ended the Traiti war in both, and my spell summons the one who avoided the Sandeman war in his. I think that for the first time in three years, I can dare to hope."

Captain Chavvorth turned to her. "I also, Ranger. But with respect, I suggest you go rest. While you are doing that, I can begin teaching Ranger Medart to use his mage-power."

"He is a magician, then!" Ariel exclaimed in relief. "My spell said he should be, but when he denied it— How powerful?"

"The strongest I have ever felt, sir." The Traiti smiled at Medart, gestured as he murmured something, and was holding a candle. "You have had no instruction, but your raw power should be adequate to light this if you concentrate."

The equivalent, Medart thought, of someone with PK Talent exciting the molecules of the wick to ignition temperature. He'd never shown any trace of that aspect—his only Talents, besides the basic mind-screen and telepathy, were healing and darlas—but this was supposed to be magic, not psionics; he had no reason not to try. He focused his attention on the candle, following an impulse to point at it as he willed it to light.

He felt a sensation of warmth flow into him and channel along his arm—then flame erupted from his fingers, enveloping both the candle and the hand that held it.

Instantly, Medart broke his concentration. The candle was burning, but it was sagging, and the Traiti's hand was reddened.

Chavvorth blew out the candle, his expression bemused, and put it down. "That was more … dramatic than I had expected, Ranger."

"A hell of a lot more than I expected," Medart said. "Let me see your hand."

The Traiti obeyed. Medart took it, concentrating again—but this time it was a familiar, trained ability he called on. Redness faded, vanished; he released the hand. "There. You should be okay now."

Chavvorth flexed his fingers, extending and retracting his claws. "It is fine—but that was not a spell."

"Nope. That was psionic Talent, a rare but perfectly normal ability."

"So is mage-power, here," Ariel put in. "I'd like to stay and talk, but the spell-reaction's getting me to the point I can't function much longer. Why don't you two go someplace comfortable and keep getting acquainted while I recuperate? Chavvorth can brief you on the Sandemans as well as I could, James."

"Jim's fine—sounds good to me. Captain?"

"I am agreeable." Chavvorth turned to one of his officers. "Lieutenant Dawson, you have the con."

Ten minutes later Medart and Chavvorth were sitting in the senior officers' lounge, drinking coffee and chovas. Medart had adjusted to the idea of magic far more easily than to the idea of Sandemans as enemies; magic was, for all practical purposes, something new, which made it easy to accept. Sandemans as enemies, though, was a total reversal of something that had been a given for over a century and a quarter. And Sandemans who'd had that extra time to grow and advance technologically—and magically, he was sure—would be an awesome enemy.

"From what Ranger Ariel said," Medart started, "I gather you ran into the Sandemans about three years ago. The Shapers must've gone a lot further out in this universe than they did in Alpha Prime."

"Who or what are the Shapers?"

Medart sighed. "You don't have much intelligence about the Sandemans?"

"Almost none," Chavvorth said. "Few have been captured, none successfully interrogated—few successfully held, in fact. Most are able to conjure their way out of custody, even denied the materials an Imperial magician would find necessary."

Medart chuckled. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me. Do you have anything like a mindprobe, so I can give you everything I know in a hurry?"

"Not yet," Chavvorth said regretfully. "One is in the development stage, but it will be several months at least before it is far enough along to experiment with humans on."

"We do it the hard way, then. Emperor Barton?"

"Yes, Ranger Medart," the ship replied.

"What access level do I have in this universe?"

"Full access, Ranger."

"Good." That was standard in every Empire he'd visited or heard of, but since neither had applied to this one, it'd seemed best to ask rather than assume. "Record everything I say about Sandemans, then, and pass it along to IntelDiv for summary and conversion to a teaching tape. They should include a caveat that this information comes from Alpha Prime and may or may not apply to the Zeta Prime Sandemans."

"It will be done, Ranger."

"Thank you." Medart turned his attention back to Captain Chavvorth. "The Shapers were genetic engineers who left Terra in 2130 and deliberately lost themselves. Not long after that, they began using their own germ plasm to create the Sandeman race as improvements on humanity. The idiots didn't stop with that, though. They designed a complex of physical and psychological traits that made a percentage of the males into genetically-determined warriors who not only like to fight—it's one of their favorite occupations—they have to either fight or make love at regular intervals just to stay healthy."

Chavvorth stared at him. "Genetically determined warriors? That would explain much about them—but how could anyone be so stupid?"

Medart shrugged. "We don't know. When our Sandemans overthrew their Shapers, almost all the Shaper records were destroyed. My personal opinion is that it was sheer arrogance."

"Which they passed along to their creations," Chavvorth said.

Medart chuckled. "They have some justification, you must admit—they're stronger, faster, and more intelligent than the standard human norm."

"True," Chavvorth said grudgingly. "They also have greater mage-power, as you must have deduced from what I told you about their ability to escape."

"Uh-huh. In my universe, they've got greater than usual Talent, especially the warriors. So it seems reasonable that here they'd have more than the normal amount of magical ability." He took a swallow of coffee, grimacing when he found it was cold. "Just how bad is the situation?"

"We have lost about a quarter of the Empire, and are rapidly losing more. Terra itself will be in danger within six months."

Medart winced. "That much that quickly? They must have one hell of a big civilization!"

"We believe so, but we have no way of being sure."

"Mmpf." Medart was silent for a moment, then he said, "Damned if I know what you expect one person to be able to do about something that's already taken out a quarter of your Empire, but I've got to try. First thing, I think, is to get in touch with His Majesty—or Her Majesty, here—let @ know I'm available, and find out what resources I can use. Emperor Barton?"

"His Majesty," the ship said, "is Emperor Ray Kennard, and he has been informed of your arrival. On Ranger Ariel's orders, I beamed an account to his personal comset, complete as of your departure from the Bridge."

"Good—thank you. In my universe under these circumstances, he'd be the one to call as soon as I made it to the top of his priority list; would that be safe to assume here?"

"Yes, sir, I believe so."

"Okay." Medart's attention went back to Chavvorth. They'd been expecting a visitor, so there'd be quarters ready for him—and since he usually worked in his living area rather than his office, that seemed a reasonable place to wait for His Majesty's call. "Shall we continue this discussion in my quarters, Captain?"

"As you wish, sir." The two rose, and Medart followed the Traiti again, thinking.

The Emperor Ray Kennard in his universe had limited precognition as part of his Talent; if parallels between the two universes held as well as they seemed to, the one here should have some equivalent means of foreseeing parts of the future. Which might mean he'd foreseen a solution.

Or might mean he'd foreseen the visitor would either be or bring a solution. In that case, Medart thought, he was likely to be disappointed—though