Ariock had read enough books, and seen enough TV, to know that good leaders cared about their people. And he did care.

So why was he so reluctant to face the war council?

Vy gave him one of her encouraging looks from the sideline colonnade. It was endearing, how she treated Ariock as if he was the one who needed protecting.

He braced himself for hatred and stepped into the public spotlight.

No one yelled that he was a bad messiah. No one screamed that he had let premiers get murdered last night, or that his warriors were losing battles thanks to his lack of support, or that the horrible weather was his fault. No one mentioned that he had slain one hundred and four of his own warriors in an uncontrolled rage, fueled by insanity gas. No one mentioned Jinishta. There was no spoken blame.

Just a thunderous silence.

Ariock walked past Garrett, who looked grateful to see him. He passed Evenjos. Kessa and Thomas sat on the far side of the plaza stage. A lot of outraged glares were aimed towards the boy.

That anger should all be aimed at Ariock. It was a wonder that anyone could anyone stand to look at him.

He took his seat in his mica-flecked meteorite chair.

His throne.

Because who was he kidding, really? Kessa and Garrett had each called assemblies and press conferences in recent weeks, but neither of them used his extra-huge chair. It was a backdrop—a reminder to the galaxy that Ariock should stop moping and return to his obligations as the ultimate leader of their military society.

He was supposed to protect everyone. All the time.

People called him a hero, a king, a messiah. Every one of those titles was a euphemism for the same thing. It meant protector.

It meant he should never fail.

“Zombies attacked me in the middle of the night!” A premier warrior jumped out of her seat, apparently too upset to wait for an official statement. “I almost died!”

She peeled back her sleeve. Apparently, she had left some injuries unhealed in order to provide evidence. Ariock winced. He believed her. He just … well, he didn’t understand the calamitous reports.

“I didn’t do it.” Thomas made that a clear, unambiguous statement.

Thomas had said the same thing on another planet, in another year. The prophet Migyatel had silently read his future and then dropped dead of a stroke. The Alashani populace had accused Thomas of murdering her. They were wrong then, and Ariock figured their rage was similarly misplaced now.

“The same thing happened to me,” Garrett said.

Ariock turned to his great-grandfather, shocked. This was somewhat harder to believe. Garrett took a lot of paranoid precautions, with a lock bar on his suite and an unpredictable schedule, plus his zombified sentries. He would not make for an easy target.

“It is true,” Evenjos said. “If I had not showed up, Garrett Dovanack would be dead.”

“She healed me.” Garrett held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “The zombies shot me with inhibitor, so I’m afraid I’m out of commission for a few days.”

Ariock spread his awareness a bit. Sure enough, Garrett’s life spark was subdued enough so that he would be lost in a crowd. He had no powers.

“They smothered me,” Garrett said, “choked me, and stabbed me repeatedly. It was a near death experience for sure.” He leaned forward on his chair, gazing around Ariock to stare directly at Thomas. “I would really like to know who ordered my own zombies to murder me in my sleep.”

All eyes focused on Thomas.

The boy dry-washed his hands. “I have only one guess.”

A guess? Ariock hid his dismay. This angry assembly wanted concrete answers.

“Someone else is brainwashing people,” Thomas said.

The shock of that statement hit Ariock like a punch from a blaster glove.

“Probably a Rosy or a Servant of All,” Thomas said, “hiding in plain sight among our penitent population.”

“Jumping jehoshaphat,” Garrett muttered, not in the slave tongue.

The murmurs erupted into outrage. Many councilors remained seated, but the albinos leaped to their feet. A few clenched their fists as if they wished to hurl spears.

“Our war heroes were targeted!”

“What are you saying? Someone else is making zombies?!”

“Someone who isn’t you?”

One premier leaped onto his chair and shouted, his voice shrill with outrage. “Are we just going to sit here and believe that rekveh?”

It was Flen.

