EL-HAZARD : MORTAL ENGINES

                        by Alan Harnum

           Chapter Two - Music With Changing Parts
           
El-Hazard is a copyright of AIC/Pioneer LDC.  This story, 
however, belongs to me, and I request that you don't publicly
post or archive it without my permission.  

Commentary very appreciated.
      
* * *

     It had, until Makoto had freed her, been the object that
controlled Ifurita and turned her into a slave of whoever used it
to activate her.  In her hands, it was a deadly weapon, focusing
her energies into a bolt of destruction.

     Right now, it was being used by Makoto to stop himself from
falling over as he waited outside Princess Rune's apartments.  He
had not fallen asleep after his nightmare until sunrise, and then
had gotten less than two hours of rest before a messenger arrived
bearing summons from Princess Rune.  The guard who had escorted 
him knocked again on the oaken door, and this time it was 
answered by a maid in the blousy pants, large hat and revealing 
top common to female servants in the palace.

     "Makoto Mizuhara, to see her Highness, Rune Venus," the 
guard said.

     "Enter," the maid said, with a smile and nod.  The guard
bowed and walked away, and Makoto walked into Rune Venus's 
luxuriously-appointed quarters.  Expertly-carved furniture of
rare and exotic woods stood against the walls, and the room was
dominated by a massive canopied bed.  Another maid bustled about
the room, dusting vases of flowers and straightening paintings on
the walls.  The curtains that divided the room and the balcony 
were drawn away, letting sunlight flood the room and make the
rich gold carpet glow.  Mild perfumes from the gardens stretching
below the balcony had made their way into the room, giving it a
pleasant, distracting scent.  Tired as he was, it made his head
hurt.  

     The maid touched his elbow.  "Princess Rune is on the 
balcony." 
     
     The balcony, nearly as large as the room itself, was ringed
by a filigreed gold railing taller than Makoto's waist.  From 
here, the viewer was able to look down upon the elaborate gardens
of the palace, and see the care the landscapers and gardeners had
taken in designing it so that it was orderly and balanced.  This
high up, it appeared an assembly of geometric shapes formed of a
rainbow of colours; blue and purple rectangles of flowerbeds lay
within the green circles formed by hedges and trees.  The order
was broken from time to time by the elaborate forms of fountains,
but on the whole it was a marvelous vision of symmetry.

     "Makoto, please take a seat."  Rune was seated in a light,
elegantly-curved chair of pale wood, with a silver tray holding
two cups and a metal urn on the cast-iron table before her.  The
scent of the strong, spicy Roshtarian coffee wafted from the urn
and made Makoto's stomach rumble.  He was gratified to see there
was also a small plate of honey-basted breakfast pastries on the
table.

     He sat down in a chair identical to Rune's and carefully
placed the Power-Key staff within easy reach on the floor.  "What
did you want to see me about, Princess?"

     The maid poured coffee for them both, then stepped away and
stood unobstrusively nearby, to be called upon if necessary.  
Rune blew on her coffee to cool it, sipped, and then set it down
on the saucer with a gentle clink.  "I wanted to ask you what you
are planning to do now.  Do you wish to try and return to your
world, or stay here in El-Hazard?"

     Makoto bit into a pastry and swallowed, then spoke.  "I'd
like to return home eventually.  But for now, I'm only concerned
with finding a way to rescue Ifurita."

     Rune smiled gently, sadly.  "I had thought it would be so.
You, an outsider without any reason for loyalty to our land, have
done us a great service.  I can only hope to do you the same.  I
have instructed Doctor Schtalubaugh, and the custodians of the
royal libraries and archives, to give you access to anything you
wish.  Perhaps in the records of the ancient days you can find
something of use."
     
     He nodded.  "Thank you."
     
     They finished the light breakfast and talked of things that
didn't matter to Makoto.  After the Eye of God had been 
unleashed, the Bugrom forces occupying the eastern countries of
the alliance had retreated.  With their home base destroyed, the
military strategists felt it unlikely that they would be a 
threat again for some time.  

