The Plane Hopper
By Canib56

Maynard was a tall brown haired man that was only moderately good looking, and he had been with the CIA for several years now.  He had worked his way up through the ranks, and now was a global traveller and doing things for the agency that would have gotten him jailed earlier.  Working for a large and powerful group did have its advantages.  Maynard had started as a hacker when he was a boy, and after making a name for himself in hacker circles was implicated by another hacker that had been caught.  Maynard was never caught, and even though his name and exploits were given up in a plea bargaining session, the agency was not quite able to get their bureaucratic claws into him.  The new man in the department that was handling Maynard's case suggested (in an unchar­acteris­tically en­lightened man­ner) that May­nard be incorporated into the agency.  The idea was simple enough.  If May­nard was that good, and that uncatchable then the agency should have him on their side. 

     After being sent through college, Maynard was trained as a field agent.  His train­ing was, understand­ably, light as compared to the other field agents, but his job kept him at a com­puter terminal most of the time.  The only rea­son that he needed field training at all was that many computers could not be accessed from the outside.  Maynard was, now, much too valuable to be placed in harm's way without im­proving his chances of survival with some martial arts, weapons han­dling, and general training that kept him from being overly stupid.  (Maynard had always chalked the smoothness of the movie spies to per­sonal charisma, but it was, actually, more a matter of elimination of mis­takes rather than innate bril­liance.  It was something that he had known subconsciously from his hacking days, but learning that it was true in everyday life was a revelation.)

     Now, Maynard got to hack in every major city on the globe.  He is well paid (by CIA standards) for doing the things that dreams were made of when he was still a boy.  He is being sent to Paris, and is about to meet the girl of his dreams.  He has led a shel­tered life for such a long time that, now that he is in his mid thirties, he is long over­due for female companionship.  Isn't this always the point where a man gets into the biggest messes of his life?

 

Maynard was in Paris.  Ah, Paris in the spring.  It had been a couple of years since he had been here last, and he was looking for­ward to this trip, but it was not because the old joy of breaking into a new system was there.  There was a time when he had relished each new assignment, because it rep­resented a new mountain to climb, and a new nut to crack.  That thrill was still there, but only for the few jobs that  turned out to be interesting.  After his years of experience, his job was mostly a matter of routine.  Maynard frowned.  It seems a damn shame that this is the in­evitable result of staying in your field.  "I guess that if they took the most ravenous beast of the jungle, fed him until he was full, and then forced him to eat more and more, even he would lose his appetite", he thought. 

     He continued to think about these things as his cab drove to Maxim's.  He had heard that Maxim's had a new chef that was so good that the world seemed to beating a path to Paris just to eat her food.  She was mysterious, and that, except for the kitchen staff, no one seemed to know who she was, and they weren't talking.  "Can't any expert be without quirks?  Just once??", Maynard said to himself.  He went through his trained memory systematically to recall facts about artists with personality quirks.  There was the concert piano player that always wore soft grey leather gloves for 24 hours before a con­cert.  Once, his gloves were taken off by someone just before the con­cert, and he re­fused to play.  Gustav Holst would never sign an autograph.  Van Gough had much more than his fair share of quirks.  The list seemed endless.  Were these people made even more attractive for their quirks?  Were they able to pro­duce the more for their oddities.  Was that a distinguishing mark of one that is exceptional?

     The cab driver yelled louder that they were there, and it, fi­nally, got through to Maynard.  He paid the driver and went inside.  When he got to thinking, there was no way to, reliably, get through to him.  "But that isn't a quirk or oddity.  It's just a matter of concentra­tion", he thought to himself.  "Well, maybe I may have a minor attribute that is somewhat different or slightly unusual, but it is nominal at the most", he lied to himself.

     "Reservation for Mr. Fletcher", Maynard said.  The man looked at the reservation list and was almost disappointed to see that there was, indeed, a reservation there for a Mr. Fletcher.  He enjoyed turning people away from the restaurant as it not only gave him a great sense of power, but made the peo­ple want  to eat there even more if that was possible, but Maynard had made the reservations through agency contacts, and that was even better than waiting through the four month waiting list. 

     Maynard had never seen so many people at Maxim's, espe­cially on a Thursday night, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why they were there.  When people are waiting for a table, they talk about all manner of things, but these people were talking about the new chef.  "Her food was unmatchable."  "Chefs the world over tried to imi­tate the style, or the flavor or even just the consistency, but it just wasn't the same."  "It was like trying to cook Italian food without garlic or Chinese food without soy sauce." 

     "Oh, the chef just has more of the same hocus pocus", Maynard said.  All heads turned that had been within ear shot.  "What was that?", a middle aged woman asked.  Maynard realized that since he had come in alone, that his comments were taken in by the public if they were verbalized.  Oops!

     "I said that it is all hocus pocus.  There is always a trick that sets someone apart for a time, but when it becomes common knowl­edge it turns out to be simple and easily imi­tated.  If one person can do it then someone else can if they just know how."

     Maynard noticed that conversation had died down consider­ably, and that, to his chagrin, he was the center of attention.  So much for his much vaunted training in not making a complete ass of yourself in public.  "I have gotten complacent in my old age", he thought to himself.

     "Have you ever eaten anything that she has prepared?", one very fat man asked.  "I am a master chef myself and I will put my repu­tation on the line and say that Kirin's masterpieces are unique, and that no one will ever be able to match them!  She can make boiled carrots into a delicacy beyond compare.  Well, have you eaten her dishes or not?", he blustered.

     Maynard's mind raced through his social training classes back in his early days with the agency.  The list of things to keep in mind were too much for him to sort through just now.  He decided that he had to do something simple but, at least, somewhat effec­tive.  "I apol­ogize for prejudging someone that is obvi­ously an incomparable artist."   He thought of beating his breast and rending his clothing, but that might be a little too much, and the sarcasm would be lost on these pompous gourmands.  Besides, they might not let him into the fancy restaurant if his clothing was torn.  "I will trust your expert judgement", he said to the fat chef, "and let the wonders of her dishes speak for them­selves."  He bowed slightly.  He would have thought that to have been laying it on too thick, and in America he would have been right, but Paris had its own rules, and he had learned to live by them as early as his French lessons at the agency. 

     It would have been poetic for the head waiter to have called his name for seating at this juncture, especially as it was past his reser­vation time, but this was not a book, and the head waiter had appar­ently heard the interchange and was letting Maynard wait a while for his insolence. 

     Time passed, as it characteristically does.  After waiting for an excessive time, he stormed up to the waiter, and demanded to be seated.  "I have been waiting for more than an hour past my reserva­tion time", Maynard exploded.  "What kind of a place are you running here?"

     "A very crowded one, sir."  When the waiter called Maynard "sir", it sounded as though he was swearing at him.  "It will be another half hour at least.  Do you still want to wait Mr. Fletcher?"  The waiter looked expectantly at Maynard.  He was clearly trying to get Maynard to leave, and Maynard was not go­ing to give him the satisfaction. 

     While Maynard was trying to come up with some sort of an­swer that would leave the waiter reel­ing for weeks, a voice to his left said "Could he share my table with me Anton?"  Maynard turned and he saw a woman that more beautiful than he would have thought pos­sible short of having a team of artists spends weeks airbrushing a pic­ture.  She was about 5' 8", had light green eyes and long golden blonde hair in a simple but elegant braid.  She wore a forest green dress that came halfway to her knees, and she seemed to be filling it just fine.  To say that her complexion was creamy was giving too much credit to the cream.

     The waiter seemed to be shouting at him.  Maynard didn't want to pay attention until he realized that he was also being shaken.  It seemed that he was doomed to being an idiot for the rest of the night, so he might as well resign himself to that part of it, but idiot or not, he would not let the chance of dinner with this exquisite woman pass him by.

     "Of course Anton", Maynard said with as much control as his trembling insides would permit.  "Lead on", Maynard said to the waiter.  The woman spoke in French and Maynard was so grateful to the agency for teaching him to speak fluent French that he made a mental note to remove that minor bug he in­troduced into their mainframe after that last little misunderstanding with his superiors. 

     They were led to a private table that commanded a view of the whole restaurant.  She walked more smoothly than he would have expected considering how high her pumps were, and she lacked that wiggle so characteristic of the stereo-typical decorator girl.  Maynard wondered who she was and was think­ing of ways to find out about her when he realized that he had not even asked her name.  He made a men­tal note to check later to see if he had been given a lobotomy when he wasn't looking.  Maybe it was just because he was unused to women.  Maybe it was the dimples.  No.  He had goofed sev­eral times tonight before he had even met . . . whoever she is.

     He jumped, ungracefully, to pull her chair out for her in an attempt to be charming, but he bumped into the waiter who was doing the same thing.  "That's right.  The waiter is supposed to do these things", thought Maynard.  Maybe he was regressing to his shel­tered childhood, and the apparently thin veneer of his adult maturity and sophistication was peeling away.  Maynard took a deep breath and tried to collect him­self.  "I must be trying too hard.  I'll just try to have fun and see if that will be any better.  I suppose that it could hardly be any worse", he thought.

     He looked at her and saw that she was watching him as she drank her coffee.  "Now when did she get coffee?", Maynard thought.  "Oh, great! I have been spacing out again."  He took another deep breath and took the plunge, but, now that he saw once again how breathtakingly beautiful she was, all he was able to do was stammer.

     "I hope that you don't mind my ordering the coffee for you Mr. Fletcher.  You seemed preoccu­pied, and since you have an un­usually high concentration level I thought that it might helpful for me to take care of that small detail for you.  I hope that you don't think me rude, but just what was it that you found so intriguing that it captured your atten­tion so completely?"

     She spoke as though she was a real person.  Her words were not as formidable as was her ap­pearance.  Maynard decided to con­centrate on the conversation and not the view.  "I am, I mean that I was trying to figure out, you know, what makes this new chef cook?  I mean why is she so good.  I mean why is her cooking so good. I mean..."

     "I think that I get your meaning Mr. Fletcher.  They say that the proof is in the tasting, but can you make a preliminary decision based on the smells around us?"

     That had, quite simply, not occurred to Maynard.  Now that he thought of it, the smells were amazing.  He wasn't sure just what it was, but there was something different that made the food smell better than any he had experienced before.  "If you can judge by smell alone, then we are in for a great meal", he said.  There!  He had finally said some­thing sensible to her without stammering.  Maybe this night could turn out better than he had expected. 

     He then remembered that he did not know her name.  Al­though she had been calling him by name already, he asked, "By the way, my name is Fletcher.  What's yours?"  It wasn't clever, but it was practiced enough to have been smooth.

     "I'm Miss Soho.  Where are you from Mr. Fletcher?  You don't sound as though you are from Paris."

     "I am from Seattle originally, but I live in Virginia now.  Where are you from?"  He was getting better all the time.

     "I live here in Paris.  What made you move all the way to the other side of the U.S.?"

     "I got a job offer in Arlington."

     "What kind of work do you do?", she asked.

     "I am a computer programmer and systems analyst.  But, tell me, what do you do and how long have you been living in Paris?"

     The waiter approached and asked if they were ready to or­der and recommended the prawns a la Kirin.  Maynard had not taken the time to look at the menu yet.  "Great", he thought.  Miss Soho or­dered a veal dish with some extras that were unfamiliar to May­nard.  He said, "I'll have the same.  Do you recom­mend a wine Miss Soho?"  She smiled. 

     When Maynard came to his senses again after that brain numbing smile, the waiter was gone and the wine had been poured.  "I am going to have to beat that problem", he mut­tered.  He looked up to see if Miss Soho had noticed what he had said, but she ap­par­ently had not.

     "Mr. Fletcher, do you work for the CIA?"

     Maynard's guard was up to the ceiling.  "Why do you ask a question like that?"

     "Well, you left Seattle to go to Arlington to be a computer programmer.  Since you didn't say that you had left that position, and since you were openly sharing information it seemed reasonable to assume that you were still with that company.  Now Arlington is hardly that computer capitol of the world, and to lure a top level man there something very worth while would have to be there to keep him.  You don't act like a tourist, and you can speak French better than most natives.  There are no high tech conven­tions, seminars, or sympo­siums in town or coming up soon.  I, therefore, suspect that you are here on busi­ness.  This means that your job must not only be high level, but it is impor­tant enough to be international and re­quire your personal presence.  To have a high level computer job that is interna­tional in scope and is based in Arlington, Virginia it seems a fair guess to place you with the CIA.  I, therefore, suggested it since, whether it is true or not, it makes for a good ice breaker and could start some interesting dinner con­versation.  Now Mr. Fletcher, how close am I?"

     Who was this woman?  Maynard wondered whether he was caught in the trap of a Mata Hari.  If so, it meant that he was entitled to some terrific fringe benefits even though he would probably spend the re­mainder of his life remembering them in some iso­lated peni­tentiary.  While he was pondering the comparative merits of spending a measly few decades in prison in exchange for a few weeks or, dare he think it, months with this Venus of a woman, she interrupted his train of thought and said, "I didn't mean to put you on your guard.  I was just making conversation.  I dabble in computers too.  Just what do you think the hacker threat to be to international computer networks."

     Maynard was now in his element, and they were off and running with a discussion that became increasingly technical.  They talked all the way through dinner, and by the time for dessert came around, the conversation was advanced enough to indicate that Miss Soho was more than passingly acquainted with computers and electronic engineering.  They were speaking well beyond a standard Bachelor's degree level.  How could she know so much when she couldn't be more that 20 or 21 at the most?  Maybe she was also a hacker.  Maynard was intrigued, and he abso­lutely had to solve this mystery.  Who was she?  Where did she work?  How did she learn so much?  He would start with the easiest method and simply ask her.  "By the way, Miss Soho, just where do you work?"

     The waiter came to the table and said, "A note for you Miss Soho."

     She read it quickly, and Maynard was annoyed that she held it in such a manner that precluded his reading it from the other side of the paper.  "I must be going now", she said.  "It has been most enjoy­able."

     He was not going to let her get away that easily.  "Will I see you again?  Do you think that we could get together sometime?  How about this Friday night?"

     "I don't think that I can make it that night.  Thank you any­way."

     He was losing her.  Time for just one last ditch stab.  "What would be a better night for you?"

     She regarded him for a moment.  "I suppose that you were a good sport when I put you on the spot with that CIA comment.  Why not?  Can you make it Tuesday?"

     His heart was in his throat.  "Yes, that sounds fine.  Where shall I pick you up?"

     She gave him an address, and bid him a good night. 

     Maynard felt as though his head was spinning.  She had breezed into his life so quickly that in many ways it still seemed like a dream.  Then he saw the dishes from her supper being cleared away, and he had that extra bit of proof that he needed to be sure.  "Well, Miss Soho, I plan to see just who you are between now and next Tuesday.  You can count on that", he said to himself.

 

     Maynard decided to go to the office early the next morning.  He had been awake for much of the night thinking about the mysterious Miss Soho and he was eager to get some answers.  The others were already there.  Bob asked, "How come you came in so early today?" 

     "Nine thirty isn't that early and you know it.  Now unless you feel the need to spend any extended time busting my chops, I suggest that we get down to business", Maynard said.  "I need a background done on a Miss Soho.  Here is her address."

     "Whew!  That's a pretty ritzy section of town and you don't usually request this sort of thing.  Who is this?  Why are you interested in her", asked Bob.

     Maynard filled Bob in on all of the details of the previous night without including his own large blunders.  "That's why I want you to find out.  I want it by this afternoon."

     "Anything I can finish by this afternoon will be general at the most.  That OK with you?"

     "Sure.  A general run down should do it."

     "By the way", Bob said, "about her name, Soho sounds Japanese.  Is that what she is?"

     "She has blonde hair and green eyes, and said that she lived here.  She knew that I was not a na­tive by my speech, but I cannot say the same about her.  It's all pretty much an unknown at this point.  Just see what you can find out for me.  OK?"

     Now all Maynard had to do was to figure out just how to concentrate through the rest of the day.  But, needless to say, he ran through only as little work as he could justify for a day's time and he started to poke around the French databases to see what there was to learn.

     It was after five PM.  Bob had not yet returned.  Maynard knew that there were always delays in direct proportion to the urgency of the desire for there to be no delays.  Maynard was plunking at the key­board when his boss came in.

     "What's keeping the great Maynard Fletcher working at such a late hour?  Finally have a problem that can't be solved in short order?"

     "Oh, hi Mr. Benham.  I'm just doing a little security job", Maynard said.

     "If it is something that will keep you from the weekend, then I want to know what it is so that I can do to again when I need you."

     "Well, I met a girl last night, and I was trying to find out about her before our next date."

     "And you call this a matter of official agency security?  That's a pretty loose defi­nition even by your standards Maynard.  What is it really?"

     Maynard sighed.  There was no real reason to lie to Mr. Benham even if lying was stock in trade for the CIA.  Mike Benham treated Maynard fairly, and he didn't care what was done with the taxpayer's money or the agent's time as long as things continued to go well for the agency.  "OK, Mike.  Here are the facts . . . "  He filled Mike in on all the sordid details of the previous night.

     "Even if she was just being nice and letting me sit at her table, even if it was just a semi-wild guess at my working for the agency, even if just happens that she has her de­grees in computer science from a country other than France, England, Germany, or the US (where I checked), even if it just happens that she is fabulously rich and is unknown to the world at large and never pays income taxes, and even if the most gorgeous girl I have ever met in my life agrees to have dinner with me before we meet, and agrees to a date after one dinner, there is still the matter of that house.

     "The title to the house is in the name of a T. Soho.  It had been owned by the Soho family for over three centuries.  It was worth more than we can even hope to earn in our lifetime, even if we didn't have to pay the IRS.  All official city inspections of the home showed that it conformed to every building code change that came along, but no record could be found anywhere that ever indicated that the work of up­grading the house with plumbing or electricity had been done. 

     "I checked on the neighbor's houses to get names so that we could ask some questions and it turns out that T. Soho owns all of the houses on that entire city block.  There is no record of a burglary or break in anywhere on that whole city block in the po­lice files.  There is no extra security that I can find, but the wealth of that block is not enough to entice even the most daring of thieves. 

     "Their property taxes are paid anonymously and in cash.  No one named Soho has ever paid income taxes.  She wants to see me Tuesday, and I don't know if I'm being set up or not.  Bob went to do a little snooping, and is overdue back.  I'm not sure just what to think."

     Mike considered what Maynard had told him.  "You are right.  There are just too many things that don't add up.  Let's keep the house under surveillance for the weekend and make the decision about your date at the last minute."

 

     Later that night, Bob showed up at the office.  "Look at what the cat dragged in.  Finally decided to come back home, eh?  Just where do you think you've been?", May­nard growled through clenched teeth.

     "I went home to change clothes, and took a nap so that I would be fresher for the look around, after all, it was going to be a piece of cake anyway.  I just spent the rest of the day sleeping.", Bob said.  He laughed.  "I guess if you get behind enough on your sleep it can catch up to you with a vengeance when you least expect it, huh?"

     Maynard glared at Bob.  "Yeah. Right.  Sleeping on the job.  Real professional I'd say."

     "Well, I can get started now.  Fill me in, and lets get down to business."

     They watched the house and its surrounding block for the next four days.  Few people came and went, but there were enough oddities to keep the agency interested.  Everyone that came and went at the whole city block was between the ages of 18 and 25.  About three out of four were female.  There seemed to be some parties, but no food was catered, no gro­ceries were delivered, and there were no servants.  That last part was the most unusual for rich Parisians.

     Mike tried to get a men inside by representing themselves as salesmen and deliv­erymen of vari­ous kinds.  No one got in, but the mixture of expensive art, furniture and high tech toys (of unusual design) that could be seen from the doorway, or through the windows got their curiosity up high enough.

     "This is almost beyond imagination", Mike said.  "Her cover is better than anyone should be able to fake, and yet there it is.  Well, I know that we can do the job from the inside even if the outside accesses are closed off.  Maybe it is just because this Miss Soho is just some sort of super hacker.  We'll search the place.  After we are through, she'll never know that anyone was there."

     Mike, therefore, decided that they would try a break in while Maynard kept Miss Soho busy during the date.  They would plant spy devices, take photographs of the inside of the house.  They might even take some things for ex­amination.  (They could later claim that it was recovered from a fence or the black market.)  Arrangements were made.  Agents were briefed.  Plans were made.  This was going to be a sort of training mission for some of the newer agents in covert entry and searching procedures, and for the older agents in the use of new and sophisticated high tech search and analysis devices.  They were ready for anything.  They were so well prepared that it would one of the men sug­gested that they bring a picnic lunch and a record player.  "Maynard can keep her busy enough for a good party."  Isn't confidence a wonderful thing?

 

     Maynard was fitted with the ubiquitous wire which made his tuxedo even more uncomfortable than it was already.  "Can't you make that thing fit any better?  A walkman would be less conspicuous than this rather oversized contraption that I'm wearing."

     "If you want it to be less conspicuous, I can find a place to put it where she won't find it until after dinner", Bob said evilly.

     "You know", Maynard said, "it really is a lot smaller than I thought it would have to be for the range that it has."

     "I thought so."  Bob looked smug.

     Maynard had chosen one of the agency's Porsche models.  He figured that if Miss Soho wore one of those short dresses again, and it was warm enough that she just might, then watching her get in and out of the sports car could be the stuff of which dreams are made. 

     He was ready well ahead of schedule, and while he was driving to her address he pulled over and parked.  "I'm just waiting until its actually time to pick her up.  I shouldn't be too early.  After all, when have you known a girl to be ready on time?", he quipped nervously into his wire.  He was actually gathering his nerve.  This still was a drop dead beautiful woman, and he didn't want to blow it with her, just in case she was as innocent as she was gorgeous. 

     After waiting for half an hour, he could stand it no longer.  He was still early, but it would give him a few minutes to look around the place.  He had heard much about it and he wanted to see it for himself.  He pulled up in front of the house and parked at the curb.  He opened the large wrought iron gate, which opened easily and without squeaking, and walked up to the door.

     He was looking for a door bell or knocker when the door opened.  It was her.  It took his breath away all over again.  She was wearing a crimson dress that came halfway between her knees and her waist and her jewelry was topped off with a ruby baret pulling her hair back.  Inside he was jumping up and down for his choice of cars.

     "Ah, Mr. Fletcher.  Nice to see you.  Won't you come in?", she dimpled.

     He caught his breath and entered looking around in the hallway.  It was paneled in a dark wood.  There were several masterpieces on the walls, or maybe very good copies.  Maynard wasn't sure as that was not his area of expertise, but he was sure that the boys would know for sure by the time that they were done.  The furniture was in an unusual style, and he was not sure that he liked it.  It didn't really look very comfortable.  There were, after all, some angles involved that went in directions that were not quite the same as the human body.  "Are these actually chairs?"

     "Why, yes.  Why do you ask?"

     "They are very unusual.  Do you mind if I sit in one?"

     "Be my guest Mr. Fletcher."

     "Thank you.  And please, call me Maynard." 

     When she didn't offer her first name is answer he said, "What would you like for me to call you, Miss Soho?"

     "Miss Soho will be just fine."  She smiled at him and gestured for him to sit in the chair.

     While Maynard was thinking just how much of a prude she was for not giving her first name, he was eyeing the chair.  He made a mental note of where the angular chair was going to hit him, and when he finally sat down, he sat so that the bruises that would certainly be there in the morning from this thing would be in places that would hurt less.  He gritted his teeth and sat down. 

     He relaxed and was enjoying it when his eyes openee grittedd wide, and he jumped up with alarm.  "Its comfortable!", he exclaimed.

     "Thank you.  I'm glad that you find it so comfortable that you can't sit in it."

     He jerked his eyes around and saw her there.  "Of course, I am in her house.  That is why she is there.  Ok.  That's Ok.", he thought to himself.  He breathed easier and turned back to the chair.

     "No its not that.  Its just that I thought that this chair was going to poke me in the back.  I mean, look at those angles."

     "But it didn't, did it?"

     "Well, no.  But why?"  He sat down and got up several times.

     "I guess that it is just designed well.  Are you ready to go?"

     "Sure.  I made reservations at a wonderful place called The Black Bottle in Mar­seille.  It may be a bit of a drive, but the weather is beautiful and it is well worth the trip.  You don't mind going that far, do you?"

     "Not at all.  It will give us more time to get acquainted."

     He decided to hold the door for her.  It was well worth the effort.  He took a look at the agents that he could see from afar, and they were stunned too.  That gave Maynard a boost in his confidence as he had thought that it was just him that was so susceptible to Miss Soho's charms.  He took off with a squeal of the tires to punctuate his newfound machismo and drove toward Marseille as his friends moved in on the house.

     "Tell me Miss Soho, why don't you want to tell me your first name, espe­cially when you are willing to go with me on a somewhat extended date with me."

     "It is because I have a deep and dark secret", she said in conspiratorial tones.  "I suppose that I could have given you a false name, but that wouldn't be quite right.  Why not?  Are you willing to be sworn to secrecy?", she asked in conspiratorial tones.

     "Yes, of course."

     She leaned over to whisper in his ear.  "My name is Kirin."

     "Could you say that a bit louder?  The car, you know . . .", he lied, hoping that she would whisper in his ear again. 

     Kirin giggled and dimpled disarmingly.  "Ok", she said.  She leaned over, put her arms around his neck, put those ruby lips to his ear again and whispered in loud breathy tones, "My name is Kirin, and I don't usually whisper twice on the first date."

     Maynard gulped.  What a woman!  He didn't want her to back off now.  "But this could be considered the second date, Kirin", he said nervously.

     "Yes.  Is suppose that it could."

     Kirin.  Kirin??  Wait a minute.  Maynard's mind was churning rapidly.  "You couldn't be the same Kirin that is the chef at Maxim's could you?", Maynard asked aghast.

     "Yes.  The very one.  Now you see why I had to keep a low profile."

     "But why did you tell this to me now?  For all you know, I could tell the whole world tomorrow."

     "If my cover is blown, I will quit although I may do that anyway.  I've been there for quite a while now.  I like to cook, but I like some privacy, and I am willing to go to extra lengths to maintain it.  The media coverage would be too much for me.  I may even leave France.  See some other sights."

     Maynard's mind was boggling merrily away.  He became so wrapped up in his thinking that he forgot to speak in french, and he said, in English, "How could you even think of leaving France when your home has been in your family for generations?"

     Kirin turned toward him and regarded him thoughtfully.  She spoke in a fluent English that he would have thought to have been undeniably British except for a slight and gentle French accent.  "That is hardly the sort of information I wear tattooed on my arm.  Just how much prying have you done into my personal life?"

     Suddenly the trip to Marseille seemed to be too long, even if she was beautiful.  "Oh, come, now . . . You know what the curiosity level of the average hacker is.  I just couldn't resist.  You're not going to hold it against me are you?"  He smiled in a manner that would make him look as innocent as possible. 

     She looked unimpressed.  "I trust you with my name, but a lady is entitled to some privacy, after all, so let's not go too far."

     Privacy!  Maynard remembered that he had a wire that needed to be fed some in­formation.  Well, its time to buckle down and do some serious analysis on this system.  Where to begin is always tough, especially when there were so many areas to cover.  Maynard passed a car that was going fast enough for him, but it gave him a reason to de­lay the conversation for a moment longer while he planned his interrogation strategy.  He decided to start with the easy stuff. 

     "You speak English quite well.  Where did you learn?"

     "I picked it up in school and one can hardly get by in today's society without a working knowledge on English.  Don't you agree?"

     "Yes, I suppose you are right.  By that same line of reasoning, is it safe to con­clude that you speak Japanese as well?"

     "Well, it is always better to be able to communicate.  Where did you learn your French Maynard?"

     "I took night courses.  It pays off in the end.  Where did you get your computer training?"

     "I picked up a little here and there.  I am sort of a dabbler."

     They drove through the streets of Marseille and rounded the corner at the Black Bottle.  It was an elegant if very small Bistro.  Even though its location could be described as "you have to be lost to find it" enough people had found it to allow for a line at the door.

     "I hope that parking won't be too hard to find around here.  I've only been here a few times and I don't know my way around that well", Maynard said reverting to French.

     "Back to French is it?" Kirin answered, also in French.

     "Most from France are not fond of anyone that doesn't speak French.  It just causes trouble.  By the way are you a French citizen?"

     "No, not really.  You know, I think that if you try around this corner, you may find a parking spot."

     Maynard turned, and there was a spot.  She must have seen it when they had been driving around.  He parked, and hurried over to her side, hoping that she would wait long enough for him to help her out of the car.  She did.  This was going to be a very memo­rable night.

     They walked to the line, and the men started staring with admiration a Kirin, fol­lowed by looks of admiration for Maynard.  Yes, this was going to be a might to remem­ber, indeed.  Is she married?  If she wasn't an agent could he marry her?  If she was an agent could he defect?  They went up to the front and Maynard said, "Reservation for two. The name is . . ."

     The head waiter didn't notice Maynard at all.  "Ah, Miss Soho!  It is so good to see you after such a long time.  Table for two?  Right this way."

     Maynard looked at her again.  This was starting to get annoying.  Its time to take off the kid gloves.  He wanted some real answers and his patience was wearing more than thin.  They were seated at the table and given menus.  The place was rather small, but is was large enough to have a piano with a man singing and playing it.  He was quite good, and it lent a good ambience to the place.

     Maynard looked at his menu, then put it down and said, "Why is it that you don't seem to answer any questions directly?  You seem perpetually evasive.  Why won't you answer even one question straight up?"

     Kirin continued to look at her menu.  "First of all I have answered a question di­rectly.  I have told you my name.  Secondly, you have investigated my background and that does lend itself to some suspicion.  The third thing is that we hardly know each other, although you could be said to have the advantage because of your research.  We did not come here for an interview or an interrogation.  We are here to have dinner and enjoy­able conversation."  She put her menu down and looked at him squarely and with deter­mination.  "Frankly, my personal life and background is none of your business.  We should enjoy ourselves as acquaintances and for us to go any further before our relation­ship has gone further is presumptuous.  Can we just have a good time, or is it time to leave?"

     "Well, I guess you have a valid point at that."  He put the menu down, stood up, gave a sight bow and said, "Madame, would you do me the honor of having dinner with me?"

     "I would be delighted, sir", she said.

     Dinner was wonderful, and the conversation was even better.  They talked about anything and everything.  Kirin's views on matters in general were unorthodox to say the least, but it was just that she seemed to look at things from a different viewpoint.  They were perfectly good notions, but just different.  With the load of having to accomplish a definite goal in the course of the evening, Maynard was able to forget himself and just have a good time, a first for him.

     He drove her home after they did some dancing.  As he drove up to the house, he put his CIA training back "on-line" and checked to see if there were any stray agents still roaming around.  There were none to be seen, so it was unnecessary to delay her in the car, although he knew just what he would have done to keep her there even though it would have been easier in a large American car.

     He parked, and ran around to hold the door for her.  She took his arm, and he led her to the house.  He started to think of what to say if she could see that her home had been "burglarized".  She unlocked the door, and they went in.  The house was untouched!  Maynard wondered just what was going on.  They walked in and she led him to a large sitting room where she offered him a drink. 

     "I'll have whatever you're having", he said as he looked around for signs of the entry. 

     She returned with the drinks, and said "Do you like this kind of art?"

     Well, he had been staring around the place.  "What's not to like.  You have dupli­cates of just about every kind of masterpiece that I know about.  It must be worth a for­tune, even if they are copies."

     Kirin just smiled.  She seemed to be about to say something when they heard a noise from the other room.  It sounded like a beeper, or even an odd telephone ringing in an electronic fashion.  She excused herself, and went to the other room.  She returned after a few minutes and said as she was passing through the room without stopping, "Something important has come up, and I have to leave immediately.  I'm sorry.  Please show yourself out.  I had a great time.  Thanks again", and she was gone.

     Was this the kind of romantic evenings that caused men to invent stories?  Well, that was just the kind of brush off that rankled.  Maynard decided that he was not going to let it go at that, and he went after her.  He had questions and whether she answered or not, they were going to be asked. 

     Maynard followed the direction that Kirin had gone.  He heard footsteps upstairs, and up he went.  He went into what looked like a study and he saw a brightly lit garden beyond the door.  He stepped in, and looked around.  The garden had only a few brightly colored flowers, but he didn't recognize them.  The rest was a heavy tangle of trees, bushes and vines of various kinds.   "Well, agriculture isn't my speciality anyway", he thought.  He glanced quickly around the garden, or minor forest might be a more apt de­scription.  She was nowhere to be seen.  He looked back into the study.  With no move­ment to see or hear from the study, he decided to investigate the garden. 