He wore a purple mantle and council finery, but he still looked immature to Ariock, barely eighteen years old. And he pointed an accusatory finger at the Wisdom of prophecy.

“Thomas would never hurt people on our side.” Ariock used a bit of power to amplify his voice. It rumbled over the plaza, overriding the outrage.

The assembly quieted.

“If there’s a dangerous Torth with powers among our penitents,” Ariock said, “I’ll find them.” He closed his eyes and let his awareness creep outward.

It always felt dangerous to expand like this. He might accidentally hurt people. But he should be able to control himself long enough to find an incandescent life spark out in the slums where penitents lived.

“You won’t find them that way,” Garrett said. “Not today.”

Ariock needed to know what that meant. He collected himself, growing smaller.

“I mean,” Garrett said, “whoever it is will be wiped out right now, near depletion. Zombification or re-zombification takes raw power.”

Ariock returned to his normal human-sort-of stature. The brainwasher had managed to infiltrate the private suites of top military leaders, including Garrett. That wasn’t easy. Their skills leaned towards stealth rather than raw strength. Either they were a clever rogue Torth … or they were managed by a super-genius.

Either way, Ariock was outmatched.

“You can try in a few days,” Garrett suggested.

“Whoever this is won’t be easily found with that type of search,” Thomas said. “They’re likely in a work-crew, or in a household, that’s near the war fortress complex. Their life spark will be hard to differentiate from that of the nearby shani warriors. And I suspect they used suggestion rather than blunt force mind control. They might not have a ton of raw power to begin with.”

“Suggestion?” Ariock figured he had missed a power lesson. What was the difference between suggestion and mind control?

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“There is a magnitude between zombification and high telepathy,” Evenjos said, her tone full of dismay. “It is possible for a fourth or fifth magnitude telepath to brainwash people without utterly destroying their free will.” She shuddered, and Ariock guessed that someone in the distant past must used that power on her. What had they forced her to do?

What an awful, terrifying power.

“Such a person can go undetected very easily,” Evenjos added.

Thomas nodded. “I’m sorry this attack took us by surprise. It shouldn’t have. I’ve long theorized that I’m not the only telepath with a power to twist minds. Now we can be sure. The Torth are discovering their own, um, suggesters. And mind controllers.”

Great.

Ariock wanted to crumple beneath this new threat. Everyone looked towards him, expecting the great messiah to solve the new problem. But he had no ideas. All he could think about was losing Vy—his recurring nightmare. What if the brainwasher got to Vy?

Or worse—what if the brainwasher casually ambled within range of Ariock? They could turn him into a murder machine.

“I think we’re mostly safe,” Garrett said. “I spy on the Torth Empire every day, and the Majority wasn’t even aware of what happened here until I, uh … anyway. They’re not buzzing about mind controllers. I strongly suspect it’s probably just one.”

Thomas gave him a sidelong look.

The unspoken criticism was obvious, to Ariock. Brainwashers could twist the minds of fellow Torth. There might be hundreds or thousands. They might go unnoticed for years, even in the Megacosm.

Ariock rubbed a huge hand across his face. He hated feeling so outmatched. They could force him to kill people he loved.

It would be like the insanity gas, except worse.

“We have enough problems,” one of the councilors said. “This is…” She shook her head, at a loss for words. “It is too much.”

People murmured in agreement. They could not sleep soundly with an enemy mind twister on the loose. Anyone might be the next victim.

“Well?” a councilor shouted. “What do you propose to do about it?”

“Shouldn’t we just kill all the penitents?” a premier asked.

“We should definitely kill all the zombies,” another said.

In better days, Ariock would have told them to stop making such brutal suggestions. Now he let them speak. His side of the war had to get rid of the brainwasher, no matter the cost. Ariock could not allow himself to become weaponized ever again.

“I don’t think we need to resort to mass murder,” Thomas said, placating. “I have an idea to catch the brainwasher.”