     Makoto chewed his food and only half-listened to Rune.  The
mention of the Bugrom made him think of Jinnai.  His 'rival' had
certainly survived, and was no doubt coming up with some new 
plan.  Jinnai by himself wasn't very dangerous, but with the 
weight and power of the Bugrom behind him, he was deadly.

     "And you say that Gallus is dead?"
     
     The question came abruptly, and he answered without 
thinking.  "Ifurita shot him right through the heart.  We didn't
find a body, but he couldn't have survived that."

     Rune closed her eyes.  "Oh."
          
     "I'm sorry, Rune."  He looked away from her, out across the
splendour of the gardens.  "I guess we both lost someone.  I lost
Ifurita, and you lost Gallus."

     "I never loved Gallus," Rune said softly.  "It was a 
political marriage."

     "Oh."
     
     "The eastern countries suffered much damage," Rune said in a
clipped tone, changing the subject as rapidly as she could.  
"Gannan especially.  There is a great deal of rebuilding to do.  
I was thinking of sending an embassy to Gannan, to evaluate the
damage and assure the people that they will be aided.  Would you
consider being a part of it?"

     Makoto didn't answer for a time.  As he'd told Rune, his 
concern was with finding Ifurita.  But he couldn't refuse to
help.  And if he found enough books to take along, he could do
research on the journey.

     "I guess I could go," he said.  "Who else would be along?"
     
     "My sister; a royal representative is a necessity.  I
suspect she'll want to bring Alielle with her."  Rune's mouth
twisted slightly in disapproval.  "The two of them are quite
close."

     No kidding, Makoto thought.  The idea of spending time in
Fatora's company didn't appeal to him very much, but he'd already
promised.

     Rune continued.  "Your companions from Earth.  The three
priestesses as well, if they are willing to forego returning to
their sanctuary for a while longer."

     Given Miz's infatutation with Fujisawa-sensei, Makoto didn't
think she'd have any problem coming along.  If she went, Shayla
and Afura probably would as well.  

     "When would we leave?" he asked.
     
     "It will take a day or so to organize, and inform Gannan's
government," Rune replied.  "Until then, you may do what you 
wish."

     From the interior beyond the balcony, the sound of someone
knocking on the door was faintly audible.  The maid left to 
answer it, and returned with a liveried messenger, who bowed and
spoke.  "Makoto Mizuhara, Doctor Schtalubaugh requests your
presence in the Royal Library."
     
* * *

     Nahato stood at the centre of the Shadow Chamber, in the
middle of the sixteen interlocking symbols that were sacred to 
the Lord of Deeper Shadows.  Remnants of an older time, when the
cult of the god had been the supreme power.  He had read the
histories; he knew of the blood sacrifices and the days on which
any light was forbidden, and if he had believed in the god of
the Phantom Tribe, or in any other god, he would have thanked
them that he had not been born in those times.

     The roof of the Shadow Chamber stretched high above his
head, so high that the top of it was lost to darkness, far beyond
the range of the lights that pinned him to the centre like an
insect.  He knew that the sixteen members of the Dark Council
were watching him from the galleries high above the light; their
voices fell from high above, barely audible, drifting down in
whispering cascades from the shadows.

     "Thus, you say, Gallus had you install this circuit upon the
Eye of God in an act of final retaliation?"

     "Yes."
     
     The voices seemed to blend into one another, to run together
like musical notes.  It had gotten to the point where he could
tell that some voices were different from others, but could not
recognize individuals.  There seemed to be more than sixteen
speakers at times; sometimes only one speaker, who spoke with
many voices.  A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, as he
watched a seven-limbed creature, hideous beyond imagining, hump
itself free from the stone floor and turn the gaze of three 
serpent-pupilled eyes upon him.  They would be using their
illusion powers upon him constantly, to try and break him down,
catch him in a lie, and this was among the mildest sights he had
seen since he had been summoned here.

     "Were you aware of the purpose of this circuit when you
installed it?"

     The illusory monster loomed over him, two forked tongues
darting and flickering between the sabre-curves of its teeth.
Yellow drool slid down its scaly chin.  Nahato stared back at it,
unafraid.  "I was not.  I obeyed Lord Gallus's orders."

