The Only One

mythical guardians of the advanced civilization of Those Who Came Before. Dreaded they were said to have been, warriors who approached combat with the strength of their religious devotion. But Romjha reacted with genuine excitement, as if Taj had somehow inspired him.
    He leaned forward, his hands spread flat on the great table. His eyes flashed. "Those who pray and bleed to secure the peace will be more inclined to strive to keep it. A ruling council—a Nadah." he said, using another word from the ancient language, "comprised of warrior-leaders whose strength stems from the physical as well as the spiritual. Pious, honorable soldiers. Yes. A Vash Nadah. Brilliant, Taj."
    She choked on her ale. Blast it, she'd been trying to discourage him, not arm him with more ideas that would send him off to fight for the galaxy. Elder Patra patted her on the back until she stopped coughing, and Aleq stared at her, eyes wide, as if he'd never seen her before. Ten-to-one odds her face had appeared the same way when Romjha confessed he would have destroyed the skyport, too.
    Taj hunched her shoulders, sinking lower in her chair. "For the record, Aleq, I tried to talk him out of this." It was insanity, too great of a risk—all of it, and she wanted no credit.
    "We will have to seize as many comm systems as we can," Romjha explained. "Your world and others with technology can help us repair the rest or make more. We will contact people like us all over the galaxy. We will spread the word of freedom. We will encourage them to rise up and take arms against their aggressors."
    Jal rubbed his chin. "I will see that Cheya listens to your ideas, Romjha. Though he may not care for all of them."
    "No, I may not," rasped the prince.
    Taj's hand spasmed. Her spoon splashed into her stew. No one noticed. All heads swung to Cheya.
    By the heavens—how long had be been awake? How much had he heard? Enough to perceive Romjha and her people as a threat, she was certain. They may have gotten rid of the local warlord, but there was no guarantee that these strangers and the forces behind them wouldn't turn out to be worse.
    Weakly Cheya propped himself up on one elbow, regarding Romjha with coolly discerning bronze-gray eyes. "But your concerns cannot be ignored. Neither, apparently, can you, Romjha B'kah."
    The two men sized each other up with a wary, incisive scrutiny that Taj could almost feel. A prince and an idealistic backplanet warrior. Or was Romjha just seen as a troublemaker?
    He ventured boldly, "Kings come and go, Cheya, but the Great Mother is the overseer of us all. She is what gave your ancestors power long ago, and it is She who took it away. It is as Her servants that we must fight."
    Troublemaker, Taj decided.
    "The warlords are fragmented," Cheya remarked. "They war amongst themselves."
    "They can thrive only in chaos," Jal agreed.
    Cheya's pain-filled eyes burned with passion. "Without chaos, they will be powerless. By restoring stability to each world we liberate, we can weaken the holds of the others."
    Aleq shot to his feet. Full of youthful bluster, he raised his glass of ale. "We'll yank the bastards up by the roots one by one!"
    Laughter and spontaneous applause broke out.
    By now, Taj's temper had risen to a boil. "The warlords and their soldiers outnumber us by hundreds of thousands. Maybe millions! They'll see what we're doing, they'll unite and try to exterminate us like they did in the past!"
    "They failed," Romjha reminded her.
    Elder Patra spoke up, her quavering voice reflecting her eighty-something years. "Are we willing to take the risk that they'll fail a second time?"
    Romjha spread his hands on the table and stared broodingly around the room. "We will win where we failed before because we will fight back as one. Not one community, or one world, but all peace-minded people near and far. And when we are done, when there is peace, the responsibility of safeguarding our future must not be placed back in the hands of a single family."
    The ensuing silence roared in Taj's ears.
    Romjha met Cheya's forceful gaze unflinchingly. "If we are to stand a chance at securing peace for all time, the power must be distributed in such a way that it cannot be exploited or neglected."
    "Your Vash Nadah." The Vedla heir let his head fall back on the pillow. "An army of zealots. I don't know if I like it."
    "Not fanatics," Romjha insisted. "Virtuous, faithful, accountable men. Society has been destroyed. If we do not shore up the