green-leaved trees increased as we dropped to lower altitudes. More interesting, I noticed a number of clumps of trees that looked suspiciously like they could conceal more technological installations.
So I wasn't surprised when Sharyn stopped. "We're here," she announced.
"You keep your ships well hidden," I commented, pointing at the three closest hiding places.
She turned sharply toward me, then smiled. "You have keen eyes after all."
"I have more than that. I have centuries of experience with societies such as Forma's. I have realigned many of them." The "realignment" of societies came with being a mortal god: at each planet I touched, I chose between life and death for the most influential minds of that planet. And a society reflects the thinking of its most influential minds. "Rather than leading a small rebel force, which is what you seem to have gathered here, why don't you let me simply assassinate the most troublesome individuals?"
She shook her head. "You don't understand. The problem is deeper than that. Even if I killed all the present leaders, the next ones would be just as bad. The whole planet is crazy with Transfer fever."
I waved her objection aside. "An experienced assassin never needs to kill more than twenty people to end a war or unite a planet. It just requires skillful executions. You have to make sure that the next twenty people, the successors to the dead, know three things: First, they must know that the first twenty were killed intentionally. Second, they must know why their predecessors were killed. Third, and most important, they be completely convinced that they are just as easy to kill as the others were."
As I was speaking, I got more and more wrapped up in my words. So I was surprised by the effect I had wrought.
Sharyn's mouth dropped open in awe. "Of course! What a brilliant idea!"
I started to disclaim any brilliance, but she continued.
"I'll get them all," she laughed, so wickedly I was surprised by her malevolence. Then her laughter ran the scales, from light amusement to near sorrow. "I'm sorry," she said.
"For what?" I asked.
"Never mind." She danced close, to kiss me on the cheek. I tried to put my arms around her, but she danced away again. "I have to go," she said, turning.
"Wait!" I cried.
She stopped. "What?"
"You can't do this alone."
"Why not? You've done it several times before, or so you said. Why would I fail where you succeeded?"
I closed my eyes. I knew what would happen: she wouldn't believe me when I explained. Yet, I would explain anyway. "I have lived seven full lifetimes. I have had experiences beyond you imagining. There is both wisdom and power in growing older, my lady." I stood straighter, letting my stage presence fill the clump of forest around us.
"Perhaps." She nodded her head from side to side. "But I think I can handle it."
My power and the presence evaporated; I felt like an old man.
How can you explain to a first-lifer the lessons you learn the fifth or a sixth time around? How can you express the little ways you are always aware of the world around you, sensing places where things lie hidden beneath other surfaces, knowing danger in a lifting eyebrow, touching an unfamiliar surface in a careful examination before grasping it?
I had been a Frontier mindshifter, often a target of the corrupt and the fanatical. In hundreds of tests of survival I had won. To pit me, in my eighth lifetime, against a whole army of first-lifers was to seal their deaths in a sure stroke.
But Sharyn herself was a first-lifer. Though she might destroy several of her enemies with her prowess and competence, yet her advantage over any one of them was just a narrow margin. One of them would get her, before she could complete the job. "Please," I begged, "let me handle the repair of Forma."
She put her hands on her hips, and cocked her head. "Wait a minute." She walked around me, slowly, judging. "Who saved whose life yesterday?" she asked. "Who is currently the
Tracie Peterson, Judith Pella