     The monster's head dipped down, and the jaws parted to
swallow him whole.  As they closed around his head, and he felt
the hot wind of its breath on his face and inhaled the carrion 
stink, the thing vanished and tore apart as though made of mist.

     Muted whispering rose from the gallery above, as the Dark
Council conversed with one another beyond the range of his
hearing.  Nahato strained his ears to try and hear even a few
scattered words, knowing that his fate, and Lord Gallus's, were
being decided up there.  He had no luck, and turned his eyes to
studying the walls.  Bas-reliefs of the four aspects of the Lord
of Deeper Shadows stood upon them; Soul-Speaker, Heart-Speaker,
Soul-Seer, Heart-Slayer.  The only commonality between the forms
was that each had no face.

     As he watched, the four sword-wielding arms of Heart-Slayer
began to writhe, and the towering figure of the god's warrior
aspect stepped down from the stone and stalked towards him.  His
footsteps shook the chamber, and chunks of stone fell from the
ceiling and shattered on the ground around him.

     "Had you been aware of the purpose of the circuit, would you
have installed it?"

     Heart-Slayer stepped closer, the blank face somehow staring
at him, the four arms weaving patterns with the stone swords.  
     
     "I would have.  But--"
     
     "Answer only the questions you are asked."
     
     Stone skin began to flake away from Heart-Slayer, revealing
an onyx-black flesh beneath.  The steel of the swords glistened.
Most terribly of all, the blank face fell away, and Nahato stared
into a void in which planets wheeled and suns died.

     "Do you believe that Gallus's actions were in the best
interests of the Phantom Tribe?"

     Here was the moment.  Lord Gallus, who he loved as he loved
no one else, had said something to him once.  You must never love
anything so much that you will not betray it.

     He had not understood it then.
     
     "No, I do not."
     
     Heart-Slayer paused a few steps from Nahato, and then began 
to back away.  The flakes of stone upon the floor were drawn to 
him again, and became his skin.  He stepped back into the wall.
The debris of the fallen stones vanished.

     "In light of this, do you think it is best that Gallus be
removed from his position as Prince of Deep Shadows?"

     "I do."
     
     The lights went out.  A black mist had risen from the floor,
putting an end to all sight.  Again the whispers began to fall,
tauntingly close to being audible.  He heard sounds from within
the darkness; laughter, screams, the sound of fires burning, a
howling like a great wind.  

     Nahato thought: I cannot avenge you if I must share your 
fate, Lord Gallus.  Forgive me.

     And he waited for them to decide he would be allowed to
leave.

* * *

     Makoto met Doctor Schtalubaugh in the multi-levelled
underground library of the Royal Palace.  The library was a maze
of spiral staircases, looming shelves, and wooden tables piled
high with books and odd artifacts.  All of it was brightly lit by
a profusion of mismatched wall lamps and candles upon the tables.
Despite the large size of it, there was a crampled, sometimes
almost claustrophobic feel to the library.

     Schtalubaugh was crouched over a thick tome at one table,
humming under his breath as he turned the pages.  Four separate
piles of books were on the table as well, one of them nearly a
foot tall.  Another looked to have been larger, but appear to 
have fallen over, from the open books strewn across the table 
and floor that Schtalubaugh hadn't bothered to clean up.

     "You wanted to see me, Professor?"
     
     "Ahh, Makoto.  Yes, take a seat."
     
     He sat down at the only other chair at the table, a 
disturbingly rickety three-legged stool.  Schtalubaugh turned
another page, snorted, and closed the book with a slap.

     "What's up?"
     
     Schtalubaugh indicated the books on the table with a 
sweeping gesture of his hands.  "These are all the volumes I have
been able to find relating to the dimensional walls, the Eye of
God, or to the ancient technologies of El-Hazard."
     
     "Thanks," Makoto said.  "Where should I start?"
     
     Schtalubaugh shrugged.  "I have no idea.  You could start
with Hazred the Sage, who speculated that all creation consists
of interlocking spheres of existence.  Or Gobo the Effusive, 
whose writings were burned during the Holy Wars for suggesting
that each dimension had its own individual God, and that all of
them continually fought wars against each other in the heavens.
Or..."