     Suddenly, apparently from nowhere, a slender man with golden blond hair ap­peared in front of him.  He was dressed in an outfit that was more fitting to Sherwood for­est and Robin Hood than to modern day Paris, and he had it right down to the bow and arrows.  He spoke harshly in a language that was unfamiliar to Maynard, but the tone was unmistakable.  He sounded like a cop using that stereotypical voice of authority Maynard found annoying, even after his agency training.

     Maynard looked back to the door with hopes of making a hasty retreat, but the door was gone!  "How could a door be gone?", Maynard thought frantically.  Looking back, Maynard saw that the man had put the bow down, and was drawing a rather nasty looking and very large knife.  Because the blond man was shorter and considerably lighter than Maynard, the outcome of any fight between them was going to be a foregone conclusion because of Maynard's training in martial arts, but this man didn't seem to move as though he knew that. 

     The attacker lunged with considerable speed, but Maynard had expected that from so small a man and he was ready.  Maynard sidestepped, and grabbed for the knife hand to do a Ju-Jutsu throw.  This man was much stronger than Maynard thought possible, and he sliced Maynard with that oversized bowie knife, and Maynard went down.  He was bleeding from the side, and Maynard said to his wire, "I hope that you heard this all, and are coming to help me soon, like right now", as he passed out.

 

     Maynard started waking slowly and lazily.  He felt wonderful after so sound a sleep.  "Wow! What a vivid dream", he said aloud.  He stretched lazily, and opened his eyes.  He was in a miniature forest like the one in his dream.  He felt quickly, but gently, at his side for the wound but there was no pain.  He felt again to see if he was just numb, but he felt fine.  He looked himself over and his shirt was torn and bloody from a knife wound just like the one he had gotten in his dream.

     He sat up and looked around the room.  He saw a woman sitting next to his bed looking him over.  She had brown hair, brown eyes, and wore a well made floor length dress of simple design.  Her long hair was loose, and she wore no makeup.  "That seems strange", he thought.

     "How do you feel now", she asked in American (English).  She reached for his side where the wound had been.

     Maynard flinched away.  "Get back!  Who are you?  Where am I?  What is going on here?  Answer!", he demanded. 

     The violence in his voice seemed to frighten her, and she shrunk away from him.  "I am a healer.  My name is Charissa.  You are in the house of Otsu and are in my care.  I am here to help you."

     Her voice was innocent and gentle.  Maynard felt like quite a heel for scaring her.  He took a deep breath and tried to calm down.  "OK, Clarissa.  Just tell me how I can get out of here, and I'll forget the whole thing."

     "My name is Charissa, and I will get someone that can help you further."  She got up to leave, and she seemed to disappear into the trees.  He got up gingerly, and discov­ered that he was just fine.  There was no pain or stiffness.  This clearly qualifies as a situa­tion of last resort.  Maynard would now pull out the heavy guns.  It was time to think!

     "What is going on?  Either that was some high tech instant-cure decades to cen­turies beyond anything that exists or someone is trying to pull a scam over on me.  Maybe this is some kind of Mission Impossible con job.  If it is, then which side is doing it?  Is it a test by my side of is it the bad guys?  Let's check the facts.  I meet the most beautiful woman that I have ever dreamed of.  She asks me to dinner, and throws down the gaunt­let with a crack about my working for the CIA on the flimsiest of evidence.  The guys back at the office insist on making a major affair of this because of an offhand remark of hers.  Their background check, and as much as I could do, showed that she had a phony history that was so artificial that we were led into the surveillance.  I agree to be fitted with a wire so that they could record the entire event.  They leave a house untouched that is supposed to be ransacked by a small army.  What about this place?  How do I explain a wound that is completely healed?  Probably hypnosis.  They could have had me remem­ber the fight any way that they wanted.  They could twist my facts up beyond reconcilia­tion.  I just have to trust common sense, perhaps more than my other senses.  I've been had, and by the home boys.  Great.  Now what?"

     Maynard decided that he would play along with it for now, and give them some­thing back, or at least save some of his pride.  Well, he could find out how Charissa disap­peared into the trees.

     He walked over to the place where she disappeared and looked around.  There was no exit.  He looked around the room again.  There was no door or window to be seen anywhere.  Great.  Everyone's a Houdini.  After looking for a couple of minutes, and seeing nothing, he tried looking for a lever to open a door.  After some trying his hand just went through an opening in the bushes.  He had found that there was a door after all, but that it had been hidden with an optical illusion that made it seem invisible.  Even after he knew not only what to look for but where to look, be found that it remained invisible to him.  But since he knew that it was really there, he walked tentatively through.

     On the other side a room that was simply furnished with simply, almost crudely, made furniture that was exceptionally stout.  It was elegant in its own way, but it was clearly hand made and somewhat rough.  Sitting in one chair was the short blond man that had attacked him.  He spoke in that odd language with a warning tone.  "He probably doesn't want me to leave, or make trouble in general", Maynard thought.  "I guess that it would be too much to ask for you to speak in any recognizable language", Maynard said.  "I know plenty of them."  He got no answer other than a look of annoyance.

     Maynard looked out of the window that this room sported, and saw a primeval forest of gargantuan proportions.  Even the redwood forests of Northern California were barely saplings to the trees here.  He had never heard of such forests.  It was as beautiful as it was perplexing.

     Maynard got mad.  "Enough is enough.  I've seen through their elaborate game.  When Charissa returns with someone, it will probably be the grand Wazoo of this scam.   I only need to make a fool out of him, tell him that I've already figured everything out, and take some time off.  Maybe I need a new line of work."

     After about another half hour, Charissa returned with a small girl.  The girl was 11 or 12 years old, and had the whitest platinum blonde hair that Maynard had ever seen, peroxide included.  She had bluish purple eyes, pointed ears, and a short white dress that helped her pale complexion look a little darker.  Maybe she was an albino with odd eye color.

     Charissa said (to the little girl), "This is the man that came in through the portal."

     The little girl regarded him.  "Why have you entered into my home?"

     "So you're the one that is supposedly in charge here?  That's rich!  A kid in charge.  That's perfect right down to the Vulcan ears.  And how did I get here on Vulcan Miss Spock?  Humph!"  Maynard was disgusted.  "Well, if you are in charge", he said challeng­ingly, "just where are we?"

     "You are in Alfheim, and you have come into my home without permission.  My guard recognized that you were speaking in English, even though he cannot speak it him­self.  It is for that reason alone that you were allowed to live this long."  She took a step toward him.  "Now tell me why you are here or the conversation will be terminated." 

     She glared at him with those purple eyes and Maynard began to be afraid.  There was something very unusual about this child.  Maybe he could still play along.  Yeah, that's it!  He was still playing along with the gag.  He wasn't afraid.  No, way.  Anyway, they would never actually see the fear, that is if there was any.  He rolled these ideas around for a moment and then said, "I followed Kirin Soho through the door of her own home into here.  I was invited."

     The girl looked at him as though she was trying to see out of the back of his head.  She stepped forward and reached up to touch his forehead.  Maynard was unable to move or resist.  "I have to get my thoughts together and figure out what to do", he thought.

     Maynard, then, experienced a rush of clear thinking that took him through all of his most recent adventures.  When it was over he looked at the girl, and she was taking her hand away from his forehead.  "I think that I know what has happened to you Mr. Fletcher", she said.  "You have stepped through an interdimensional portal and are in an­other dimension, although it is not Vulcan."

     Maynard asked, "And your name is . . ."

     "Otsu", she said simply.

     "And the pointed ears?"

     "I'm an Elf."

     Maynard wished with all that he was worth that he could just roll his eyes and faint dead away.

Maynard's mind was racing.  "So, I'm in another dimension", he said, thinking out loud.  He looked again at the primeval forest outside.  "Do you do much dimensional travelling Otsu?"

     "Come.  Let's take a walk and talk for a bit."

     "Are you sure that you are safe with me?  I mean, a small, defenseless girl like you, alone with a large, strong man . . .  I could do almost anything.  Don't you need your guard?", he said sarcastically.

     "I think that I am quite safe with you, Maynard.  Anyway, the answer to your question is yes, I have done some dimension travelling.  Quite a bit actually.  It's part of my job, but I think that I know what you are really asking", she said kindly.  "You want to know just how much travel goes into your dimension in general and earth in particular.  Not very much really.  Your society won't become very interesting until the mid twenty-first century, if you don't mind the violence, or the later part of the twenty fourth to early twenty-fifth if you like culture."

     "Then why did Kirin come here, I mean go there?"

     "She tends to be somewhat lazy, and she was just relaxing.  Not much was hap­pening on your world for the few centuries that she was there."

     "Centuries?  Just how old is she?  For that matter, how old are you?  You look like a twelve year old kid, even if you don't talk like one."

     "It's about midday.  Let's talk over some food."  She led the way through the large and labyrinthine house, talking as she went.  "We are much older than you might think.  Your species is very short lived, comparatively speaking, but you are right as to my physi­cal appearance.  I had a rather unfortunate accident when I was young and foolish.  The details are irrelevant, but I stopped aging at the age of 120, which would correspond to twelve for your kind."

     "You mean that you never age?  That sounds great!"

     "Would you like to spend an eternity in puberty Maynard?"

     "I guess you got me there.  Whew!  I had enough trouble with it myself and it only lasted for a few years.  You said that you had a job.  Just what is it that a twelve year old can do that would require regular interdimensional travel?"

     They sat down at a table that was made to seat several dozen people.  It looked like some great feast hall.  They ate hot bread, cheeses and fruit washed down with a light but tasty wine.  It was simple fare, but Maynard found it enjoyable as well as satisfying.

     "I was an assassin, but I am mostly retired now.  I will still do work for special clients, but I have no need for the money, and my reputation is sufficiently established."

     Maynard stared at the girl in front of him.  How could this adorable, cute as the proverbial bug's ear child be a professional assassin?  She ate her bread with honey and was crunching her fruit (Maynard wasn't sure whether it was more like an apple or pear) just like anyone else.  "I don't know, yet, when you are joking or telling the truth.  While you are a healthy kid, you clearly don't have the strength needed to overpower much of anyone.  No matter how good you are, the time would inevitably come when you would have to stand toe to toe and fight it out.  I have trouble picturing such a perky little girl doing that."

     "Well, I suppose that I could give you a demonstration, but I don't work for free.  I guess you'll just have to take it or leave it.  It doesn't much matter anyway." 

     A man with blond hair, but not the guard that had attacked Maynard earlier, came up to them and leaned over to whisper into Otsu's ear.  He had pointed ears and Maynard assumed that he was an Elf as well.  Maynard couldn't hear what was being said and Otsu's face wasn't giving anything away.  When he was done, she thought for a moment, and spoke quietly back to him.  She had used that strange sing-song language that May­nard's at­tacker had used.  Maybe it was the Elfin language.  Who knows?  This place had too many unknowns to figure anything out with certainty as far as he was concerned.  The man went away, and Otsu turned to Maynard.

     "Well, Maynard . . .  That was word from Kirin.  She is involved in some business for her father and has no idea when she will return.  But she is willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.  I can arrange escort for you to the borders of Alfheim's forest where you will be free to go."  Otsu got up to leave.

     "Free to go?  Is that where I can catch one of those interdimensional portals back to earth?"

     "I'm sorry to say that you can't go back, but I'm sure that you could find some work here and live a comfortable life somehow."  Otsu started to walk away.

     "Just you hold it right there you little brat", Maynard bellowed.  "I've had enough of your little games.  `I'm a retired assassin'.  `This is my house'.  `Come with me'.  `You can go now.'  I'm not someone to be toyed with.  Now you come back here and give me some answers or I'll turn you over my knee until you do."  It was not the most sensible thing that Maynard had ever said, but his back was against the wall and he was fed up with too many things being too different for him to keep his bearings. 

     Otsu paused for a moment, and then moved on to leave.  Maynard ran up from behind her and reached to spin her around to face him, but he missed.  She, apparently, had chosen that moment to turn back to face him, and in doing so her shoulders moved enough for him to miss. 

     Maynard caught himself, and kept his footing.  He turned to face her, and he drew himself to his full height so that he would be almost two full heads taller, and said, "I'm waiting for your answers, little girl."

     "Your temper does you a disservice.  Your rudeness is inappropriate.  I think that it is time for you to be on your way Maynard."  She turned to walk around him.

     "That's Mr. Fletcher to you, and don't walk away when I'm talking."  Maynard decided that it was time to take off the kid gloves, and grab her give her a good shaking.  Children should have better manners than that.

 

     When Maynard awoke, every part of his body was screaming to him, "PAIN!  I'M IN PAIN!!"  He couldn't remember the last time he hurt so much.  He worked up the courage to open his eyes.  Even his eyelids hurt.  That was a new sensation to him.  He was thankful that it had never happened to him before.  He wished that it was not happen­ing to him now.

     "You must be in a lot of pain."  Maynard heard the voice.  It was cool water to a parched man dying of thirst.  It soothed him just hearing it.  "Is there anything that I can get for you?", the voice said again.  He felt a soft hand on his forehead.  He saw the long brown hair.  Charissa!  What a welcome relief!  Her face showed great concern. 

     "What happened?", he rasped out.

     "I heard that you attacked Otsu.  She must like you or you would not be alive now.  Did you really attack her?"

     "No, not really.  I was just going to shake her up a bit.  I guess her guard must have been able to sneak in behind me somehow.  He got me pretty good.  How does it look for me Doc?"

     Charissa looked thoughtful for a moment.  "Any guards in this household are not here for her protection.  Anything that would genuinely threaten her could not be stopped by any guards.  There were no guards present at that time.  As far as your prognosis, your wounds have been completely healed as far as the actual trauma.  More was done than can be cured without at least a little recuperation time.  You would have died except that Otsu called me in to save you.  I don't know whether that is good or not."

     "But you fixed that knife slash so perfectly that I wasn't sure that it even hap­pened.  Can't you do that again?"

     "Believe me, I have done more healing on you for this injury than would be needed for a dozen sword wounds.  You are a fragile man.  I really am doing the best that I can for you.  Is there anything I can get for you?  More blankets?  Food?"

     "You can get me back to my world."

     "I'm afraid I don't even know where your world is."

     "Then how did you learn my language?"

     "I don't know your language.  I have a device that acts as a translator.  It lets me communicate with most creatures."  Charissa held up a medallion that was rather decora­tive.  It looked expensive as a lot of gold had been used to make it.

     "How can that be a translator?  It lacks circuitry and any power source.  What do you take me for?"  Maynard tried to sit up, and remembered why he had been lying down in the first place.

     Charissa frowned.  "I am not a very good teacher, but I am a good healer.  What you need now is rest.  I will see to it that an acolyte is always present until you are strong enough to care for yourself again."  She rose to walk out, paused, and turned around.  "And don't try to force yourself on Otsu again.  She may not be so kind to you a second time." 

     Charissa turned and walked out toward the door.  In the doorway, she spoke to a middle aged man in low tones.  He nodded and came into the room when she had fin­ished.  The man was short and thin with red hair.  Maynard looked and saw the character­istic pointed ears.  Well, if it was going to be unfamiliar, at least it could be consistent.

 

The man came in and sat down.  Maynard looked him over.  He looked healthy for an older man.  "So, what's your name?", Maynard asked.  The man looked back and an­swered with a shrug. 

     Great.  Well, English is not necessarily the most universal language even on earth.  No reason for me to think that everyone has to know it.  Maynard leaned back and de­cided to mull over some of the recent events. 

     While he was thinking, the Elf had taken out some strange instrument that some­what resembled a guitar and had started to play.  The music was relaxing.  This place wasn't earth, but it did have its good aspects.  Maynard could use this time to sort out his thoughts.

     Either I'm dreaming, or I am in another dimension.  Dreams are unpredictable and painless and this is neither.  If I am insane, then it doesn't really matter anyway.  I think that I am going to have to take things at face value for a while, at least until I have reason to suspect that what I see doesn't add up.  I'll generalize based on what I have seen so far.  Let's look at the facts at hand.

     I am in a land of Elves.  There is no visible technology beyond the twelfth cen­tury.  I haven't seen a book or writing of any kind as yet.  The food was good.  There was no meat served.  The bread was hot, so they do some cooking.  The wine was good, so they plan ahead at least somewhat. 

     I was healed twice, so they have the ability to do something beyond appearances.  Well, that's not necessarily so.  I was unconscious during both supposed healings, so I don't know what they do, how they do it, or how successful they really are, unless I can believe the total healing of that cut that tore my insides out. 

     The elves themselves are four and a half to five and a half feet tall with fair com­plexions and red to blond hair.  They seem to be quite healthy, and they all wore short skirt or kilt like garments that leave their legs and arms bare.

     The air is hot and damp.  It feels somewhat tropical, so I would guess that we are near an equator.  It is raining outside.  From the sound, look and smell of it I guess that it is water.  That forest is amazing.  It is prehistoric.  I'll definitely have to take a look around this place.  As Maynard was musing, he fell asleep listening to the rain and the playing of the lute.

 

When Maynard awoke, he saw that it was dark outside.  The man had been replaced with a middle aged elfin woman.  She seemed to be asleep.  Maynard sat up quietly and re­garded her.  This was his first chance to examine an Elf closely without being ostensibly rude.  She fit his generalizations except for her attire.  She wore a robe.  He got up qui­etly and moved over to take a look at it.  The woman made no sign that she heard any­thing.  Maynard examined the robe.  They may lack technology, but they did know how to make clothing.  It was finely made with considerable skill.  These were, obviously, not merely mideval barbarians.

     He noticed a broach on her robe.  Elves were not, as far as he had seen, very fond of jewelry.  He looked at it.  It looked like some sort of beetle.  He looked at her to see whether he dared touch it.  She was, apparently, fast asleep.  He touched the broach.  It tingled in his hand.  While he was considering taking it off for a closer inspection, the door opened.

     A tall woman with raven black hair walked in.  She was more beautiful than Kirin, but not quite as good as Otsu.  She had a fairly good tan, or a light olive complexion, greenish golden eyes and a look in her eyes that made Maynard shudder involuntarily.  If Maynard was to describe the essence of absolutely pure but beautiful evil, this is what it would be.  She wore a well made outfit of dark earth tones, and sturdy boots.  Her skirt went below her knees.  That was unusual.  No that he had seen here wore a long dress except the old woman and . . . Charissa!  He looked for the ears, but they were covered by the long hair, even though it was pulled back.  Tall . . .  Dark . . . 

     "You are a human?", he asked with trepidation.

     "You seem to be adapting quickly Maynard", she answered.  "Excuse me."  She moved to take a look at the Elf woman. 

     Maynard had forgotten about her, and moved quickly out of the way just in case she was actually even a third as evil as she looked.

     While the tall woman looked Maynard got a chance to see her ears . . .  they were rounded! One point for Maynard.  The Elf awoke at the human's touch and said apologet­ically, "I must have dozed off.  I'm sorry.  Is everything Ok?"  She looked at Maynard.

     "Yes, everything is Ok.  You can go and rest now."  For such an evil looking woman, she sure could talk gently to someone that fell asleep on the job.  The Elf left.

     Maynard said, "At least she could speak English.  The last one had no clue.  Well, I guess you are human after all", he said with more confidence than the last time. 

     "I was born fully human of fully human parents, if that answers your question.  And for your information, that old Elf woman doesn't know a word of English."

     "But I heard her speak.  How dumb do you think that I am?"

     "I'll pass on that straight line.  You took her translator.  You still have it in your hand."  She pointed.

     Sure enough, there was the broach that had made his hand tingle.  He would have to do some experimenting with this later.

     "You do intend to return it, don't you?"

     "Oh, sure.  It was just a mistake.  I'll give it back when I see her again."

     She gestured to someone that was passing by the door.  An Elf girl came in and the human turned back to Maynard and said, "Give it to Moriah.  She will deliver it to Manshi before she worries.  Life is too short to let an old Elf worry."

     Moriah was a typical but scrumptious little Elf with strawberry blond hair and blue eyes.  She wore a short sword on her hip and a quiver of arrows on her back, even though she was not carrying a bow at the moment. 

     Maynard held out the broach.  The human said to Moriah, "Take this to Manshi.  She has gone to the . . ."

     Maynard let the broach go, and the language changed to that sing song language that he associated with the elves.  Maybe it was a translator after all.  Moriah bowed and left.

     "My name is Azsha, and we have much to discuss Maynard.  Do you feel up to a walk."

     "I don't really feel all that good.  I am not sure about what happened, but I still ache."

     "Well, let's just say that you got roughed up a bit.  Here", she said as she put her hand on his head.  "How does that feel now?"

     He felt great.  "That's pretty good.  Are you some sort of hypnotist?"

     "Not exactly.  But since you feel better now, let's take a walk."

     They walked through the "house", stopping only for Azsha to strap on a sword, and take a bow and quiver of arrows.  "Do you expect trouble?" Maynard asked. 

     "Not at all.  It is just a matter of habit."  Then they continued until they came out into the open forest.  It was even more immense than he had pictured it through the win­dow.  It was beautiful and pastoral. 

     Azsha pulled out a cigar, one of those thin kind, and offered it to Maynard.  "No thanks", Maynard said.  "Smoking is bad for you." 

     She raised one eyebrow in a look of incredulity but said noth­ing.  Then she made a fist with her thumb on the inside, and then flicked her thumb up as though it was a lighter, and her thumb lit on fire!  She used it to light her cigar.

     "That's a neat trick.  Hypnotist and stage magician.  What else can you do?"

     "Everyone has a trick or two up their sleeve.  But there is a matter more pressing at hand.  What are we going to do about you Maynard?"

     "Charissa didn't know where my home world is.  Do you?  Can you take me back?"

     "Yes I do know where you live, but I am sorry to say that you cannot go back.  The question that must be answered is not whether to take you back or not, but what we will do with you now that you are here."  She puffed on the cigar.  It had a pleasant odor, and reminded Maynard more of a pipe than a cigar.

     "Is there a problem with making those portals that everyone talks about?  You can still do it can't you?"

     "Oh sure.  But the problem isn't with the portals, its with you.  Let's just say that you are structurally incompatible with the earth that you just left.  I'm afraid that we must find something to do with you here."

     "Here?", Maynard bellowed.  The forest seemed to get quiet.  "I have to spend the rest of my life here?"

     "It may not be permanent, but it will be several years at least.  I apologize for any inconvenience, but we have no real alternative.  I'm just trying to find a way to make the best of an difficult situation."

     "Why are you involved in this.  Why are you apologizing?  Its that Kirin's fault.  What is your part in all of this?"

     She puffed on the cigar as though in thought.  "Kirin is my daughter.  Because of her you are here.  Also, Otsu is my sister.  You two did not exactly hit it off, or I guess you did hit it off."  She chuckled at her own pun.  Maynard just groaned.  She may be a great magician and hypnotist, but she as a comedienne she should keep her day job.  "Anyway", she continued, "I am here to try to straighten things out and you needed an intermediary."

     "Wait a minute.  Something doesn't add up here.  How can you be Otsu's sister when you are human, and she is an Elf.  And how can you be Kirin's mother when you can't be even five years older than she is?"

     "Well, actual age doesn't always quite match apparent age here, Maynard.  And as for the other, you have notions of family that are not entirely universal.  To put it in your terms, Otsu is not my biological sister any more than Kirin is my biological daughter.  Otsu and I are married to the same man.  And, before you ask, he has four wives."

     That answered why Kirin and Azsha didn't look alike.  Maynard had thought that genetics worked differently here or something like that.  "Well, now that we have the family tree established, what do we do now?", Maynard said.

     "That's what we are trying to find out.  Now that we know that you can't go home, what do you want to do?"

     "What are my options?  Do you have to something to offer me?"

     "You will need some sort of gainful employment.  I could provide training as well as secure a position for you after you finish the training.  What do you like to do?"

     "I was a computer programmer.  Is there anything like that here?'

     "Not as such, but there is always a place for an intelligent man that has some edu­cation.  I understand that you were a hacker that did a systems break in work for the CIA.  Were you good?"

     Maynard was annoyed.  He had never said anything of the sort, and this was an­other of those leaps that were correct, but without having any basis in the facts at hand.  "How do you come to such a wild conclusion?", he asked.

     She was pulling out another cigar.  She must be some sort of chain smoker.  If the forest wasn't wet with the recent rain, it might have been a hazard.  No, maybe not.  After all, Maynard didn't actually see Azsha throw the cigar butt away. 

     He watched closely to see how she did the thumb trick.  She did it slowly so that he could see clearly.  He still couldn't figure out how it was done.  At least is was sure that she was good at stage magic.  He wasn't sure of what else she did, but she was good with illusions.  Otsu's house had a lot of optical illusions.  Maybe they were experts at il­lusion.  There could be some fun times ahead.

     "We have done research on you Maynard.  I try to be prepared for any potential arbitration.  If you will stick with being candid, I will be able to find what to do with you in a way that will be more satisfying to you in the long run.  Were you good?", she asked without the impatience that Maynard expected.

     "Yes, I was.  I mean, yes I am."

     "Do you like to travel, meet new people, learn new things, and maybe have an adventure or two?"

     "Yes, I suppose so."  Maynard thought about the nature of a mideval society.  Pro­fessional adventurer.  That has a ring to it.  "Do you have professional adventurers?"

     "We did, but the war killed almost all of them off.  We need some more and rather desperately.  Are you interested?"

     War?  It was time to look at the fine print in this contract before he got in over his head, as if that mattered in his present circumstances.  "Just what kind of society are we dealing with here?"

     Azsha slowed her walk to look at Maynard with a look of renewed respect.  "Well, Maynard . . .  I must say that I am impressed.  That was a very perceptive question.  You have potential.  To answer it fairly, I think that you should see it for your­self.  An ex­tract, however pure, never has quite the same flavor as the original.  Anything that I say will fall short of the mark.  We have a training trip for some of our young elves.  We will be touring the nearby lands and doing some adventure training.  You can get the chance to see what this part of the world is like, as well as finding out what adventure and Elfin adventurers are like here. How does that sound to you?"

     "I would like getting out and seeing the world and watching training sessions sounds fascinating.  Are you sure that I won't be in the way?" 

     "Not at all.  As a matter of fact, I'll assign someone to give you an overview of things in general.  That should help in about every way.  Does that sound better?"

     "It sounds great.  Just when does the trip begin?"

     "Tomorrow.  In order to make you more comfortable, what kind of teacher / com­panion would you like to have?  What would make you feel the most at ease?"

     "I'm not sure I know what you are asking", Maynard said.

     "Which gender; which race; etc.  What would make you feel the most comfort­able?"

     This was an accommodating place indeed.  Although he had been nearly killed twice, they had healed him completely, so he wasn't really going to hold that against them.  He was being offered a trip and the companion of his choice.  "Wait a minute", Maynard said.  "There ain't no such thing as a free lunch.  How can you offer an all ex­pense trip and the guide of my choice to a man that you have never met before?"

     "That's a fair question.  First, we do have some responsibility for you Maynard.  You are here because of a slight error on our part.  Second, as far as the trip and the guide, time and money are not used in quite the same way you are used to back on earth.  That is partly because family has pots and pots of the stuff.  But money is not as critical here in general.  A man can do quite well with no money at all just as your early Ameri­can pioneers didn't need money when they first went west, partly because there were no stores to spend it.  They had what they earned from the land by hunting or farming.  Last, but not least, we will be better able to find a place for you to live until you can go home by seeing how you fit in with this world.  It is not really a free lunch, it is an investment of time to resolve a situation.  If you desire, you can leave the group at any time.  You will have until the group returns to the For­est of Alfheim to rejoin.  After that we will con­sider you to be on your own.  I think that will give you the most options.  We are not try­ing to place any undue strings on you.  Does that make you feel more at ease?"

     Maynard regarded Azsha.  She sure had a large dose of patience.  If he could leave any time, what did he have to lose?  With so much dimensional travelling, if there was no place for a programmer here, maybe he could make contacts outside of the forest that would get him travel to a better place.  Who knows?  "Why not.  I think that I'd like a human man.  Is that Ok?"

     "Sure.  I'll have him here by breakfast.  Maybe we should start heading back.  It is almost dinner time and the festivities will be starting shortly." 

     They turned back.  It started raining again.  It wasn't exactly a downpour, but nei­ther was it a light shower.  In a couple of minutes, Maynard was soaked.  He looked over at Azsha hoping to see someone here in somewhat bedraggled condition, but she was dry.  He looked closer.  Even her cigar was dry.  She glanced at him.

     "Something on your mind?"

     "Why am I wet while you are dry.  The rain should have the same effect on the both of us.  What gives?"  Maynard was annoyed again.  It seemed that he got annoyed every time he was confronted with something that he couldn't figure out.  Maybe that is what made him such a good hacker.

     "This is exactly the sort of question that Bel can start answering for you tonight when you meet him." 

     Maynard glared at Azsha with that `are you going to start ducking me too' kind of looks.  "Does that mean that you are not going to give me any kind of an answer?"

     "I could give you an answer, but without taking time to explain things, it would raise more questions than it would answer.  You wouldn't want that would you?"

     "Yes, I think I would.  I have had it with my questions going unanswered.  I would rather have a question that leaves me hanging than no answer at all."

     "Fair enough, as long as you agree to let Bel do the explaining tonight.  Ok?"

     "Ok", Maynard said with confidence.  At last, he was going to get something solid to work with.  It was always better to know something than nothing.  Eventually you could figure things out if you have information.

     "I am keeping dry with magic."  Azsha saw that Maynard was unconvinced.  "Here, I'll show you."  With that, she gestured discreetly at Maynard and he no longer felt the rain.  Another small pass of the hands and he was dry.

     Better to know indeed.  Magic indeed.  "There is no such thing as magic.  There is illusion and sleight of hand, but no real magic.  The more you understand science, the more you know that to be true.  Blue smoke and mirrors.  I don't know how you did it, but I could figure it out given enough time."

     "I'm sure you could.  Bel can explain this tonight, but don't expect to understand everything in a single hour.  You well know that these things take time.  Just give Bel a chance, and he will help you a great deal."

     "Tell me Azsha, is Bel a common name for a man here?  It isn't where I come from."

     "No.  It is sort of a nickname.  His real name is Beloved.  He finds Bel easier to cope with."

     Ah.  These people had problems too.  It was gratifying to know that something carried over dimensional lines as a constant.  Parents were still giving their kids awful names, and the kids were hiding it with nicknames.  They do indeed have their problems here too.  It made life worth the living again.

 

They walked back through the immense trees toward a house that Maynard knew was there, but couldn't see.  They were clearly very good with optical illusions here.  Maybe he could take something of this back with him when he went home.  If he ever got back home.  He didn't really feel nostalgia.  There wasn't much to miss.  He was a loner any­way.  Computer work was more or less an individual sport. 

     Maynard tried to check his bearings.  He was trying to see if he could have found his way back here if he had been on his own.  No.  While the forest of the elves was beautiful beyond any he had seen, it had too much of a sameness to it.  He couldn't really determine direction.  He wished that he had a compass.  He would be interested to know if one would even work.

     "Do you have a working compass, Azsha?", he asked coyly.

     "Yes, I do.  Do you need one?"

     "I'd just like to take a look at the directions.  That is, if you don't mind."

     "Not at all . . .", she said sweetly.  She reached into a pocket and pulled out something that, apparently, had nothing in common with a compass except for that approx­imate size.  It resembled a large bar of soap in its shape, and was featureless.  She handed it to him and smiled.

     Maynard wondered if she was just baiting him, or if this was a simple breakdown of communication.  He looked at it.  There was do dial, or needle, or markings of any kind that were noticeable.  He looked back at Azsha.  She was smiling at him.

     She tried unsuccessfully to keep a straight face.  "I'm sorry", she said laughingly.  "Just having some fun.  Can't let things get too stuffy, can we.  Here is the on button."  She indicated a minor variation in the otherwise smooth surface of the item.  It came to life and showed what looked like an electronic compass.

     Was she a joker?  I guess that everyone needed humor sometime or other.  May­nard wondered, could she have come up with some of those crank names for her own kids?  "How `unstuffy' are you?", he quipped lightly.  "By the way, what are your biologi­cal children's names?" 

     "Tal is my son, and for general information he is also Bel's father.  My daughter is Adorable."

     "Is that a personal opinion or her name?"

     "Both", she answered simply. 

     Adorable?  Maynard wondered if, out of self defence, she had assumed an alias as well.  "Does Adorable go by that name?", he asked innocently.

     "No, she usually uses Dora, but its not because she dislikes the name."

     "Oh, perish the thought", he said, trying to hide the sarcasm.  This place seems more real all the time.  Well, humans are people too, or probably so anyway.

     "By the way Azsha, you said that there were going to be festivities tonight.  What is the occasion?"

     "Elves don't need an occasion.  They party day and night for the sheer love of partying.  They sing and dance and eat and drink until they drop, and they even go into training to increase their stamina.  I think that you'll like it."

