The Dark Lady

thief, and the only hope for my continued survival is to become an adept thief. I have been told by the Priestess and the Holy Writings that the Mother of All Things made the Bjornn in Her own image, and yet you have taken the shape of an alien race. I have been instructed to cherish life, and yet you, who gave me life, love only death.
    I cannot judge you, but I must learn to understand you. Is everything I have lived for wrong? Do you want me to die in a blaze of glory, as Men wish to do? If the House is mistaken, if the Family is deluded in its beliefs, why have you never corrected them? Why do you only manifest yourself to Man?
    Or am I mistaken about your true nature? Was my vision in fact only a dream?
    I must know the answer, for if it was only a dream, then I am truly the villain my Pattern Mother believes me to be. I made the decision to help Valentine Heath steal Malcolm Abercrombie's artwork, and if I did not do so at your request, then my soul shall wander, condemned and alone, through the great void for all eternity.
    This is why I must know who you are, and what you want of me. Have I passed beyond the ken of all decent beings, or is this part of your plan for me? I do not feel evil, but I have done evil things.
    This is the crux of the matter: the evil that I have done. My employment was terminated by Malcolm Abercrombie before I knew of your existence, yet I was grateful when Tai Chong pressured him into taking me back into his employ. I knew that Valentine Heath was a thief before I was aware of your existence, but I did not report him to the authorities. I knew the Kid was being lured to his death before I was cognizant of your true nature, yet I did nothing to warn him. I saw Valentine Heath bribe the mayor of Acheron, and I did not protest his actions.
    I think back on the events of the past few months, and I am faced with an inescapable conclusion:
    I did not do these evil deeds for you.
    Therefore, I must have done them for me.
    And still I do not feel evil. Am I so deeply immersed in immorality and degeneracy that I can no longer tell the difference between good and evil?
    Or have you forsaken your Bjornn shape and become a woman for a reason? Is it possible that the humans are right and we are wrong, that Valentine Heath more closely approximates your ideal of virtue than does my Pattern Mother?
    I cannot speak of these things to anyone else, but I cannot continue to live with the uncertainty. My profession— my former profession— has taught me to deal with color and line, but my upbringing tells me that life is not art: It must be black or white— and even at this late date, even with the police searching for me, even as I plan ways to break the law of still another world by finding some covert means of visiting you, if indeed you are here, even now I do not know if I am doing your bidding or simply multiplying my villainies.
    I must know: Are you merely Death made flesh, seeking your lovers wherever you can find them— or are you truly the Mother of All Things?
    I must know what you are, or I shall never know what I am.
    A sign, Greatest of Ladies. I beg of you: a sign.
    Your devoted
    And here I stopped. Her devoted what? Son? Worshipper? Servant? Or villain?
    I sighed and stared at the screen, amazed at my audacity. Some beings pray to the Mother of All Things; others ignore her; but no one else would dare to write her a list of demands.
    I ordered the computer to erase the letter and delete it from its memory bank, then stared morosely at the viewscreen, absently watching the two guards as they stood motionless in the hot Saltmarsh sun, their backs stiff and straight, their uniforms immaculate, eyes forward, weapons at the ready, prepared to defend the sanctity of their planet from all the alien defilers. I found myself wondering what they would do in my place.
    Most likely they would stride boldly through the hatch and defy anyone to stop them. Humans had that way about them, that ability to act first and justify their actions later. I had always been taught that such an approach was irrational and irresponsible— and yet they stood upon half a million worlds, and the Bjornns lived on one island continent. For better or worse, while we had lived lives of ethical purity, they had swarmed out to the stars by the billions, exploring, conquering, plundering, ruling, never asking for quarter, never giving it, never apologizing, never looking back. They had expanded too quickly during the