should* be,” he replied as he went to retrieve his knife.