     "I'm not really interested in metaphysics," Makoto 
interrupted.  "They had to research the technology that created
the Eye of God, didn't they?  Some documentation must exist."

     "The Holy Wars happened many thousands of years ago," 
Schtalubaugh said.  "No original records of the time exist, only
supposed copies, and histories written centuries later.  Much
speculation has been done into the physics and mechanics behind
the ancient technologies, including the Eye of God."  He slapped
one wrinkled hand down atop one of the smaller piles of books.
"I've put those in here."

     Makoto nodded.  If there was something that would help him
find his way to Ifurita in the library, it would probably be in
those books.  "Can you have all these sent up to my quarters?  
I'd be more comfortable studying them there.  And I may want to
take some of them to Gannan with my when I accompany Princess
Fatora on her embassy."

     "Of course, of course."  Schtalubaugh pulled out a small
pad of paper and began to make notes in his cribbed handwriting.     
"Don't be afraid to ask my help, though.  I am the Director of
the Royal Academy, after all.  There is little I don't know about
these subjects."

     Tucking the books under his arm, Makoto turned to go.  
"Thanks for calling me down, Professor.  I'm sure these will
help."

     He took a step, and then Schtalubaugh spoke.  "Wait."
     
     Makoto turned back.  "What is it?"
     
     "This wasn't the only reason I called you down here."
The professor looked away to the side, into the shadows cast by
the shelves, and nervously brushed at the folds of his robe.  
"When you arrived, I had almost decided that it was better not to
show you, but now..."

     "What is it?  If you think it will help me, tell me!"
     
     Schtalubaugh stood up and began to walk away.  "This way."
     
     Makoto followed him in silence down to flights of spiral
stairs, down to the bottom floor of the library.  Down here, the
musty odour of books hung heavy, and even the many lights seemed
hard-pressed by the depths.  Try as he might, Makoto could not
stop a nervous shudder running down his spine as they walked
through the shadowy passageway formed between two towering
bookshelves.

     "Where are we going, Professor?" he finally got the courage
to ask.
     
     "To the vaults," Schtalubaugh replied.  They had come to 
the dead end of a corridor, where a small iron door stood.  
Schtalubaugh placed his hand on the ring that served to open it,
and took the nearest lantern off the wall as he did.  "Stick 
close to me.  There are few lights down there."

     He swung open the door, revealing a narrow flight of stone
stairs leading down a roughly-hewn passageway, and Makoto 
followed him down into the shadows.

* * *

     It had worked.  He had betrayed Lord Gallus, and they had
let him go without punishment.  There was no telling what they
would decide upon for Gallus; perhaps they would simply see that
leaving him in the state he was would be punishment enough.  
Nahato wondered just how conscious Gallus was of his state. 
Perhaps he drifted in dreams.  He hoped that was it; dreams would
be more pleasant for Gallus than the reality.

     The stone pallet in the room they had given him was hard and 
uncomfortable, even with a blanket thrown across it.  Tomorrow,
if they didn't change their minds, he could head back to his 
home.  The tunnels and caverns of the Phantom Tribe honeycombed
El-Hazard from one end to the other.  

     Revenge.  He had sworn that he would avenge Lord Gallus; he
simply had no idea how.  Gallus's dream had been to use the Eye 
of God to turn the world into a wasteland; Nahato hadn't known 
that, and still wasn't sure of the reasoning.  If the Eye of God 
ripped apart the dimensional walls, wouldn't it eventually 
destroy the Phantom Tribe as well?

     Love Gallus though he might, Nahato feared that his hatred
had blinded him to the eventual consequences.  Better, Nahato 
thought, to win a victory that would leave the Phantom Tribe as
the rulers of El-Hazard, with those who had hated them and driven
them beneath the earth as their slaves.

     He scowled and clenched his fist, scrunching a section of 
the blanket into a tight ball in frustration.  Despite his youth,
his connections to Gallus had given him power before, respect...
now he would be perceived as a mere child again, subordinate to
idiots like the members of the Dark Council.  

     She didn't even bother to knock.  The old wooden door of the
room swung open, and Lemulla stepped in.

