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the drinking water that had infected all the men. She prayed it wasn't contagious.
    "Great Mother." She shook her head. "I cheat death in a hopeless life, but you dream. I don't know which is more futile—or more dangerous."
    "Don't be afraid, Taj," Romjha said in a gentler voice.
    The muscles in her back bunched. Her head throbbed. "I am not scared," she snarled. "I am incredibly irritated!" She wanted to wipe that knowing half-smile from his patronizing face. "If I am afraid of anything, it is of your mental stability—or lack thereof."
    He regarded her so intently that she grew warm. He didn't believe her; he didn't believe a word she'd said.
    "I want to take back our future, Taj. I don't want to sit here passively, waiting to see what will happen to us.
    Destiny isn't a matter of chance. It's a matter of choice. You yourself said that when Pasha died."
    She searched her recollections of that horrible night. "You remember that night?"
    "I have internalized it, my dear Taj." He leaned sideways, and his voice dropped to a private rumble close to her good ear. "I consider myself a patient man, but when I set my mind to achieving an objective, little can deter me. Often, a goal must be held close, buried deep, before it can be brought to fruition. I value most what I work hard to win, what requires time, thought, and careful wooing."
    Oblivious to words that had become strangely charged with an undercurrent that left Taj breathless, Jetter broke in. "Romjha, the warlord's forces are on the run. They're pulling out of the area."
    Taj could almost feel the jolt of interest that shot through Romjha. It matched the surge of dread that swelled coldly in her belly. If I ever have the chance to do more than dream, Taj, I will tak e it. What would he do?
    "How did you learn this?" Romjha asked.
    Jetter squared his shoulders. "The outsiders told us, sir."
    "They communicated with you? How?"
    "From the air. They transmitted their voices into our helmets. The static made it tough to hear, but we heard enough."
    "It's been a long time since anyone's used those receivers," Petro stated.
    In obvious appreciation of the technology involved, Romjha squinted at the demolished fighter. "What brought them down?"
    "A missile. From a system in the skyport."
    He glanced sideways at Aleq. "The skyport was auto-defended against an air attack? The robot guns were deadly against us, but..."
    "It surprised them, too."
    "All these years and I never figured that out." Romjha exhaled audibly. "It proves how little we know of our own home." His voice turned sorrowful, reminding Taj of the numerous funerals over which he'd presided.
    "This is a historic day. For the first time, we know for certain that others like us still live, that not all are dead or imprisoned by oppressive regimes. What we can assume about the rest of the galaxy has changed.
    These outsiders came here in good faith. Brave men they were. Later we'll hold a vigil for them, as if they were our own."
    "A vigil?" Aleq blurted out. "A celebration's what we need. They're alive!"
    Taj and Petro swung their rifles toward the sound of shouts, and Romjha rose to his feet as five shadows appeared from the smoke and darkness.

Chapter Five
    Taj squinted down the barrel of her rifle. Three of the people running toward her were the remaining raiders. The other two were strangers. Outsiders.
    Her lips pulled back in a snarl. Her finger flexed over her trigger. One shot, two, and these suicidal thrill seekers will no longer be a problem. They would bring no more attention from the warlords, nor would they make Romjha consider chasing off to fight a war he couldn't win.
    Aleq laid his hand over the muzzle of her rifle and gently pushed the weapon down. She swallowed, saw that her hands were shaking.
    "They're not the enemy, Taj," he said. "They're like us."
    "They don't look like us." They were bigger, stronger, healthier than the men she knew, save Romjha and Petro, who were phenomena among their own