Saturn arrived back aboard the Jules Verne two days later.

Thomas had been in the hanger deck, using the galley of one of the scout ships as a temporary study in which to examine some of the artifacts they'd brought back from Veglia and had decided to take a break. He'd emerged onto the deck of the scout ship, intending to make his way to the crew lounge, when he'd seen the older wizard standing beside the teleportation cubicle, obviously having just arrived back aboard the ship. He was talking to the first mate, and Thomas's heart quailed with fear as he waited for the older wizard to notice him and pour fresh scorn upon him. If Saturn saw him he paid him no attention, though, and Thomas scurried for the stairs, hurrying to the upper decks and the safety of his cabin.

"Made it," he gasped as he closed the door behind him, but he knew it was only a temporary reprieve. He would have to meet him face to face sooner or later, and there was a part of him that just wanted to get the awful confrontation over and done with. He almost returned to the hanger deck to face him there and then, but he wasn't quite brave enough and instead spent some time just lying on his bed, letting his thoughts go wherever they wanted.

He remained there for almost an hour, staring sightlessly up at the metal ceiling, but he knew he was hiding and he grew more and more annoyed with himself for being such a coward. Eventually it was more than he could stand and he got up to leave. Not to deliberately seek out Saturn, but if he bumped into him then so be it. He was simply going to go to the lounge, as he'd originally intended, and have a drink, like any other member of the crew. Maybe chat with his friends if he happened to meet them there.

Tassley was there, sitting across a table from one of the cavalrymen. They nodded amiably to each other, but the woman was clearly fully occupied with the soldier and Thomas left her to it, sitting himself at another table on the other side of the room. The soldier tending the bar came over to take his order and Thomas asked for a mug of Lydian tea. It arrived a moment later, fresh and hot from the pantry, and he sipped at it as he looked around the room at its other occupants.

There were half a dozen soldiers present, about half the ship's complement. Most of them gathered around the table closest to the bar and laughing as they recounted their various experiences with women. The ship's alchemist was also there, he was surprised to see. A tall, thin human by the name of Parcellius whom Thomas had only seen a couple of times before. He spent almost all his time either in the small alchemy lab, which he shared with his young assistant, or in his cabin, which he'd heard was now also crowded with alchemical equipment to the point that there was almost no space left for his bed. He was engaged in several projects of his own, Braddle Bandock had told him, and was reluctant to leave them during his tour of duty aboard the ship, so he'd brought them with him and was spending every waking moment mixing and grinding strange chemicals, shunning the rest of the crew.

Thomas toyed with the idea of going over to talk with him, but then the door opened and Drenn Pietar entered. The ship's priest of Samnos. He went straight to the bar, ordered a glass of milk, and took it to an unoccupied table to drink it alone. There was a look on his face that Thomas didn't like at all. It was a look of resentful shame and self loathing, and it made Thomas get up to join him.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked, and sat across from him without waiting for an answer.

Drenn looked at him for a moment as if wondering what the wizard wanted, but Thomas remained silent. The wizard just watched him carefully, until the priest put him out of his mind and took a sip of his drink.

"Milk?" asked Thomas with a nod towards the glass. "I usually imagine priests of Samnos drinking something a bit stronger than that."

Drenn glanced at him, resentful of the intrusion. For a moment Thomas thought he would remain silent, would ignore him again, but then he spoke, his voice heavy with bitterness. "A penance," he said. "I drink what a child drinks because I made the mistake of a child. I was nearly killed by my own sword."

"Oh yes, I heard about that," said Thomas sympathetically. "An unfortunate accident. You were lucky. You could have been killed."

"I was clumsy. The greenest acolyte would have been more careful. Priests of Samnos do not make such mistakes. If I had been killed, Samnos would have turned me away in disgust."

"No He wouldn't," replied Thomas. "Accidents can happen to anyone, Samnos understands that. You have nothing to..."

"I do not need your sympathy!" snarled the priest angrily. "I am not a..." Then he realised what he was saying and hung his head. "Yes, I am a child, and you are right to treat me as a child. It is part of my penance."

Thomas stared at him in shock. "That wasn't what I meant at all! I was just trying to be a friend..."

"I am a disgrace to Samnos! Priests of Samnos should instill fear in everyone they meet, even friends and colleagues. Who'll be afraid of a priest who falls on his own sword?" He looked up at the wizard. "In Tara I saw Captain Drake, one of the greatest of our order in Belthar. Everywhere he went people averted their eyes, tried to avoid his notice. Afraid that his gaze would fall upon them. Good, innocent people. People who had nothing to fear from him. People he would have faced impossible odds to defend, but they feared him none the less. That is the respect that a priest of Samnos should get from the people around him. Instead I get friendship and compassion." He said the words with a heavy sneer that shocked the wizard. "I get sympathy."

Captain Drake? Thought Thomas. Could it be... No, mustn't get distracted. "That just means people like you," he said. "It's good to be liked..."

