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ERIC NYLUND
339
and respiratory apparatus that extended like insect antennae.
Only its snout and dark eyes protruded.. . as did tiny claws from
the sleeve of its gold underrobes.
The left claw twitched—the signal for the chamber's doors
to open.
The doors groaned and split apart, and a crack of light appeared.
A single figure appeared silhouetted in the illumination. It
bowed so deeply that its chest brushed against the floor.
"Rise," the Prophet of Truth whispered. The word was ampli-
fied by the chamber; it echoed and boomed forth as if a giant had
spoken. "Come closer, Tartarus, and report."
A ripple of shock passed through the Imperial Elite Protec-
tors. They had never seen such a creature allowed so close to the
Holy Ones.
"Protectors," the Prophet commanded. "Leave us."
Together the three hundred honor guards straightened, bowed,
and filed out of the great chamber. They said nothing, but the
Prophet saw the confusion on their features. Good—such igno-
rance and puzzlement had its uses.
The Brute, Tartarus, strode across the great room. When he
stood within three meters of the Prophet, he fell to one knee.
The creature was a magnificent specimen of viciousness. The
Prophet marveled at its near-unthinking potential for mayhem;
the rippling muscle under its dull gray skin could tear apart any
opponent—even a mighty Hunter. It was the perfect instrument.
"Tell me what you found," the Prophet said, its voice now truly
a whisper.
Without looking up Tartarus reached for its belt and the at-
tached orb.
The Prophet flicked its claw at the container. It floated free
from Tartarus's grasp and hovered. The top unscrewed, and three
glittering chips of sapphire-colored crystal shimmered, and
threw light and shadow upon the chamber's mirrored surfaces.
The Prophet's dais bobbled in the suddenly uneven gravity—
but it quickly compensated.
"This is all?" it asked.
"Eight squadrons combed the area surrounding the Eridanus
Secundus asteroid field andTau Ceti," the Brute replied, bowing