Chapter One . . . LOOKED ACROSS THE deck of the star boat at the Didact—a massive, gray-black shadow with the face of a warrior god. He was impassive, as usual. Far below, at the center of a great gulf of night filed with many ships, lay a planet under siege—the quarantined prison world of the San’Shyuum. “What wil happen to us?” I asked. “They wil punish,” Riser said gloomily. “We’re not supposed to be here!” I turned to my smal companion, reached to touch the long, dry fingers of his outstretched hand, and shot an angry glance at Bornstelar, the young Manipular that Riser and I had guided to Djamonkin Crater. He would not meet my eyes. Then, faster than thought or reflex, something cold and bright and awful carved up the distance between us, splitting us apart in blue- white silence. War sphinxes with passionless faces moved in and scooped us up in transparent bubbles. I saw the Didact and Bornstelar packed away in their own bubbles like trophies. . . . The Didact seemed composed, prepared—Bornstelar, as frightened as I was. The bubble sucked in around me. I was caught in sudden stilness, my ears stuffed, my eyes darkened. This is how a dead man feels. For a time, surrounded by senseless dark or flashes