     Maynard thought so too.  He thought again, and not for the last time that this place had potential.  He was right.

 

They arrived back at Otsu's and general activity had been increased.  Something was definitely going on.  Azsha led Maynard deeper into the house.  Actually, it reminded Maynard more of one of those hedge mazes, but more wild and harder to find the walls.  As they entered a room, Maynard recognized it.  "Hey, this is the place where I got into this mess.  Does this mean that we're going somewhere?", he asked excitedly.

     "No.  We are meeting Bel.  Have a seat.  It shouldn't be more than a few min­utes."  She set her bow carefully down against some shrub like plants, took off her sword and, placing it next to the bow, she sat down on the ground still wearing the quiver.  She leaned back against a tree and closed her eyes.  It looked so relaxing, that Maynard tried it.  It was a wonderful experience.  Why didn't he ever feel this good just sitting back on earth?  He felt so comfortable that he figured that this could be analyzed later.  For now, it was kick back time.

     He heard sounds of other people, and opened his eyes.  Several women, or maybe somewhere between girls and young women would be more accurate, were en­ter­ing the room through a doorway such as he had stepped through to get here.  He took a quick count.  Three blonds, two redheads, and two with black hair.  They were not at all dressed for Robin Hood's band of merry men.  They looked much more like a futur­istic heavy metal biker gang.  The girl's leather skirts were so short that Maynard thought that world from which they had just come must have had a shortage of leather goods. Two of the blonds had platinum blond hair, and they looked like identical twins. So did the two redheads.  They didn't have that carroty red hair, but that fiery coppery red hair that, usu­ally, only infants and small children have.  Wait.  One of them (at the back) was wearing pants.  He had clack hair, was failry tall and looked as though he could have been Azsha's twin except for the gender difference.  The whole group came in like giddy schoolkids, and hugged Azsha warmly.  They were chattering away and giggling as though it was a girl's slumber party.  Well, these are cer­tainly real people.

     Maynard thought to himself, "These must be the grandkids.  I don't know how long its going to take for me to get used to seeing everyone looking the same age.  How do they tell each other apart?"  Wait a minute. 

     "Azsha", Maynard said with that `I found you making a boo-boo' tone of voice.

     She detached herself from one of the redheads.  "Oh, yes.  Maynard, I'd like to introduce you to my family.  This is Samantha and Bunny (the two platinum blonds), Kit­ten (sandy blond), Candy and Cherry (redheads), Cookie (black hair), and Bel."

     Maynard was biting his tongue so hard that he thought he tasted blood, but he didn't want to laugh at them.  They seemed nice enough, but who was the extra one?  "Tell, me Azsha, you told me that you had six grandkids.  Who is the seventh person here?"

     "This is Samantha, my daughter.  As you might say, she is an in-law.  These are her children."

     Well, it showed that he was getting better but not completely on line just yet.  He had kept his head when surrounded by seven beauties.  Seeing so much beauty almost every time he turned his head, and it was beginning to seem a bit more commonplace.  He kept his head much better.  But he had missed that one of the two platinum blonds had a skirt that came almost to the knees.  That meant something.  Maybe it signified marriage or mother, but it set her apart.  Otsu's skirt was short, even though she was married.  Ei­ther it means mother or elves are different.

     "Charmed, I'm sure", he said.  He moved to take and kiss her hand.  After he had spoken she looked as though she had just been falsely accused of some heinous crime, but when he touched her hand, she relaxed visibly.

     "Oh.  Its an expression", she said with obvious relief.

     Samantha and Azsha spoke very quickly to each other for a moment. Then Azsha turned to Maynard and said, "I will leave you in Bel's Capable hands now.  I'll be seeing you later."  Azsha grabbed her sword and bow, and the girls clambered quickly out after her giggling all the way and Maynard was left alone with Bel.

     "That's quite a family you have there", said Maynard.

     "Yes.  I guess you could say that.  Are you coming to the party?"  Bel's voice was a rich baritone. 

     "I should think so.  It would probably keep me awake even if I were to try to sleep through it."

     "I don't think you know . . .  It is not being held here.  There is a three hour trip to get there."

     Maynard was taken aback.  He had taken it for granted that it was a local party.  We are taking a trip in the morning.  Won't everyone be exhausted after a major party like this?"

     "They are more robust than you might give them credit for being.  They take hunting trips where they chase their prey on foot for several days.  This is a small party, and will last for only two to three days.  We, of course, have to leave tomorrow morning."

     Maynard was shocked at the concept of what was being suggested.  "Am I ex­pected to run the whole way?  I couldn't possible do that."

     "Don't worry Maynard.  Only the trainees will be running.  We will be on horse­back.  This is their training trip primarily.  You are, if you'll excuse me for saying so, a sort of an afterthought."

     "I don't mind.  you know, you're the first person that seems to be talking to me straight on.  Everyone else evades questions or answers in riddles.  It is refreshing.  Is Azsha really your grandmother?"

     "Yep."

     Well, Bel is keeping his answers simple and to the point, but at least he is answer­ing.  "Why does everyone have the same apparent age?"

     "We are a race that started off as human.  One of the developments is that, once we reach maturity, we don't age physically."

     Maynard was amazed.  "How can such a thing be even conceptually possible?"

     "When you are born, the ratio of cells made to cells destroyed is in favor of cells made and you grow.  When that ratio changes, you age.  We keep the balance of cellular regeneration so that we remain physically consistent."

     The questions were piling up in Maynard's mind.  "What happens if you lose a limb.  You would have to replace it as well as the next one and the next one, etc. until there was no more of the original body."

     "We can regenerate lost limbs.  Its not so hard once you know how.  Did you say that you wanted to go to the gathering?"

     "Sure."  Maynard was lost in thought as Bel stepped behind a tree. 

     "I'll just be a minute.  Go ahead with what you were saying."

     That is a good thought.  Maynard realized that he also had a need.  He went be­hind a tree as well.  "Your grandmother said that you would explain some things like how she lights cigars with her thumb, and how she keeps dry in the rain.  She called it magic, but said that you could explain it further.  What gives?"

     Maynard stepped out.  Bel had changed into clothing that fit much more closely with what Maynard was used to seeing here.  "I was wondering what you were going to do in that outfit.  I didn't see you carrying any clothing, so maybe you could explain that also."  Maynard realized that this would be a great imposition if their places had been re­versed and added, "I really appreciate your helping me acclimatize myself, Bel."

     "For your information, this is not a forest no matter how much it looks like one to you.  This is Otsu's house, and that is her floor in entry room."

     Maynard looked behind the tree where he had just been, and blushed.  "I . . .  I . . . I had no idea.  I mean, I didn't know.  I mean, I'm sorry."  He looked around for some­thing to clean it up.  "Do you have something to clean it up?", he asked with great per­sonal humiliation.

     "Don't worry about it."  Bel walked over to it, moved his hands in a small circular motion, and the ground was clean.  "Anyway, its a great ice breaker.  After this, there is nothing that we can't talk about.  Eh?" 

     Maynard felt a little better.  "Yeah.  I guess so.  How did you do that?  And don't say its magic.  Please."

     Bel looked sympathetically at Maynard.  "I know how you feel.  There is an ex­planation that is not necessarily too involved, and I'll do my best to avoid one of those an­noying `it is but it isn't' answers."  Maynard looked relieved.  "But first, lets go to the horses, and start riding.  We'll have enough time on the road to talk.  Have you ridden a horse before?" 

     "Yes", Maynard said.  "When I was small I was riding whenever I wasn't pro­gramming.  I love horses."

     Bel led them to stables outside the house.  It was still raining.  Both of them re­mained dry, but the elves seemed to be getting wet.  "Well I'm puzzled, Bel.  Why don't the elves use this rain protection like we have?", Maynard asked.

     Bel said, "Not everyone has every piece of equipment or the power to run it if they did.  Most don't have it.  The rest don't use it because tradition would have them just enjoy the rain.  They are very much a people of the forest.  The like for the rain to fall on them just as it falls on the forest.  They like the rain as much as your people in southern California like the sun.  The elves also like the sun, but they like weather in general.  They would rather sleep on the ground or in a tree than in a bed in the city.  So don't feel guilty for being dry when they're wet, because you, as a human, are not expected to em­brace their traditions any more than they expect to have to embrace yours."

     Bel promised to be a good companion.  This was a quantum leap of information.  Maynard was feeling better already.  They looked through the stable, and there were only 17 horses, not enough to go around.  "Are they going to be running, or will only a few be going at all?", Maynard asked.

     "We will be taking the only horses that are to be ridden from here tonight, so take you pick."

     The horses were small, but they looked at Maynard as though they were regarding him.  He looked at all of them, and only one was larger than what he considered to be pony size.  It was very large indeed.  It looked as though it could pull a tree out by the roots.  Well, maybe not one of these trees, but any one back on earth.  Maynard turned to Bel and said, "If I take this one, which will you be riding?  None of them look like they can carry you."

     "These elf ponies are quite good enough", Bel said.  I'll be just fine.  You go ahead and take Riolas.  He is a good horse, and easy to ride."

     Some of the elves helped Maynard with the saddle.  It resembled an English sad­dle more than a western one.  After the horses were readied, Bel mounted.  Maynard no­ticed that he had donned a sword, and had a bow and arrows.  "Why are you taking those?  And don't answer that its just a matter of habit, because I swallowed that from your grandmother already.  Is it because of the war?"

     Bel looked annoyed.  "Let's get something straight shall we?  Azsha has never been known to tell a lie in her life.  She has been a warrior for more years than your world has existed.  If she says that it is a matter of habit then it is to be believed.  I know from experience that she can defend herself ably without such things.  As for myself, I am carrying it mostly for show.  If a monster teleports in randomly, as they often do, and we are in its path then I want to be able to use conventional weapons to fight it.  It makes it easier on the elves.  Ok?" 

     Bel seemed annoyed.  Maybe it was the crack about his grandmother.  Maynard decided to watch it after that.  "I'm sorry.  I meant no offense."

     Bel looked at him, and softened his expression.  "I guess that you are under quite a strain.  I'm not sure what I would do in your circumstance, but anyone can make a mis­take.  They are easier when you don't know the rules.  Ok.  We'll consider the matter closed."  He held his hand out to Maynard who shook it firmly. 

     Maynard mounted Riolas, and they rode off into the rain in a gallop.  After a few minutes Maynard asked, "I thought that there were going to be some elves with us."

     "They are with us.  Look over there."  Bel pointed off to the side.

     Maynard looked.  He saw only that same beautiful forest that all looked the same.  He saw rain.  He could see a lake off in the distance.  He saw . . .  Elves!  There were elves running as fast as his horse could gallop.  They didn't seem to be working very hard either.  Wow!  These were some people.  "How can they do that?"

     "Well, they are in better condition than you are, they have more efficient training programs, and they are not your species.  Now is as good a time as any to answer your questions about what magic is.  But first, I'll need to qualify the type of answers that I'm going to give.  I am not going to use the most accurate method of expressing the concepts, but I will try to use the most descriptive.  As a result, you will be able to understand the concepts much better and much more quickly, but it will only be mostly accurate."  May­nard wondered just how inaccurate Bel was going to be.  Bel seemed to sense this, and he added, "I won't be inaccurate per Se, but rather, any inaccuracy will stem from an in­complete description, which is required in order to stay general, rather than it being a question of false information.  Understand?"

     Maynard had tried to explain the workings of computers to the completely non-technical CIA types before enough to know exactly what Bel meant.  "No problem.  Say on, MacDuff."

     Bel thought for a moment and said, "I guess that I have enough disclaimers to hold on to.  Ok.  Here we go."  They had been riding for almost an hour.  The explanation had taken place between seeing the sights of the forest and the thousand and one questions that Maynard had along the way.  How do the elves run so fast when they are so short?  (Species trait)  What are those animals over there?  (An unusual form of deer)  How do these trees grow so big?  (magic)  Questions of the history of the elves etc, etc.  Bel kept going with his explanation of magic for Maynard between these many questions, and it is recorded here pieced together into its whole although only the main elements can be pre­served for brevity's sake.

     "What is magic?  Rule number one: One man's magic is another man's engineer­ing.  Even back on your world, if there was something unexplainable to someone, it was magic to them.  Of course it was not magic to the designer, but you get the idea.

     "Different worlds or dimensions develop a different way of approaching a prob­lem.  They, as a result, will eventually use different physical laws from some other soci­ety.  Your world uses electricity as its primary power source for technology.  It means that you are restricted to external items like household appliances, TV, telephones, computers and the like, but that your use of power is very large.  Here in a so called magical society, all of these things come from within, but the power available is greatly reduced.  Each has its advantages and disadvantages.  Usually, the one that appears better is the other one.  The grass is always greener . . . if you know what I mean. 

     "These groups develop in their own way based on the manner of technology that they prefer.  From now on I will use the term `magic' when I refer to inward technology, and `technology' when I refer to external technology in the sense that you are used to thinking of it.  Examples of differences can be seen in this forest we are riding through.  There is considerable sophistication of this society, considering what it is.  But, because they use magic (internal technology) they have no need for skyscrapers, concrete road­ways, cars, planes, air pollution, etc, etc."

     "Excuse me for interrupting Bel but I'm having trouble grasping the concept of internal technology", Maynard said.  "While I have, apparently, seen its effects, it remains an elusive notion."

     "I see what you mean.  Well, let me give you a sample.  Let's take a break for a few minutes."  They had been riding for more than an hour, but Maynard was doing fairly well.  Bel whistled, and the elves that had been running with them, albeit in the distance, ran over to them.  They weren't even breathing hard.  If only Maynard could do that . . .  He could be an Olympic champion.  He could . . .

     "Maynard . . .  Do you have a moment?", Bel asked.

     Maynard broke free from his reverie.  "Sure.  What's up?"

     "I want to show you something.  Watch this."  Bel knelt down and wrote on the ground in some odd language.  "What do you think this is?'

     Maynard looked at the strange writing and said, "Its some kind of language I don't know."

     "Anything else?", Bel asked.

     Maynard didn't see anything else.  Maybe it was the direction of the writing.  It could be a code based on map coordinates or something like that.  Maynard took out the compass, turned it on, determined which way was north, and looked again at the writing.

     Bel looked interested in the compass.  "From whom did you take that thing?"

     Maynard looked at him.  "What makes you think that I took it from anyone?", he answered evasively.

     "I didn't know that you could get a level three Timerian pseudo relativistic, gravitic powered, geo-proximity hyper-compass from the corner sporting goods store on earth", he answered with sarcasm and humor in his voice.

     Maynard looked at the compass.  He looked back at Bel.  He looked at the com­pass.  "What does all of that mean?", he asked meekly.

     "It is pseudo relativistic because it imitates your concepts of relativity, but only in some respects.  Relativity has its flaws, but the notion of the interrelatedness of cosmic bodies is correct.  When you put that together with the geo-proximity part, you have a device that can give you directions for anyplace in the known dimensions by calculating where you are, and then pointing to true north, not magnetic north.  The Timerians were a race of ultra high-tech star travelers.  Their third phase was where technology was at its zenith.  It dropped with later generations, and they were eventually wiped out by a rather barbaric but powerful race."

     "And the gravity power . . .", Maynard asked.

     "Believe it or not, this thing is gravity powered.  It requires motion to keep it en­ergized.  This world has no motion in that respect, because this is a pocket dimension.  There is no space around us.  If you could see the sky, there would be no stars.  Day and night are caused by a chemical cycle in the atmosphere.  So, if you leave it sitting all night, by morning it will be inert.  Moving it at all will recharge it.  That's the easiest proof of that part.  So, where did you get it?"

     Maynard was clearly in over his head.  "I got it from Azsha.  She never asked for it back.  What should I do with it?"

     "I suggest that you offer to give it back to her tonight at the party.  Anyway, before we have to move on, let's finish doing what we stopped to do in the first place.  Ok.  You can't see anything special about those runes, right?"

     "Right", Maynard said with conviction.

     "Ok.  Touch them."

     "I feel a tingling.  Is that what you wanted to show me."

     "In part.  As a matter of fact, that tingling is something that very few can sense.  It is quite a gift.  Back to the point . . .  While you are touching the runes, try to read that elf's mind over there."  Bel pointed to a young man about forty feet away.

     "You're kidding, right?"

     "Do you want to stop the lesson?"

     "Good point."  Maynard tried, and to his surprise, he could hear speech, even though no one could be seen to be speaking.  "I hear something, but I can't understand what is being said."

     "That's it.  Now, let me add a little something."  Bel, still kneeling, wrote another rune alongside the others.  "Try it now."

     Maynard tried again, and this time, he heard understandable English.  "Did you add something to translate for me."

     "Right again.  Now the point of all of this . . ."

     Maynard was using the runes to eavesdrop on the elf's thoughts.  He was thinking through history to write an epic song depicting the events of the settlement of the elves in this forest.  It was fascinating stuff.

     "Maynard!  Hello.  Anybody home?"

     Maynard looked over at Bel and got the `are you through yet' look.  He looked guilty.  Well, he had gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but Bel had opened the jar for him.  Since he was doing more than just getting the main point of Bel's lesson, Maynard said, "Sorry."

     "The ability write something down and get the thoughts of another person is not too far from something that you understand already, because that is what you do when you read and write.  The technological TV is very much like magical crystal ball.  Your technological binoculars and microscopes, guns and cannons, sewing machines, refrigera­tors, heaters, airplanes, indeed most everything that you do with electricity has its imita­tion in magic.  Just remember that one man's magic is another man's engineering.  Think you understand now?"

     "I think so.  If I do, then magic has some definite advantages.  No devices are needed, you always have everything with you."  Maynard's mind was racing with the possibilities.

     "But then again, everyone that does it has to be an engineer.  Instead of draining a battery you drain yourself.  Rule number two: there is always a price.  It takes very little for you, personally, to do a simple task on a computer, but a novice has to give it his all to get even small tasks accomplished.  The more powerful you are, the less it takes to do the job, but there is always a cost.

     "You look as though you want to think about this for a while.  Let's mount up and you can think it through."

     They mounted, and started riding again.  Maynard was lost in thought.  He didn't notice the time slipping by, and they pulled up to a stop before he knew it.  They were at a very large tree, even by the standards of Alfheim, at least as far as Maynard was able to tell.  "Another rest stop Bel?", Maynard asked.

     "By no means.  We are here to party."  They dismounted and the horses were taken by some elves. 

     Maynard looked around.  He could hear some revelry in the far distance, but he couldn't see much of anything but the forest and a few elves that were milling around, and waiting for Bel to move on.  "Where are we going."

     Bel answered by pointing up at the large tree.  Maynard looked up, and he saw some faint lights very high up in the tree.  "You're kidding."

     "Nope.  You're not afraid of high places are you?  I didn't think so", Bel said with­out waiting for Maynard to reply.  "Let's go." 

     They walked to the tree, and as they approached, Maynard saw that there were stairs to be seen spiraling up the outside of the tree.  They started what promised to be a very lengthy ascent.

     "This is what the elves refer to as a home tree", Bel said.  "This is as close as syl­van elves get to having cities.  It is called Dorneryl."

     Maynard couldn't wait to see what an elfin city looked like.  "Sylvan elves?  Does that imply that there are other kinds of elves?"

     "Yes indeed.  There are mountain and valley elves, grey and black elves, high and wild elves, elves of the shadows and elves of the water.  There are lots more than these wood or forest elves.  There is a whole new world for you to see right here in this little dimension."

     It all seemed to be a mix of a vast world of too many things to learn as well as a very small world that seemed almost confining.  No sun?  No stars?  A stationary planet?  Was it even round or could it be flat?  There was a lot to consider.  It was time to let things percolate for awhile before he pursued too many more questions.  At least he had a party to attend.  It was truly time to blow off some steam.  Maybe he could just get drunk.

     The sights of Dorneryl were more than enough to keep Maynard happily occu­pied.  It was all fascinating to him.  The homes and buildings were actually built into the tree.  They were an integral part of the tree, as though there was some kind of symbiosis involved.  The gathering had collected hundreds of elves together.  They were singing, dancing, eating, drinking, telling jokes and stories, and reciting poetry with great gusto.  They seemed to accept Maynard as though he was one of their own and always had been. 

     He was having a wonderful time.  Everyone was so open and friendly that he started to shed many of his industrial society inhibitions and deal with them openly in kind.  He danced with Bel's sisters and enjoyed it.  The girls had taken time to change into attire more appropriate to the setting.  It was sort of too bad, because they looked pretty good in biker leathers.  Then again, they looked pretty good in elfin clothing.  This place was going to be a lot of fun. 

     Maynard and Bel's family were the only humans to be seen.  Maynard noticed that there were no elves with the platinum blond hair that Otsu had.  He asked Bel, "Why don't I see any elf with the white hair that Otsu has?"

     "She is the only grey elf in the forest."

     "Oh", Maynard remarked intelligently.

     The evening went by too quickly for Maynard's taste.  He could see why elves liked to party like this for weeks at a time.  Maybe he should go into training for it him­self.  But, all too soon, the time came for them to leave.

     "Well, Maynard, its time to hit the road.  Let's go.", Bel said.

     Maynard was not sanguine about leaving the party, but there were more good times to be had, especially since elves loved to party there would always be another one.  "I don't have anything to pack.  How can I take enough for my daily needs?"

     "Anything you need will be provided.  Just sit back and enjoy the ride", Bel said cheerily.  With a last longing look at Bel's impossibly cute sisters, he turned to go back down the stairs of the tree. 

     There were worse things to have to endure than choosing between things that you want to do.  Vacation trip or long partying . . .  That is the question.  He hoped that his life would always be filled with such choices.

When Maynard got to the bottom of the stairs, he saw a large group of elves on foot, probably the trainees.  He saw Charissa, Azsha, and Otsu and human woman that was with another silver hair elf man wearing what looked like a blue jump suit that May­nard didn't recognize.  They were on horseback.  She was another shockingly beautiful red­head, and she was the only woman that Maynard had seen here that wore trousers.  They were all dressed for war.  They had swords, bows, most of them wore chain mail shirts and helmets.

     There were two horses waiting, apparently, for Bel and Maynard.  Riolas was one of them.  Maynard sort of liked the immense horse.  He had a gentleness to him that grew on you.  Maynard had questions.  He stroked Riolas' nose while he asked them.  "Why is it that there seems to be more women than men?  I've seen mothers and grandmothers, and daughters by the dozen, but where are the fathers?  You are the only human man I have seen thus far."

     "In our kind, women outnumber men by ten to one.  Men are considered very rare."

     "How did that happen?"

     "I seems to come with the species.  It does have its advantages though."

     "It would if you are a man.  Let's see . . .  I have to spend a few years in a world surrounded by drop dead beautiful women."  He paused for effect.  "I can live with that.  So tell me, who are the two new riders?"

     Bel turned to see who Maynard was pointing to.  "That's Roxanne and Devon.  She is the commander of the dragonriders, and De­von is her dragon.  They are here to see to the training and help make the selec­tion of the best warrior.  But, let's get mounted up.  I'll explain along the way."

     They mounted up, and Devon rode his horse over to them.  "You must be May­nard.  I'm pleased to meet you.  I'm looking forward to hearing all about your home world.  I love to hear such things.  I don't get out much these days.  What do you do?"

     He seemed just like any other elf that Maynard had met.  He looked Devon up and down.  "I'm a programmer.  I hear that you are a dragon.  I've never met a dragon be­fore.  What do you do?"

     Devon raised his eyebrows in amazement, then threw his head back and laughed loud and long.  "You are absolutely fabulous.  Most humans are afraid of dragons and would have groveled or cowered or something foolish like that.  You are absolutely mar­velous.  You keep a very cool head.  I have never met a pro­grammer before, but if you are any indication, I would like to have a programmer with me if I ever get into hot water.  It is my absolute pleasure to meet you.  I am Devon, and I am a soldier."

     This guy was almost overflowing with enthusiasm.  Maynard was finding cause to dampen his spirits.  For one thing, whatever protection he had been given by Azsha had worn off, and he was getting wet again.  Secondly, this was not looking like a pleasure trip no matter how much you were willing to stretch a point.  "Are we expect­ing to get in a fight Devon?"

     "I'm not sure what you mean", Devon replied innocently.

     "I'm talking about the weapons and the armor.  Bel mentioned monsters earlier.  Azsha spoke of a war.  This is not going to be a picnic, is it?", Maynard asked hoping that the answer would be `Why, yes it is.'  Wouldn't it be nice if this was all just a dream?  No.  NO!  I can't do that to myself.  He shook his head and reminded himself of his decisions earlier on this very sub­ject.  He couldn't allow himself to lose thinking ground now.  He couldn't yet afford the luxury of retracing his steps.  He had to trust his decisions and not rethink them every few hours.

     Bel spoke up.  "I think that Devon's problem is that you and he are not quite speaking the same language.  No, its not your translator device's fault.  You asked whether we ex­pected to get in a fight.  That is what confused him.  Here, we always expect a fight.  It helps to keep us alive.  When you said it that way, Devon thought that you were asking if we were going to a planned battle.  Since the war has had a sort of cease fire for the last three years, he didn't know what you were thinking.  Yes.  There will be something to fight.  There always is.  We are just being prepared.  Be­yond that, carrying weapons and wearing armor is required of the trainees."

     The elfin runners started running at some signal that Maynard had missed.  The women spurred their horses on after them, with Roxanne leading the way.  Devon shouted, "Time to go.  We're off!"  And he yelled like an excited child, and rode after the group in a flurry of hooves.  Bel and Maynard got going a bit more gently, and the trip was on.

     "Tell me about these `trainees' Bel, what are they being trained for?" 

     "The war ended three years ago because there was no one to fight it any more.  The other side made some kind of weapon that would have allowed them to win quite easily.  It was being manufactured in several parts on several dimensions.  This was partly because different dimensions have different advantages and disadvantages, and partly be­cause if they were discovered, only part of their weapon would be lost, but their plans were discovered.  An all out offensive was mounted against them.  As a re­sult, they had to call their people back to fight, or they would have lost here.  The leaders of each side, Cavenach (leading the good guys) and Endoric (leading the bad guys), locked in mortal combat and the power of their duel destroyed what remained of both armies. 

     "The elves had not participated until the very end because it was a human war, and having no vested interest, they remained neutral.  When they learned that Segernon's weapon would give him world dominance, they knew that they could re­main neutral no more.  By then the war was far along in its path.  The elves fought nobly, and many died long before their time.  The Elves too lost the flower of their youth to a great extent. After the great duel, the elves devised a plan to keep the weapon, which was finished and awaiting assembling, from Segernon's control.  This weapon has become the pivot point of this war's outcome.  Each side is preparing a team to go and get it.  If Segernon's peo­ple can get part of it, then they will start the oppression all over again. 

     "A company of four, two each of elves and humans, was to have been sent to ac­complish the task.  Both humans have been chosen already.  One of the humans is being trained by us in magic.  That would make him the engineer and scientist of the group.  The other has died in a training mishap.  He was trying to shift himself to an­other plane, and he goofed and died.  There was not enough left of him to try to save.  He would have been the healer.  One of the elves has already been chosen.  He has been taken to an­other dimension where he can learn something of technology.  He is proficient in spy work.  Right up your alley, eh?"  Maynard winced.

     "The last of the group, that now numbers three, must be chosen.  We have magic, and espionage.  What we lack is muscle.  A warrior is still needed.  This group will be put through their final paces on this trip.  At its end, one of them will be chosen as the war­rior."

     "Why can't you send more than four?", Maynard asked.

     "More than that would arouse suspicion almost wherever they would go.  Groups of five or more are considered to be a threat.  Four is about the most that can claim to be just a group of friends on a trip."

     "There are more than enough here.  Why not just take an extra one of them?"

     "To answer that is to go into our entire philosophy of combat and peripheral op­erations.  Since that would take too much time, suffice it to say that it is inefficient, in our opinion, to replicate ability in people.  Each job gets one person filling it.  We need a healer, we get one healer.  We need one warrior, we use one warrior.  Once you escalate from that, it is more like a war.  We need a scalpel, and not a butcher's cleaver to success­fully complete a job like this.  The cut must be precise.  There can be no excess or the odds of winning decrease."

     "I'm sure that the elves have to have a lot of healers.  Why not use one of them?", Maynard asked.

     "I don't think that you quite have a feel for these people.  Look at them run­ning.  Tell me what you see."

     Maynard looked.  They were rather grim compared with what he had seen at the gathering.  They ran with a determination that few on earth had experienced.  Otsu had said that elves outlived humans about ten years to one.  "I see a group of young, and very determined elves running."

     "You have seen how light and easy going their temperament is.  Their humor is simple.  Their minds are honest and straightforward.  Their trust is not easily given, but after it has been earned it is simple and firm.  These people have loyalty, honor, and de­votion to duty.  Guile is a fairly difficult concept for them.  To learn about war takes more than swinging a sword.  Strategy takes a fair amount of cunning and guile.  The experi­enced warriors were too young to have much cunning or too old to use it.  These men and women have trained hard for three years to get this far.  (Most elves wouldn't even con­sider training for a quest like this one.  They can't bring themselves to leave the forest.)  These youngsters are going out to endure their last test.  Whichever of them is shown to be the best will be the one sent."

     "If they are so incapable of guile, then how can the other elf be a spy?  Aha!  I got you there", Maynard said smugly.

     "They are not of the same clan.  These are the long runners.  They are amongst the best fighters.  It is from this clan that the warrior must come."

     Great.  Another new piece of information to change conclusions.  How long would it take before Maynard could rely on any conclusion he formed about this con­sid­ering his almost total unfamiliarity with most of what it contained?  Maybe he could ap­proach it from another side.  "Ok then, why can't you replace that human that died with another human?  There must be other human healers."

     "There are no trustworthy healers available."

     Maynard was stupefied.  "What about that Charissa over there?  She is a healer, and quite a good one as far as I can tell.  Azsha seems to be even better.  What are you really telling me?", Maynard asked.

     "They are unavailable for the quest.  Charissa is not suited for the adventurers life.  She is soft and naive.  She would endanger the mission more than she would help."

     Maynard looked at Charissa riding.  "She looks stronger than me.  How can you call her soft?"

     "Her softness is not physical.  She is too tenderhearted.  Because her actions are not very predictable or even reliable, that makes her danger­ous."

     "What about Azsha?  She is a trained warrior.  You told me so yourself.  She is a better healer anyway.  What about her?  "Why don't you go, or Otsu, or any of the oth­ers?"

     "Because it is not our war.  We are willing to help them, but they must earn the right to survive for themselves."

     Maynard looked at Bel as though he had just admitted that he was a baby rapist.  "How can you day such an awful thing?  How can you stand by and do nothing?"

     "We are not `doing nothing'.  You don't have any experimental knowledge of what I am going to say, but if you help a culture too much, it grows too fast, and it will tend to fall because the foundation has not grown in proportion to the height of its civiliza­tion.  I see that you are unconvinced.  You know that a caterpillar turns into a butterfly while it is in the cocoon.  Right?  Do you know how much that new butterfly has to struggle to get out of that thing?  Do you know what happens if you simply let it out?"

     "No, but I bet you're going to tell me", Maynard spat out bitterly.

     Bel sighed.  "It always dies.  The fight is necessary for its continued survival.  We are helping them as much as we can.  Can you understand that?"

     "No.  I don't think that I do.  What I do understand is that I don't think that I like this place nearly as much as I thought I did."  Even though they were already at a gallop, Maynard kicked Riolas hard so that he could get away from Bel and vent some of his anger at the same time.  The great horse com­plied with characteristic willing­ness, and he pulled away from Bel.

 

     They rode for several hours in the rain.  Maynard used the time to think.  The warm wet rain helped Maynard feel as miserable as he wanted to be feeling.  He watched the elves running, running.  How could they do it?  How could they push them­selves so hard knowing that there are people here which, as far as Maynard could see,  were able to solve the problem with apparent effortlessness?

     After awhile, they turned a bit toward a lake.  When they got there, the riders dis­mounted and turned the horses over to the elves' care.  One of the female elf trainees ran up to Maynard's horse and she took hold of the reins to give him a chance to dismount.  He saw them as happy and willing pawns.  It outraged him to see them treated in this fashion.  That was the last straw for him. 

     "Get away from my horse.  Haven't you got any backbone at all?  Can't you stand up for yourself?  You have been running all day.  Why don't you just lie down and rest.  It makes me tired just looking at you!" 

     Surprisingly enough to Maynard she didn't run away.  Instead, she stood her ground and said innocently and with puzzlement in her voice, "It is my charge to see to your needs and those of your horse, sir.  Why would you castigate me for doing that which is my duty?  I have done you no wrong."

     Maynard sat there for a moment looking at her.  Wait a minute . . .  She was that little elf girl that took the translator back to Manshi.  What was her name . . .  Moriah!  It was good to have a trained memory from time to time.  "Aren't you Mo­riah?"

