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By Don Wismer

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There was plant life, anyway. They were on a hill covered by a sort of clover, but purple clover with flowers deeper, almost black. Just down the hill some kind of forest started, blackish trunks of celerylike trees poking squatly into the sky, with purple tentaclelike fronds on top that seemed to wave on their own, without the help of any breeze. Smaller growths wove among them, almost choking the spaces between and making a vegetative wall that looked impenetrable. Asher saw hundreds of birdlike creatures wheeling and soaring about the tentacular trees, creatures as large as small dogs, but with detail blurred by distance and the dark background of the sky.

For the first time, the “Subtle Guild” was being challenged, as if someone, somewhere, knew the inner purpose of the October One, knew that it was more than the mere selling of occult powers on the commercial marketplace. The chance that someone had penetrated her designs caused the One to writhe in her mile-high fortress, the dark corners of her mind alive with the banked fire of purpose and arrogance. On the human planet of Sutton, the national assembly was about to meet. The annual event, which dragged on for four days of exhaustive speechmaking by every political party represented in the legislature, was watched intently by the entire planetary population.

She had worked for decades already, and centuries awaited her, and she had not been in a hurry. She and the other Ones had the Galactic Council, at least, well in hand, and its police, which, if not yet an arm of tyranny, was growing at a satisfying pace. Given the span of her lifetime, even such snail-paced progress made the goal quite reachable: power over and control of the universe—the human universe for her, other lifeforms for the others, Progress.. but a progress that presupposed no effective interference.

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