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steered the tractor to the side of the road. He was fighting to sit upright, as he fought against the waves of pain. Thomas positioned the tractor and trailer well off the road and set the brake.
    “Steg, what is wrong?”
    “Pain—nausea—not mine. Someone is hurt. Here—close by.” He was bewildered; he could not understand why he was reacting so. He staggered down from the tractor and clung to its side. He sensed that was someone in agony, nearby.
    Thomas climbed down from his driver’s seat. He was at a loss as to what was affecting Steg. He had a first aid kit in his hand, taken from under the seat.
    “Over there,” Steg indicated a direction towards the river. He and Thomas began a search and as Steg moved closer to bank and further downstream, the pain intensified. “There, see? A body, just under the bank. He must be still alive.”
    Thomas handed the first aid kit to Steg and waded into the shallow river. He half dragged, half lifted the body from the water. He felt for and found a pulse, ragged and faint. He carried the body up onto the grass, above the riverbank. His face paled when he turned the body over and saw the victim’s face.
    “An Acolyte?”
    “Yes,” Thomas confirmed, indicating the implanted interface unit almost hidden under a heavy mop of hair . They both worked to apply first aid. Steg cut back burnt clothing and applied salve; the severity of the burns required urgent hospital treatment. Thomas prepared a pain-killing injection.
    Steg said, “I think I recognize him, but I have never seen him away from the Glass Complex.”
    Homeworld Acolytes maintained the Glass Complex, a massive computer installation hidden far below Castlehome. They programmed, repaired and defended the Complex, the functions of which were seldom mentioned or disclosed. The data they stored and managed was sourced from every known world, human and alien. The accumulation was immense; it had been gathered over centuries and added to whenever a starship landed or a data glass arrived from remote sources. The Acolytes were linked to the Complex; they were its high priests and hand servants, interpreters and communicants, locked, human mind to artificial intelligence, in surgical servitude. The Glass Complex knew and read the thoughts of the Acolytes and they in turn read the depths of data held in the storage glasses and saw the patterns and movements in the data.
    Thomas examined the body of the unconscious Acolyte and concluded that all they effectively could do was to apply salve, cover the burns and make him comfortable. Their basic first aid was inadequate to cope with the extent and severity of the burns.
    A movement from the Acolyte startled them both, the painkiller should have knocked him out for hours.
    “Please—maximum stimulants—I must—remain conscious for as long as possible.” The voice was hesitant, very soft, and yet had a note of authority that Thomas could not ignore. “Do it—now.”
    “The reaction will kill you,” warned Thomas.
    “Do it. Now.” His eyes closed. Steg felt a wash of pain mixed with forceful determination.
    An instruction from an Acolyte carried exceptional force, the equivalent of a military command which Thomas could not refuse to obey. He searched in the first aid kit and found the necessary capsule and applied its contents via the injector. After a few moments the Acolyte opened his eyes, red rimmed and blood flecked. He gradually focused on Steg.
    “Aaah.” The sound was an exhalation of pain and achievement. “Steg de Coeur. The program was correct.” His eyes closed for a moment as he gathered his strength. They opened again. Steg could discern the Acolyte’s iron control refusing and rejecting pain. “Steg de Coeur. I am carrying documents—identification papers—establishing a new identity for you. No—you must listen.” Steg had turned his head towards Thomas, and the Acolyte grabbed him by the arm. The powerful grip was almost painful.
    “The