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back—alive.” 
    Fremont’s heart sank.  “Do you need his entire team?”
    The Director grinned.  “No, of course not!  Dr. Alexander is the only valuable member on the Zebulon crew.  Dispose of the rest as you see fit.  Let the doctor view the cleanup operation as a lesson.”  
    Fremont felt relieved.  He’d enjoy taking revenge on Donovan. “Thank you, sir.  It will be a pleasure to serve the Institute.”  He braced himself to ask the next question.  “Could you provide a description of the equipment failure?  It might prove useful to my mission.”  Fremont knew he pushed the boundaries of a delicate situation.
    The Director stared at Fremont behind half-lidded eyes, like a snake ready to strike its victim.  Fremont wished he’d never asked the question and wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. 
    “No one else must learn of our…difficulty.”  The Director sounded menacing.
    “Yes, sir.”  Fremont’s voice cracked. 
    The Director’s lips curled into a humorless smile, and Fremont felt safe to breathe again.  “Transfer was a routine procedure for hundreds of years, but the rebel scientists destroyed records before their exodus—details about the method of hardening Mendilium crystals.  Hardened crystals are necessary components of the Transfer machinery.  Apparently untreated crystals are brittle, shatter during Transfer. 
    The supply of hardened crystals dwindles to a dangerous level.  We’ve discovered nothing to solve the problem which jeopardizes the very future of the Institute.  Without Transfer we lose control over society while everyone dies.”  The Director almost whispered the last words.  “Secure Dr. Alexander and keep him safe until he reveals the secret.”
    Fremont felt lightheaded.  Closely guarded secrets of the Institute were divulged to the most trusted of the upper division—he just joined the inner circle. “Thank you, sir.”  Fremont could barely control his excitement. “I won’t fail, believe me.”
    “No, you won’t.  Report for a Transfer and prepare the ship.  Use speed and discretion in choosing your crew.”  The Director stood and held out his hand.
    Fremont grasped the hand with a sweaty palm. “You won’t be sorry you sent me!”

5 ~ LIFE AT COURT
     
                 
    In a secret chamber behind the royal living quarters, Donovan stared at a lifeless instrument panel.  Trenton lay on his back under the cabinet and worked with the frayed wiring.  Chella sat with her long fingers stretched between two archaic switches.
    Trenton said, “I think I found the problem.  Hit both switches now.”
    Chella flipped the switches and Donovan held his breath.  A fan whirred and lights raced across the apparatus.  An ancient computer screen flickered and Chella grinned.   “It’s working.  I’ll connect to the satellite defense system.”  Her dark brown fingers flew over the keyboard as Donovan stared into the glow of the screen.  “You’re a genius, Trenton!”
    “Sure, just try to convince upper management!”  He climbed out from under the cabinet and brushed cobwebs from his hair.  “The patch won’t last.  Wiring’s brittle and the microchips are slow; I hate to think what’ll blow next.  We’ve got new parts stored at the spaceport, but smuggling them past desert riders is impossible.  Last trip they confiscated my toothbrush and pocketknife. I was lucky to get out with my underwear.”
    Chella grinned, her white teeth contrasting with dark skin.  “So how did you smuggle the wiring you just installed?”
    Trenton smirked.  “I braided them together into a hatband.  Not one rider noticed.  Wolves stash small parts inside their knife holders; no one dares touch a wolf.”
    Donovan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “The Mullah of Kesh is sending someone to fetch Tamarind.  Maybe I’ll have you escort her past the spaceport and secure better replacement parts.  Make a list of what you