various degrees of speculation, concern and interest, and two
containing some bemusement, studied Maegan.
She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She found she couldn't close her mouth again. If
there was ever a ninth dimension, this was it. Her brain functioned perfectly normally, but nothing
it told the rest of her body to do worked. She couldn't even budge a finger and now she looked like
an idiot with her mouth hanging open.
"What's wrong with her?" Nimon demanded.
"What's she been drinking?" Black-hair said.
He picked up Maegan's hand. She saw him do it, but she couldn't feel it.
"Grogon limale, same as everyone else."
"Not much alcohol in that." Black-hair was peering into her eyes. He frowned. "Can't take
much."
"Ah..." Behind him Shal-el exchanged a guilty look with Bortock.
The two Merlons, who could almost have been twins, were brilliant together with code
creation but, barely out of adolescence, they were also mischievous troublemakers. Maegan had
had them in her office more than once to deliver disciplinary edicts, mostly consisting of
community service which, to give them credit, they performed with as much enthusiasm as they
had the transgression. "We reprogrammed the bar caddy when we came in."
"We added a very small shot of Merlon mitte to the recipe," said Bortock. "Very small."
He pinched his fingers together.
That was another thing about the two. When caught, they always were quick to
confess.
"Merlon mitte," said Black-hair, who was doing something with her wrist, "is the most
potent drink in the galaxy. Even in minute quantities. We've got to get her to medical attention
now."
"You fools! No wonder my head is spinning. And look at poor Maegan."
Nimon, who came from a long line of Soron warrior priestesses, took a swing at Shal-el. If
she'd connected directly, she could have done some serious damage, but Shal-el saw it coming and
ducked. The blow caught Black-hair in the side. He stumbled and fell into Bortock.
Maegan, her mouth hanging open, her arm dangling in the air where Black-hair had let go
of it, could do nothing but watch helplessly as Morgon's galactic-peace-through-a-united-goal
experiment dissolved into a mini galactic club brawl. The audience that quickly gathered around
them was only interested in placing bets and Gloriana was nowhere to be seen.
Brown-hair finally extricated Black-hair from underneath Nimon and they both grabbed
Maegan. As they bore her from the club, she caught sight of Gloriana forging her way toward the
disturbance. The look on her face comforted Maegan. At least she wasn't going to have to worry
about discipline. Gloriana would take care of it.
* * * *
She awoke in another strange room with no memory of what had transpired after they'd left
the club. She wriggled a toe, then a finger, an arm and a leg. Everything seemed to be working. She
felt good, much better than she had in a while.
The faint sweet tang of tiug leaf wisped across her nostrils. It was barely enough
warning.
"Maegan," said Alerik, in a soft rumble that raised tiny hairs all over her body, "you really
do need to stop getting into these...situations."
He strolled into her line of vision, a tall man and--oh, blazing starpits--wearing nothing but
loose pants draped low across his hips and a half smile on his lips. Her sense of well-being
vanished as her sweat glands went crazy and tension tightened every cell in her body.
She forced her mouth open. "Before you arrived, my life was perfectly normal."
He laughed and stopped beside her, too close. "Ah. You imply that I somehow had
something to do with the attack and the, ah, club scuffle."
She closed her eyes. All that bare, hard flesh was too much to take. "Of course not." She
couldn't help herself and cracked open one eye again. Maybe he wouldn't notice. "Well, actually,
the club fight was your fault." At least he'd been one of the sparks.
"Yes?" He sat down facing her on the raised sleeping platform. His hip brushed against
hers with
containing some bemusement, studied Maegan.
She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She found she couldn't close her mouth again. If
there was ever a ninth dimension, this was it. Her brain functioned perfectly normally, but nothing
it told the rest of her body to do worked. She couldn't even budge a finger and now she looked like
an idiot with her mouth hanging open.
"What's wrong with her?" Nimon demanded.
"What's she been drinking?" Black-hair said.
He picked up Maegan's hand. She saw him do it, but she couldn't feel it.
"Grogon limale, same as everyone else."
"Not much alcohol in that." Black-hair was peering into her eyes. He frowned. "Can't take
much."
"Ah..." Behind him Shal-el exchanged a guilty look with Bortock.
The two Merlons, who could almost have been twins, were brilliant together with code
creation but, barely out of adolescence, they were also mischievous troublemakers. Maegan had
had them in her office more than once to deliver disciplinary edicts, mostly consisting of
community service which, to give them credit, they performed with as much enthusiasm as they
had the transgression. "We reprogrammed the bar caddy when we came in."
"We added a very small shot of Merlon mitte to the recipe," said Bortock. "Very small."
He pinched his fingers together.
That was another thing about the two. When caught, they always were quick to
confess.
"Merlon mitte," said Black-hair, who was doing something with her wrist, "is the most
potent drink in the galaxy. Even in minute quantities. We've got to get her to medical attention
now."
"You fools! No wonder my head is spinning. And look at poor Maegan."
Nimon, who came from a long line of Soron warrior priestesses, took a swing at Shal-el. If
she'd connected directly, she could have done some serious damage, but Shal-el saw it coming and
ducked. The blow caught Black-hair in the side. He stumbled and fell into Bortock.
Maegan, her mouth hanging open, her arm dangling in the air where Black-hair had let go
of it, could do nothing but watch helplessly as Morgon's galactic-peace-through-a-united-goal
experiment dissolved into a mini galactic club brawl. The audience that quickly gathered around
them was only interested in placing bets and Gloriana was nowhere to be seen.
Brown-hair finally extricated Black-hair from underneath Nimon and they both grabbed
Maegan. As they bore her from the club, she caught sight of Gloriana forging her way toward the
disturbance. The look on her face comforted Maegan. At least she wasn't going to have to worry
about discipline. Gloriana would take care of it.
* * * *
She awoke in another strange room with no memory of what had transpired after they'd left
the club. She wriggled a toe, then a finger, an arm and a leg. Everything seemed to be working. She
felt good, much better than she had in a while.
The faint sweet tang of tiug leaf wisped across her nostrils. It was barely enough
warning.
"Maegan," said Alerik, in a soft rumble that raised tiny hairs all over her body, "you really
do need to stop getting into these...situations."
He strolled into her line of vision, a tall man and--oh, blazing starpits--wearing nothing but
loose pants draped low across his hips and a half smile on his lips. Her sense of well-being
vanished as her sweat glands went crazy and tension tightened every cell in her body.
She forced her mouth open. "Before you arrived, my life was perfectly normal."
He laughed and stopped beside her, too close. "Ah. You imply that I somehow had
something to do with the attack and the, ah, club scuffle."
She closed her eyes. All that bare, hard flesh was too much to take. "Of course not." She
couldn't help herself and cracked open one eye again. Maybe he wouldn't notice. "Well, actually,
the club fight was your fault." At least he'd been one of the sparks.
"Yes?" He sat down facing her on the raised sleeping platform. His hip brushed against
hers with
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