"I don't want to be liked!" snarled the priest, making some of the soldiers look round at them. "If I wanted to be liked I'd have become a street entertainer. One of those capering fools who juggles apples for thrown coins. I am supposed to be a warrior. A walking angel of death. A terror to the forces of evil..."

Thomas realised he was going about this the wrong way. Maybe if he tried a different approach... "Oh grow up!" he said therefore, putting as much scorn as he could into his voice. "So you had a little accident. So what? Now you're going to mope around the ship making everyone's lives a misery? Everyone makes mistakes! Look at the mistake I made!" The priest stared at him but said nothing. "Well, if your penance is to act like a child," continued the wizard, "you're doing a great job. Only children sulk like that. Adults learn from their mistakes and then put them behind them."

"And I will," replied the priest, and now there was a look of gratitude in his steely grey eyes. "But first I must make penance and this is how I must do it. Now leave me in peace."

He took another sip from his drink, and the set of his shoulders told the wizard that he'd get no further response from him. He sighed, therefore, and rose from his seat.

"Nice try," said Timothy, who'd entered halfway through the conversation and listened to its second half. "I had a little chat with him earlier and made about as much progress and you just did. He'll get over it, but his pride's been hurt. It'll take a little while before he can put it behind him."

"What he needs is a good battle," said Thomas. "Plenty of enemies to carve up."

Timothy nodded. "That's not very likely on this mission, though. A dead world. Its inhabitants dead for centuries..."

"Someone shot at us," pointed out Thomas. "Who knows, maybe he will find some enemies to lay into. Stranger things have happened."

The cleric nodded his agreement. Anything was possible. They went over to the bar and the wizard bought them both a couple of drinks.

☆☆☆

Strong arrived on the bridge to find the other senior officers already there waiting for him. "Glad you could make it," said Saturn caustically.

The Captain ignored the comment and took his seat, his eyes glancing towards the Globe of Skydeath Warning hanging in the corner of the room. The fishtank, as some of the younger men were calling it. He was relieved to see that the metal fish floating inside the sphere of glass were still drifting aimlessly. Not clustering to one side as they would be if a powerful skydeath field were somehow managing to penetrate the ship's defences. The mere presence of the device was a disturbing reminder of the unknown dangers lying ahead of them, though, any of which might be capable of killing everyone aboard without warning. And not all the dangers they might face were natural. They'd been attacked once. Who knew what other weapons their unknown assailants had at their disposal?

Along with the fear came a thrill of excitement, though. The thrill of exploring the unknown, of pushing back the frontiers of human knowledge. He reflected that this was the reason he'd originally joined the navy, all those years ago. To see exotic, far off places, and now he was seeing entire worlds more distant and exotic than anything he'd ever imagined. He shifted excitedly in his chair, his eyes riveted to the scrying mirror that showed a circle of dull, translucent red. The transdimensional portal that gave access to hundreds of unknown and unexplored worlds. The last time they'd passed through, something or someone had attacked them. There was a mystery to be solved, and he was itching to get about the business of solving it.

They had company. The first time they'd approached the portal, the felisian ship on station beside it had returned to its own universe, hoping that the Tharian ship wouldn't be able to find it and be forced to go home in defeat. Now that the Tharians had demonstrated their ability to locate the portal without their help, though, and had left a number of beacons floating beside it to make the job even easier, the felisian ship was back on station, and the Jules Verne, equipped with one of the communications devices of the Masters, had been able to follow it in. The silver ship was visible now as a dull smear of reflected red light, and there beside it was another. A sister ship. The one that would accompany them to the ringed world.

Saturn tensed up as he saw the two silver torpedo shapes in the scrying mirror, wondering whether there was still a faction among the felisians that wanted to sabotage the Rossem Project. If there was, the sight of the Jules Verne, a great round target just begging to be shot at, might just be too great a temptation to resist. The silver ships were supposed to be weaponless, but if one of them were aimed on a collision course and put on full acceleration... The felisians had already demonstrated their willingness to lay down their lives in a cause they believed in, and if they did, would the Tharians be able to get out of its way or make the ship ethereal in time? He brought the words of the ethereality spell to the forefront of his mind, just in case, and leaned forward in his seat.

The silver ships made no move as the Jules Verne approached, however, and Saturn relaxed as they came to a halt beside them. "Let's say hello, shall we, Mister Clordus?" said Strong.

The felisian elder nodded as he touched the controls of the communications device. A moment later, the face of another felisian appeared on its screen, and Strong gave a command to the scrying mirror so that an image of the interior of the silver ship appeared on it as well. The same felisian but seen from a slightly different angle and showing more of the compartment behind him. He didn't distrust Clordus. He was pretty sure the elder was being straight with them, but he still wanted confirmation that the alien device was showing the truth. Clordus guessed this, but made no comment.