     "Yes, sir.  I am.  You honor me by remembering."  She did a sort of a curtsey with a nod. 

     Well, Maynard was in a bind now.  He had kept this girl standing, after she had run at a horse's gallop all day long, waiting for him to finish scolding her for wanting to do her duty and assist him at the same time.  Now that he was back in his `act like a heel' mode, how did he get out of it? 

     "I apologize for keeping you waiting as well as for my rudeness." 

     She smiled disarmingly.  "There is no need for an apology, sir.  It is mine to serve."

     Being in a miserable mood had made him unaware of just how much the pace was wearing on him.  Maynard tried to dismount, but he was weaker from the ride than he would have expected.  His legs gave out, and he started to fall.  Before he knew it he had been caught by Moriah.  She held him up with considerable strength.  Their eyes met, and the closeness and her firm body holding him safe from falling . . .  She even smelled wonderful.  Maynard was starting to get lost in her deep blue eyes when she spoke.  "Are you all right, sir.  Do you desire for me to fetch the healer?"  May­nard did not respond.  "Command me, sir.  What would you have me do?", she queried.

     He was thinking of possibilities for her when Devon came bounding up.  "Boy, oh boy!  You are pretty sturdy for a human unused to riding.  You got grit and deter­mina­tion.  I'll say that for you.  I absolutely must meet some more programmers.  Are you hun­gry yet?  I sure am.  I could eat a cow or maybe three humans.  Just kidding.  Hey.  Are you listening to me?"

     No.  He wasn't.  Moriah was still innocently holding him up.  But it was time to get out of her arms while he still could.  "I guess that one or two days is not quite enough to get over women problems", Maynard thought to himself.  He started to walk away.  She let him go, but looked at him with con­cern.  He was walking in wobbly fashion, but he was getting there.

     Moriah turned to take the horse to be tethered with the other horses.  Maynard watched as the elves worked efficiently at setting up camp.  Every part of him ached.  He felt like a fifth wheel.  Maybe he was not so very fit for this world.  He never seemed to know what he should be doing or how to do it.  It was more than dealing with people.  He didn't even know how to set up a camp. 

     This trip may have been a better idea than he had thought.  He really did need some time to sort out his thoughts while he saw what the world was like.  With a head filled to overflowing with too many questions to sort out, he turned somberly toward the lake and stared out at it wondering just what would happen to him next.

     A young man with very red hair approached and said, "I have come to see to your hurt, sir."

     Maynard didn't understand.  "You've come to do what?"

     "I have come to tend to your hurt, sir.  I see that you are weak and sore from the ride.  I must tend it so that you can continue tomorrow as it will be an even longer day."  He reached out to touch Maynard's shoulders. 

     Maynard pulled back.  It was time to stop letting everyone do things for him.  "I'm fine.  Just leave me alone.  Its Ok.  I don't need a healer."

     The elf lad stood up and regarded Maynard.  It was clear that he didn't know how to proceed in this situation.  While he was pondering his best course of action, Charissa walked over.  "Callendyl, why are you not tending to this man's needs?"

     He replied with guilt in his voice.  "I'm sorry my lady, but he refused healing.  I am unsure of what to do.  He cannot continue long without care, and yet it is not proper to force it upon him."

     Charissa gave Maynard the once over.  "I see that you made it through your first day with only minor injuries.  But why did you refuse Callendyl's offered help?", she asked.

     "Everyone is trying to help.  No one knows me from a bar of soap, and they're trying to help me anyway.  But when it comes to helping these people here", Maynard said, pointing to the elves, "then it's time for them to stand on their own two feet.  Why don't you people help them, and while you are at it, why don't you leave me alone?  I can stand on my own feet."

     Charissa and Callendyl looked at him and then at each other.  She said to Cal­lendyl, "You're right, Cal.  I don't know what to do either."  She turned to Maynard, "Have you asked your questions of Bel?"

     "Yes, but he answers in riddles.  I think he is just evading the issue.  He won't give me the real answer."  He turned away and hung his head in despair.

     Charissa was thoughtful for a moment.  Then she said, "If you cannot get your an­swer from Bel, then you must get it from someone else or else yourself.  The elves are ancient and wise.  Maybe they can help you.  All I know is that I cannot."  She turned and walked away taking Cal­lendyl with her.

     Maynard was in a deep blue funk.  How could anyone not do their all for a people as worthy as the elves?  Their whole society is at stake.  He pondered as the sky dark­ened.  Moriah came to him with some food.  "Sir, I bring food to give you strength."  Maynard showed no real interest in it.  "Is there any way that I can ease your burden?"

     He looked at her.  "You should be playing in the forest with your friends.  Why are you going through all of this anyway?  Why don't you just go home?"

     "My people and my forest are at risk, sir.  How could I forsake them?  If I re­turned to the comforts of my home, how long would that home remain there if it was un­pro­tected?"    

     "Aren't you bitter that these people", he said gesturing toward the humans, "won't help you to win this war?  They could, you know."

     "Yes, sir.  I know that they could if they chose to do so.  But I have every con­fi­dence that if they do not do so then it is for a good reason.  We are fighting to defend our right to survive.  They (the humans) have already fought and earned their right to sur­vival."  She looked thoughtful for a moment. 

     "They tell me that you are called a programmer.  Tell me, if, while you were in your training, you had a master programmer doing your ex­ercises, passing your tests, and defeating your foes for you so that you were never required to stand up for your­self, would you be as proficient as you are today?"

     Maynard grunted.  She had him there.  They may be a simple minded people, but they were by no means stupid.  "No.  You're right.  I would not have learned to be what I am today."

     "I believe that it is the same with groups of people to the size of whole worlds just as it is true with a single soul.  Can you understand that they are helping us more than we could ever repay?"

     He hated it when he had to concede a point.  "I hate to admit it, but you're right, Moriah.  I apologize.  I have been acting like a spoiled kid."

     Moriah looked anxious to change to subject.  "Here is some food for you.  I can call Callendyl to soothe the ache for you.  Your strength will be needed tomorrow."

     "I'd rather that you stayed instead."

     "Callendyl is a better healer, but I will stay and do what I can."  She knelt down behind him, and put her hands on his shoul­ders.  She rubbed, and he was in heaven.  Her hands moved in an unusual way for a moment, and he heard her mutter­ing to her­self.  Then he felt a tingling in his shoul­ders, and his aches went away.  Maynard looked around in amazement.  "Where did you learn to do that?"

     "In the forest, sir."

     "You people never cease to amaze me.  Thank you Moriah." 

     "You are most welcome, sir."

     Maynard went back to his dinner.  It con­sisted mostly of cold roots and berries, but there was some freshly cooked meat.  He was more hungry than he had realized.  He ate with gusto.  Looking around, he noticed that only he and Charissa ate cooked food.  Everyone else ate it raw.  A fire was made just for the two of them, and Cal­lendyl did the cooking.  It turned out that he was one of the few that was skilled in the cooking of human food.

     The elves had settled into a camp routine, and two of them were singing softly, and playing on their lutes.  Three of them looked like they were on guard duty.  With a full belly, Maynard leaned back and was soon fast asleep.

 

Maynard awoke to a light tapping on the bottom of his foot.  It was Callendyl.  "It's time to be going, sir", the young elf said with a smile.

     "You seem to be feeling better today."  Maynard sat up and stretched extrava­gantly.  The camp was packed away, and others were mounting up.  Riolas had been saddled, and was waiting with Moriah holding his reins.  She was rubbing the horse's nose and talking softly, or was that singing?  At any rate, they were getting on quite well. 

     "No time for breakfast then?", Maynard asked Callendyl. 

     "There is no time for a leisurely breakfast.  I have prepared food that can be eaten easily from horseback.  We must be going, sir."

     Maynard made his dash for the woods, hoping that he wasn't violating some­thing or another, washed quickly in the lake, and ran back to his horse.  Moriah was still with Riolas, but she stopped singing before Maynard got a chance to hear what the song was.

     "Good morning Moriah.  Sleep well last night?"  Maynard tried to sound cheery.

     "Yes, sir.  You appear improved.  Has your sickness of heart passed?"  She seemed genuinely concerned.  Concern from a stranger was not common place back on earth.

     "I'm much better, thank you."  He looked around.  "I don't see Devon any­where.  Where is he?"

     "He was called away in the night.  It seems that we will be denied the pleasure of his company."

     "That's a real shame.  He was quite a guy.  But, to the business at hand.  I'd better get mounted and moving before I get into any more trouble.  Catch you later."  He turned and mounted.

     After he was mounted, Moriah and Callendyl walked away together puzzled.  "Why is he going to catch you later, Moriah?  What do you think he intends to do after you are caught?"

     Moriah shook her head.  "I don't know.  He is very different.  We must wait and see."  Callendyl nodded, and they jogged back to the others. 

 

It took four days of travel before they finally got out of the forest.  They would travel for six hours, rest for two, travel for another six, and set up camp.  According to May­nard's watch a day lasted about 31.5 hours.  That was going to take some getting used to.  Using Azsha's compass showed that they were travelling southeast.  He had spoken with her about it.  She said that he could use it until the trip was over.  If he left the group early, he could leave it with Bel.

     During that time, as he was more or less leaving Bel alone, Maynard got to know the elves better.  There were 34 of them, half male, half female.  The oldest was almost 300, and the youngest was 147.  He didn't know whether to think of them as boys and girls for their appearance, or men and women for their actual ages.  He chose the latter because they were asked to perform the labors of adults, and so they deserved to be re­spected as such.

     He had been given new clothing for the trip on the second day.  It was made of a forest green leather that felt good to his skin.  He was glad that he had pants.  The elf men were bare legged.  Maynard was not quite ready for that.  The material was so thin, how­ever, that he com­plained to Callendyl that it couldn't last.  After Bel told him what the material was like, a little experimentation revealed that it was more than ade­quate.  In fact it was sturdier than he thought possible.  Magic does have its ad­van­tages.

     The grim attitude of the young elves had worn off over the last few days.  They were an irrepressibly cheerful people.  He learned their favorite hobbies, songs and games.  He danced with both the men and the women.  It was becoming the fun time that he had expected at the beginning. 

     Some of them, the youngest ones, had only been trained as fighters.  Others had some magi­cal training as well.  They thought of their own magic as being rather com­monplace.  They were no more impressed by it than Maynard was impressed with his own home computer, but magic's myriad uses and general versatility were clearly seen on the trip.  They used it to light the fires, and put them out again.  It was used for cooking, cleaning, laundry, bathing, the mending of cloth­ing, healing blisters, and for everything of mundane value in general. 

     He discovered that not every one could do ev­ery spell.  Well, that made sense.  After all, electrical engineers can't replace archi­tects.  Plumbers are not auto mechan­ics.  Everyone had a speciality, and ev­eryone had a level of proficiency within that spe­ciality.  Things made sense here (once you learned the rules).

     He could learn to like living with elves.  They could be hard to get motivated at times, because they had an underlying notion that they had all the time in the world.  Maybe that was because of their longevity.  But at other times they moved, worked and played as though there was no tomorrow.  Maybe that part was because of the test at hand.

 

     When they finally came to the edge of the great forest of Alfheim, the troop stopped.  There was a great plain ahead of them.  Maynard could see mountains almost a hundred miles away.  He had been seeing so much forest that he was a bit unprepared for a full hori­zon.  It was a hori­zon unspoiled by the ills of technology.  There were no roads, no skylines, and the air was clear.  It was beautiful. 

     By his reckoning, there were several hours left in the standard day's travel time.  Maynard had built up stamina very quickly because his soreness was healed nightly.  Many weeks of exercise would be required to achieve the same result back home, be­cause the muscles couldn't be pushed as hard, and a longer recuperation time is re­quired.  He felt great.  He looked around at the merry elves and saw that they were grimly looking at the horizon, all of them.

     Maynard looked frantically at the horizon.  Was there some unseen threat com­ing?  "What?  What is it?"  There was fear in his voice.  The elves said nothing.

     Charissa rode over to Maynard's side.  "They are preparing themselves for the last phase of their training", she said quietly.

     "If this is just the last part of training. then why is everyone so grim?"

     "Do you not know what is coming?"

     "Apparently not."

     Charissa looked uncomfortable.  "They are riding into combat.  We are to lead them into battles until all but one of them have been killed or maimed.  That one will be our chosen warrior."

     "You have got to be kidding.  That's the most barbaric thing that I think I have ever heard.  Letting them fight for themselves is one thing", he shouted,  "but there is no need to slaughter them.  Test them and then choose, but don't let them die for nothing."

     "They will not be dying for nothing, Maynard", Charissa said.

     Roxanne, the redheaded warrior that was with the dragon at the beginning had, during the trip, kept her­self apart and almost aloof from the elves as well as from May­nard.  Now, she rode over to Maynard and Charissa.  "There is no way to test a war­rior without war",  she said without preamble.  "War changes people.  Reactions in real com­bat differ from false com­bat."  She spoke with an air of certainty that left no room for dis­sent.  She moved her horse closer and looked Maynard right in the eye.  "We will be doing things that matter.  Their lives will not be wasted.  If that is too much for you then you are free to go as we don't want to keep you here against your will." 

     Her voice took on a tone of warning.  "If you stay, then you are to keep your tem­per and reason in control.  Your philosophies are naive and unsophisticated.  If you must share them then do so in a reasoned and reasonable manner.  Shouting and raving is not acceptable.  Lives will be lost if it happens at the wrong time.  If even one of these youngsters dies because of your rashness, I will remove your head personally.  Upon this you have my word.  Do you understand me?"

     Maynard was stunned.  He didn't know what to say.  After a moment, Roxanne put her hand on the hilt of her sword.  "Do you understand me?", she asked slowly.  The menace in her voice was unmis­takable.

     Who does she think that she is to threaten me?  Maynard thought that he could take her, but since he couldn't take them all, he would have to have paybacks for this later.  She would definitely get hers.  "I understand", he said through clenched teeth.

     She regarded him for a moment, and then swung her horse around and softly said, "Make camp", to one of the elves that was standing nearby.

     Charissa looked at Maynard and caught his eye.  "I suggest that you forget the no­tion of fighting her.  She is a high Paladin, and has enough fighting skill to enforce her commands if she feels the need to do so."

     "Yeah?"  Maynard was annoyed that these people guessed so often without any facts to support the conclusions and were so often correct.  "And what makes you think that I have any intention of fighting her?", he answered challengingly.  Charissa just shook her head and rode away to help make camp. 

     How do they do that?  It was almost like mind reading.  It is as if . . .  May­nard remembered the lesson with Bel and the ESP and slapped himself on the forehead.  He felt like a jerk.  He decided (again) to increase his awareness and concentration.

     Moriah showed up, as usual, to take Riolas.  Maynard dismounted and she took the horse's reins and walked him away to the other horses.  She regularly took care of the great horse's saddle, feed­ing and caring with great affection and zeal.  They got on well together, al­most as friends. 

     Maynard looked for Callendyl and found him preparing lunch.  He walked over to him.  "Tell me, do you have any idea what is next for you guys?"

     Callendyl did not look up from cooking.  "If you mean do I know what the test is, then the answer is yes."

     "Cal."  Maynard knelt down beside the young man.  "Cal you are running to your own death.  How can you do that?"

     "Yes", he said simply.

     "Why?", Maynard asked with pain in his voice.

     "I have known you for five days now, sir.  You seem like a reasonable enough man.  Do you have nothing that you would be willing to die for?"

     Maynard thought about that.  If it really came down to a compromise or die sit­ua­tion, is there anything that he could imagine that he could not compromise for the sake of his life.  After all, what good does it do for you to have standards and be dead?  "No, I don't think I do.  No matter how much I compromise, if I still have my life, then I am ahead of the game.  After all, irrespective of the purity of my ideals, what good would it do me if I was dead?"

     Callendyl shook his red head slowly.  "People help each other.  It is by means of this cooperation that civilizations are able to grow.  This is one of the lessons taught to us by Azsha and her people.  Some must give their lives that others might live.  Can you un­derstand that, sir?"

     "You are quite an innocent, my friend.  If the goal is to live, then why can it only be obtained through loss of life.  No.  War in general and suicide in particular is an illogi­cal and flawed means to life as an end."

     "I am unsure of how to communicate this to you.  Would you please ask Bel?  It pains me to see you suffering because of our burden."

     Callendyl looked up from the cooking.  There was pain in his eyes.  How could Maynard refuse?  "Of course.  I'll do it right now.  Ok?"

     "Thank you, sir.  You do me a kindness."  Callendyl went back to his cooking.

     Not really sure of how much he had set Callendyl's mind at ease, Maynard looked for Bel, and found him with the rest of the non-runners.  They stopped talking when Maynard walked up.  Otsu said, "I will check on camp prepara­tions."  She walked off and started looking the camp over.  That left May­nard alone with the rest of the humans.

     "Ok.  I told the Callendyl that I would ask.  What is the point of sending these sweet kids to certain death?"

     They looked at each other.  Azsha spoke, "Do you believe that we care for these children at all?"

     "Yeah.  I suppose so.  In your own screwed up sort of way."

     If she caught the shot, then she didn't let on.  "Why do you think that we are bringing them to their deaths, Maynard?"

     "I don't know.  There are so many easy alternatives to doing it this way that I just don't know."

     Azsha continued,  "I think that it is high time that you learn a little more about what is going on here.  Bel has told you a little about the uses of magic.  Let me tell you some of its mis­uses. 

     "In your world, the land has been laid waste by people in power making deci­sions that exploit the land until it lies in ruins.  They didn't care, because they were not the ones made to suffer.  People were treated with the same disregard as the land.  The workers in offices and factories were pushed more and more until there are clinics needed around the world to help deal with the resultant stress and depres­sion.  All of this would have been unnecessary if better forethought had been exercised from the begin­ning, but economics won out over decency."

     Bel took over. "People are people, more or less, wherever you go.  You have seen the exploitation of the earth.  Let me tell you how exploitation happens here. 

     "It is not worldly resources in terms of metal or paper that get exploited here.  It is the people themselves that have the value.  The goal of Segernon is to enslave the world and harness their magical ca­pabili­ties.  When someone gains power here, the people that they control give that person power by the act of subject­ing themselves.  Segernon wants to be that someone.  It is very much like taxing the people, not for money, but for power.  He will leave no stone unturned until he has gained all that there is to gain in this world as far as its power is concerned."

     Charissa continued. "These are sylvan elves.  They view their history with a great deal more continuity than most humans.  They live in and for their forest and their re­spective clans.  It will devastate them to see both destroyed or enslaved by Segernon's armies.  They couldn't even think of not defending it with their lives."

     It was Roxanne's turn. "These young elves know Segernon.  Within the span of four or five centuries, he will be able to take the rest of the world by force.  If he has his weapon fully assembled, he will do it in three or four years.  This is certain.  These elves will still be middle aged by then.  The longer we wait, the stronger he gets. 

     "These warrior trainees will be going in to stop some Orc raiders on the fringe of what you would call a de-militarized zone.  They will be saving many lives.  After this initiation into the ways of war, we will have champion to be sent to de­feat Segernon's forces or die trying.  We are not playing for fun."

     There was a moment of stillness.  Maynard looked around.  The elves were standing nearby now, listening.  Maynard looked around at them.  They were so full of hope and deter­mination . . .  He hated the notion of having them die so young, and yet he could see no alternative. 

     Azsha said, "These men and women have a choice.  If they die young, they can save many lives on the border of the frontier, and have a chance to be the one that is given the chance to defeat Segernon, thereby saving their whole civilization.  If they choose to delay the inevitable, they may have a few more years of relative peace, but they will see their families enslaved and their forest cut down, unless they are killed themselves.  They may have only a chance, but at least it is a chance.  The other way of­fers no chance for them at all."

     Bel spoke, "No one person alone amounts to very much without others.  The more that people work together the more they can advance as a people, as a society.  Civiliza­tion is not merely a con­cept to be bandied around over a cup of coffee or a glass of sherry in front of the fire.  In every genocide, and that is what this is, there is much more than the overwhelming loss of life.  There is the incalculable loss of an en­tire culture.  The elves and their allies are fighting an unavoidable foe for the right to live as a people and as a civilization. 

     "Humans might put the war off, because it would seem to be generations away.  It is not gen­erations away for elves.  Politicians on earth might wait until the last mo­ment or even later to fight a war because `there might be a diplomatic solution'.  There is no political solution possible with Segernon.  There is a time to fight and die.  This is theirs.  Can you still stand there, look them in the eye and tell them that they are wast­ing their lives?"

     What could Maynard say?  Was he so screwed up that he was incapable of admit­ting what was perfectly clear to him intellectually even if his emotions were not quite up to it?  He thought again of what he might say.  Back at the CIA everything was answered by lying.  Agents got so good at lying that it was, sometimes, hard for them to stop.  They lied even when it was unnec­essary.  He was not going to do that here.

     He looked at the elves.  They were clearly waiting for him to come to some con­clusion.  From what he had come to know about them, they were probably waiting to find out what regular humans, i.e. not like Azsha and Bel, thought about their ac­tions.  Maybe they needed reassurance too. 

     He turned to face them.  "I have come from a world of mistrust to a world where I was trusted.  I have come from a world of apathy to a caring place.  In my world we think only of ourselves, and here I am helped by everyone.  My own world is not worth dying for.  When I spoke, I was thinking of that.  This world is worth dying for.  You are the most noble people I have known.  Your deaths will be a great loss for me personally.  Your victory will be a great gain for Alfheim and beyond.  I apologize for speak­ing against your mission.  I spoke in ignorance.  I wish you well in your en­deavor.  I will aid you in every way that I can.  If worthiness can carry the day, then I have no fear of the outcome.  May the victory be yours." 

     He had gotten carried away by the end, but, to his surprise, the elves cheered.  He was not much for militant speaking, but he was glad that he could give them back some morale that he may have taken away by his speaking before really thinking. 

     Charissa walked over to him while the elves were still cheering.  "They really needed that.  Thank you for giving it to them."  She kissed him on the cheek.  Consid­ering how long the cheering continued, Maynard agreed.  They really did need that.

     "Nice job.  You have potential", Azsha whispered as she walked by.

     Now that the mood was improved, they went back to the business of setting up camp, and cooking for Maynard and Charissa. 

     Maynard looked around.  Even the intractable Roxanne gave him a nod.  Well, for her that must be quite a lot, Maynard thought.  This world was surely an emotional roller coaster for him.  He hoped that it would get easier with time.  He looked again at the ar­mor, bows, and swords.  Probably not.

 

 

They made camp there at the edge of the forest.  There was to be no more travelling to­day.  They would enter into harm's way soon enough.  They needed one last night of rest. 

     Maynard watched them with more than clinical interest, and saw that they were acting in a more military like manner.  They started sparring with each other lightly.  This really was war.  It was not an concept easily grasped for Maynard.  He had no problem with the concept of war.  It was easy to decide that a war should be fought from the com­fort of an office and the sterile environment of a computer terminal's databases, but to see the people actually getting ready to fight and die against an impla­cable adversary was a different thing altogether.

     Maynard walked over to Bel.  "It looks like this is it Bel.  Do I get my sword and bow now?"

     "You won't be needing one", Bel answered.  "I will protect you personally.  Just stay with me.  Don't get involved in the fighting, and I'll be able to keep you safe."  May­nard frowned.  Bel said, "We don't want you to think that we are holding you prisoner.  So, to keep your freedoms as much as we can, I will let you go wher­ever you want to go.  That was the word of my grandmother.  But know this, if you leave me freely, you must defend yourself.  You will be on your own.  Is that satisfac­tory?"

     "Yeah.  It seems fair enough, but I don't know enough about what we will be fac­ing to know what I will or won't need to do.  But if there is even a chance that I might be fighting, then I want to have weapons of my own, if that is Ok with you."

     "Fair enough.  We can get them for you later tonight.  Tell me, what are your weapons of preference?  Remember that there are no pistols to be used here.  Which kind of sword are you most comfortable using?"

     Maynard had not thought of that.  He had never really used a sword.  He used martial arts and guns.  What could he use that would be something that would help him more than it would hurt him in frenzied fighting?  Imagining himself in regular wars (at least regular by earth standards) only brought him back to weaponry that was unavail­able.  What would he want in a street fight?  A baseball bat!

     "I want a baseball bat.  Not too heavy or I'll be slow and get tired fast.  But not too light either.  I don't want anyone to get up after I bean them.  You might throw in a large and very sharp knife or dagger.  In a pinch, I could probably use one of those without re­moving one of my own hands.  Oh, by the way, I know that you have no guns, but do you have a good crossbow?  That might shoot enough like a rifle to be of some use."

     "Well, that sounds possible, although the bat won't really be a Louisville slug­ger.  That might be an interesting sight.  I'll get right on that.  You get some food and sleep.  This may be the last night in a while that you can get a full night's sleep for a while."

     That didn't sound comforting.  It had Maynard worried enough that last night may have been his last full night's sleep for a while.  Instead of falling quickly to sleep, May­nard found that he was somewhat restless.  What a surprise that was.  He walked around the camp among the elves after lunch.  He had usually slept after eating, because the trip was demanding, and it was fairly late at night, but since this was still most of a day still, he could mingle.

     A watch was posted.  There was more sparring.  It could have been fun, except that there was a purpose to it all.  It made his own training seem surrealistic. 

     He went to talk to one of the women on watch, and saw that they were looking into the sky.  He looked also, and he saw a plane approaching.  "Now isn't that pecu­liar", he thought.  He asked the nearest one, "Hey, Slip, is that a plane?"  (She had been nick­named Slip because she was such a little slip of a girl, and the youngest of the group.)

     He was given a puzzled look.  "Of course it is a plane", she answered in her high pitched voice.  "Anywhere that we can go has to be a plane of some kind."

     Maybe she was thinking of some kind of geometric plane.  "No.  I meant to ask, 'Is that an airplane?'"

     She answered him as though she was trying to explain particle physics to some­one that couldn't understand why objects fall when they are released.  "This is not the plane of air, and I don't think that we can see it from here anyway." 

     She was trying to be helpful and nice all at the same time, but Maynard could see that he was getting nowhere fast.  He looked up at the airplane again.  It was larger than a corporate jet.  Larger, even, than a Boeing 737, but smaller than a 747.  It was very quiet.  Maynard expected that he would hear it from a very long distance away, especially since the land was so quiet in general, but he heard nothing.  Maybe they have better mufflers here.  Maybe they don't need to muffle magical engines.  There was no jet stream left in its wake. 

     Now that it was fairly close, he could see that it was flying slowly and in a wan­der­ing course.  Its silvery fuselage indicated that these people had the technology to re­fine metals.  This wasn't too bad.  More of the elves had gotten interested in this plane that was coming their way.  Bel walked over and said, "This must be your first time.  What do you think?"

     "Of what.  I've seen planes before."

     "Oh, yes", Bel said with a chuckle.  "I heard what you and Slip said.  She thought you were talking about different dimensions.  You see, they call dimensions 'planes' here.  Its sort of a convention.  And that", he said pointing at the airplane, "is not an airplane."

     Maynard looked closely.  "I can see that it is moving oddly, but it is a metallic ob­ject and it is flying.  It looks like a magically powered plane.  What is it actually?"

     "It is Roxanne's dragon, Devon", Bel said with a glint in his eye.

     Maynard watched it more closely.  The wings did seem to be moving.  That would be more than odd for a plane.  He looked at Roxanne.  She had removed the saddlebags from her horse, and was waiting for whatever was coming.  It loomed larger are larger.  There was no doubt about it now.  This was a dragon.  Maynard had never seen a dragon before, as far as he knew, when it actually looked like a dragon, but if there was anything such as a dragon, this would definitely be it.  It looked like it was going to be landing very near them.

     It glided down silently, circled the camp once, and set down more gracefully than Maynard thought possible for a creature of that size.  Roxanne walked over to it, and climbed on.  She sat down on what looked like a saddle.  Maynard hadn't noticed the saddle before, but there it was now.  Roxanne nodded to the group, and the dragon un­furled his wings, flapped them majestically, and rose slowly into the air.  They cir­cled around the group twice, and then they were off.

     After a few minutes, Maynard noticed that his mouth was still open.  Slip was still close at hand.  He asked her, "What was that?"

     "That was a silver dragon.  He was probably Devon.  I don't recognize too many dragons by sight, but because he was small, and Roxanne was riding him, I can't think of any other dragon that would fit."

     Maynard looked at her, and his mouth dropped open again.  "That was a small dragon?"  Slip just nodded and smiled. 

     "Are we going to have to fight things like that?", Maynard asked her.

     "Not as far as I know", she answered with wide eyes.  "We are mostly after Orcs.  I sure hope that it isn't much more than that."

     Maynard was glad that he was not the only one with a case of nerves, but that didn't make him glad that others were going through it too.  Slip excused herself to make some rounds as she was one of the elves on watch. 

     Maynard sat down and started to think things through again.  Bel sat down be­side him.  Maynard said, "Kids going to war.  It doesn't seem right somehow.  Why does it have to be kids."  It was hard to not revert to thinking of them as children be­cause, after all,  they were adolescent for their race, and they looked like children.

     Bel asked, "Isn't it always the children that are sent to war?  In peace time the children bury their parents.  In war, the parents bury their children."

     "Well", Maynard said somewhat defensively, "I don't have to like it."

     "No one likes war, Maynard.  For the defending side, in this case the elves hu­mans and dwarfs, it is unavoidable."

     "That raises an interesting question.  Who is the other side?  Why do they fight?"

     "That's a fair question.  On the other side are the black (drow) and white (shadow) elves.  They are trying to improve their economic situation.  They want to control more people and more land.  It is similar to a hostile corporate takeover, but killing is more common here. 

     "They are using orcs and goblins to do their dirty work.  Those rather unfortu­nate creatures are rather unruly and generally have a low intelligence.  They need strong lead­ership to keep them together, and they need to stay together or they would become over­run by predators.  The elves are providing leadership and meager incen­tives of various kinds to get and keep cooperation.  The orcs and goblins aren't able too look ahead or plan very well, so their interests are met in short term gains."

     "It all boils down to money and power, doesn't it?  Why can't they just work and build the means to improve their lot?  Why do they think that it is better to take it from those that have done the building already?"

     "Maynard, it isn't that simple", Bel continued.  "More land and more people give the means to build more.  You can only get so big without expanding.  Besides, it is quicker, easier, and cheaper to take something than it is to design and build it."  Maynard looked as though he was trying to figure it all out. 

     "I understand the questions you are trying to answer Maynard.  You have hit upon a keynote for my own people.  My race doesn't understand the good/evil question in the same way as most of these people", he said pointing to the elves.  "We view what is right or wrong based on whether it builds or destroys.  Let me explain . . .  Just because a legal system, for example, may be harsh by personal standards doesn't mean that it is evil.  They may have a brutal death penalty for a crime that we would consider to be trivial, and yet, when the society as a whole is considered, that trivial action may be the cause of considerable disruption.  If people were killed just because they were dissenters, we would consider that to be 'evil'. 

     "Am I explaining this right to you?  To say it in other words, it is not what is done or even how it is done as much as why the thing is done.  That why is found in the goal that the action accomplishes.  When you find out what someone is trying to ac­complish, you can determine the good and evil of that thing. 

     "The collective foe of these elves has, as their ultimate goal, the destruction of all other races.  They see that sylvan elves, humans, and dwarfs are holding back their progress.  It becomes necessary for them to be eradicated in the name of progress."

     Maynard interrupted, "But by your own standards", he said caustically, "that would be desirable.  So why are you helping the wrong side?  Aren't you at odds with your own philosophy?"

     "You are quite right, Maynard.  It is not easy to see which side is the more de­structive: whether the sylvans and their allies for not eradicating the cancer of the drow and shadow elves thus allowing a disease to exist, and keeping themselves in a weak­ened state without aggressive progress plans; or the enemy elves for wanting to exter­minate a productive portion of their world without proper exploitation.  Each side has its merits, as is true in most arbitrations.  Our solution is to match the weapon of the black and white elves with one of roughly equal strength and ability."

     "You have built your own weapon?"

     "No.  Its not that kind of weapon.  Each side has a team that is trying to collect, assemble and use the weapon that has already been made to aid their own side.  The other side has gotten some extras for their people, so we trained some extras into these elves", he said with a gesture.  "It is up to them to determine which is worthy of con­tinu­ing as a race.  It is truly a war to the death of one set of races or the other."

     "And there is no way to sit down, and just discuss it with amiably, right?  We can't just talk our way out of this one, can we?"

     "When did this become we, Maynard?"

     "Well, I'm human.  I'm with this group, and I like them.  They are my kind of people.  Isn't that enough?"