     Nahato looked up with feigned disinterest, refusing to give
her the satisfaction of believing she'd surprised him.  "What do
you want, old witch?"

     The gaunt priestess regarded him with a flat gaze.  "You
will come with me now."

     "Why?"
     
     "The Lord of Deeper Shadows requests your presence."
     
     Unconsciously, his hand touched the curved knife at his
belt.  "A fairy tale requests my presence?"
     
     "The god has spoken," Lemulla replied, eyes narrowing and
voice dropping to a hiss.  "Beware if you disobey his will, for
you shall find that he is no fairy tale, but very, very real.
Come with me."

     Nahato slid off the pallet and stared up at the gaunt face
within the hood.  Lemulla's lips were a straight line; she did
not look happy.  She didn't even look as if she wanted to be
here.  Anything that Lemulla wasn't happy about couldn't be all
bad.

     "Let's go," he said, giving her his most ingratiating
smile.  "I'm very anxious to see your god at last."     

* * *

     Deva was singing.  Jinnai wasn't a music lover, but he had
to admit that her voice was pleasant.  It was a little too loud
to let him sleep, but it served a purpose, so he wasn't 
complaining.  The Bugrom survivors had been coming into the 
secret pass by the hundreds, and Deva's singing drove them into a
frenzied pitch.  They danced with perfect synchrony around the
bonfires they had built, strange voices chanting along with their
queen.  The voices rolled over him like a wave; he did not so 
much hear the individual words as much as he felt them in his
bones.  To a destined conqueror such as him, the Bugrom were a
dream come true: they were strong, obedient, unambitious, and 
they adored him as the heroic figure he was.

     Deva's voice rose higher, to a pitch the Bugrom could not
match, and ended on a series of trilling notes that sent an
almost electric thrill running down Jinnai's spine.

     "Sleep now, Bugrom," she said.  "Tomorrow will find us one
day closer to our destined victory."

     The thousands of Bugrom now gathered sank down to the 
ground, folded their legs within their shells, and lay as still
as though in death.  Deva sauntered over and perched on the edge
of the dais, which had been placed in a recessed section of the
pass, almost a cave.  The overhang of the cliffs would shelter
them from the elements if need be.  

     Jinnai moved over on the dais to give her more room.  "Is
this all we have left?"

     Deva shook her head.  "There are more, but they are farther
away."

     "How many?"
     
     The Bugrom queen crossed one leg over the other and placed
her hands on her knee.  "I won't know until they get closer."

     "Can't you make a guess?"
     
     "I could make a guess.  It would be meaningless, however."
     
     Jinnai huffed and leaned down on his elbow.  "You're a big 
help."  He rested his chin on his palm and tapped his fingers
idly against his mouth.  "So what do you think we should do 
next?"

     "You are the messenger from God," Deva pointed out.  "What
do you think we should do next?"

     "We're too weak to fight another war of conquest," Jinnai
mused.  "And a guerilla war isn't my style.  We definitely need
some sort of weapon to tilt the scales in our favour.  Got any 
more Demon-Gods buried somewhere?"

     Deva frowned and seemed lost in thought for a moment.  The
early twilight was falling on the pass, making the shadows loom
high.  Jinnai shivered; it was cold this high in the mountains,
and he wasn't dressed for this weather.

     "Cold?"
     
     He replied by sneezing.  "I don't see how you're not.  
You're much more skimpily dressed than I am."

     Deva laughed.  "Despite appearances, I am no more human 
than any other Bugrom.  Extremes of temperature do not bother 
me."

     "So I guess you're more like Ifurita, then.  Made in our
image."  He chuckled.  

     He had meant it mostly as a joke, but Deva nodded seriously.
"Yes, I suppose."  A note of bitterness entered her voice.  "The
Demon-God and myself are sisters of a sort.  We are both products
of the Great Holy Wars."

     "What?"
     
     "I am the Queen of the Bugrom," Deva explained.  "In me are
the memories of all who have come before me.  So many memories
that there are more gaps than true memories.  But I remember the
Holy Wars, and the devastation wreaked by Ifurita and the other
Demon-Gods.  The Bugrom...