That was encouraging. Ariock focused on his friend. He desperately needed hope.

“Telepathy gas,” Thomas said, “diffuses thoughts and spreads them around, which causes problems for brainwashers. It’s actually a dark energy matrix which reflects any mind twisting back on the perpetrator. So they can’t twist minds while they’re in a telepathy gas zone.”

Ariock recalled that the Torth Empire had nearly defeated Thomas that way.

“Go on,” Garrett said.

“We’d round up penitents in large groups,” Thomas said, “and expose them to telepathy gas. That way, the rogue brainwasher will be stuck there with the other penitents, pretty much helpless. And with all those thoughts floating around? The penitents will be unable to avoid treading on each other’s secrets.”

It sounded toxic.

“One or two of the penitents might suspect who the culprit is,” Thomas went on. “And once a few know it in the telepathy gas zone? They’ll all know it.” He gestured to the heroes. “We can handle it from there.”

“Hang on.” Garrett stood, leaning on his staff. “We are talking about someone who can brainwash anyone into doing anything. Once they figure that you’re trying to root them out, they’ll brainwash a clerk into thinking that they were already exposed to telepathy gas in a previous group. They’ll evade you.”

Thomas looked uncomfortable. “While Kessa’s lieutenants expose penitents to telepathy gas,” he explained, “Ariock will rally all the Yeresunsa in the city. Then he’ll scan for intense life sparks.” Thomas looked towards Ariock, trusting him to understand the plan. “Any intense life spark that fails to show up is suspicious.”

On the surface, it was a good idea. But Ariock could think of ways it could go wrong. For one thing—should they really expose all the penitents in the city to each other’s thoughts? Wasn’t that equivalent to letting the captive Torth have their own version of the Megacosm?

They would be able to collaborate with each other. They would gain an instant ability to coordinate schemes against their overseers.

And also…

“What if the brainwasher can teleport?” Ariock asked.

Silence from the assembly. No one wanted to hear that possibility.

“Ugh.” Garrett stood so he could glare at Thomas. “There’s no need put Ariock at risk. This is your domain.” He pointed at the boy. “You’re the one who can absorb thoughts faster than breathing. You should be able to find the brainwasher yourself, before they have a chance to recover their powers and strike us again.”

Thomas’s jaw tightened. The air around him bent, superheated.

“Use telepathy gas if you have to,” Garrett said, “but this should be one hundred percent your job.”

It was an unfair ask. Yet Ariock found himself remaining silent. He understood that Garrett was being noble in his own way, doing his best to ensure that his ultra powerful great-grandson wasn’t prone to the nefarious brainwasher.

Thomas looked profoundly unhappy. “There are millions of penitents in the city. You want me to scan them all? Within a few days?”

Garrett puffed up. “You’re capable.”

“I can try.” Thomas dragged the words out. “But it means halting all my other work.” He gave Ariock a pleading look. “And it will have a negative impact on my mental health.”

Ariock hesitated. He didn’t want Thomas to be psychologically unhealthy. That sounded … well, frankly, it sounded dangerous.

Yet the culprit—or culprits?—must have blended in with ordinary penitents for several days. Maybe weeks? And no one suspected. There was not a hint. Not a clue.

They were still doing it.

“This takes priority over all your other tasks,” Garrett said. “I am ordering you to take this on, boy.”

Ariock prepared to intervene. The low key tension between Thomas and Garrett never went away, but they were under more stress than usual. Garrett took daily risks in battle, while Thomas was putting in overtime hours at the lab. Add in a stealth assassin who was capable of twisting minds, and of course everyone was on edge.

A premier warrior stood. “Jonathan Stead is correct,” she said. “The genius rekveh claims to be innocent? Well then, let him discover the murderer. And let him be responsible for any additional murders, should he happen to fail.”

That probably sounded like justice to an Alashani.

