Jeb Stuart Ho looked puzzled.
‘How will we navigate through the nothings? We have no wayfinder at the temple at this time.’
The teacher gave him a long sombre look.
‘We will use the temple’s own stuff beam as a constant fix.’
Jeb Stuart Ho’s eyes widened, despite all his control.
‘What you’re saying is that we’ll be reversing the stuff beam and using it as a transit path through the nothings.’
The teacher nodded.
‘That is correct.’
‘But surely we might burn out our own stuff receivers? It could leave us with no material supply input.’
‘That contingency has been included in the projections of the mission.’
‘The risk …’
‘The projections are not your speciality.’
Jeb Stuart Ho inclined his head.
‘Yes, teacher.’
‘We must all go now. There is much still to do.’
Na Duc Rogers hesitated.
Teacher …?’
‘You have something else to ask, Na Duc Rogers?’
‘I wondered, teacher, what the probability is of our returning from this task.’
The teacher looked quizzically at him.
‘You wish to see all the projection figures on this task? You wish to spend the remaining time studying them?’
‘No, teacher.’
‘You think the knowledge of one particular figure will aid you in the completion of your task?’
Na Duc Rogers slowly shook his head.
‘It would not aid me, teacher.’
‘Then there is nothing else to say.’
‘No, teacher.’
Jeb Stuart Ho and Na Duc Rogers both bowed. The teacher returned their salute. They walked past him and down the echoing, black stone corridors until they reached the cleansing chamber. The two men removed their fighting suits, handed them to the attendants and walked naked, side by side, into the first compartment. Steam rose from small vents in the floor. The two men began to perspire freely. They made an effort to close down their conscious minds and centre their beings on the heat that surrounded them.
As they moved through the series of compartments that made up the cleansing chamber, the heat progressively increased until it was almost intolerable. In the final compartment there was a clear pool of ice cold water. Ho and Rogers dived simultaneously. They swam for a few minutes and then climbed out as the attendants at the other end moved forward with soft warm towels. Once they were dry and dressed in their black robes, the two men bowed to each other, and went the separate ways to their own cubicles.
The cell in which Jeb Stuart Ho lived was tiny and very plain. A straw mat was folded neatly on a small raised dais. This was where Jeb Stuart Ho both slept and conducted his private meditation. The only other piece of furniture was a carved wooden chest. A banner with an inspirational inscription hung on the wall.
Another black robed figure sat cross legged on the floor. A white silk sheet was spread out in front of him. Laid on it, in a formal arrangement, was the heavy duty battle equipment of a brotherhood assassin. There was a black fighting suit identical to the one Jeb Stuart Ho had worn in the training room, only the reinforced padding on this one was heavier and there were metal plates on the knees and elbows. Beside it was a clear, spherical, armoured plexiglass helmet and breathing unit. There was also an array of weaponry: a three section nunchak, its lengths of steel joined by two short chains; a .90 magnum in its carrying case that also held the ammunition and extension barrel; a variable laser set and a flat case of six matched throwing knives. In addition to the arms there was a miniature stasis generator and a combined food and water container.
The man sitting on the floor was polishing a long double handed sword. The blade already reflected the light of the single candle like a mirror, but he continued running the soft cloth up and down its length. The man was younger than Jeb Stuart Ho, a teenager. His name was Milhouse Yat Sen and he was Jeb Stuart Ho’s pupil and servant until the first stage of his brotherhood training was complete. He had been assigned to Ho after Ho’s return from the abortive task in Quahal.
As was the normal custom among the brotherhood, they had rapidly become lovers.
Jeb Stuart Ho sat down cross legged on the dais. He didn’t speak to Milhouse Yat Sen. The young man glanced up briefly, and then went back to his work.
Ho altered his breathing and began to move into a state of intermediate trance. He was practised in the art of the full deep trance that was the physical equivalent of near death. The preparations, however, were far too long. An intermediate state was the only mental preparation that he had time for before the 20.00 lift.
His eyes followed his pupil’s hand moving up and down the gleaming blade. His eyelids slowly drooped. Finally his eyes closed altogether. The young man stopped polishing the sword. He looked carefully at Jeb Stuart Ho. Ho didn’t move. He put down the cloth and carefully slid the sword into its sheath, and laid it beside the other weapons.
He shifted so he could look directly at Jeb Stuart Ho. He assumed a posture of meditation. His eyes, unlike Ho’s, remained open and staring fixedly at his teacher’s face. It was a very long time before Ho came out of his trance. Milhouse Yat Sen remained steadily watching him.
Finally Jeb Stuart Ho’s eyes opened. For some moments the younger and older man sat watching each other. Then Jeb Stuart Ho smiled.
‘You have prepared everything?’
‘Everything, my teacher.’
There was a long pause. Jeb Stuart Ho slipped silently out of his robe. He remained cross legged and naked on the dais. Milhouse Yat Sen frowned.
‘Are you going to put on your equipment, my teacher?’
Jeb Stuart Ho shook his head.
‘I am going to sleep.’
‘Do you wish me to leave you, my teacher?’
Jeb Stuart Ho laughed softly.
‘I would like you to stay with me, Milhouse Yat Sen.’
The young man solemnly stood up. He let his own robe fall to the floor. His slim body was pale in the candlelight.
‘I would like to stay with you, Jeb Stuart Ho.’
He knelt on the dais beside Jeb Stuart Ho and ran his fingers across the scars on Jeb Stuart Ho’s broad chest.
***
A.A. Catto had worked unrelentingly for three solid days. Her armies had taken Feld and a dozen other cities. They were now regrouping for the next major centreward thrust into the heart of the more closely packed stasis towns. It was not, however, the problems of military strategy that had absorbed A.A. Catto’s time and energy. Those burdens had fallen almost entirely on the shoulders of her six advisers, the war room aides and the lizard installation. A.A. Catto had been planning a dinner party. It was no ordinary dinner party. This was to be a very special celebration of the success of the first stage of her conquest.
Even though she said it herself, the party was turning out to be a glittering success. Not that there was any reason why it shouldn’t be. A.A. Catto had given her most careful personal attention to every detail from the decor and the menu to the after dinner drugs and the ordering of the guests.
She was particularly pleased with the ordering of the guests. The result that she now surveyed from her high backed chair at the head of the long banqueting table was a tribute to her imagination and ingenuity.
In a time of war, it had seemed inadvisable to invite genuine individuals from outside. Thus she had had to resort to ordering custom built dinner guests from Stuff Central. A.A. Catto had scoured the history tapes for details of suitable personalities that could be programmed on to units from the Stuff Central pool of human blanks.