"This is Captain Phil Strong of the Tharian Ship of Space, Jules Verne," said Strong, smiling pleasantly. "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"I am Tager Yee, commander of the Bescot," replied the felisian on the screen. A middle aged individual with a furry face and yellow eyes that had the narrow pupils of a cat. This wasn't a full metamorph, then, Strong surmised. He wasn't one of the rare individuals gifted with the ability to turn from fully human to fully cat. This man was trapped permanently in an in-between state, possibly with some minor ability to accentuate or hide one or more of his feline traits. That wouldn't affect his competence as a ship's commander, though. Full metamorphism was only really useful in a spy. One needing to be able to pass among humans without arousing comment either as a fellow human or as a common cat, ignored and unseen as he threaded his way between ankles and through narrow doorways.

"I have been instructed to convey some of your people to planet eighty one dash five," the felisian continued. "We have enough space for six to eight people, depending on how many you think you'll need and how tightly you're willing to pack them in."

"Six to eight sounds fine," said Strong. "We're grateful to you for helping us out like this."

"Not at all. How did you want to come aboard? I don't think you have anything that'll connect to our airlocks. Do you have spacesuits? We can manoeuvre alongside while you jump across."

"Thank you, we'll let you know when we're ready to come across."

The felisian nodded, and Strong gestured to Clordus to sever the connection. The image of the felisian commander remained on the scrying mirror, though, and Saturn continued to study it with interest until Strong called his name. "Please pick out the people you want to take with you," he said.

"I already have a list," said the wizard. "Callan is rounding up the people on it even as we speak.

"Is Gown on it?"

"Yes," replied Saturn, his craggy face giving no clue as to what he thought of the idea. "We need his ability to sense Rossemian magic. All he has to do is sit there and tell us if he feels anything. Even he should be able to do that."

He turned his attention back to the mirror, clearly intending to end the conversation there, but the Captain was appalled by the wizard's tone. "You used to have a high opinion of that man. I can't believe you've written him off on the basis of one mistake. A mistake that anyone might have made."

"When wizards make mistakes, people die," Saturn replied flatly. "The reputation of the University itself is damaged. A reputation for competency that we have striven for two thousand years to create. Wizards are expected to be able to control their instinctive reactions. Any who can't has no business practising the art."

"I suppose you've never made a mistake," said Strong sharply.

"Correct," replied Saturn, his one eye regarding the Captain as if astonished that anyone could even think it.

"Well, everyone else does. You may be perfect, but the rest of us are only human and we sometimes make mistakes. Why not give him another chance? I guarantee you he'll be a lot more careful in future. He's terrified of you, you know, and he won't want to anger you further by making another mistake. Why not let the past lie and remember what you thought of him before the incident occurred?"

Saturn glared at him, his single eye narrowing. "He's a countryman of yours, isn't he? A fellow Ilandian."

Now it was the Captain's turn to colour with anger. "How dare you! You dare suggest I'd favour him for that reason? For any reason? I would remind you that my loyalties are to the King of Belthar, that I feel nothing but disgust for the provinces who were grateful enough for our protection during the wars but stabbed us in the back while we were weakened from saving the world from the Shadowhosts. If I allowed nationalism to affect my judgement I would crush Gown for what his country did to mine, but that's not my way. I believe everyone should have a fair hearing, no matter their nationality or beliefs, and that's why I'm speaking for him. That and no other reason."

Saturn just looked at him, saying nothing. "Is that understood?" prompted Strong, his voice rising angrily.

"Perfectly," replied Saturn. "You've stated your position. Now let me state mine. I am the senior wizard aboard this ship. The rest of the routine day to day business of running this ship I leave to you, but the junior wizards come under my jurisdiction. You, a mundane, are not qualified to have an opinion of their aptitude. You have no idea of the danger an incompetent wizard..."

"But Seskip and Pondar Walton do, and they were members of the board of enquiry that exonerated him. They even commended him on his..."

"It would not have been necessary to save the ship if he hadn't put it in peril in the first place."

"But surely even you..."

"This debate is over!" snapped Saturn firmly, his single eye flashing with anger. "If you have more to say regarding my handling of the junior wizards, put it in your official report."

He turned back to the mirror, and pointedly ignored every further attempt to draw him into conversation. Prup Chull shared a worried glance with Karog, who was glowering angrily. The Captain guessed that he was remembering how Thomas had risked his life to save him and Gunther Fugh from captivity and slavery in the Southern Continent and how Saturn would have left them there to rot.

The trog said nothing, though. Wisely, the Captain thought. Further angering Saturn would only make life more miserable for the younger wizard, but the atmosphere on the bridge had grown decidedly tense and they were all suddenly looking forward to the change of shift when they could escape back to their own quarters. Hours to go yet, though, thought the Captain, his earlier enthusiasm severely dented. He sighed unhappily and settled deeper into his suddenly uncomfortable seat.