     "It wouldn't be enough for me, but you are not me, and vice versa.  Don't you think it possible that if you had met the other side first, that you might like them?  They do resemble your own CIA much more than these folks."

     The remark was not lost on Maynard.  "I like it here.  That's enough for me."

 

Maynard watched them sparring as the day wore on.  They were fast all right.  His own experience showed that they had more strength than meets the eye.  Slip actually seemed to be weaker than most of the others.  It was nice when something was pre­dictable.  Cal­lendyl was one of the best of the fighters.  It looked good for him to be the one to survive.  Maynard looked around to watch Moriah sparring, but she never participated in the matches.  He walked over to her.

     "Tell me, Moriah, why is it that you are the only one that is not getting ready for the coming combat?"

     "Sir, I am ready now."

     Where had he heard that before.  Well, it would be impolite to challenge her on that, especially since she was probably going to be dead or maimed in the next few days.  But there was another way that he could do this.  "I need to get ready myself, Moriah.  Bel has a bat for me to be using in the coming fighting if it comes to that.  I don't really know just what to do.  Do you think that you could give me some pointers?  Maybe even do a little sparring with me?  It may very well save my life out there."  There.  Let her deny me that.

     "Ok.  That makes some sense, I suppose.  Show me what a `bat' is."

     "Sure, he is right over there."  They walked together to where Bel was.  He was doing some polishing on what looked like a large baseball bat made of some very dark wood.

     Bel said, "Just give me a moment to give it a finishing touch.  I need to season the wood, just enough to keep it from being cut up by a sword."  He was running his hand up and down the shaft of the bat.  Maynard thought to himself that the lad did have concen­tration.  He had to give him that.

     Moriah said, "Is that what you will be using, sir?"

     "Yes it is.  What do you think?", he asked proudly.  (He was feeling somewhat proud of his higher tech weaponry.)

     "It looks like a cross between a light mace and a heavy stick.  It should work, if that is what you are used to using."

     He looked at the bat again.  He had forgotten that they would know about clubs here.  By all reason they should know a lot more because they were closer to the cave­man era.  Well, maybe that was unfair.  They just developed differently.

     "All finished.  What do you think?"  Bel was beaming.

     "It looks heavy.  I don't know if I can swing something that heavy."  Maynard took it, and, sure enough, it was much lighter than he expected.  He positively had to start thinking of these people as having their own form of high technology.  It may be the only way for him to reduce the number of mistakes that he made.  He would err on the side of giving them more credit than they were due for a while, and see how that did things for him. 

     Maynard turned around to get his first lesson from Moriah, but she was talking to Charissa.  Charissa nodded and walked quickly away.  Moriah said, "Charissa is our resi­dent staff and mace expert, present company excepted", with a nod to Bel.  "She has con­sented to help with your orientation.  Her style of combat will give you a much better rep­resentation of what we will be fighting than mine."

     "Does that mean that you aren't going to be teaching me?  Even after you said that you would?"

     "I will be here and helping as I can, but Charissa will be helping also.  I hope that I have not offended."

     Maynard was put out, but he said, "No.  Not at all."  What else could he say?

     Charissa returned with a staff and a mace.  They were both rather fancy.  She tossed the staff to Moriah.  "First, young man, I want to see what you can do.  I want you to hit Moriah on the head as hard as you can."

     Maynard looked at Charissa.  He looked at Moriah.  "Ok.  Are you ready?"  Mo­riah nodded, but she was just standing there.  She took no defensive stance.  In short, she did not look ready at all.  "Are you sure?"  She nodded again.

     Maynard swung his bat at her with gusto, but missing her intentionally.  After all, he wasn't personally to be the one to maim her.  This was just sparring.  Moriah didn't move, and the bat whizzed by her face with about a foot to spare.  Maynard turned to Charissa and said proudly, "What do think of that?"

     Charissa looked somber.  "Is that the best you can do?"

     "What do you mean?", he asked defensively.  He had done well at CIA train­ing.  How could these mideval yokels do any better than the sophisticated methods of the late twentieth century?

     "You missed her by a considerable margin.  You lacked power in the blow.  You attacked without conviction.  I can see why you wanted some help.  Let me show you what I mean." 

     Charissa took her mace, and attacked Moriah with murder in her eye.  She swung with a powerful swing that made Maynard's heart skip a beat.  He knew that Moriah was a goner, but Moriah moved the staff into the path of the blow, and al­though Moriah was staggered, she blocked the blow.  Charissa attacked again and again, pushing Moriah back.  Then Moriah switched her defenses and parried with a different stroke of the staff.  She moved her parry with the coming blow, instead of against it, and, using a small circu­lar motion, was able to, somehow, pull the mace from Charissa's hands.  Then in a motion so fast that it was hard for Maynard to see clearly, Moriah took the end of the staff, and rammed it into Charissa's solar plexus, knocking her wind out.

     Charissa took an unceremonious pratfall, and sat on the ground trying to catch her breath.  Moriah just stood there in that unpretentious manner that, obviously, belied her readiness defensively.  After Charissa had partially caught her breath she said, "There.  Do you think that you could do it more like that?  You shouldn't have to worry about Mo­riah.  You can attack her with impunity.  She should survive you."

     Of that Maynard had no doubts.  He helped Charissa back up on her feet, and picked up her mace to hand it to her.  He had expected it to be light and easily wielded like everything else he had encountered here, but it was very heavy.  It must weigh 70 or 80 pounds.  He had trouble lifting it to hand to her.  It would have been impossible for him to use it in combat.  And this was someone too soft to be able to adventure with the group?  He handed it to her and she took it as if it weighed no more than 2 or 3 pounds.

     "You'll pardon me for asking what may be a personal question, but that mace weighs a ton.  How can you lift it so easily?"

     "I have a device that makes me stronger.  It is the form of a belt", she said as she pointed to her rather thick leather belt.

     "Really?", he asked with fascination.  "Could I try it?"

     "I don't see why not."  She put down her mace, and removed her belt.  She handed it to Maynard, who put it on.  He felt a surge of strength that made him feel like superman.  He tried lifting her mace again, and it was easier than his own bat had been.

     "This is incredible.  Where can I get one of these?"

     "They are rare and very valuable.  I don't know where one is available." 

     `Rare and valuable' was the understatement of the year.  He could get quickly addicted to this much strength.  He could beat anyone in battle now!  "Well, Moriah . . .  Are you ready now?"

     She nodded her head, and Maynard swung Charissa's mace with the ease of su­perhuman strength.  Moriah held the staff in both hands, and moved to block the blow with a straight arm kind of holding of the staff.  As the mace struck the staff, Maynard felt Moriah give under the force of the blow.  He saw strain in her face as she fought against the massive power that the belt was giving to Maynard.  He was suddenly afraid.  He had tried to kill her.  How could he have done such a thing?  He backed away from Moriah.

     "I'm sorry.  I could have killed you.  I'm so sorry.  I didn't mean it. I'm not used to this.  I'm sorry."

     He would have kept on, but Moriah interrupted.  "Its Ok.  We were just spar­ring.  Don't worry about it.  If you never extend yourself, you'll never know what you can do."

     Maynard looked her over.  "How can you block such blows?  Do you have a strength belt also?"

     "No.  They are too hard to come by for me to have such a thing.  I just train hard, much like everyone else here.  We have all worked diligently to be here today.  Do you want to continue?"

     She was so `matter of fact' about it all that Maynard wasn't quite sure whether he should continue or not.  He finally said, "I guess that I need to learn what to do be­fore I need to do it.  Now is a better time to learn than later."  He turned to Charissa.  "Do you mind showing me a few things?"

     "Not at all", Charissa said cheerfully.  Maynard gave returned her belt, and picked up his bat.  Moriah left to be with the other elves.  Charissa worked with Maynard for hours.  Charissa turned out to be quite competent with her mace.  She taught him how to stand, so that he could get the most force from his swings without losing his balance, which attack to use against whichever weapon his enemy might have.  How do best de­fend against the most common of attacks.  She spent more than an hour just showing Maynard how to spot an opening in his adversary's defences.  When Maynard got bashed by her, and that happened more often than Maynard liked to remember afterwards, she immediately healed him and made him keep right on with the lesson.  He had never trained so hard before.

     They practiced for the rest of the afternoon, and by the time that Charissa decided that he had learned enough for one day, May­nard was completely exhausted, but he had learned a lot about how to use mace (or a bat in his case).  There was more to this fighting than met the eye.  By the time they were finished, he felt as though he had been pulled through a knot hole backwards.  But still, all in all, he was more confident about his ability to defend himself with his bat.  Charissa said, "I think that you have a better feel for what you need to know.  You did all right for a beginner.  I better be checking in on the others to see how they're doing", and she bounced off.

     Maynard looked for Callendyl and beckoned for him to come over.  "Cal, I guess that I've come to appreciate you in the past few days, and I have never told you so before.  Thanks for everything.  You have been a good friend.  I have never worked so hard in all my life as I have today.  I must say that I am looking forward to your healing today more than ever."

     Callendyl looked embarrassed.  "I'm sorry, sir.  It has been several days since we have been able to hold a long workout.  I have already used all of my healing strength for today.  Perhaps Moriah can help you.  I'll go get her."  As Callendyl walked away, May­nard saw how tired he was.  He was able to run all day long and still look as fresh as the proverbial daisy, and yet, here he was, exhausted.

     Moriah came back with Callendyl.  She looked fresher than Callendyl, and May­nard got his hopes up.  "Are you able to help me out, Moriah?  Charissa has given me a workout to remember."

     "I think so, sir."  She walked behind where Maynard was sitting on the ground, and started rubbing his shoulders.  She moved her hands in that unusual way and he felt better, but he was still sore and tired.  "How do you feel now, sir?", she asked.

     "Better, but I'm still tired and a little sore."

     "I'm sorry, sir, but that is all that I can do for now.  We have been extending our­selves to our limits today, because the test officially begins tomorrow."  She looked like she was ready to go, but she said, "If you are in any distress in the night, please don't hesi­tate to call, and I will take care of you as I am able.  Will that be satisfactory, sir?"

     "Sure, Moriah.  That'll be just fine."  She walked away, and he tried stretching and rubbing away at what there remained of his soreness.  Bel came over to him.

     "You seem to have had quite a day.  Are you as sore as you look?"

     He was so smug.  "No.  I am just rubbing my legs and grimacing in pain be­cause I feel good.  Of course I'm in pain.  What did you think?"

     "Elves couldn't help you very much then?"

     "Is there a point to all this?  If not, I'd like to get back to trying to fix my agony a bit before I collapse for the night", Maynard said with some petulance.

     "Oh, relax for a minute."  Bel touched Maynard on the forehead, and Maynard felt great again. 

     "That was terrific.  I didn't know that you could do that too.  Its just like your grandmother.  Did you learn that trick from her?"

     "In a sense.  But I want you to notice something.  These elves have limitations.  They will not always be able to help you completely.  War has a tendency to push one to the limits of one's abilities.  Remember that any time magic is used, it is draining.  The more that is done, the more exhausted they will become.  It is not like using a major ap­pliance to do your work for you.  The effect may look easy, but nothing is as easy as it looks.  Remember this.  You must let it color everything that you do while you are here."

     Another lesson, but he made a good point.  "I'll try", Maynard said simply.

     "You are learning a lot.  It may seem as though you are in overload, but it will get easier as you take the time to digest it all.  My grandmothers have a lot of confi­dence in you."

     That made him feel good.  Maynard didn't remember when he felt this good.  "Simple pleasures are the best", he thought. 

 

Later, as the sky was darkening into what passed for dusk in this sunless world, Bel came over to where Maynard was relaxing and playing his new bat.  "There is a council meet­ing of the trainees over just inside the edge of the forest.  They are going to discuss just what they will be doing.  It might be a good idea for you to be there.  I'm sure that they would profit if you would put in your own two cents worth."

     "Are you going to be there?", Maynard asked.

     "No.  Its not my council.  They are venturing out on their own.  But you can feel free to speak and help as you see fit."

     "What are you going to be doing?"

     Maynard thought that he saw a look of concern flash over Bel's face for a mo­ment, but it passed so quickly that he wasn't sure.  "I am going to be playing cards with Charissa and my grandmother.  Maybe it will take my mind off of what these kids are in for.  Maybe not.  What could it hurt to try?"  With that, Bel turned to go over to the fire where Azsha and Charissa sat.

     Maynard looked at the edge of the great forest of Alfheim.  He had been here at the edge for almost twenty hours.  He had spent four days inside.  There was a lot there for him.  He could see the elves gathered in a loose circle talking.  He looked at the dark­ening sky, and walked over to where they were.

     When he approached, they stopped talking and looked at him.  "Do you mind if I listen?  I can go if it isn't Ok with you."

     One of the men spoke.  It was Ithomar, a bard with blonde hair that Maynard found to possess a gentle wisdom.  "Why do you wish do join us here?"

     That was a fair question.  Why did he want to be there?  "I have heard much of what is happening since I came to this dimension.  You are in a desperate situation.  You are fighting to protect a forest that I have seen is worth protecting.  You are fighting to protect a society and race that I want to see protected also.  You all know that I am not much of a fighter, and that my knowledge of magic is virtually non-exis­tent.  But there is always a way that someone can help.  I want to be here to see if there is a way that I can help with whatever my abilities may be."

     There was a general silence, but some of the elves nodded their heads.  Ithomar said, "That is acceptable."  Slip made room for Maynard to sit next to her.  She smiled at him as he sat.  It was amazing how little it took to make a man feel welcome.

     Ithomar returned to speaking to the group as a whole, "We are to engage the orc forces that are raiding the borderlands on the edge of the frontier.    We are to reduce their ability to raid as much as possible before there are no more of us left to fight them save one."

     Lysander, one of the other men, asked, "Where are we to meet them for this bat­tle?  We don't know where their camp is."

     Kyelle, one of the women, said, "There are three of us that can assume the form of birds.  We can fly overhead and spy out their position."

     Maynard turned and whispered to Slip, "Isn't that dangerous?  I mean, won't they shoot down a bird?"

     Ithomar said, "Maynard, you may not be familiar with the ways of an elfin council, but all voices are equal here.  If you have something to add, we would like to hear it."

     Maynard thought back to his third grade teacher Mr. McKenzie.  He said much the same thing, but he used Maynard's answers to ridicule, and that was clearly not the intent here.  They really wanted to know what he had to say.  Maybe they just didn't have enough wise guys that would goof off at a time like this.  For that matter, what sane soci­ety would?  Where did that leave the earth?

     "I was wondering what risk that would put the birds in.  If the orcs know that elves can turn into birds would they shoot down any birds that flew by?  Would they do it just for the sport of it anyway?  It is a good idea, but what are the chances that it will work?"

     There was silence for a very long time.  It was only a couple of minutes, but it seemed forever to Maynard.  Then Slip asked in her small voice, "What else can we do?"

     It was back in his court now.  No.  This was a group effort and not concerto for Maynard and orchestra.  They were all thinking of ways to proceed.  He was just one of the group.  He had to remember to keep thinking like that.  Maynard spoke, "You said that the orcs were raiding the frontier.  Just what is it that they are raiding?"

     Ithomar answered, "They are raiding the towns and villages in that area.  Why?"

     "Well, if we sent some of you overhead as birds, if everything worked out per­fectly and you got back alive, and the orcs were not tipped off to our coming by the re­connaissance, then we would only know what they were doing at that particular mo­ment.  But", he paused for effect, "if we found out what their habits were, we would know much more.  We need to know what their patterns are."

     Callendyl asked, "How can we know that?  We can only see what is there to see.  We cannot see the past."

     Maynard said, "If I lived in a town that was being raided by orcs, I would make it a point to know when they were likely to come, and what they were likely to do.  I think that we should go and ask them."

     There was general murmuring through the group.  "That is a good plan.  How will we get to these areas without being discovered?", asked Ithomar.

     "That would have been a problem anyway.  Our approach is not complicated by this plan.  That problem was always there.  But what we can do is check out every city that we come to.  We can collect information all along the way.  The closer we get to the actual places that are being raided, the more information we will have.  As the risk in­creases, our knowledge will have increased, and we can take more and better precau­tions.  We should be able to do fairly well."

 

The rest of the meeting consisted of more mundane details such as figuring out who would be on watch at any given time, when the spell casters could get extra sleep since they were prone to extra fatigue from the exertion of spell casting.  It was decided that Maynard would go with on every trip into the towns and villages that they encountered as he was the only human of their group and it may be that an elf would attract too much at­tention.  That was Ok by him.  He wanted to see what the rest of the world was like any­way. 

     Maynard went to sleep that night feeling that he had a part in the outcome of this adventure.  It was a good feeling.  He liked and was liked by the elves.  That was a good feeling too.  Friendship was usually as artificial as most of his relationships back home.  They felt good here.  He hadn't had too many really good feelings or too many real friends since he started working for the CIA.  He was glad for this chance to have both.

 

When Maynard awoke the next morning, he saw that Azsha and Otsu had gone.  That meant that, besides the trainees, there was Bel, Charissa and himself only.  The elves broke camp with as much efficiency as usual, but they were much more quiet.  Some­times, Maynard could see them moving around, but he couldn't hear their footsteps.  He would occasionally speak aloud, just to make sure that he was still able to hear properly, after all, with no traffic or technological white noise it was a very quiet world to him.

     After he ate breakfast, he started looking around for Riolas, his horse.  While he was looking, he noticed that he didn't see any horses.  Thinking that they had been robbed in the night, he ran to Bel.  "Someone has taken our horses in the night.  Now that we are on foot, we need to be on the watch, because they will surely come back and fin­ish the job, and . . ."

     Bel interrupted, "Whoa there.  Hold on for just a minute.  We sent the horses back to Otsu's place.  It was going to be very risky for them, and your horse belongs to some­one else, and we couldn't take the risk.  The other horses are of a special elfin breed and they cannot be outside of the forest for long without going insane."

     "There is no way that I could possibly keep up with these kids on foot.  What are we going to do?", Maynard asked with considerable anxiety.

     "First of all, you could regain your sense of balance.  There are a great many pos­sibilities.  You would do well to find out what your options are before you give up.  Think of it as a video game.  Your icon may have choices that you don't know about unless you look and try things out."

     "Ok.  You got me when I was down.  Now, can you stop kicking me long enough to tell me what we are going to do?"

     "Sure.  No problem."  Bel paused for a moment to milk the situation.  (He had to have his fun too.)  "We are going to conjure up some mounts.  They will be faster, and harder to kill and more expendable than the other horses.  Do you think that you can ride a magical horse?"

     "How would I know?  All I can do is try", Maynard said.

     "Right answer.  You're learning." 

     Bel moved his hands, and there was a swirling of black smoke which formed into the shape of a horse.  The whole process took ten to fifteen seconds.  The horse was black with blood red eyes, and grey hooves and mane.  It had what appeared to be a sad­dle.  Bel motioned for Maynard to mount up.

     Suppressing the urge to tell Bel just what he could do with his horse of smoke, Maynard tried touching the beast.  It felt solid enough.  It seemed willing to allow his touch.  But before he was going to mount up he had to ask, "What is this thing actually made of?"

     "Blue smoke and mirrors.  What difference does it make?"

     "I wanted the information for general learning purposes", he said defensively.  "There was no call no snap at me.  It was a legitimate question."

     "You were looking for a way to think of the steed as something unspeakable.  That would give you an excuse.  Just grit your teeth, mount up and take a few minutes getting used to it."

     Maynard thought that Bel could be annoying when he wanted to.  What did he have to lose?  Maynard looked at it again, and fairly leaped onto its back.  It stood there solidly.  It didn't complain.  In fact, it was eerily silent.  He asked Bel, "Does this thing work like a regular horse?"

     "In some ways it does and in some ways it differs.  You see . . ."

     "Just tell me if it will start, stop and turn the same way a horse does."

     "Well, yes.  But . . ."

     Maynard gave his steed a kick and they were off at a breakneck speed.  He had ridden motorcycles in his past, and he knew that he had to be moving well in excess of 150 M.P.H.  He had no idea just how this was possible, but there it was.  Since he had gone this speed before, he was able to regain his composure.  He squinted his eyes and looked ahead.  He was covering ground at a thrilling speed.  He wished that he had some goggles, but you can't have everything.  There was no sound from the `horse'.  Not even the hooves made any sound.  There was only the rushing of the wind. 

     Maynard was having a wonderful time.  He decided that he would start back.  At this speed he had to be careful of sharp turns as he didn't want to fall out of the saddle just now, thank you.  Trying a very gentle turn command, he found that it was easily turned.  It had a sensitive control, but that made it the more enjoyable, especially as he became ac­customed to it.  Since he was covering a lot of ground he decided that he would go back. 

     Instead of just turning around, he gave `the brakes' a try, and pulled back on its reins.  Instead of stopping, it rose into the air.  Maynard was flying!  Now it was time to get scared.   He looked down as the ground kept getting farther and farther away.  Using the reins only made the horse climb and dive more steeply.  He tried to guide it with his legs and feet, and he discovered, to his chagrin, that he was not at this thing's maximum speed.  He did the most cool and scientific thing he could think to do at the time . . .  He yelled for help.  "BELLLLL!!!"

     Meanwhile, back at the camp, there was quite a turmoil about these proceedings.  Maynard was being watched intently by all.  Charissa asked, "Aren't you going to help him?"  Bel shook his head.

     "Why not?", she wanted to know.

     "I am to protect him as long as he is with me.  If he chooses freely to leave, then he is on his own until he gets back until this trip is over.  That is as much as I can do."

     "Well", Charissa said, "It is not as much as I can do." 

     With that she jumped on her own phantom steed and rode upwards to meet May­nard.  He was out of control and it took a few minutes to catch up with him.  Once she did, she yelled instructions to him as to how this kind of horse was controlled.  There were slight variations added to account for three dimensional riding that were sensible and obvious to Maynard, but only after they had been pointed out to him.  He learned to use them well enough, and they rode back to the others after almost half an hour had elapsed. 

     Maynard looked sheepish and more than a little airsick.  He tried to smile and said weakly, "Well, that was a bit of an adventure.  I'm Ok now.  Thanks again Charissa."  He looked at Bel.  "By the way, I didn't see you up there helping."  Bel just looked back at Maynard. 

     "Was there something wrong", Maynard asked.  Bel shook his head no.

     "Then what was he problem?", Maynard asked with exasperation edging into his voice.

     "No problem", Bel answered as he turned to go to his own phantom steed.

     Maynard grabbed Bel's shoulder and spun him around.  "Then why did you just leave me there?  Is this what you call protection?  Do you always leave your comrades hanging?"

     Bel regarded Maynard for a moment.  "I protect you while you are with me.  You were told that if you left that you would be on your own.  Being a grown man you shouldn't always expect for someone else to be bailing you out of your predicaments.  Try standing on your own two feet and taking responsibility for your own actions.  The sooner you learn that here the better.  You won't have someone to wipe your nose for you for very much longer." 

     Bel knew that he was being cruel with his choice of words, but Maynard had to be shocked out of his lassitude.  He had become complacent, and there was no room for that in the trials that were to come.  Maynard didn't know that, and he turned to walk silently back to his horse with all of the wind gone from his sails.  Charissa sadly watched him walking away.  The elves form of compassion for his burden took the form of finding a way to be busy so that he could deal with it privately.  If he wanted company, he could ask for it and it would be freely given, but there were some times when a man just wanted to be left alone.

 

     They rode on for eleven days after they had left the great forest.  The ride was a somber one, and except for the extra diligence on watches, it didn't seem at all to May­nard that there was a war on.  There were several farms that were passed, but they weren't large enough to make it worth stopping.

     On the evening of twelfth day, they spotted the small town that had been traveling toward.  They stopped a good deal away from it because they didn't want to enter it with so many in their group.  Maynard was going in for his savvy, and Bel would be coming in with him.  Slip was to be the warrior of their group, and a wizard named Rolf was going with for magical back up and completing their quorum.  Bel conjured some horses that looked to Maynard just like real horses, and they rode them into town. 

     The town was smaller than Maynard had expected and he might have classified it as more of a whistle stop than a for real town.  There were fewer than twenty buildings all told.  This kind of living was not quite what Maynard was bargaining for, and this was definitely not the place that he wanted to be settling down.  "Tell me, Bel", he asked, "Is this what you would call a large city?"

     "This is hardly a city at all", Bel said with a chuckle.  "This is just the first collec­tion of more than three families that we have come to since we left the forest."

     Maynard was more relieved than he was willing to admit.  There seemed nothing to do in a place like this.  How do you keep yourself busy?  That was a good question.  Maynard decided to ask someone other than Bel.  He asked Slip.  "You're from here, Slip.  Tell me, just what does a person do around here for a little excitement?  How do you keep yourself entertained?"

     "I am not from here.  I am from the forest.  I have no idea of what to do here.  What do you plan to do?"

     "I have no idea.  Maybe we can find someplace.  Bel, where would we go to find the local hangout and maybe get some information."

     "You could try an inn or tavern of some kind.  Towns like this will, almost always, have some spot that is used as a gathering place.  We'll have to see what presents itself."

     They rode into the town, and the few people that there were milling about stopped to watch them.  "Why are they staring at us?  Are they so bored that we are the best action around?", Maynard whispered to Rolf.

     "Maybe it is because we are elves.  Maybe it is because we are so heavily armed.  We must be cautious", he answered.  Maynard looked again at the swords that the elves were carrying and his own bat, and thought that he may have been right on that count.

     They rode toward the center and found a place that could have been some sort of public house, and they stopped and tethered their horses.  There was enough noise com­ing from inside that it could have been the kind of a place that they were seeking.  The elves were looking around at everything that moved and most things that didn't.  Maynard hoped that their extra caution was unjustified. 

     They entered the place and found that it was mostly filled.  There were men and women of all ages and kinds.  As Maynard looked them over he found himself amazed when he realized that these people were plain looking to homely.  He had gotten so used to seeing men and women of heart stopping beauty that even homely people were an in­teresting change. 

     Conversation died down quickly when they entered.  Maynard watched them closely to see how close Rolf had come.  The men were shifting their eyes from Slip's legs to her sword and back with such regularity that it made Maynard think that they were oscillating.  A few of them looked at Rolf and Bel, but few took notice of Maynard. 

     There were no open tables.  While Maynard was wondering what to do, Bel sat down on an empty seat at a table that had only the one seat left.  Maynard, Rolf and Slip all watched Bel to see what they should be doing. 

     Bel started humming a catchy little tune.  He was quiet at first, but his volume in­creased and Maynard noticed that one of the other people was humming along with him.  Before long, several of the town's folk were singing what turned out to be one of the lo­cal favorites.  While they were letting their hair down, Maynard took an empty seat and Rolf sat down nest to him.  Slip found a seat by herself. 

     The pub settled back into what Maynard could only assume to be their routine be­cause they acted as though things were back to normal.  Rolf was trying to look as relaxed as everyone else, but it was easy to see through because Maynard had gotten to know them fairly well by now.  "Where are the menus?"

     Rolf looked at Maynard with the expression that Maynard had come to recognize as saying that he had asked a question that was too far away from what they knew.  "The what?"

     "A menu is a listing of what food is available and what the prices are."

     Rolf just shook his head no.  The humans around the table were looking at the two of them oddly.  Well, now was as good a time as any to get his feet wet.  Maynard looked one of them straight in the eye and asked, "Something wrong?"

     The man was somewhat startled.  He said, "He does speak common.  Tell me, stranger, how did you come to learn the speech of the elves?"

     So this translator device was not something that was universally used and these people could not (apparently) understand what was said if it was directed to Rolf.  With that important safety tip in mind he said , to Rolf, "How do we order some food?"

     "Maybe from her...", he said pointing to what looked like a serving girl.  The girl was in her early teens and was as homely as everyone else in the place.  Her clothes were fairly clean but ragged.  She was busily moving around in the pub, and making her way toward them.  After she took Bel's order she came over to Maynard and Rolf. 

     "What may I get for you sirs?", she asked. 

     "I'll have a steak, medium rare with a baked potato, butter and sour cream on that but no chives, and a salad with whatever the house dressing is.  Oh, and I'll take a cold beer to go with that."

     The table had gotten quiet again.  Maynard looked and Bel was shaking his head.  Rolf came to the rescue this time.  "We'll both have food and drink.  Don't mind my friend here.  He is always joking."  After hesitating for a moment to decide just what to think about this new information, they concluded that it was Ok, they laughed politely and the girl went away.

     Bel was starting to laugh out loud.  Maynard's face got red.  Acknowledging that he had done it again he whispered toward Bel, "Ok.  So I didn't know that they only have one dish on the menu.  How was I to know?  Cut me some slack would you?"

     During the course of the dinner, Maynard got speaking with the people at their table quite freely.  The towns people were not quite so open with Rolf as they were with Maynard, but they weren't treating him badly.  Bel was doing well, but Slip was having a miserable time.  The men at her table were trying to pick her up in the singles bar sense of the term.  They were running the gamut of approaches with no finesse at all, but they remained undeterred by her gentle rebuffs.  They looked stupid as far as Maynard was concerned.  Is that how all men look when they come on to a girl?  Maynard hoped not.  Since Maynard knew that Slip was quite adequate to handle the situation if it ever got be­yond the talking stage, he concentrated on the people at hand, because they had informa­tion to get.

     The four men at table with Rolf and Maynard were named Thorrash, Starga, Ror­dak, and Theron.  Maynard asked them, "Tell me how things are doing around here.  Have you been having trouble since the war times?"

     "What do you mean?", Theron asked.

     Rolf said, "Have you had any raids in the last three years?"

     "Not too many.  There have been three since the snows [nine months, ed.].  They mostly leave us alone."

     Maynard thought that this would be easy.  After all, these were simple folk and he was a trained CIA agent and computer genius.  Boldly he asked, "How long ago was the last one?"  They thought about it for what seemed to Maynard to be an interminable length of time, and finally they answered that it had been about three weeks.  It really could be easy if he could only get a few breaks.

     Through much asking they found out that the Orc raiders had come in taking ev­erything that was not nailed down.  They rode in from the south with a band of 70 or more.  The city was surrounded before they had made their presence known.  They, then, charged the town and took it over with great speed.  Special care was taken to ensure that anything that could be used as a weapon was taken.  There had been little killing because the people had not resisted, but the Orcs were brutal none the less.  The town had set a watch at night so that they could have some warning the next time it happened because they needed their food and cooking and farming utensils.  But since there should be a long gap until the next attack, it was not a very pressing worry, and it was done just to be thorough.

     One of Bel's lessons came back to Maynard's mind.  "Even the simplest of people are capable of intelligent thinking as long as they stay with the basics and common sense."  How true.  How true.

     The four of them mounted their horses and said a farewell to those that they had just met, and started back to the camp.  Just then a cry was heard, "Raiders.  Raiders.  The Orcs are attacking!"

     The town's people scattered in every direction and Maynard heard what sounded like more yelling.  He looked and saw huge biped creatures running toward the town.  They stood 7 to 9 feet tall and their faces looked like a cross between a bull and a pig.  Maynard had never seen anything so hideous.  He had never been quite this scared ei­ther.  It was quite an adrenalin rush.  He turned to Rolf and said, "Do you have the feeling that we shouldn't have gotten out of bed today?"

As the Orcs rushed in, Bel called to Maynard saying, "Hurry up.  We have to get in­side."  He led Maynard back into the now desert­ed pub and they ran to the back.  There was a ladder that led to an attic area.  "Quickly...  Go up there."

     Maynard almost ran up the ladder and Bel came right behind pulling the ladder up after him.  Maynard ran over to a small window that seemed to have been made more for ventilation than for looking through, but it was enough.  He heard the snarling of the Orcs as they rounded the town's people up in practiced fash­ion.  They were every bit as brutal as they had been described and then some.  

     After watching the scenes below for a couple of minutes (that seemed like a cou­ple of years to Maynard) he heard a change in the sound of the Orc's growling.  Until now, they had sounded like a cross between the snoring of Maynard's Uncle Charlie (which was enough to measure on the Richter scale) and the sound of someone strangling a Klingon.  Now it sounded as though they had been enraged, a thing that Maynard had thought impossible.  There was a rush of the monsters in a direction that Maynard could not see from this vantage point, and he ran to the other side of the attic to see what was happening.

     When he got there, he saw that three of the Orcs were down and shot with ar­rows.  Two more were wounded, and they were looking for the cause.  Maynard strained to see what it was, and he fol­lowed the pointing finger of one of the Orcs and saw Slip shoot­ing at them with creditable success.  She downed two more and then ducked out of sight.

     The Orc ran after her in what had to be a blood frenzy and Maynard was truly afraid for the little elf.  "Bel, What are we going to do in this?", Maynard asked franti­cally.

     "What do you think that we should do?"

     "We should get down there and help them, and not just sit up here on our butts doing nothing."

