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Paladin—“Have starship, will travel.”
    He had traveled far beyond ancient Earth. Now, in pursuit of his battle against the soul-destroying culture of the Anarchate, he would travel across home galaxy and eventually to the Small Magellanic Cloud. And he would leave behind . . . painful lessons for the Anarchate and a name that people without hope might pass on, in whispers to their children. So he hoped, deep in his mind, before he passed out from Translation and Interface overload.

CHAPTER THREE
     
    In his dreams, Matt recalled the life he had chosen, that of a Vigilante who had sworn to his lost love Helen that he would use his abilities to help people in need. People all too often ignored by the Anarchate and the industrial Conglomerates that ruled whole star clusters. Unless the world held something they wanted, like mineral resources that the Halicene Conglomerate had schemed to extract from planet Halcyon, even when it meant poisoning the biosphere and killing two intelligent peoples.
    He had blocked that effort, that wrongness. But in a galaxy of four hundred billion stars and at least 17 billion Earth-like planets, evil had plenty of places to grow when there was no law, no justice and no galactic ruler except for the Anarchate, which enforced star-to-star anarchy because it was profitable.
    And to enforce its Four Rules. Number One said no planet interferes with the internal affairs of another planet. Number Two said all planets obey Anarchate orders. Number Three said every planet pays taxes to the Anarchate—or suffers interstellar quarantine. And Number Four said no one challenges an Anarchate Nova-class battleglobe--on pain of total destruction.
    Well, he had fulfilled his promise to Helen by rescuing Halcyon, and by destroying two Anarchate battleglobes. He and starship Mata Hari , which was also his AI partner Mata Hari, had done that together.
    It was a life whose strangeness still amazed him. A life where he could be close to something, and yet not be affected by closeness. A life where he could insulate himself from caring, from attachment. From the circumstance of watching as—inevitably—anything he cared for was eventually destroyed, damaged, or taken from him. It was a surcease from car ing, with challenging work.
    And yet, his choice to become a cyborg was imperfect.
    Even in his dreams, caring memories returned to haunt Matt. The memory of his dead childhood. The memory of his dead pet. The memory of his dead love Helen. Along with memories of implacable aliens doing unmentionable things to helpless people all across the galaxy. Like rude strangers, the dream memories accosted him. But there was only one of him and billions of needy people. What could he—
    “Matt?”
    A strange image invaded his dream universe. An image of fiery clouds, lightning, and resonant song that both uplifted and frightened him. An image—
    He blinked, coming to awareness in normal human mode. Not in ocean-time , thank goodness. Matt opened his eyes, saw the pale blue ceiling of his stateroom, and looked left to the voice he had heard. To his new love, Eliana Antigone Themistocles. She’d taken the time to brush out her waist-long black hair, apply rose-colored lipstick to pale white lips and change into a green Vietnamese cheongsam style dress. He half-smiled at the woman he hoped would not leave him, would not be lost like all the people he had previously cared for.
    “How long since I passed out?
    Eliana’s concerned expression eased. She leaned forward to touch his left arm as it lay atop a silken sheet. “Three hours. I told Mata Hari to go ahead and head for Zeta Serpentis. We passed the heliopause an hour ago and are now in Translation space-time. Do you hurt, Matt?”
    She cared for him. In truth, she loved him, as she had told her brother Ioannis the Despot of the human colony on Halcyon when she had refused to return to the patriarchal control of her brother, their younger brother Konstantinos and