     "I cannot remember 'my' own creation, if there was one, but
my children were created before the perfection of the Demon-Gods,
singular fighting machines that were capable of annihilating
entire armies.  Once we were no longer necessary, they tried to
destroy us.  I do not remember how 'I' managed to free myself
from the controls that bound me, but I led the great exodus that
won us our freedom."

     Jinnai listened in silence.  It seemed almost painful for 
her to relate.  But if she actually was a created being like
Ifurita, any actual emotion was beyond her; what seemed to him
like emotion was likely only part of her programming.  Even his
Bugrom had displayed unwieldly behaviour at times, and Makoto had
somehow reprogrammed Ifurita with a touch.  The ancient 
technologies of this world were obviously far more sophisticated
than those of Earth.  Machines like Ifurita and the Bugrom were
obviously capable of learning and changing without the input of
their programmers--they could even come to learn disobedience.

     That sophistication made them both useful and dangerous.  He
would have to watch Deva and the Bugrom carefully.  They were his
only tool right now on his God-given mission to gain control of
El-Hazard.  They had known of his coming; he was God's messenger.  
Why else would he have been brought to this place?

     "I understand what you said last night now," he said.  
"Justice for the Bugrom indeed.  They used you, and then 
discarded you when you were no longer needed."  He forced an 
angry scowl onto his face; a good leader used the resentments and 
memories that were already there to bend his subjects to his 
will.  "We will have vengeance, Queen Deva.  El-Hazard will be 
ours."

     Deva clasped her hands together and stared at him, eyes
shining in the darkness as though with repressed emotion.  Yes--
these were very sophisticated machines indeed.  "You are truly
sent by God, to understand so well our plight."

     "But Roshtaria is only the beginning," he whispered, leaning
in close to her.  "I had a dream last night, one which I realize
now could have only come from God himself.  This world, this
planet, is vast; it is my--the destiny of the Bugrom to rule over
all of it."

     Deva's hand unexpectedly rose and touched his cheek.  "Oh
holy messenger," she said softly.  "Thank you for coming.  We
have waited so long."

     "God's will be done," Jinnai said.  Frankly, he didn't know
for certain if God existed or not.  But if He did, He was quite 
definitely on Katsuhiko Jinnai's side.

* * *

     "I don't understand it.  It's like he's been avoiding me all
day."

     "He probably is.  Men are jerks."
     
     Three priestesses sat beneath the shade of an awning, behind
the railings that separated the outdoor patio of a streetside
cafe from the streets beyond.  The sun was setting, giving the 
clouds a red tinge; white stone towers were streaked with a 
bloody hue, and the bronze minarets that capped them glowed a
ruddy gold.  In the sky above the city, the massive shape of the 
Eye of God hung like a second moon, a sense of terrible, waiting
patience inherent in its form.

     "Man troubles aside, we at least had a good day of shopping.
The bazaars here are like nothing I've ever seen.  So much
selection..."

     Shayla scowled.  "You're lucky, Afura.  You don't have any
man troubles."

     Afura sniffed primly.  "I simply don't go looking for them."
     
     Miz raised her voice to be heard over the sounds of the
other diners and the crowds passing by.  "I just wish I knew how
he feels.  I mean, how can we be married if he's never around?"

     The waitress arrived with their drinks, and a momentary lull 
in the conversation ensued until she left.

     "At least he doesn't spend all his time moping over some
woman who isn't even here any longer."  Shayla drained her wine
cup in one gulp and waved it in the air for more.  A passing
waitress grabbed it and went to refill it, and the youngest of
the priestesses put her chin in her hands with a frown.  "Isn't
even a real woman."

     "It's a good thing I got you two out of there to do some
shopping," Afura said wonderingly.  "You're like a pair of lost
puppies.  Miz, you've been hanging off of Fujisawa since 
Arlemann.  And Shayla, you tried to kill Makoto the first time 
you found out he was a boy.  What's with the attitude change?"