     Bel sighed.  "This is their time.  It is not mine.  We have trained them, and it is time for them to stand up for themselves.  There is nothing to be done.  Don't you re­member that we have been through all of this before?"

     "That doesn't make it any easier", he said turning back to the small window.  He saw that another Orc was down and this one had been killed with something other than an arrow.  He ran to the side of the building and looked down at the battle below, and he saw that Slip was fighting hand to hand.  

     She was running between the Orcs and slashing at them as she went.  The Orcs were not fast by any stretch of the imagination, but if the ease by which they inflicted damage on the town was any indication, then they were exceptionally powerful.  The way that she was moving made it almost impossible for the Orcs to attack her with more than two at a time.  She dodged back and forth, cutting and stabbing furiously as she went.  She was not doing very much damage this way, but she was not getting hit either and Maynard knew that she could keep this running pace all night if necessary. 

     From his vantage point, Maynard was able to see the layout of the whole town.  He didn't see Rolf, but he assumed that he was doing as well as Slip or even better since she was considered to be the weakest the elves.  As Maynard monitored Slip's move­ments, he noticed that she was being maneuvered in a direction that was blocked off by the Orcs.  They may be horrifyingly ugly to look at, but they were not mere animals.  They had intelligence and they were using it. 

     As Slip was running toward the street that had been blocked off, Maynard shouted involuntarily, "Don't turn right.  Its a trap!"

     Slip, hearing Maynard's voice, hesitated and looked in his direction.  In that brief moment, one of the Orcs came from her blind side and smashed his club into her side.  She was staggered and dropped her sword as more Orcs rushed in to join the fight.

     "Slip!", Maynard shouted.  Without further thought, Maynard grabbed his bat, called to Bel saying, "Come on!  We've got to help her."  Jumped down from his attic lo­cation and ran out into the Orc filled street.  As he ran up he saw Slip down on her knees.  She had retrieved her sword and three of the Orcs were down and one was standing mi­nus an arm, but she was clearly wounded and surrounded. 

     The Orcs had decided that enough was enough.  They had taken their lumps at her hands and now that she was caught, they were going to toy with her before she died. 

     It was probably a good thing that Maynard didn't take the time to think things through, because it was not an action that he could possibly have made in cold blood.  He ran out and bashed the nearest Orc on the back of the head for all he was worth.  The beast was staggered, but it did not fall unconscious.  Instead, it let out a howl that would curdle cream.  Maynard was swinging at another as they paused to look at him.  His sec­ond swing found the next Orc more prepared, and Maynard's bat turned out to be far less effective against Orcs than it would against humans.  Great.  What a time to learn that in­teresting bit of trivia.

     The Orcs turned on Maynard, and there was a shouting from them again.  While their attention had been diverted, Slip had killed two more and was limping away.  Good!  No, wait.  Bad!  She was going down the street that Maynard had tried to tell her was the location of the trap.  Even worse, as if things could get much worse, there were several Orcs closing in on him.  They looked larger than the defensive line of the Houston Oilers, and considerably uglier. 

     Since the Orcs were unintimidated by Maynard's measly bat, they closed in on him in a cat like calculating way.  The insects that were causing all of this trouble would have their wings pulled out before they were killed.  Maynard didn't like feeling like a bug. 

     As they were close enough for Maynard to smell their rancid breath, there was a deafening explosion from a nearby street.  As the Orcs turned to look, Maynard bashed the closest one, and ran away.  Two of them chased him and there was another explo­sion.  The Orcs were howling at the top of their lungs, if they actually had lungs. 

     Maynard ran back into the building where he had left Bel.  Remembering that there was no ladder, he grabbed a chair.  Using it as a step stool, he got up and into the attic.  His relief was palpable when he saw that Bel was still there. 

     "I'm back now", he said still panting from his exertion.  "Good to see that you are still here."

     Before Bel could answer, the two Orcs that had followed Maynard bounded up the chair that Maynard had used into the attic.  Maynard moved behind Bel.  "Its your turn", Maynard said.

     With a grunt of acknowledgement, Bel held up his hand and waved it back and forth.  The very large, very powerful, and (as Maynard could now see) very stupid Orcs just stood there and watched the hand's movements.  After half a minute, they lay down and went to sleep.

     Maynard stared at Bel.  "You mean that's all there is to it?  That's the Sunday punch that you've been holding in reserve to save me from a fate worse than death.  Great."

     Bel just shrugged.  Maynard went back to the window to see what was happen­ing to Slip.  She was down and unmoving in the street.  Looking around for the cause of the explosions, Maynard saw that Rolf was on a nearby rooftop lobbing some kind of ex­plo­sive, presumably magical, at the Orcs to great effect.  There were many dead Orcs lying around Slip, and the rest seemed to be turning tail and running. 

     Maynard said, "Its over, Bel.  Come on", as he bounded back down from the attic.  He ran out into the street with Bel close at hand and he saw a great many dead Orcs.  Running up the side street he saw Slip lying in a pool of red blood that was mingling with black Orc blood. 

     Going directly to Slip's side he turned her still form over gently.  He looked at her bruised and bloody face and remembered her laughing and easy nature and was greatly saddened for the loss.  As he stroked her face, her eyelids fluttered and as she opened her eyes, she tried to hit him with her fist.  Her blow was slow and weak as a child's, and Maynard said, "Shh.  There, there.  Its all over now,  Its Ok."

     She recognized Maynard and relaxed.  "Are they gone?", she asked feebly.

     "Yes.  They're all gone."

     "Did I do Ok?  I tried so very hard to do Ok.  Really I did."

     "You did just fine.  It was the finest skill and greatest bravery I think I have ever seen."

     "That's good.  That's good."  She kept muttering that to herself, and Maynard picked her up and carried her back inside and laid her down on a table. 

     Rolf came in a couple of minutes later.  He was also wounded, though not nearly as severely as Slip had been.  He looked utterly exhausted.  It was to the point that he could barely stand.  Bel helped him sit down next to Slip.

     "She has several broken ribs, a broken leg, a lot of internal bleeding and I'm afraid that her shoulder is completely crushed.  I've called for the others to come in and a medic will be here soon."  Rolf nodded and leaned back to rest. 

     The rest of the towns people came cautiously out and looked around at the dead Orc bodies.  Any Orcs that weren't quite dead had that problem quickly resolved for them.  The town people came into the pub with great exuberance, wanting to congratu­late the heros of the hour.  Their enthusiasm was dampened when they saw the grave in­juries that had been inflicted on Slip.  They paused to pay respects to Slip since she had given her all for their town, but Maynard misread their intentions.  Thinking that they were just filing by to stare (much as his own people back on earth would have done with a similar situation, like a bad highway accident) he was about to yell at them for what he supposed to have been insensitivity, but Bel put his hand on Maynard and whispered, "They are here to pay their respects.  They are not rubber necking.  Its Ok."

     "Can't you heal her?", Maynard whispered back.

     "The elves will arrive shortly.  They can work on her when they get here."

     "Will she be able to go on?"

     "She has been maimed.  Her part is over.  She will be taken back to Alfheim to live out what days remain."

     Maynard was stunned.  "You mean that's it?  End of line?  She should have gotten a better chance than that.  You can heal her, can't you?  I've seen your work.  You can do it.  Can't you?"

     "She will be cared for back at Alfheim as much as the elves can do, but her job here is finished.  This is as far as she goes."

     Maynard walked back to look at her.  She seemed to be resting comfortably, but the sight of her crushed body was too much to bear, and Maynard walked outside.  He roamed the streets and heard the arrival of the rest of his group, but was not yet ready to join them again.  He needed solitude now.  He could spend time with the others later.

 

     The next morning, Moriah came to get Maynard.  He had been sitting under a tree all night.  "It is time for us to be going, sir.  Will you be coming with or staying here?"

     "How is she doing?", he asked meekly.

     "Not very well, but we have high hopes that her life may yet be spared.  She is being taken back to Alfheim today.  Are you able to travel?"

     Maynard was still looking blankly at Moriah.  "She was almost killed defending people that she had never seen before.  Why do things like this happen?"

     "Because the greedy desire what others have, and they don't want to earn it the same way that those that have it got it in the first place.  It seems that there are always those that would take what they want from those that are weaker.  We disapprove of this.  That is the reason that we are giving our lives on this quest."

     "But you elves are not weaker than Orcs no matter how much stronger they ap­pear to be.  I saw the fight.  More than forty of them died and we lost one... Slip.  They are easily defeated.  Just go in and wipe them out.  Why play all of these games?"

     Moriah knelt down beside him.  "The Orcs are by no means easily defeated, sir.  They can be beaten if there are only a few of them to each one of us, but there are thou­sands of them for every one of us.  We are superior man for man, but they have so many more that we could not hope to defeat them in open war.  They must be beaten by turning their own weapon against them.  To do that we need a team.  In that team we need a warrior.  To get a warrior we must continue.  Will you come or will you stay?  There is no time to waste."  Her words were softly spoken, but their meaning hit Maynard like a knife. 

     "I will come", he said.  He would see it through for Slip and those like her that he may never meet.  It must have always been like this for soldiers.  They fight a war so that others can live their lives in freedom.  Freedom seemed to be acquiring a flavor that was different than Maynard was used to.  Maybe it was that fighting to gain free­dom changed the flavor.  He was starting to see what freedom truly was.  It was worth fighting for.  He thought back to the peace protesters on earth.  They wanted peace at any cost.  Peace was definitely to be preferred, but freedom was too high a cost for peace because when you have no freedom left, then there can be no true peace.  There is only what the current whim of the current dictator allows.  His own world's notions seemed naive and unsophisticated now.  When freedom goes, what really re­mains?  Whatever the answers were, Maynard definitely wanted to fight for freedom. 

     Why it took a new world to awaken him to these ideas he had no idea.  It was enough that he had the notions now.  He would keep them.

     He got up with resolve.  "Thanks, Moriah.  It seems that I need to have some­one for talking out my ideas.  Things seem clearer after I talk with you.  I think that I'll be talking these things out with you more now that I know that.  Is that Ok?"

     "I am, as always, at your service, sir."

     "Let's go.  We have Orcs to kill."

 

Losing Slip had been a considerable blow to their morale in general as her genial tem­perament would be sorely missed.  There was no more singing at night.  She had been exceptionally sanguine, even for an elf.  The elves that made a special trip from the forest to take her back would have a very long trip ahead of them still.  They were es­pecially slowed because they could not heal Slip enough for her to be able to walk on her own.  Charissa had healed the wounds quite well.  Watching the healing process left Maynard impressed to the point of astonishment with Charissa's abilities.  As a matter of fact, May­nard didn't think that earth doctors could have done any better, but even with all of that, Slip would never be the same.  Her pain wouldn't quite go away, and she was still very weak.  Maynard had experienced the same limitations of healing that Slip now endured, but that didn't give him any consolation.

     While Maynard thought that even though this was indeed the fortunes of war, it was nonetheless a very hard thing to accept when it is seen up close.  If a million peo­ple died in a war, that was just a statistic.  If one person died, it was a tragedy because you could give that one person a face.  That was the way it was here as far as Maynard was concerned. 

     The remainder of the group ran or rode on for the next three days, trying to re­gain composure enough to be sure that they would not be driven by emotions.  They need clear thinking and alertness because there was a dangerous enemy in the area.  This en­emy is certainly wounded and probably warned. 

     Maynard and Charissa had to eat cold food as they could not risk a fire.  Cold food wasn't so bad.  The elves enjoyed telling Maynard about the trail food normally eaten by humans.  Poorly cured jerky (not always beef), hard greasy cheese, what was generously called bread was more like a thick and dense cracker that made plaster seem soft, salty fish and water were the normal bill of fare.  Maynard found the descriptions more than a bit unbelievable, that is until he actually got to try it.  It seemed that Charissa kept a supply just in case she got fussy about food.  After that, Maynard was delighted to be eating fresh fruit, soft cheeses, light and flaky crackers (no cooking and no preservatives were avail­able for soft or sweet breads), and berry juices, but the mostly raw meat was still beyond him.  Since he had more than enough, he didn't make a point of learning to eat his meat raw.

 

The group rode on for more than a week, and were now in the mountains.  As they came to another city that they wanted to enter, they found that they were much more skittish about what they would do.  The city was on a plateau and elevated.  It was a good place strategically.  It would be hard to attack a place like that. 

     After a council, and a great deal of discussion, it was decided that Bel and May­nard would go in as before, but with Charissa along for the ride.  She just needed a chance to get back to a city.  It was a violation of the rule of four that said that more than four in any group would attract attention and probably be seen as a threat, but the three humans would be together in one group, and three elves would make another group.

     The warrior to be sent in with the elves was to be Moriah, as she was acknowl­edged to be the best of the group.  Callendyl was to go as the elfin healer, because he was the only one among them (except Bel) that had ever been to this city as well as being the best of the elfin healers.  The third elf was a man named Ariak.  Maynard hadn't been able to figure him out very much as he was, enigmatically, rather with­drawn.  It seemed that he was very highly thought of by the other elves, and they wanted him to go.  Well, that was that.

     The rest of the group would wait in a small gorge a few miles away.  The moun­tains were rocky, and foraging was mostly non-existent, but they had enough provisions to see them through for a few days.  They could rest for a couple of days while Maynard's team went into the city.  Even the sturdy elves needed to take a rest from time to time.  They had been running for a very long distance and the time off would be good as they were getting to the rather volatile disputed areas that Maynard understood to resemble a cross between no-man's land and a demilitarized zone.  The main group set up camp as Maynard and the others left for the city.  

     The human party rode in on horseback with conjured mounts that were indistin­guishable from normal horses to Maynard.  As he had found out, they were indistin­guishable to most elves too.  Even the elves were not infallible.  That made Maynard feel better as he had more than one bout with inadequacy since he had left the earth.

     Since he had left the earth...  Even though it was less than a month ago, so much had happened that it seemed as though it was much longer.  A new world...  A new species - Elves and (now) Orcs...  Magic...  War and killing...  It was coming too fast for Maynard to catch it all.  Every time he was close to catching on to one thing, he was pummeled by three more.  He had time for thinking on this trip, but recent events had left him wallowing in his emotions rather than thinking through his experi­ences.  That makes for a rather fine line of distinction when considered from the parlor armchair, but the dif­ference in results were dramatic.

     "What's the matter, Maynard?  You seem to be preoccupied", Bel asked.

     "Oh, I'm Ok.  Its just too much new input and not enough time to digest it prop­erly.  It must be some sort of mental indigestion."  Maynard looked over to Charissa.  "You wouldn't be able to cure something like that, would you?"

     She smiled at him.  "Why, I suppose that I do, but the cure would probably be worse than the disease.  I think you're doing fine.  It is good for a man to be thought­ful."

     "What do you mean `the cure would be worse than the disease'?", Maynard asked.

     "Well, your memories could be wiped clean.  That would ease the mental load, but you like your memories too much for that to be a good way to go.  That kind of `cure' would only be desirable if your sanity or life were threatened, and I think you're doing just fine."

     "Well, thanks for the house call Doc", Maynard said with a smirk.

     She looked at him with puzzlement and shrugged her shoulders.  Bel was chuck­ling softly to himself. 

 

As they approached the city Maynard saw that it was, indeed, a large walled city.  It was large enough for several tens of thousands, and there were many people to be seen through the gate.  The three of them rode up to the gate and were approached by the guards.

     "What is your purpose in coming here?", the guard asked petulantly.

     They looked at each other.  No one was quite sure just who was to do the talk­ing for them.  Bel was mostly along for the ride.  Charissa was not very good at such things, if Bel was to be believed.  Maynard was unprepared for interaction with these people.  That left them sitting on their horses staring at each other. 

     "I said, `Why are you here'?"  The guard's mood had not improved with the delay.

     Maynard said, "We're just visiting.  You don't mind tourists, do you?", he said try­ing to look innocent and harmless (and not remembering that the bat would spoil the ef­fect somewhat, and not noticing that Bel was rolling his eyes).

     "What is `tourist'?", asked the guard.  Because the questioning was taking longer for them than it was for others, they were starting to attract attention.

     "What do you mean `What is tourist'?  What kind of a stupid question is that?"

     "We're travelling through", Bel interrupted.

     "Well, why didn't you say that in the first place?", the guard asked eyeing May­nard suspiciously.

     "Just a little mistake", Bel said as he spurred his horse forward.  Maynard fol­lowed and they rode on in.  "The word `tourist' doesn't translate correctly here as they have no notion of a tour.  Remember that the translator is not infallible."

     That was an important safety tip that Maynard would make a point of remem­ber­ing.  He had become used to thinking that he could speak all of these languages flu­ently and he had to keep things in better perspective.

     The city was laid out in a sprawling fashion.  The streets were curved sharply and it was hard to see very far at all.  Maynard wanted to know whether this was a common city or not so he watched Bel reaction to it.  He seemed to be fairly at ease here, but that was not a fair indication as Bel was intractable in general.  Maynard looked over at Charissa and he noted that she was nowhere to be seen.  "Bel, we've lost Charissa", he said in something of a panic.

     "Great.  Let's go back and look for her."  They wheeled their horses around and rode back to the gate.  They looked around for just a moment until Bel noticed that there was a commotion just outside the gate.  They rode out and a crowd that was rapidly in­creasing its size was mobbing none other than Charissa.

     "What's all the commotion?", Maynard asked one of the throng.

     "A powerful healer has come to Olayanda.  Most are here to get healing.  I would be happy for just a blessing from such a high cleric", he answered.

     "Well", Bel said, "at least she hasn't violated some capitol city ordinance yet."

     "Just how do we rescue her from that crowd?", Maynard asked.  Before they had the chance to answer, the crowd got suddenly quiet.  Maynard started looking around to see what was going on.  By following everyone's eyes he saw what they were looking at.  Moriah, Callendyl, and Ariak were riding up.  For some reason they were stopping every­thing by just being there.

     "Hey, Bel", Maynard said in a stage whisper, "What do we do now?"

     "Just grab Charissa and lets go.  They can take care of themselves."

     Maynard waved at Charissa who had just mounted her horse.  She nodded and nudged her horse forward toward them.  As they were riding away into the city, May­nard felt more than a little guilty leaving his friends alone in such an explosive situa­tion.  Even though Bel had tried to convince Maynard that the three elves were quite capable of defending themselves, he remained unconvinced because of the too recent memories of his recent brush with death.  Charissa caught up with them and they rode away into the city.  Maynard looked back at the scene and saw that the crowd was making way for the elves just as Maynard turned around one of the many curves in the streets.

     "It looks as though you were right for the moment, Bel", Maynard said.  "But I don't think that it will last.  Anytime a crowd that is worked up as much as that turns com­pletely quiet in a moment, and then lets the object of their attention pass unhin­dered then they are seeing an object of veneration, or they are waiting for a better time to do their dirty deeds.  With the way that things have been going for me, I have to be­lieve the latter.  What do you think, Charissa?"

     "What?  I'm sorry.  I wasn't listening.  Could you repeat that please?"

     "Never mind.  It wasn't very important anyway.  But, since I have your atten­tion, Just what were you doing back there?"

     "There was the cutest little boy you ever saw and he had a broken finger.  He was being very brave, but I could see that he was in pain.  I just had to stop and heal him.  You understand, don't you?  I couldn't just leave him there."

     Charissa was starting to look at Maynard with large watery eyes, and he found that he was more than vulnerable to their effects.  "No, I guess that you did what any good person would have done.  Its Ok."  He looked at Bel who was making a studied effort at examining a trinket that he had with far more care than it required. 

     Maynard leaned over to him and whispered, "Aren't you going to help me on this one?"

     Bel said, smiling, "Nope.  I told you that she was too soft hearted for adventur­ing.  She does these things all the time.  If you don't keep an eye on her, she will try to heal the entire city.  I'm sure that you know how much a city would want to keep her after they discover that she can keep everyone in fairly good health.  We would have to fight just to get away, much like we did at the gate.  Try to keep her in tow, would you?  There's a good chap."

     This ride into town was not going to be a bed of roses, Maynard could see.  But, still in all, there was much to be seen, and it was closer to what Maynard was used to than he had had for the last several weeks now.  Maybe he should just find a local tavern and get smashed off his gourd.  A good ripping drunk might do him a world of good.

     "Hey Bel, where can we get a drink around here?"

     "There are lots of places.  Just look around and pick one."

     Looking around, Maynard was able to see several signs that had pictures of peo­ple, animals, hunting scenes, etc. etc, but there were no pictures of food or drink.  "Ok.  I give up.  Where are the bars?"

     "All around you", Bel answered with annoying cheerfulness.  "That one is the inn of the Red Cleric.  Over there is the archer and brigand next to the fast monk ale­house.  Just beyond that is the..."

     "Never mind", Maynard interrupted.  "I get the picture."  He pulled his horse over to the fast monk alehouse, dismounted, and tied the reigns to the hitching post.  Stretching his legs after the ride was more a matter of habit than necessity since he had gotten rather used to riding horses in the recent past.  As Charissa and Bel were getting off of their horses, Maynard walked into the tavern doorway.

     Looking inside, he saw that the place was rather darker than he was used to.  There were no light bulbs here, but he knew that very well by now.  He had expected magical light, but they were using candles.  They didn't even have lamps.  They gave off more smoke than light and it made the place look gloomy. 

     Not seeing anything that made him feel threatened, Maynard walked confidently in, bat in hand.  Inside now, his eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness and he looked for an empty table.  Three of the eight tables were empty, and one of those was near the door.  That was the one that Maynard wanted both for better air and a fast getaway if the need should arise. 

     Sitting down at the unoccupied table near the door, he looked around at the other clientele as Bel and Charissa sat down with him.  It was late afternoon, and they seemed to be eating a late lunch or early supper.  Since the meals were spaced out far­ther in this world than Maynard was used to (because of the longer days) the habit had been to eat four meals daily and they were of larger size.  That wasn't too hard to adapt to, and these people were eating an even larger portion than the elves ate.  That made sense to May­nard as they were human and larger than elves.

     As Maynard looked around for some service, he noticed that the table in the cor­ner was occupied.  That was something that he had missed on his first couple of passes looking around the place.  Before he could get a close look through the smoke a serving girl came to the table.  She was plain looking girl of about 14 or 15 (as if he could trust appearance for age calculation), and wore simple, clean but worn clothing.  She bowed slightly and asked what she could get for them.

     Remembering the fiasco at the last town, Maynard waited for Bel to order.  Since Bel was waiting for Maynard to park his foot in his mouth, a fairly reasonable bet these days, they just looked at each other for a moment.  Then Charissa spoke up.  "I'll have what they're having", she said, pointing to a nearby table where some men were eating a meat and vegetable dish.

     Maynard thought that to be a safe approach.  "I'll have the same", he said.  "Me too", Bel added.  The girl went away, apparently satisfied.

     "That was easy", Maynard said.  "I think I'm getting the hang of this."

     Bel looked at Maynard and raised one eyebrow.  "Before you get too proud of how perfect your ability to blend with the populace is on this world, let me show you what money looks like." 

     Oops.  That was yet another of Maynard's failings.  He had been provided for so completely that it had slipped his mind in the confusion of new things rushing past that he needed to obtain money of his very own. 

     "That's one more for you Bel.  I hope you're not counting", Maynard said with an­noyance that dissipated with the arrival of what appeared to be some form of beer that tasted better than he expected, and it was cold.

     "I am, but that doesn't really matter.  I happen to count most things as a matter of habit, but that's just me", he said, chuckling.  He took long drink from his mug and smiled in satisfaction.  "That's good ale.  By the way, here is some spending money for you.  You'll be needing it before your trips into towns are finished."  He handed a leather pouch to Maynard that was just larger than a sandwich bag.  "The money in­creases in increments of ten as follows:  iron bits (the smallest in value), iron pieces, copper pieces, silver pieces, gold pieces, platinum pieces, and mithril pieces.  For ex­ample, ten silver pieces equals one gold piece, etc.  Do you think that you can follow that?"  Bel gave Maynard a condescending look.

     "I may be ignorant, but I'm not stupid Bel.  I can follow factors of ten, thank you very much."  He took the pouch and opened it.  It contained many coins of several types.    The little bag seemed to hold more than Maynard expected.  There must have been some sort of magic to increase its volume.  Maynard dumped them out onto the table.  After struggling to determine the visual difference between silver, platinum, and mithril (and getting very enthusiastic help from Bel) he was able to successfully sort them out into small piles.

     The girl arrived with food, and stared at the money.  She seemed to have for­got­ten why she had come until Charissa took her plate from her.  The girl apologized with fear in her voice.  Bowing several times, she bid as hasty a retreat as she could muster without offending. 

     "I think you scared her with all of that money.  Incidentally, a copper piece spends just about like one dollar would back where you come from." 

     While Maynard stared at Bel's `cat that ate the canary' grin, he did some quick mental mathematics about the value of the pile of money in front of him.  "This pile is worth well in excess of a quarter of a million.  It is more than enough pocket change.  There must be almost two pounds of each metal here.  I don't know what mithril is, but gold, silver, and platinum are metals I can relate to.  How can you afford to give away money in quantities like this?"

     "I'm what you might call rich.  It is no big loss to me personally.  Consider it op­eration cost funds."

     "Why would that scare the girl?  Money is nothing to be afraid of, unless of course you don't have it in time of need."  He chuckled at his own joke.

     Bel said quietly to Maynard, "She is a slave, and was probably worried about having offended us.  Punishment to a slave in this area can be severe, depending on what her master is like of course."

     "Our waitress is a slave?  Is that what you said?"  Bel nodded.

     "But she is just a girl.  How could this happen to a child?"

     The girl came back to the table with the rest of their orders.  As she was putting them down, Bel asked her, "How did you come to be a slave?"

     "My mother was taken captive in the war, and I was born a slave, sir." After a pause she asked, "Can I get anything else for you?"  She stood there uncomfortably.

     "Not now", Charissa said.  "Thank you.  We will call if we require anything more", she said sweetly.  The girl bowed and left quickly.

     "How could you say that in front of the kid?", Maynard asked.

     Bel said, "She already knows that she is a slave.  By the way, you're staring.  Give the kid a break, huh?"

     "But how can they allow slavery?  Isn't that illegal?", Maynard demanded.

     "Not all worlds are against slavery.  Even your own practiced it for most of its his­tory.  It is regularly practiced here, and is actually quite benign in the good lands, although it is worse than you could imagine in the very evil lands."

     "This quest of yours is intended to save a world that endorses slavery?"

     "True enough", Bel answered.

     "How do you justify that?"

     "I don't need to.  This is not my world.  Remember, however, that every world has its own sense of philosophy and ethics.  If you insist on applying your own notions to an­other world you will have more problems than you can handle.  But I can say that slaves here are usually treated better than most people back on your earth."

     "Charissa, do you believe in slavery too?"

     She sighed.  "I was hoping that you wouldn't ask me.  Philosophical debating is not my strong suit.  Bel can answer these questions much better than I can." 

     "But I want your opinion."

     She sighed again.  "There are many ways to keep order in a society.  There is no one way that everyone would endorse.  If this way works and they want it, then why not?"

     "Do you think that girl over there", Maynard said pointing at the slave girl who blanched visibly when she saw the gesture, "wants to be a slave?  They don't want slav­ery.  No slave does.  You're not stupid by any means.  You know all of this.  Does that mean that you are against slavery when it comes down to it?"

     "In every society there are people that are mistreated.  Every person has a duty that requires something that is unpleasant or distasteful.  Where would you draw the line?", she asked.

     "That's a tough question all right.  I guess that I would, at least, draw the line at slavery."

     "Why there?"

     "Bel, don't you want to have a part of this conversation?", Maynard asked.  Bel shook his head. 

     "Come on, Bel.  I'm treading water here." 

     "You're on your own.  I'm having a good time just listening."

     "Thanks a lot, Beloved."  Maynard had hoped that by using Bel's full name that he could jab back a bit, but Bel was not giving him the satisfaction of any discernable reac­tion.  Looking back to Charissa, he saw that she was still waiting for an answer.  Too bad!  He was still on the hook.

     "What was the question?", he asked innocently, hoping to get off of that un­com­fortable hook.

     "Why would you draw the line at slavery?", Charissa asked patiently.

     "I'm not sure that I understand the question."

     "If you cannot avoid mistreated people or unpleasant and unavoidable duties then how do you decide who is assigned to which unpleasant task?"

     "Everyone has to decide for themselves."

     "What if there is a necessary task for which are no volunteers?"

     "Then offer incentives and make the advantages outweigh the disadvantages."  Maynard smiled at his resourcefulness.  He had her now.

     "What if your incentive resources are considerably less than your people re­sources?"

     That had Maynard puzzled.  "What do you mean?"

     Bel couldn't resist anymore and stepped into the gap, "She wants to know what you would do if you were rich in people and poor in resources.  Your people just spend the money anyway, and your world is in economic ruins.  In these worlds, it is thought that if you don't have a tool, you can't use it.  If you need a saw and don't have a saw, you can't saw anything.  But with the economics of your world, you would do the sawing and trust that you would eventually get a saw to do the job.  That is beyond these people.  So back to the question, if you have lots of people and no money or what ever would pass as an item that has value in trade, how do you get the job done?"

     Seeing Maynard's consternation Bel said, "Let me give you a hint...  What about your military draft?"

     "That was not very popular even back then, but I get the point.  Conscription is very much like slavery except that they were treated well, and their treatment was regu­lated by a strict set of rules.  It was not too close to slavery really."

     "Yes it was", Bel said.  "Slavery is slavery irrespective of the treatment.  There is just a benign or malignant form of it."

     Maynard thought for a minute.  "Too much.  Everything is coming too fast.  I feel as though I am in overload.  There are too many things here that are too different for me to catch it all.  I am getting tired of the debating of one philosophy after an­other.  This conversation is not making any sense to me at all.  I'm just going to have to chalk it up to culture shock, and wait for enough time to pass for it to sink in."

     He turned to his dinner and found that it was cold.  He thought that it had been hot when it was first delivered, but there it was.  He looked around the place again at the men sitting around him.  They were trying hard to not stare, but that made it all the more no­ticeable to Maynard.  He looked at the clothing differences, but it was close enough on that count.  Everyone knew about interdimensional travelling here, so that couldn't be it.  For a moment Maynard thought that it might be because Charissa was the only female at the tables, but they were staring at him personally. 

     Maynard whispered to Bel, "Why are they staring at me?"

     "Because you are talking about other worlds as though you have experience in plane travel."

     "I thought that everyone knew about plane travel except my world."

     "Not at all.  You have been around those that do because you came in through one of our portals."

     "That is an important tip, even if it is a little late", Maynard said through clenched teeth.  He looked back at the men and smiled.  "Nice weather we're having", he said.  They grunted something non-committal and went back to trying to look as though they were not trying to look.  They were not very good at it.  Maynard looked around the tav­ern and saw the figure sitting in the corner again.  He had forgotten about that one.  He looked closely, but the smoke from the cooking fire and the candles proved to be too much of an obstacle.

     "Hey Bel", he said with a nudge.  "Can you make out who is sitting in that cor­ner over there?"

     "Yep", Bel answered without looking up from his food.

     "What does he look like?  Do you know him?"

     Bel looked up from eating.  "Yes. I know her.  She is an anti-paladin and one the ferret of the city on the plains.  She is one of the most powerful people still living on this world and more evil than you could imagine.  I advise that you not invite her over to din­ner."

     "What is a ferret?"

     "She is the head of security in the roughest city in the seven dimensional clus­ters here.  Whenever there is trouble their chief of security ferrets it out, hence the name.  Don't antagonize her."

     "I hadn't planned on it."  Maynard looked over again, and he still was unable to see anything much.  He could make out what appears to be long hair, but it still looked like a man.  Much as he wanted to go and look, he thought that this was the time to take Bel's advice and stay put.  Even Charissa was looking nervous.

     They ate the rest of their meal in relative quiet, and decided to leave and find a place for the night.  As they were going out, Maynard paused at the door to look closer.  Sure enough, it was a woman in her early thirties, and she was very beautiful.  She had black hair and a very fair complexion.  She wore black pants and blouse with baggy sleeves, and large black boots.  She seemed to be normal.  As he looked at her, she paused from what she had been reading and looked back at him.  There was no smiling on her mouth or in her eyes.  Maynard found that his stomach was doing flip flops for fear and he would have run out of the door, except that Charissa pulled him through first.

     He stood at the front of the tavern and caught his breath.  "I suggest that you not make a habit of flirting with death young man", Charissa said.

     Maynard was taken aback that something so strong would come from Charissa, but there it was.  It was unusual enough for Maynard to take it seriously, especially since he had felt so much fear from her.  He would have to watch his step here.  This place could be rougher than the last one, and they had lost one of their own there. 

