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other bloody lips. Over the years there had been respites between them, cease-fires, but they were few and far between … and tense. The siblings had always loathed one another, and had exchanged few words in the last fifteen years.
    Their mother Eunicia, the only woman Prince Saito ever married, had almost died in childbirth. She had lived for years afterward, but never fully recovered, and was always a frail woman, finally dying in a grid-plane crash at the age of fifty-one. Prince Saito had never been the same afterward.
    In recent weeks the old man had been wavering about Noah, and had mentioned the possibility of revamping his business operations in order to satisfy his son. This could involve bringing her hated twin back into the corporation, with all of his costly, meddlesome ideas about environmental issues. Francella could not tolerate that.
    Upon learning of the scheduled meeting between the men, she had gone into a crisis mode. Setting aside her attempts to erode the Prince’s health, she had moved forward quickly. Her military-style attack with phony Guardians was a risky course of action, but offered the potential of distinct benefits. It could eliminate the Prince much more quickly, while placing the blame for his “tragic death” on Noah.
    It might still work, if the old man died of his head injury.
    On the bier beside her, Prince Saito groaned again. Francella felt like stuffing something in his mouth to shut him up, but resisted the temptation. She would take the rational course, not letting her emotions get the better of her.

Chapter Nine
    We Parviis are the most powerful of all galactic races.
    And, with good reason, the most secretive.
    —Woldn, Eye of the Swarm
    A towering black cloud hung over Canopa’s central plain like an anvil, threatening to strike the land with a hammer-blow of rain. Summer was late getting underway this year, as the weather had been unseasonably stormy and cold, almost a month into the season. There had been some warm days, but not many.
    As Tesh Kori stood on cobblestones near the center of a large courtyard, she wished her boyfriend did not have such a quick temper. Dr. Hurk Bichette stood with his hands on his hips, shouting at the maintenance man for his country estate. The prominent physician had a strong jaw and closely-set green eyes. A vein bulged and throbbed at his temple, a sign that he was losing control.
    “You’re not paying enough attention to your duties,” Bichette thundered in his basso voice. “It seems that other things interest you more.” He shot a glance in Tesh’s direction and glared at her for an instant before looking away. This courtyard was between the doctor’s palatial home and the stables for his expensive tigerhorses. The buildings were constructed in the classical Canopan style, of smoky-white marble with inlaid ruby and emerald gemstones. A colorful kaleidoscope of imported tulips bloomed in flower beds around the perimeter of the courtyard, and in planter boxes on the balconies of the three-story main house.
    The target of Dr. Bichette’s rage, Anton Glavine, wore a short blue-and-white tunic buttoned down the front, with high, tight leggings, and black boots. Remaining calm all through the verbal onslaught, the blond, mustachioed maintenance man stood taller than the doctor, and stared down at him dispassionately, saying nothing in response.
    Tesh tried to be understanding, but in recent weeks she had been growing increasingly irritated with her boyfriend’s possessive, even paranoid, attitude. Bichette seemed to fear that he might be losing her affections to this rough-and-tumble young upstart, who enjoyed tramping around in the woods and living off the land. Glavine—only twenty years old—had been working on the opulent estate, performing handyman tasks and yard work.
    Concerned that the situation would escalate, Tesh stepped forward and said, “Hurk, he’s hardly spoken to me at all. I assure you, there’s nothing for