     There was a pause as Shayla's second cup of wine appeared,
and the red-head spent the silence glaring balefully at Afura.
"He saved my life.  And he's... well, he's really sweet, and 
kind, and he's not really wimpy, just sensitive, and he can be
really brave..."  She paused to slug back half of her wine.  "And
why couldn't he have at least given me a chance before he decided
to fall in love with some robot, huh?  It's not fair."  Another
gulp, and the wine was gone.  "Waitress!  More!"

     Miz, who hadn't yet touched her wine, said, "Shayla, don't
drink too fast."

     "You're not my mother."  
     
     Afura, who was drinking water, tried to hide a smile.  "I
seem to remember you drank a fair bit last night at the banquet,
Miz."

     "Yeah.  Then you went off with the teacher, whatisname... 
what happened, anyway?"  Shayla, now onto her third cup of wine,
was beginning to sound rather slurred.

     "I passed out in his room," Miz muttered.  "When I woke up,
he was gone."     
     
     Afura's eyes widened slightly.  "Miz, you didn't..."
     
     "Men are jerks!" Shayla exclaimed.
     
     "Nothing happened."  Miz shook her head.  "I..."
     
     "When's the wedding?" Shayla interrupted.
     
     Miz sighed.  "I don't know.  I still need to talk to him."
     
     "Miz, he _did_ agree to marry you, didn't he?"
     
     A wave of Miz's hand dismissed Afura's question as 
irrelevant.  "It was implied."

     "Miz, dear, people don't imply they're willing to marry 
you."

     "Don't lecture me, Afura.  What do you know about romance,
anyway?"

     Frost crept into Afura's voice.  "I have had some rather
bitter experience.  I would strongly advise making certain of 
his feelings, and yours, before you go diving in.  Some waters
are deeper than they appear."

     Somewhere along the line, Shayla had gotten a fourth cup of
wine.  "You know what the problem is?"  She banged her fist on
the table.  "Men are intimidated by women with power, that's what
it is.  They want some little tart, or someone they have to wind
up with some sort of big key, or something... they can't stand 
you being independent.  That's why we're all going to end up
bitter old maids.  Men are jerks."

     She concluded by finishing her wine, and slamming the metal
cup down on the table hard enough to make it shake.  "More wine!"

     "Why don't we have something to eat instead?" Afura 
suggested.

     "Yeah.  Okay."  Shayla waved to the waitress.  "Hey!  Food!
And lots of it."

     "Shayla, you don't need to be so rude," Miz chided.
     
     "Men are jerks," Shayla replied.
     
* * *      
     
     Darkness.  Down here, in this undersea trench, the pressure
was so great that an unprotected human would have been squashed
like a grape in a winepress.  The motions of the deep, cold 
currents stirred patterns in the sand.  Schools of luminous fish,
bodies speckled with hundreds of glowing, eyelike lights, swam
between the narrow walls of the channel.  Crustaceans with shells
thicker than armour plate crawled slowly along the bottom.

     And a single hand, still as death, thrust up from the silt
of the sea-bottom like a grave marker.  It was the colour of
tarnished silver.  The slow movement of the oceans had done what
battle could not: the covering of flesh had been worn away,
revealing the metal beneath.  Undersea plants the colour of the
brightest emeralds twined around it.

     The fish circled it.  They swam between the outspread 
fingers, and nipped at the plants.  Quite suddenly, the hand
clenched into a fist; a single unlucky fish was torn into a cloud
of mangled flesh and pale, glowing fluids.  The rest of his
school scattered; the water churned with the bubbles of their
passage for a moment, and then lay still.

     Slowly, the hand unclenched.  The dead scraps drifted away.
Again, the trench was still.  The fish began to drift back; 
without hesitation, they began to consume the remains of their
schoolmate.

     A rumble echoed through the ocean, and bounced off the
walls of the trench.  Fish fled in a frenzy.  The sand of the
sea-floor shook; the arm attached to the hand shot up, ripping
away plants, stirring sand into murky clouds.

     Risen from the depths of the sea, a shape with human body
shot upwards, towards air and light and the rolling waves a
thousand feet above.

     Slowly, the clouds of sand settled.  The bubbles left in the
wake of the rising disappeared.  The fish returned to the 
trench, and business resumed as usual at the bottom of the sea.