     That reminded him, and he wondered how the elves were doing.  They had been the center of attention, and he didn't know whether that was good or bad.  As they were riding on in the city toward a place that Bel knew, Maynard asked, "Why did everyone stop everything to stare at the elves when they came in?"

     "The elves took sides in the war", Bel said.  "In fact, their entering the conflict caused a shift in the power structure so much that it was enough to end the war more or less without a clear winner."

     "Are these people for or against them?"

     "It varies", Bel answered.  "About one third here fought on the other side.  Their position is clear.  About one third remained neutral in the fighting, but they see that prob­lems can, and probably will arise from their being here.  The rest were on our side, but most of them resent that the elves entered the fight so late.  They thought that if the elves had joined when they were asked, at the beginning, that fewer lives would have been lost and the war would have been won.  They, therefore, have considerable resentment to­ward them.  So, to answer your question, these people are mostly against them."

     "That is why they were so set on sending their best people in", Charissa said.

     "Oh yeah?", Maynard said to her challengingly.  "Then why didn't they send someone tougher into that last town?  Slip was just about alone there.  Why didn't they choose someone else there?  Didn't they know that she was the weakest of the group?  What did they expect?  Huh?  Answer me that."

     Charissa blanched visibly and tried, unsuccessfully to stammer out an answer.  Maynard had succeeded in making her cry.  Why did he always forget to be sensitive with those that were the most delicate?

     While Maynard was trying to think of a way to make Charissa stop sobbing, Bel spoke up.  "Slip was sent in because she was the weakest, and the youngest, and the smallest.  Don't you understand that?"

     "No, I don't.  How about explaining it to me.  You're good at that."

     Bel glared at Maynard with controlled, but undisguised anger.  "That was con­sidered to be the safest assignment of the whole trip.  There was no council to deter­mine who would go in because they all wanted Slip to be the one.  After that, anyone could be sent into anything and Slip would always know that she had taken her fair turn.  None of us wanted to deny her the dignity of doing her share, but no one wanted to send her to her death, or worse.  They wanted her to do her fighting in a group, with the rest of them.  Her chances would be considerably improved as far as doing a good job, which is about all she wanted in life."

     Bel stopped his horse. Maynard and Charissa followed.  Bel's anger was in­creas­ing as he spoke, "You still don't get it, do you?  Some people are able to think of someone other than themselves.  You trample the feelings of others just because you `don't under­stand what's going on'.  Well get a clue and face the music Mr. Fletcher.  There are peo­ple about to die here.  Don't take that and turn it into a mockery.  Think beyond your own self interests a bit and you'll be much better off."  Bel leaned for­ward in his saddle and whispered so that only Maynard could hear, "And if you say things like that to make Charissa cry again, I will personally take that stupid `war bat' and break it over your worthless head.  Do I make myself sufficiently clear?"

     "Yes", Maynard said meekly.

     "Good.  Remember it, because I guarantee that I will."  Bel turned his horse and continued riding.

     Maynard rode on numbly.  He was not doing nearly as well here as he had thought, but his reasons for foundering were not a matter of culture shock.  He was just being selfish.  It was as though his self centeredness was throwing all of his dealings with people completely off stride.  Was he that awful of a person?  Were people just overly sensitive here?  Was it as simple as incompatibility of personalities because they were too alien?  His mind was racing through many things trying to come up with an answer.

     No.  Saying that their personalities were too alien to be compatible was grasping at straws.  He had found the elves to be delightful.  They had wonderful parties.  Their cul­ture was refined and advanced, even if it was technologically subtle.  Their humor was simple but could be immensely enjoyable even if it was unsophisticated.  That also an­swered the question of whether they were overly sensitive because Maynard had teased them mercilessly because they were easy marks and they took it well.

     That left him with the thought that he was an awful person.  He had never con­sid­ered himself to be that terrible.  What had happened?  Had he changed?  No.  He seemed to be the same person.  He was thought to be a nice person back home.  Why not here?  Was everyone from earth as bad as he was?  It looked like it.

     Charissa interrupted Maynard's self deprecating thoughts and said, "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Maynard.  This has been very hard on you.  I under­stand.  Its Ok."

     Bel added, "You have a lot of potential to help here.  Just focus on what is go­ing on as though you were analyzing a new system.  Be objective and scientific.  You'll have an easier go of it.  And just don't lean on someone that is on your side unless you are sure that they deserve it or need it."

     Maynard continued moping as Charissa and Bel gave tied their horses to a hitch­ing post and he just sat there.  "Come on, snap out of it.  There are things to do and Orcs to get back.  Wake up and get back in the game", Bel said authoritatively.

     Maynard lifted up his head.  That was a good point.  Even if things were not as good as he wanted them to be, he could still be a player on a team he believed in.  There was still much to be done to stop the Orcs.  He might be a while in figuring out the philo­sophical sides of this situation, but he could handle what to do even if he had trouble with why he was doing it. 

     He could relate to the systems analysis aspect of the situation.  That was a start.  He would do it.  Hey.  Wait a minute.  "Bel", Maynard said, "What do you mean `war bat'.  What's wrong with my bat anyway?"

     Bel looked at Charissa.  "He's back with us again."

     They entered the inn.  It was a two story hotel like place that was better lighted than the alehouse they had just left.  The simple wooden furniture reminded Maynard of hunting lodges in the country, but without electricity.  After renting three rooms, they took their saddle­bags and went upstairs.  The rooms were simple but comfortable enough.  The outdoor plumbing was something that took getting used to and the straw mattresses were a new experience, but all in all this place wasn't too bad.  It had po­tential to be an enjoyable place except for the war. 

 

As tired as he was, Maynard couldn't sleep.  He tossed and turned, but it was no use.  He got up and went over to the window and looked out into the street.  Although he expected to see it devoid of people, it turned out to be rather busy.  Almost as busy as it was in the early evening when they had come through here.

     Maynard needed a drink.  That would help him relax.  The night was young and he had money in his pocket.  They had come here for information but had gotten noth­ing as yet.  That was Ok.  They had just arrived.  These things take time, but perhaps he could go out and get a little something on his own.  If he did, then maybe that would make up for some of the trouble he had caused.  The more he thought about it, the better it made him feel.  He decided to leave the bat behind as he didn't want to at­tract problems.

     He took fifteen silver pieces, ten gold pieces, and three platinum pieces for spending money.  That was a lot, but who knows how much it took to make a decent bribe in this world?  Leaving the rest of the money in his room, put his pocket money in the pouch and walked down the stairs to the city below.  He decided that he would be better off on foot than riding because it would be easier to get lost if he traveled too far.  Choosing the direction of the most noise and people off he went.

     It was a pleasant night for walking.  Maynard took in the sights, sounds and smells of the area, carefully remembering his course so that he could find his way home again.  He felt good to be walking around.  It was the first time since he had come to this world that he had been out on his own.  He was in a large town.  There was beer to be had and money to buy it with.  Life was good.

     As he was walking, he heard that one place had more noise coming from it than any other place he had seen (or heard).  He walked over to it and looked in.  The place was filled with people having a very good time.  Up on the stage there was a profes­sional fist fighting ring where the men doing the fighting were more brutal than compe­tent.  He had seen better golden gloves fights, but what they lacked in technique, they more than made up for with enthusiasm.  No one seemed to be paying much attention to anyone else in here.  That suited Maynard just fine.  This was a good place to both enjoy himself and not be noticed all at the same time.  How lucky could a guy get?

     With no further ado, he walked in and looked for a place to sit or stand.  It turned out to be larger than Maynard had expected, but that would make it all the easier to lose himself in the crowd.  Finding one near the fighting ring toward the center of the bar, Maynard started pushing and shoving his way in.

     As he got closer to where he wanted to sit, he noticed to his utter horror that the noise of innumerable conversations changed to the noise of innumerable conversations in unintelligible languages.  He suddenly felt very alone.  How could this happen?  What is wrong with my translator?  He looked down to see if it was damaged, and it was gone!  Thinking quickly, he looked for someone who could have taken it from him.

     Looking around, he saw a man that had just bumped into him moving casually (but not too casually) away from him.  Maynard tried to grab him, but just missed.  He might get away in this crowd.  "Stop!  Thief!", Maynard shouted.

     Several people turned toward the source of the shouting.  It was clear that they could not understand him any more than he could understand them.  He was being looked at with the same looks of suspicion that had been used for the elves when they came into the city.  Maynard wondered if this was a standard facial expression or if it was being dusted off and taken down from the shelf especially for him.  If so, then they needn't have bothered. 

     Before he could get down to enjoying his reverie for very long, one particularly homely man and spoke unintelligibly.  Maynard couldn't decide whether the tone of voice had been challenging or threatening.  Did it matter?  They were both threatening, so he decided on threatening.  He had left his bat back at the inn, but his counterpart seemed to have a better memory as he was wearing a battered short sword.

     Maynard obviously took too long to speak, and the ugly man shouted at him and ac­centuated his words with a pugnacious shove.  Maynard was in it up to his neck now.  Could he click his heels together three times and say `There's no place like home'?  He doubted it.  Mr. Ugly bared his green fuzzy teeth as he drew his visibly rusted sword slowly from its weather-beaten sheath.  Maynard thought that this could be bad.  He didn't know what he could do.  He had been ineffectual against the elves and the Orcs with his bat, and he didn't even have that much now while his opponent had a sword (such as it was). 

     As he was wondering what he could do against this neanderthal he was attacked.  Maynard sidestepped and pulled the blade past him as his attacker lunged.  The man was taken completely by surprise and he went down with a crash.  As he tried to clear his head from the fall, all of the lights around the room went suddenly and simultane­ously out.  Maynard guessed from the sounds that he heard that people were shuffling about trying to get the torches and candles relighted, but it was much to dark for him to see anything.

     He felt himself grabbed by very strong hands that were pulling at him.  He started to resist, but he heard an unfamiliar voice say what might have been his name, but the ac­cent was too thick to be sure.  He let himself be pulled along, mostly because he had very little to lose considering the mess that he was in already. 

     As they moved along, Maynard heard an occasional yell of what could be fear or pain, but they were not stopped.  Seeing sparks off to one side, Maynard saw that some­one was trying to start a torch with flint and tinder.  Not everyone had magic.  They seemed to be barbarians in the midst of enlightened cultures.  Maynard saw that it was a small man leading him to a window.  The light of the window showed that it was an elf.  Maynard looked closer.  It was Ariak!  What a welcome sight he was.

     Ariak climbed deftly through the window and Maynard followed clumsily be­hind.  "Thanks a lot Ariak.  I owe you one." 

     Ariak answered in an unintelligible language and frowned when Maynard was unable to answer in kind.  He reached out and put his hand on Maynard's forehead and said, "What happened to your translator amulet?"  Maynard gave a quick account with de­scription.  Ariak nodded and entered again through the window.  Even though May­nard watched Ariak walk into the large room, and even though one of the torches had been lit he lost Ariak in the crowd.

     Seeing that the light was steadily increasing, Maynard moved away from the win­dow and into the shadows.  Now that he had a moment to think, he realized that, at least in that bar, his martial arts had helped him more than his bat.  He wasn't sure how such a thing could be, but since he was going to look at this world as though it was a video game, he would operate on what he actually observed and not what he ex­pected.  It would make for a slow process, but it was an approach to which he was ac­customed.

     After a few minutes, Ariak returned and held the amulet out to Maynard.  Putting it on, Maynard said, "Thanks.  You really got there in the nick of time.  How was it that you were there just when I needed you?"

     Ariak paused.  "I went to say that there is a plot against us in the city and the others in the mountains.  You had left already.  I came looking."

     "But how did you find me?"

     "I followed the noise and looked for trouble.  You find it well."  Ariak almost smiled after that, but that would be pushing it for him.

     "Let me guess...  You don't think that I should have gone out alone.  Right?"

     "Yep."

     "You think that I should have stayed in the inn."

     "Yep."

     "You don't think that I can handle myself."

     "Yep."  A smile was wavering on Ariak's lips and threatening to come out at any moment.  Maynard saw it and was partly annoyed and partly amused.

     "And you think that you can handle yourself just fine, I suppose?"

     "Yep."  The smile was no longer disguised.

     "Ok, Mr. Smart Aleck.  What makes you think that I can't handle myself and that you can?"

     Ariak raised one eyebrow.  "I saved you."

     "You know, no one is willing to say what it is that you do.  You could be a fighter only or part mage of some kind, but you are highly thought of.  Just between you and me, what do you do?"

     "I kill."

     "Every fighter kills.  What's so special about you?"

     He paused.  "I'm an assassin."

     "An assassin?", Maynard asked meekly.

     "Yep."

     "You wouldn't have been trained by Otsu, would you?", he gulped.

     Ariak smiled outright.  "Yep."

     Maynard had the sudden urge to return to the inn and stay in his room.  As they were walking back, Maynard asked, "Do you think that they will be all right back there at that gorge?"

     "Moriah and Rolf went back to warn the others.  I came after you.  They should be all right until we join them.  It is a hard place to attack in normal fashion.  We'll go back tomorrow."

 

The night went by fast for Maynard.  They ate and were riding back before dawn.  Since they were leaving before the town's people awoke and went outside, they rode the phantom steeds again.  Maynard preferred them because they were faster and easier to ride.  He spoke up, "Well, this trip into town was a bust.  We didn't find out much of any­thing, and the elves just got in trouble.  That could have been better."

     Ariak gave no visible reaction, but Bel said, "They found out that there was a plot against them, that the main group had been discovered, and that a plot or attack or ambush was being prepared against them.  What did you find out?"

     Maynard frowned.  "Nothing.  Ok?  I didn't find out a thing.  I tried to get out among the town's people and I succeeded in getting my pockets picked.  No one does the whole job.  I came along a did what I could.  The rest just turns out as it turns out."

     "True enough, Maynard", Charissa said.  "Well spoken."

     "Thank you", Maynard answered.  "Its nice to be appreciated from time to time."

     As they approached the gorge, Ariak suddenly ran away at a frightening pace.  Maynard and Charissa were both startled.  They both looked around hoping to see some­thing that would indicate why Ariak had run off like that. 

     "What's happening?  What's wrong?", Maynard asked.  Charissa shrugged shook her head in puzzlement.  They looked at Bel.

     Bel calmly said, "He saw signs of an attack last night.  He is looking to look for any bad guys lying in wait, any survivors, and he'll try to figure out which side won."

     Charissa gave a wide eyed look of amazement and spurred her horse and rode off at a gallop.  Maynard was about to follow, but Bel held his horse back and said, "Save your strength.  There is nothing you can do for them now."

     "What do you mean `There is nothing I can do for them now'?"

     "They are mostly dead and the shadow elves have gone."

     Maynard was stunned.  "But they were so well trained.  How could they be dead so fast?"

     As if on cue, they rounded the last bend before coming to the gorge where they had left the elves only the day before.  A rock slide of horrifying proportions had fallen and crushed the elves before they could react.  The dead and broken bodies of his friends lay strewn about the rocky ground with bodies of some other kind of creature that was every bit as gruesome as an Orc, but it wasn't one of them.

     Charissa was running around examining the fallen elves one by one.  She was not using systematic movement.  She would jump from one here to another way over there skipping all the others in between.  Maynard considered saying something to her, but thought better of it.

     "Good decision", Bel said. 

     "What?"

     "Leaving her alone.  She does know what she is doing after all."

     "Reading my mind, Bel?  That's hardly cricket."

     Bel continued as though he hadn't heard what Maynard had said.  "She is de­tect­ing for life and trying to save those can be saved most easily first.  It is a sort of triage."

     They dismounted and Bel walked over to the closest of the elves.  He moved the large rock that was still on the man, bent over and felt for a pulse.  The man's eyes flut­tered and he moaned.  Maynard had thought the elf to be dead, but there was some life left in him after all. 

     Ariak returned and was walking around the area looking at the dead and dying while Maynard tried to help Bel with what healing could be done.  After about twenty minutes of this kind of examination, Ariak walked back to where Bel and Maynard were.  Some of the elves that had been healed by Charissa were sitting up, but they were clearly in no condition to do much of anything.

     "Three of the women are missing", Ariak said.  "I think two were taken cap­tive, and that Moriah went after them."

     Bel said, "Ariak, you are the last one left here whole.  It appears that you are the chosen warrior for our quest.  Let us do what we can for these here, and we will return to Alfheim for the final assembly of the team."

     Ariak looked away toward the mountains deep in thought.  After a couple of min­utes, he looked back and said, "Its not over.  I'm going after them."

     Maynard said, "You can't do that.  You would be alone against a horde that has already proven that they can defeat many elves.  It would be suicide."

     Maynard recoiled slightly from Ariak's stare.  "Moriah is alone and she went after them.  She can use some help and so can Stiasey and Shumira."

     As Ariak turned to leave, Maynard said, "I would like to come with and help if I can."

     Ariak stopped.  "What can you do?"

     "I am a trained CIA agent."  When he got a look from Ariak that said that he thought Maynard to be incompetent, Maynard added, "They are my friends.  They need help.  I don't know what I can do, but I want to try to do something."

     Ariak and Maynard stared at each other for a minute.  "Ok.  Let's go", Ariak said.

     "Wait just a minute there, Maynard", Bel said.  "You seem to have forgotten that if you leave me you leave my protection.  If you go now, you are on your own.  So just stay put and let Ariak do whatever he wants to."

     "You're always riding the fence, aren't you?", Maynard said indignantly.  "You want to help at one moment, and then you don't want to interfere in the next.  Well, its time to take sides here.  If you can't see your way clear to help, then the least you can do is to stay out of the way."  Maynard grabbed his bat and mounted his steed.  "Let's go, Ariak.  I'm right behind you."

     Maynard noticed that more of the elves were sitting painfully and watching as he and Ariak left to go after Moriah and the two girls.  With grim determination, he followed Ariak's exceptionally fast pace and sure step through the mountain passes.  Watching him run over the jagged rocks was a marvel to Maynard.  He never seemed to falter, and he maintained a pace that was well in excess of the group's pace on flat ground. 

     Maynard's opinion of sylvan elves was raised once again.  They were truly amaz­ing.  If Maynard didn't have the phantom steed, he would have had no way of keeping up at all.  It was able to move just as fast, and it didn't need any path at all.  Maynard did keep low to the ground, but he did so to keep out of sight rather than from any necessity.

     After they had continued their rapid pace for a little more than eight hours, Ariak stopped.  He started to move with more stealth.  He motioned for Maynard to wait.  May­nard had seen nothing to indicate that this was the place to stop and look, but he trusted Ariak's judgement.  Ariak's running was almost inaudible before, but he was completely silent now.  Moving up to a ledge, he peered over. 

     After a moment, he motioned to Maynard.  Maynard didn't know sign language at all, but he somehow knew that Ariak was saying that there were hobgoblins ahead.  fur­ther, Ariak said that they would go around because they wanted to rescue the girls rather than attack hobgoblins.  Maynard nodded, and reigned his steed to follow Ariak's slower and quieter pace.

     This slow approach strained Maynard's patience nearly to the limit.  It was still much faster than he could run on fairly even ground, but it was much slower than the pace that Ariak had kept for the day.  After a half an hour, which seemed like many hours to Maynard, Ariak picked up his pace once again and they were off.  This speed lasted for another hour, and they slowed again.

     Ariak stopped and examined the bodies of some clearly dead creatures that he identified to Maynard as hobgoblins.  They were larger than Orcs and even more grue­some looking which Maynard would not have believed except that he was seeing them for himself.  They were probably eight feet tall, but much heavier than Orcs, and their gnarled and knotted muscles indicated astonishing strength.  They had been killed by having large chunks of their bodies cut off in what appeared to have been one blow.  Those that survived that blow bled to death from the wound after no more than a few minutes.  Even though there were fifteen or twenty of them, it had been a massacre.

     Bel looked around.  "Moriah came this way.  She is not far ahead.  We must keep a sharp eye out."

     "You mean to say that she did this by herself?"  Maynard had a rush of mixed thoughts and feelings.  "How could you know that?  How could she do all this?"

     "They were all killed the same way.  This form of fighting is her style.  Let's keep moving." 

     Ariak turned and started running again.  Maynard was amazed again.  There seemed to be no foe that these elves were unable to defeat.  "If Moriah did all that, then why are we going after her?  It looks like she can do it alone.  Why does she need us?"

     Ariak stopped and came back to where Maynard was sitting on his steed.  After regarding him for a minute he asked, "Are you able to do anything right?  Is everyone from your world insane or is it just you?"

     "I take offense at that", Maynard answered in wounded tones.  Just what do you mean?"

     "No one is unbeatable, even though some are tougher than others.  You may have never had the chance to fight a hobgoblin before, but they are tougher than Orcs.  Moriah may be an excellent fighter, but she left some of her blood back there in the fight.  You are helpful one moment and a burden the next.  I can't afford to have someone unreliable along on this trip.  You must make up your mind to help or not."

     Maynard didn't need this.  Even if he was feeling up to par he wouldn't like it, but he had been riding all day and he was tired and hungry as they had taken no breaks.  "What if I decide that I'll just turn back?", he asked challengingly.

     "Is that your decision?"

     Maynard sighed.  "No.  Its not.  I'm tired and hungry and scared to death about Moriah, Stiasey and Shumira.  I'm sorry.  My kind doesn't endure such physical trials nearly as well as you elves do.  Let's keep going, and thanks for keeping me on track."

     Ariak regarded Maynard for a moment, nodded curtly and turned to run again.  As he was turning, Maynard asked, "Do you think that I could have made it if I had decided to leave?"

     "No."

     "How could you be so sure?"

     Ariak grinned.  "I would have killed you myself", he said cheerily and he turned and ran on.  Maynard muttered to himself.  Something about `with friends like this'...

 

Since Moriah was not far ahead, they decided to keep moving even though Maynard was weary.  They were proceeding at a slower rate, but that was Ok as far as Maynard was concerned.  It was a good thing that his mount was completely silent in moving because Maynard knew that he would have been unable to keep quiet enough. 

     Things were hard as it was.  They had entered enemy territory and hobgoblins were not the only terrors of the area.  There were the black and the shadow elves to worry about.  The stories that Maynard had heard about them indicated that they were, man for man, tougher than the sylvan elves were.  That was a matter for great concern to Maynard.  He had trouble with the flunkies of the shadow elves.  He had no desire to get them mad at him personally.

     They were able to slip past several of the hobgoblin patrols, but it was a war of nerves now.  Maynard's creeping exhaustion didn't help matters any.  As they were waiting for one large patrol to pass by their hidden position Maynard noticed Ariak perk­ing his pointed ears into the wind and listening intently.

     Maynard had learned in the last hour and a half of dodging patrols that when Ariak stopped to pay attention to something, that there was something worth paying attention to.  Not being able to hear nearly so well, Maynard asked in a very low whis­per, "What is it?"

     "Someone is fighting.  It is one against many.  I think that it is Moriah.  I hope that you are ready, because this is it."  So saying, Ariak stood up and looked around cautiously and then he ducked back down again.  "Several of the hobgoblin's patrol are rushing to­ward the combat area.  I'll go that way and try to stop some of them", he said pointing.  "You go around that way and see what you can do to help her."

     Maynard felt more than a little panic.  "You mean that you led me into deep into their territory, and now that there is fighting you're telling me that I'm on my own?"

     "Yep.  Its a good thing that you are a trained agent of what ever it is.  Good hunt­ing."  And with that, Ariak was off and running leaving Maynard on his own.

     Maynard could remember having better days.  In fact, all of them seemed bet­ter.  These things were proven killers and they definitely did not like visitors.  How had he gotten into this mess. 

     As he mused, he thought that heard something in the distance.  As he listened, he could hear shouting and the occasional clanging of metal on metal.  Ariak was right.  There did seem to be a fight going on.  Maynard screwed up his courage and, after a mo­ment of wishing that he had a stiff drink, he stuck his head up and looked around.

     Off in the distance, he could see some hobgoblins running toward the source of the fighting noise.  Looking in the direction that Ariak had told him he was to go, he saw that there were no hobgoblins to be seen.  He started to ride in a circular route to his right that would take him to where the fighting was.  He rode with stealth at first, keeping to the low ground to avoid being seen, and then realized that he could outride anything in the air by telling the steed to fly.  He was glad that he had practiced that ability over the last weeks.  He had no desire to repeat the mistake that he had made his first time riding one of these beasts.

     Picking up the pace, he rode around and came to a valley.  Looking in, he saw Moriah fighting against an overwhelming number of hobgoblins.  The dead were piled up so high that he lost sight of her from time to time.  She was using two swords at one time and hacking some hobgoblin body part off with each swing.  He could see Shu­mira standing off to one side trying to wield a hobgoblin weapon.  It was too large for an elf to wield, and she was not doing well, but the hobgoblins were not doing well against her either.  They were not fighting as well against her as they were against Moriah, even though Moriah was having more success.

     Since Maynard had no idea of what he could do, besides dying instantly, he watched and tried to think of something.  As Maynard was trying to figure out how Shu­mira was able to do so well, one of the hobgoblins knocked her down, and was about to strike her as she attempted to get up again. 

     Before the hobgoblin could hit her, there was a deafening clap of thunder and a lightning bolt struck the hobgoblin.  It ricocheted off of him and hit the next one.  It seemed to bounce from one to another killing or seriously wounding all of them that were standing around Shumira.  Looking at the source of the bolt, Maynard saw Sti­asey in a cleft in the mountain's rocky side.  She hadn't been there a moment ago, and Maynard guessed on the basis of camp fire talk that she had been invisible.  "Good move, kiddo", he thought.

     The hobgoblins, apparently not wanting to continue to line up for vivisection, had stopped advancing.  Good.  Now it looked as though they could get away with it.  None of the three elf girls were being attacked now.  This was going to be easier than he had thought.  But Maynard could not have been more wrong.

     Three humanoids walked slowly up towards where Moriah was standing.  Two of them had the whitest hair and the blackest skin that Maynard had ever seen.  It was a true snow white and coal black.  Maynard guessed that these were drow elves.  From all of the campfire accounts, he wanted nothing to do with them.  After looking at one (or more) he was now sure that he didn't need the grisly stories to know that he wanted to avoid them.  They were a terrifying sight.  Both of them wore a very fine black chain mail, a black cloak, and large boots.  Maybe it was some kind of uniform.  At least it could be guessed that they had the same tailor.  The male stood about six feet tall.  He had a heavy staff in his hand, a scimitar on his hip, and a bow on his back.  The female was almost as tall, wore a large sword on her side and had an arrow knocked into a very ornate bow. 

     The third wore a helmet that hid his face entirely.  He looked to be male and stood at least two meters tall.  He wore the very fine chain mail, cloak and boots but his colors were white and a pale blue rather than black.  He wore an extra large sword, a shorter sword and at least two daggers that were easily seen.  He also had something that could have been the hammer of Thor considering how large and sturdy it looked.  It was worn so easily that it could have hardly been ornamental.  This guy clearly meant business.  The others seemed to defer to him.

     The three looked around and the one with the helm said something that May­nard's translator couldn't translate.  He looked down to see if it was still there, and it was.  This was a fine time for the batteries to run down. 

     Looking back at the tableau, he saw that there was another player.  It was a human woman.  She appeared to be in her twenties and although she was probably good looking, she looked so exhausted that it wasn't easy to tell just what she really looked like.  She was barefoot and wore a high quality maroon colored robe that had a good deal of dust on it.  Whatever she had been doing lately, it had clearly taken its toll on her.

     The large on in the helm spoke gruffly to her and she started looking around as though she were halfway in a trance.  While Maynard was trying to determine whether he had spoken roughly because that was his way or he was being nasty to the woman, she pointed directly at him.  The helm turned as though looking up and he growled at one of the hobgoblins.  A couple of hand gestures and the female drow elf had turned her bow on Shumira.  The drow male and the human woman gave their attention to Moriah. 

     Maynard was relieved that they had decided that he was not worth their time, but the noise coming up behind him said that he was worth the time of a mere hobgob­lin.  Or three...  Looking back, he saw the source of the noise. Three of the immense creatures were coming his way.  It was scary enough to see them after they were dead, but six hundred pounds of angry pot roast was more than he cared to deal with today, thank you very much. 

     Since he had clearly overstayed his welcome, he jumped up and ran to his horse.  The first hobgoblin was there first and swung his club at Maynard's head.  The club was so large that it seemed to Maynard to be an undersized telephone pole.  May­nard tried desperately to dodge it but was caught by the smallest brush of the side of this moving log of a weapon.  It sent him sprawling and though it didn't really injure him, it left him disori­ented. 

     This greatly pleased the hobgoblins as they knew that he was a normal human, and not a fighter anywhere near the class of the elves.  In a very fast growling sort of lan­guage, they said that one of the three was to take this human back while the others ran back to see what remained of the battle of the wood elves with the drow.  They didn't want to miss the chance of seeing the sylvan (Moriah) get carved up.  The littlest hobgob­lin (almost 8 feet tall and 500 - 600 pounds) didn't want to miss the fight either, but was encouraged to volunteer with a savage backhand from the largest. 

     Now that Maynard had been left alone with a hobgoblin with an attitude, he knew that he had better think of something quickly, or he was a goner for sure.  The bat didn't work on Orcs and a hobgoblin looked much tougher.  He would have given almost any­thing for a machine gun right then.  He could have gotten one easily if he were back at the agency.  Wait.  He had been taught what to do when he had no weapon.  He knew Ju Jutsu and Aikido quite well.  That would work, and he didn't have to be stronger.  Only faster...

     The hobgoblin was circling and eyeing him.  It looked like he was going to have his fun from Maynard since he couldn't get it from Moriah.  Maynard waited and tried to ready himself. 

     The hobgoblin took a poke at Maynard, and Maynard turned and avoided it easily.  The surprised hobgoblin stared stupidly for a moment, and then punched.  Maynard, using his force against him, was able to throw him easily.  Hey!  This stuff really worked.  All he had to do was to keep from getting too cocky.

     The stunned hobgoblin picked himself unsteadily from the ground.  Maynard placed himself with his back to the ledge, hoping that the hobgoblin would be stupid enough to lunge again.  It was.  It did.  Maynard threw it over the ledge easily.  He looked and watched as it fell and landed with a thump at the bottom and was still. 

     Boy, that felt good.  He felt an exhilaration that was better than any he had felt before.  This could be addicting.  He looked over the side again.  Shumira was down and unmoving with the female drow elf standing over her.  Stiasey was being bound by a hobgoblin.  She was bruised and bleeding. 

     Moriah was fighting the large one with the helm and the blue cloak.  They were circling each other warily.  He had taken more than one heavy blow from one of Mo­riah's swords, but she looked to be undamaged as yet.  The large man lunged smoothly and suddenly swinging his oversized sword.  She blocked the sword with the larger of her swords and slashed back at him leaving another gash across his chest. 

     Bleeding more than Maynard thought he could have endured himself, he backed away and dropped his swords.  He took his hammer in his hand and held it readied for more fighting.  He grasped at his chest and breathed deeply.  Maynard thought that it was because of extreme pain, but then his wounds started healing themselves.  He was using magic to heal himself!  There was no telling just how long this battle could con­tinue if he could keep fixing himself whenever he was hurt.  Time was now very much against Mo­riah and the girls.

     After just a few seconds he was completely healed.  He readied himself and drew back the arm that held the hammer as though he was going to strike with it, but he was too far away from her to hit her with it.  Bringing his arm forward, he threw the hammer!  It flew like a cannon shot toward Moriah.  It even sounded like thunder as it flew. 

     Moriah braced herself, and swung with her longer sword at it.  She hit it, and there was a deafening sound of a thunderclap and Moriah staggered and fell, her sword broken. 

     The hammer flew back to the man in blue.  He watched Moriah as she rose un­steadily to her feet and then he took off his helm.  He looked like an albino.  He was not a black elf!  He was a shadow elf!  Maynard didn't know how bad this was likely to be, but he was willing to bet that it wasn't good.  Especially since he was smiling.

     He cocked his arm back and Moriah braced herself with only the short sword to parry with.  He threw the hammer with a rumble of thunder.  She tried to parry it but it hit her with that thunderclap again.  She went down again. 

     The female drow laughed merrily and went skipping forward to look at the fallen Moriah.  Maynard didn't know just what he could do, but this was clearly the time to do it.

     He wrenched himself away from the scene and jumped on his steed.  Just before he rode over the edge to fly the steed down, he heard a loud yelling from the hobgob­lins.  It sounded more fearful than triumphant.  Riding the mount to the edge, he saw that more hobgoblins were falling.  They were being hit with some small projectile, and it was dropping them.  Looking for the source Maynard saw... Ariak!