Thomas looked miserable. He could have reiterated that he felt overwhelmed and overworked, but he seemed to realize how crucial this task was. Evil was running amok in their city. It must be rooted out and destroyed. An enemy brainwasher could end freedom.

Besides, Thomas had an agreement with the old man. He was supposed to obey direct orders.

Only Ariock could negate Garrett.

Ariock took in the hundreds of expectant expressions. They trusted him to make the threat go away.

He glanced towards Vy, who sat outside the main assembly, in the sidelines between pillars. Her gaze was full of compassion and worry.

He could not allow anything bad to happen to her.

“If Thomas agrees to do this,” Ariock said carefully, “then he needs protectors. I want warriors by his side.”

That left an opening for Thomas to back out. It also ensured some proper respect. If Thomas was going to absorb the minds of millions of penitents, then everyone ought to acknowledge the baggage and the risks he was taking on.

The audience shifted their gazes towards Thomas, who floated in his smoke-colored hoverchair.

He nodded, shoulders hunched.

He would do it.

Ariock gave him a nod of gratitude. Then he faced the assembly. “I want volunteer squads of warriors. Thomas needs round-the-clock protection while he scans penitent minds.”

Mutterings. Albinos shifted their feet or adjusted their mantles.

“Why can’t he use zombies?” a premier warrior shouted.

Garrett fielded that question. “No one can reprogram minds while they’re in a telepathy gas zone. If the zombies are pawns of the enemy, then the boy would be an easy target. I think we need to back off on using zombies as long as this enemy brainwasher is on the loose.”

“Well, surely nussians could protect him?” another warrior said.

“And snipers?” someone else suggested. “From afar?”

“Those might help,” Ariock acknowledged. “But he needs warriors.” Bodyguards and snipers might not react fast enough if the culprit could teleport, or if the culprit sent zombified people to make unexpected attacks. Warriors were better equipped to deal with this kind of threat.

“It’s okay.” Thomas began to float towards the exit. “Whatever. I can rely on nussians.”

He looked utterly dejected.

Ariock considered ways to force the warriors to reconsider their hatred. Thomas had designed their fireproof armor. His communications technology made it possible for loved ones to communicate across the galaxy. His laboratories ensured a standard of living that nearly rivaled that of the Torth Empire. His zombies and battle tactics ensured that the largest free cities remained free.

Why were so few Alashani cognizant of all the things which Thomas did for them? He was the reason why their people still existed at all. If not for his ability to absorb blueprints for a colony starship, the Alashani would have perished along with the Torth Homeworld.

An old, bald-headed premier warrior stood. “I’ll protect the rekveh.”

Thomas glided to a stop. He looked disbelieving, but there was also wary gratitude in his expression.

“Thomas is offering to risk his life for us,” the bald premier glared around the assembly plaza. “It seems the least we can do is show him the same respect. It is what Jinishta would have wanted.”

“Or he’s tricking us,” Flen said.

“Don’t be stupid,” the bald premier snapped. “If Thomas wanted us dead? We would be dead.”

Ariock struggled to remember the name of the dignified bald premier. It came to him after a moment. “Thank you, Boryuchal. You have honor and integrity, like Jinishta.”

Boryuchal accepted that with a simple nod. “Well?” He seemed to be daring his fellow premiers. “I have fifty warriors under my command. Are you telling me that mine, and only mine, should take on this life-or-death duty?” He folded his arms. “I thought you all cared about saving Alashani lives.”

Stillness.

And then, incredibly, another premier warrior stood up and said, “I will join you, Boryuchal. I have sixty-two under my command.”

Another stood, looking chagrined. “You can add my fifty-eight.”

It was not easy for Alashani to overcome their loathing of mind readers. Ariock was impressed. Somehow, while he was on hiatus, it seemed Thomas had earned a little bit of credibility among the Alashani.

Thomas looked stunned.

When he spoke, he sounded disbelieving, as if his own words surprised him. “Thank you.”