     The normally very quiet elf was shouting and making a scene as he threw some­thing all around.  He was throwing shuriken.  Assassins used the same kind of Chinese throwing stars that were used back on earth.  Judging from the effect they were better made or better wielded.  Maynard suspected that both were true.  Even the hostile elves were not immune to the attacks, and each was, in turn, hit by a throwing star. 

     The black elves cast spells, and the shadow elf threw his hammer, but nothing seemed able to actually connect with the nimble Ariak as he dodged between the rocks only to appear unexpectedly behind some other rock.  During the great confusion, May­nard saw Moriah trying to stand.  Before he could think himself out of it, Maynard rode swiftly down to where Moriah was.  She was about to attack him, and held back when she recognized him.  He held his hand out to her and pulled her up onto the mount with him.  The insubstantial horse was not able to bear her weight, but Maynard saw that if he held her, the saddle could hold their combined weight.

     Directing the mount upwards, Maynard flew over Ariak's head.  He would have dropped down to try to rescue him and the other girls with him, but Ariak used that odd sign language and said that he should get Moriah out safely.  He would take care of the girls, and thanks for the help.

     Maynard didn't want to leave Ariak in such a hopeless battle, but there was noth­ing that he could see that could be done.  He had come to trust Ariak's judgement, and so he rode off.  Moriah tried to hold on, but Maynard had to do most of the work.  Since Maynard was never very strong in the first place, spending most of his time at a computer terminal, it was not very easy.  It was fortunate that he had gotten into shape with the elves.  It made a lot of difference now.

     After they had ridden for a few minutes they decided that they could stop for a moment as they were several miles away.  Maynard helped Moriah down, and then dis­mounted himself.  Only then did he see the extent of her wounds.  She had been badly hurt by that hammer.  Several ribs were broken at the very least.  Who knew what kind of internal bleeding there was?  He helped her to sit and she tried to cast a spell.  He knew almost nothing about magic, but he could tell that she was having trouble saying the words or maintaining concentration or whatever was required to get the job done.  Maynard could not remember a time when he felt so helpless, even counting the times he had fought here.

     After several attempts, she finally got it right, and some of the hurt went away.  She was still badly wounded, but it was enough to give her some relief.  After resting for a few minutes, she asked Maynard for a drink.  He didn't have one to give her, but she motioned to a flask in her back pocket that was too much for her to reach.  He rolled her as gently as he could and felt her groan cut through him like a knife.  He got the flask and eased her back to a normal sitting position. 

     He held the flask to her lips and she drank carefully.  As she was drinking, she appeared to get stronger.  By the time she was done, she seemed to be her old self again.  Since her tunic was still blood stained, he asked, "Are you feeling better?"

     She sighed contentedly and said, "Yes.  Much better.  Thank you, sir.  I owe you my life."

     "You owe Ariak, not me.  And don't you think that it is about time that you stop calling me `sir' and start calling me Maynard?"

     She smiled demurely.  "As you wish... Maynard."

     "That's better.  Well, now what should we do?"  He told her about Ariak's last message.

     "The others would be heading back to Alfheim.  We should do the same."

     "What about Ariak, Stiasey and Shumira?  You went after them alone before.  Why leave them now?"

     "Ariak is with them.  I went after them because someone had to try.  No one should be left to the drow without hope.  I had to try.  But Ariak said that he would handle it.  I believe that if anyone can do it, he can.  I think that it can only be done with an army or with one person.  Ariak is the best choice for that one person.  I think that we should head back."

     "I don't really know what to think.  I have seen so many new and different things all at one time that I can't make up my mind.  So, I'll trust your judgement and Ariak's.  Are you up to travelling?"

     "I think so."

     Maynard mounted and pulled Moriah into his arms for the trip back.  She melted into his arms put her head on his shoulder and held herself close to him.  Al­though his mount was able to go much faster, Maynard rode at a very moderate pace so that he could have more time holding Moriah.  It was to be one of the most contented times he would ever know.

At the end of the nine months he was much stronger, faster, and generally durable than he would have ever thought possible.  He felt like a new man, and whether he knew it or not, he was. 

     The time for the gathering of the team was upon them.  He was looking forward to meeting the other two men for quite some time now.  One of them was an elf that Moriah knew from when she was growing up by the name of Thurill.  He sounded like quite a rogue.  Maynard was sure that he would like him.  He was a member of another of the elfin clans that was know for being non-traditionalist in their thinking.  They enjoyed traveling and dealing with other cultures more than any other clan.  (Moriah's clan was the most traditionalist of the clans.)

     The other was unknown to all of the elves (Maynard didn't ask Otsu).  Azsha knew the man, but she said that such impressions should be gained from personal (firsthand) observation.  Well, that fit in with his learned methods for assessing a new and unknown world.  He would just have to wait and gather facts for himself.  That made some sense to him.

     The morning of the arrival of the others found Maynard less than fully rested.  The anticipation had kept him up through most of the night.  He went to breakfast early and saw that Moriah was already there.  "How long have you been here?"

     "For a while.  I couldn't sleep."

     "Neither could I.  I wish that I had known that last night.  It would have been a considerably more enjoyable evening if we had spent it together.  Oh, well...  Maybe next time."

     She smiled and handed him a bowl of fruit.  "When do you think that they will get here?", she asked in a way that she hoped would be nonchalant.

     "I really have no idea.  Maybe someone else knows."  He looked around for someone that was likely to be in the know and spotted one of Otsu's inner sanctum guards.  "Hey, Rison!", Maynard shouted.

     Rison smiled, waved and walked over.  "Good morning to you", he said cheer­ily.  "You are up early this morning."

     "Yes, indeed", answered Maynard.  "I was wondering if you knew when the other two would be arriving today?"

     Rison laughed gently.  "I thought that it was too much to think that you would leave your soft bed this early without provocation.  I understand.  I have heard that they will be arriving very early this morning.  You should have but a short wait."

     "That's great!", Maynard said.  "I'm not sure that I could stand too much more of this anyway."  Moriah gave him a sideways glance.  "And don't give me any of that `elfin patience' stuff again", he added with a smile.  "You know very well that humans in gen­eral, and me in particular, lack the capacity that you elves have for patience so just give me a break.  Ok?"  He actually liked her teasing, but this was part of their game.

     As Maynard was eating, he saw someone new walk in.  She looked sort of elfish and sort of not.  She was quite a looker, but she was as tall as a human and she lacked the quick smile and merriment in the eyes that the other elves had, if she was an elf at all.  In fact, her expression would be best described as hard.  Her long raven black hair made her the first elf that he had seen with hair of that color.  She was also older looking than the other elves.  Maynard guessed that she looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties.  She also had dark skin while the others were fair to lightly tanned.  She wore her dress shorter than the sylvan elves did, and, while the sylvans wore skirts that looked modest, this would have been clearly sensuous even if it had been longer.  It was slit up each side to the waist almost three inches wide.  The slit was held together with some kind of string that kept it laced together.  She had two large swords crossed on her back, rather than her side.  She moved with considerable grace, but it was not pleasant to watch.  It seemed predatory and calculating.  Maynard found it unnerving.  She sat down at a table that was not too close to them, but it was much closer than Maynard would have liked.  He would rather that she was on another plane.

     "Who is that?", he asked.

     "I have not seen her before."

     "Is she an elf?"

     "She looks like a half elf."  Maynard noticed that Moriah had tensed up some.  From what he had learned about her in the past few months, he knew that she was think­ing of this half elf as a probable threat, and was getting ready for fighting.

     "She scares me", he said quietly.  "What do you think?"

     Moriah didn't answer.  She was staring at the new woman.  Maynard followed her stare and saw, to his horror, that the dark half-elf was looking back.  "Is something wrong, girl?", the half elf asked in a cold voice.  Moriah didn't answer.  Maynard didn't say any­thing because he didn't know what to do.  He was considering rash courses of action when, to his great relief, Otsu walked in.

     "Ah, there you are", Otsu said to Maynard and Moriah.  "I see that you have met the Dove", Otsu said indicating the dark half elf.  "Have you had the chance to get ac­quainted yet?"

     "We were just getting started", Maynard said, "but we have not yet been for­mally introduced."  He was glad that she was there.  He had learned enough about her to know that he was safe as long as she was around.  He had gotten to like the old little girl.

     "Well, I think that I can remedy that.  Dove", she said.  The half-elf stood.  "This is Maynard and that is Moriah.  They are two of our party members.  And this", she said in­dicating the Dove, "is the Dove.  She is Thurill's trainer."  Maynard groaned inside.  He wasn't sure that he was ready to spend any extended time with a psychotic team member. 

     "Where is Thurill?", Otsu said to Dove.

     "He is outside.  He wanted to see the trees again", Dove answered.

     "Well, you must have many questions and things to discuss, so I'll leave you.  Good to see you again Dove", and Otsu walked away in her characteristically very fast pace.  Maynard was nervous again, and he wished that she would come back.

     Dove looked them up and down.  "So you are the others.  You don't look like much", she said with disdain.  "What makes you think that you are capable of this?"  She looked directly at Maynard.  "You look like you would have trouble buying a drink at a tavern.  You'd dry up and blow away under pressure.  Yeah, you're worth­less.  What are you doing here anyway?  We don't need you."

     Maynard was stunned.  He hadn't been spoken to like that ever since he had been here.  He was no longer accustomed to it.  He was speechless, but he didn't need much time to recover because Moriah spoke right up.

     "We don't answer to you.  We were not chosen by you and we do not serve you.  Whatever we are or are not is not your affair.  If you find us distasteful, you can go else­where or live with it but we owe you no justification." 

     Maynard was pleasantly surprised.  Moriah was normally quiet, but this was not the demeanor of someone that was at all shy.  In his training he had come to think of her as the fighter for the group.  She was to handle all of the violent or potentially vio­lent situations whenever possible.  He saw that she took that job seriously.  He would play his part every bit as seriously.  It was in Moriah's ball park, and he would follow her lead.

     Moriah and Dove stared at each other for a moment.  Then Dove said, "You have spirit.  I will say that.  How about you?", she said to Maynard.  "Are you going to hide behind her skirt for the whole mission?  Hasn't anyone taught you to stand up on your own two feet?"

     As Maynard was thinking of what to say in reply, Moriah spoke.  "We don't want any trouble, but if you insist on causing it we will be forced to deal with it.  If you have anything that must be said then say it.  If you have anything that must be done then do it.  But don't waste our time."  The two were glaring at each other and Maynard was sure that there was going to be sword play at any moment when a voice spoke up from behind them.

     "Dove, I see that I can't leave you alone for a moment.  Loosen up will you?"  Maynard looked back and saw a blond elf man dressed in elfin style clothing but with an unusual cut.  Maynard guessed that he was from one of the other clans.  Having spent so much time with the longrunners, he had yet to learn much about the other clans in Alfheim. 

     "There that's better", the new man said comfortingly.  Maynard didn't know what this man saw that he didn't, but he couldn't see any change in the situation. 

     "Hi, Moriah.  Did you miss me?"

     Moriah stared for a moment longer as though she was reluctant to take her gaze away for even the shortest time and then looked over at the voice.  "Thurill.  It is good to see you again.  You look well."  Moriah looked back at Dove. 

     "I feel great.  I never thought that I would get homesick for these monotonous trees, but I sure enough did."  The tension between Dove and Moriah was thick enough to slice.  "Oh come on you two."  Thurill stepped between them and pushed Dove back to a seat.  He left her at a table and came back.  "I hope that you weren't too annoyed by her", he said lightly.  "She can't be in a social situation for five minutes without getting in trouble.  I think that she needs a man more desperately than words can say."

     "What does she do?", Maynard asked.

     Thurill regarded him.  "And you are...?"

     "My name is Maynard.  I'm on the team."

     Thurill looked at Moriah who nodded.  "I see.  Let's go somewhere."

     "We could go to my rooms", Maynard offered.

     "That sounds find", Thurill said.  He spoke as they walked.  "She's an assassin by trade.  She keeps a busy schedule too."

     "If she is forever getting into trouble, then how can she do her job?", Maynard asked.

     "She isn't like this when she is working.  When she is on the hunt, as she likes to call it, she is quite smooth."

     "Couldn't she just pretend that she was on a job and do better socially?"

     "No", Thurill laughed.  "She isn't like that.  She thinks that being without a job is being without a purpose.  She can't just invent one because she would know the dif­fer­ence."

     "How did you put up with her?"

     "She's not so very bad once you get to know her.  We kept everything on a busi­ness level.  It worked out Ok.  So...", he said, turning to Maynard, "You're May­nard.  Where are you from?"

     "I'm from another world", he answered dramatically.

     Thurill raised an eyebrow and looked over to Moriah who shrugged.  "Which world would that be?"

     "I don't think that you would have heard much about it.  No one really has.  Its pretty much out of the way."

     "I see.  What's it called?"

     "Earth."

     "Where did you live on earth?"

     "Have you heard of it?"

     "Maybe.  Where..."

     "I'm American.  Does that ring any bells?"

     "I lived in San Francisco for a few years myself.  It can be fairly rough."

     "You're kidding.  This is amazing.  Its a small multiverse after all, Isn't it?  You'll have to tell me all about it."

     "I don't know if that would be boring to the lovely lady here.  Longrunners are notorious for their lack of patience with things that are new or outside of the traditional ways of the old elves.  They can be quite provincial.  Let's save that for later.  Do you know anything about our fourth?"

     "He is supposed to arrive any time now", Maynard volunteered.  "There is only one way to enter here from off-plane.  How about if we go there and wait for him?  There is a nice garden there."

     "Sounds good.  You wouldn't mind that would you Moriah?"

     "That's Ok", she said.

     As they were walking Maynard asked Moriah, "What's wrong?  I know that you're quiet, but this isn't like you."

     She looked down, her strawberry blond hair flowing around her shoulders.  She looked very much as though she was carrying a great load.  "Thurill used to tease me a lot when I was a child.  He made me feel small because my clan is the most traditional while his is the most progressive.  He made me feel as though I couldn't really care about any­one that wasn't an elf because I was from a clan that wanted nothing to do with anything outside of the forest.  I guess that hurts like that last a long time."

     Maynard looked at her and expected her eyes to be wet, but she seemed to be taking this rather stoically.  "Are you going to be Ok?  Is there anything that I can do?"

     She smiled and squeezed Maynard's hand.  "That was a long time ago.  Chil­dren can be cruel because they don't know better.  We're older now and well able to act ac­cordingly.  I'll be fine."

     Thurill, who had been walking ahead, had stopped when he noticed that May­nard and Moriah had fallen behind and he didn't know his way around Otsu's place.  "What's with you two.  Say are you an item around here?  I guess that you have loos­ened up more than I thought Moriah.  Taking a human is more than I would have ex­pected.  What do the others think about it?"

     Maynard found himself getting angry.  "Look, bud, we have a lot of time to spend with each other, so let's not rake up any bad feelings here.  Anything between Moriah and myself is just that - between Moriah and myself and I'll thank you to leave it that way."

     Maynard found the predatory look that he was getting from Thurill to be some­what unnerving despite his training against just such feelings.  Was he going to have to deal with members of his own team as well as the opposition?  That would be a little much.  Maynard thought about what to do as they continued to walk.  (Otsu's place was very large.)  As they were walking, Maynard saw Bunny motioning to him to come over.

     "Excuse me for a moment will you?", he said to Moriah.  He went over to Bunny and said, "What's up Doc?"

     "Very funny.  I have a piece of information that will make your time a little easier.  Thurill has just come from a world of extreme violence.  In the world he came from, if you didn't push yourself around, you got walked over, and that usually meant being dead.  He is trying to be friendly and get along, but he is doing it in a way that reflects his last few years."

     "How could he have been gone for years?  Did he leave before everything came to a head here?"

     "No.  The time flow is different there."

     "The time flow is different on earth?  What is the year there now?", Maynard asked nervously.

     "Ask him.  You should also know that q1, your fourth, has been living like a king for the last twenty years.  He is used to servants doing everything for him, and he has never had peers.  Only his teacher and his servants.  He will be insufferable for a while but if you remember your training in dealing with cultures that are radically dif­ferent in approach, you should be Ok."  She gave him a hug that was a little more than sisterly and said, "I have to go now.  Good luck."

     "Your grandmother said that there was no such a thing as luck."

     "She also taught you to think for yourself and come to decisions based on your own observations.  Think for yourself.  I do, and I believe in luck.  'Bye."  She trotted down the passageway leaving Maynard alone.  He wondered why she kept breezing in and out of his life being helpful.  Was it a schoolgirl crush?  Who knew?  He trotted off to the transporter room, as he referred to it, to wait for the new problem child to arrive.

     It didn't take him long to get there.  There was tension in the air and Maynard wasn't quite sure of just how it could be cut, but he wasn't going to let that stop him now.  "Tell me, Thurill", he said, "What year was it back on earth when you left?"

     "2039.  Why? What year are you from?"

     "1992.  What is the future like?"

     "Mega-corporations have taken over most of the world.  It is tough to survive un­less you join up with one of them.  But there is a contingent of people that work as inde­pendents that still make a go of it.  We performed operations that every corp needed done from time to time and, because we were independent, it could never be traced back to our employer.  There was a lot of money to be made, but it required a lot of skill and it in­volved a lot of danger.  Life expectancy is low for an `outsider', but when it is going well, it is really going well."

     "Let me guess", Maynard said, "When it is going bad it is really bad.  Right?"

     Thurill chuckled.  "Yeah.  I guess so."  He thought for a moment.  "It does sound sort of cliche, doesn't it?"

     "Yep.  Tell me Thurill, coming from an environment that violent where you lived for..."  Maynard paused.

     "Almost five years", Thurill continued.

     "I'll bet that it is going to be tough to adapt to a gentler and slower lifestyle.  Have you found that to be hard thus far?"

     Thurill thought for a moment.  He was about to answer when a man and a woman walked into the room, and not from the door.  She had brown hair and large gentle brown eyes.  If there was any face that would typify sweetness and innocence, this is the one.  She wore a long flowing dress of brilliant scarlet and black.  She had a largish staff that Maynard was now able to recognize as a mage's staff.  She was walking quickly and headed out of the room. 

     Thinking that this might be the last of the four, Maynard stepped in front of her and said, "Excuse me, but are you..."

     He never got the chance to finish his question because she waved her hand slightly at him and he went flying across the garden.  He groaned and tried to get up, but he was stiff and sore in every bone that he had.  Still, he was able to see what was going on, and he watched with horror at what happened.

     Moriah drew her sword and lunged at the woman who stopped and turned to face her almost before Moriah started her attack.  Before Moriah could even get within sword range she was hit by some sort of powerful bolt from the woman's pointed fin­ger, and Maynard watched as his Moriah crumpled to the floor.

     Thurill had had enough.  He pulled out a large caliber magnum pistol and fired three shots at the woman in red and black.  The bullets stopped in midair before hitting her, but, to Maynard's surprise, she didn't retaliate just yet.  Instead, the man that was with her cast a magical spell of some kind at Thurill who was able to stand there and take it.

     "I thought I told you that that kind of spell is mostly ineffective elves.  What kind of an idiot are you to blunder that badly on something so simple?", she scolded.  "I won't be here to do everything for you now.  But, since he is annoying me as well..."  She waved her hand in a careless gesture and Thurill froze in place, encased in a shimmering field of some kind.  The two left with the woman muttering about in­ept apprentices and Maynard tried to drag himself over to where the others were.

     He turned Moriah over and she was out cold, but still breathing.  He was about to elevate her feet, in case she was going into shock, when one of Bel's sisters ran in.  It was Cookie (the one with the raven black hair).  She looked around quickly and said some things that Maynard's translator wasn't always able to translate, but what he did get was more than enough to make a longshoreman blush.

     Cookie waved her hand at Thurill, cursed, waved her hand again and the shim­mering field went away.  As soon as the field dissipated, Thurill let one more shot go.  Seeing that his opponent was no longer to be seen, he looked quickly around.  Seeing that the situation had changed considerably since he last had touch with reality, he knelt down beside Cookie and looked at Moriah.  "Is she going to be Ok?", he asked with genuine concern.

     Cookie held her hand gently on Moriah's forehead for almost a minute before Moriah started moving.  "She'll have a large headache for a day or two, but she'll be Ok.  Do you mind helping her back to her room?  I have to go and see what other problems may have been caused." 

     "Do you think that you could help me out a bit too", Maynard pleaded.

     "Oh.  Yeah.  Sorry."  She touched his hand for an instant and healed him.  "Better?", she asked.

     "Better.  Thanks."

     Cookie nodded and said, "Good.  See you later."  Then she jumped up and ran out.

     Even with Maynard under one arm and Thurill under the other, Moriah walked as though her legs were made of warm rubber.  She was still a little dazed from the ex­peri­ence.  "Do you think that we just met our fourth?", Maynard asked.

     "I sure hope not", Thurill answered candidly.  "I wouldn't know whether to think of him as being overly powerful or overly stupid, depending on which part of that you tend to believe.  I do know that I would rather have her on my side that the other side in a fight, fair or otherwise."

     "I'm not sure that she is an asset.  Undisciplined (raw) power on that magnitude is too risky.  I wonder who she is."

     "I hope that we don't have to find out.  I'm not sure that I could survive a full social engagement with her when it was tough enough just being here as she passed us by", Moriah man­aged to say with a sheepish smile.

     "Now you develop a sense of humor.  Where was all this when we were grow­ing up?", Thurill asked.

     They got to Moriah's room and they set her down gently on the bed.  When they saw that she was comfortable Maynard said, "I am still new at this magic stuff.  Just what was it that we encountered back there?"

     "I have no idea", Thurill said.  "I have never seen the like of that kind of power.  It is beyond even the legends of the ancients elves.  Whatever she was, she looked human."

     "Agreed.  We know that she is expected to be here because of Cookie reaction.  By that I mean that it was taken very much in stride.  If we can conclude that she be­longs here, who could she be?"

     Moriah lifted herself up.  "I don't think it wise to base an evaluation on the re­ac­tions of someone you know little about.  Cookie may be like that in a crisis naturally.  I don't really know her myself.  Also, we don't know what may or may not have been go­ing on outside the arrival chamber.  Even so, I must say that I agree with Maynard's belief that she was expected.  Anyone that enters the arrival chamber from the outside that does not belong here is met by the guard.  It seems self destructive to force entry into Otsu's home even with that much magical power and, for all her arrogance, she didn't strike me as being stupid.  The man with her seemed to be an underling and an incompetent ap­prentice.  (Maybe he seemed that was only because he was with her, and she was any­thing but incompetent.)  We expected another, that he would be male and human and that he would arrive at about this time.  Thurill, you arrived with your mentor.  Our teacher are here already as we were trained here.  When the last of our group arrives, I would expect him to be accompanied by his trainer.  I think that we have seen our fourth."

     Thurill's mouth was hanging open.  "I don't think that I have ever heard you say so much at one time on any subject before.  Come to think of it, I can't remember any elf being so precise in expressing an opinion.  What have you been taught since I have been away?"

     Moriah smiled with as much enthusiasm as her weakened condition allowed.  "You flatter me Thurill.  I thought that you didn't care for longrunners."

     "I may have to reassess my position.  Who was your teacher?"

     Moriah pointed to Maynard.  "He was my teacher for that part of my training."

     Thurill turned his wide eyed expression toward Maynard.  "You are more canny than I had expected.  I shall make a point to not underestimate you again.  It can be a dan­gerous habit.  Tell me, what did you do before you came here?"

     It was finally time for Maynard to smile mysteriously and be the interesting `man of the moment'.  This was a moment to savor.  But how to best exploit it was a question not easily answered.  Should he say nothing and let Thurill's imagination take it from there?  No.  It looked as though they were going to be spending a long time to­gether.  Maybe it would be best to throw him a bone.  Make it sound as though it was an answer, but leave the question open.

     "I worked for the CIA", Maynard said with a feeling of personal triumph.  It was good to be on the giving side of things for a change.

     "Oh", Thurill said, only mildly impressed.  "And what did you do for them?"

     Maynard thought of concocting some story that would be much more interesting than the truth.  It would be easy to use the stories that he had heard around the office as well as reports from the files that he had read.  Thurill couldn't check up on him as he was from the future.  But dishonesty was not a good foundation upon which to build a relation­ship.  Dull or not, it was truth time.  He said, somewhat sullenly, "I was in the computer department."

     To Maynard's surprise, Thurill brightened up and showed considerable appre­cia­tion.  "You mean breaking into systems and stealing data.  That sort of thing?"

     "Why, yes, actually."

     "Well...Well...Well...  I see that we have much to discuss.  I did much the same kind of job myself.  What kind of equipment did you use, primarily?"

     "Are you some kind of hacker too?  This is great."  They started talking fast and furious about computers and the differences in logic and systems between their re­spec­tive times.  Moriah just leaned back in bed and shut her eyes.  There was not much more that she could do.  She doubted that anyone could intervene in the conversation she saw taking place.  They were like two boys that had been friends all of their lives. 

     After but a few minutes, there came a knock at the door.  After the third knock Moriah said, "I know that you are enjoying yourselves, but there is someone at the door."

     "How do you know?, Maynard asked.  He was answered by a very loud and im­patient knock.  "You elves and your magic.  I don't think that I'll ever completely get the hang of this."  He got up and went to the door.  It was Slip.  "Hi there shorty.  Come on in.  Is this a social visit?"

     "Lord Packus says that you three are to attend a council in one hour's time that is being held in the great hall", she said formally.

     "Loosen up kiddo.  Its just us", Maynard said lightly.

     Slip smiled and relaxed.  "Sorry.  I was just passing on the message.  Hi Mo­riah.  Are you feeling Ok?  Should I send for a healer?"

     Moriah waved back.  "I'll be Ok.  Thanks."

     "Yeah, thanks", Maynard added.  "You always were a good kid.  Say, Who is this Lord Packus?  Anybody know?"  Moriah shook her head and Thurill shrugged.

     "How about you Slip.  Who gave you this message?"

     "I don't know him.  He just arrived with Shirazi.  They have almost the entire household stirred up.  Some healers were needed to care for those that didn't get out of their way fast enough."

     "Why doesn't Otsu do something?", Maynard asked.

     "Shirazi is her sister or something like that.  That woman is a little frightening."

     "She is more than a little frightening if you ask me kiddo.  Do you want to wait here until it is time for the council?"

     "Actually, I would.  I don't want to go back into the halls just now.  Thank you Maynard.  You are always helping me."  Slip was looking at him with those longing eyes again.  Maynard wondered if some transformation had taken place because women never seemed to notice him before he came to this place.  He could learn to like this more than just a little.

 

As the hour's wait drew to a close, Maynard helped Moriah up and out the door.  Even the short rest that she had was enough to make her stronger though and one man for sup­port was all that she wanted.  Maynard thought that she didn't really need the sup­port, but he wanted to walk with her in his arms as much as he thought that she wanted for him to be helping her.  Enroute, Slip bade the farewell and left for some errand or duty that was required of her.

     They got to the great hall and found that it was empty.  They sat down and waited for someone else to arrive.  After a few minutes, Maynard asked, "Isn't it time for the council?  Are we early?" 

     "Not at all", Thurill said.  "Maybe we are in the wrong hall."

     "There is no other hall", said Moriah.

     As they were trying to figure out what to do, in strode the man that had cast the spell at Thurill while his female companion had devastated them all.  "Sorry I'm late.  Well, let's get down to business.  My name is Lord Packus.  I am your mage.  I don't know much about you", he said indicating Maynard, "but I understand that both of you elves possess some rudimentary magical ability.  That is good as you can't have too much magic at your disposal.  My own training far surpasses your own, so I'll try to keep things clear for you.  I have been trained in several different magical systems as well as the tac­tics of battle and infiltration when employing magical means.  I have some devices which enhance my already considerable magical power and a couple of weapons, also magical.

     "We have a busy schedule to keep so I am expecting all of you to perform your respective parts in this mission quickly and without complaint.  Keeping complaints to a minimum is critical to a smooth operation as well as maintaining morale at a high level.  Now, I would like to get some introductions from you.  So, now let's go around to room and have everyone introduce themselves and say what it is that you do, some highlights from your training, and descriptions of any special equipment that you may have.  Let's start with the lovely young lady.  Remember my dear, to keep your re­marks brief."

     The three of them sat in stunned silence.  Moriah looked as though she didn't un­derstand what had just happened.  The men understood, but couldn't believe it.  Thurill was the first to recover enough to say something.  "I say that we grease this [untranslatable] and go on without him.  We don't need him or his noise."

     Maynard added, "I don't know what the best thing to do with someone like him, but putting him out of his misery is high on my list."

     Packus looked annoyed and puzzled.  "What seems to be the problem?  Why are you being so hostile?"

     Maynard realized that it was probably incumbent on him to try to resolve the sit­uation.  Moriah was out of her league in the interpersonal relationship department, and Thurill was just out of patience.  "Look.  I don't know where you got your notion that we could be ordered around like slaves, but each person here is a skilled volunteer that has an equal part in this job. We each have our area of speciality.  Each of us will be going into risky and dangerous situations equally.  If there is any point of offense it is in your attitude that we work for you.  That is not the way that it will work.  It is not even a way that it can work.  We need to be able to think creatively and individually or we cannot operate at maximum efficiency.  You couldn't begin to tell Moriah how to fight.  The same goes for my tactical assessing of situations and Thurill's..."  Maynard paused in his dialogue because he remembered only now that he had not really found out what it was that Thurill did, but he was on a roll and couldn't stop for such trifles as incomplete infor­mation or missing facts.  "Thurill's job is just as important and de­manding as any of ours.  Just remember that you are an authority on your subject and we are the authority on ours.  Ok?"  He was sure that he had scored.  This Packus should be well put into his place.

     "I don't know how much or little you may or may not know about magic", Packus said icily, "but it is an interdisciplinary science.  There is no area of endeavor which can­not be done with greater effect and efficiency with magical methods.  But there is no need to be rude.  Mages are often misunderstood.  We don't think or act the same way as others.  I think that it will just take some time.  But, all of that aside, I still need to know your names and a description of what you do.  You don't mind if I ask you that much, do you?", he said with a bit too much charm.

     "My name is Maynard and this is Moriah.  We were both trained here by Azsha and Otsu.  That is Thurill.  He was trained by the Dove on a technological world.  I think that about covers the basics." 

     Maynard noticed that Azsha was sitting over at the far wall and was talking to her­self.  He stood up and looked at her.  She turned to him and said, "We were just talking about you guys.  We hope that you don't stay at each other's throats for too long.  I think that you'll find that your counterparts will take care of that for you.  Are you ready to go?"

     "Is it time to leave already?", Maynard asked nervously.  "Couldn't it wait for a few days?  Even a couple of days together would be a considerable help in getting to know each other better."

     "This departure is for a final part of your training.  After that, you may come and go as you please."  Azsha turned her head at the chair and said, "Oh.  Yes.  Of course..."  Maynard looked and strained his eyes and finally saw Otsu sitting there.  She had been sitting so still that he had missed her with his cursory glances.

     "By the way, your stay here at Otsu's home is over because your training is over.  It is now up to you to fend for yourselves.  The elves have homes here, and the humans have ample provision financially to acquire a home.  I will be taking you to your final training world immediately."

     "Just that fast?", Maynard asked.

     "You will get even less time in future situations.  You must learn to be able to leave on a moment's notice.  Since Maynard has the dimension travel devices, he will be performing the actual travel."  She turned to him.  "Its game time.  Are you ready?"

     "Why not?", he answered with as much courage as he could muster.  Azsha had taken him to many worlds and demonstrated the use of the plane shifter.  He had even drilled on what to do if he got lost or landed in an ocean or too high up in an atmo­sphere.  He was well trained in plane shifting, but he had only practiced doing it solo once.  Dur­ing that episode, he had tried shifting to what he thought was earth.  It turned out to be similar, but he materialized in the middle of a battlefield on a mideval world that had no magic and no technology.  It was a tense situation for a moment be­cause both sides stopped killing each other long enough to try to kill him.  They had thought him to be a demon.  Plane shifting was not as easy as changing channels and it took him a few min­utes to get everything set up for the return trip.  When he had got­ten back, Azsha in­formed him that his planet was not on these maps, that he was still structurally incompati­ble for a return trip just now, and would he be so kind as to stick to business until he was on his own.

     As they walked back to the transporter room Azsha told Maynard of the location of their training planet.  Maynard listened carefully and when they got there, he brought out the plane shifting amulet and the hand held computer dimension map.  He checked his figures three times to be sure.  He didn't want to blow it the first time.  Impressions and all. 

     "Everyone gather around.  Its time to go."  They all came to within range of the amulet's radius of effect.  He expected a remark from Packus before they left, but when he didn't get one, he shut his eyes and concentrated on the amulet.  He felt the now famil­iar butterflies in the stomach that he felt with every plane shift that was done with the amulet, and they disappeared.

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