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〃Take my word for it； Admiral； the Protoculture has vanished。〃 It would have been senseless to talk about the shadowy presence of the black…robed wraiths Rem had taught him to recognize。 〃Yes； exactly as it disappeared from the SDF…1；〃 he added； discerning Rick's thoughts。
〃But how？〃 Rick began。 〃Why？〃
〃To teach us a lesson； I think。〃
Rick shook his head。 〃A lesson？〃 He swept his arm through an all…enpassing gesture。 〃Listen to me； Lang。 Rheinhardt and the rest of the fleet are out there waiting for us。 Do you understand what that means？〃
The scientist gave him a pitying look。 〃I assure you； Admiral； the fleet is not out there。〃
〃Then where the hell are we？〃 Rick said； at the end of his rope。 〃And don't tell me nowhere。〃
Lang folded his arms and met the intensity of Rick's gaze。 〃All right。 It's possible that we're still in hyperspace； although there is no evidence to support the hypothesis。 It's also possible that we have died； as some of the ship's personnel are suggesting。 Or that we have somehow jumped to a void in intergalactic space； perhaps jumped beyond the expansion wave of the big bang itself。〃
Rick went wide…eyed。 〃You mean we've jumped outside the galaxy？〃
Lang shrugged。 〃It's simply one theory among many。 A jump beyond time could perhaps explain how and why the Protoculture vanished； although our own continued existence would seem to contraindicate it。〃
Rick staggered backward into a chair adjacent to Lang's。 〃But…but there has to be something out there。〃
Lang shook his head。 〃Not according to our instruments。 We are nowhere； Admiral。 Not even a when that I can determine。 I'm sorry； but there's no other way to put it。〃
Rick turned to face him。 〃Then get us somewhere； Doctor。〃
Lang rubbed his chin。 〃What would you have me do fashion a world for you out of nothingness？〃
Rick forced out his breath。 〃Yes； damn it。 Fashion us a world if you have to。〃
CHAPTER FOUR
〃It's absolutely true。 Mom really did have a took； a different grimace for every occasion。 But I'll tell you something I've never told anyone before： The strangest of all Mom's looks was the one she reserved for any mention of Scott Bernard。 Seriously。 For the longest time I was convinced that they'd had an affair or something。 But then one day Mom told me about the time he stopped by looking for Marlene。 There was that look again； the whole time she told the story。 And I suddenly realized that I wasn't seeing one of those what…might…have…been looks but one that was saying what…never…should…have…been。
Maria Bartley…Rand； quoted in Xandu Reem's A Stranger at Home： A Biography of Scott Bernard
Scott breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the craft settle down； rubber tires chirping against the tarmac on a smooth but long disused stretch of Southlands highway。 Mission priorities and the usual red tape had made it impossible for him to procure an old VTOL； much less an Alpha； so Scott was stuck with a forty…year…old air breather； a civilian five…passenger jet some group in G4 must have liberated from a pre…Wars museum。 They'd blown the dust off the thing and fitted it with new rubber； but the cockpit had seen far better days； and the instruments were ancient。 Scott's biggest problem was refraining from trying to think the aircraft through mechamorph maneuvers。 A lot of good that would have done； anyway； the thing wasn't even equipped with a neural interface thinking cap！
Priorities aside； though； there were good reasons for flying civilian and denying any military affiliation just then。 Earth's surface； the Southlands especially； had bee a sorry place for soldiers。 With the so…called fall of Reflex Point and the Invid abandonment of their hives； Flower of Life orchards； and POW camps； humankind was once more on the move。 People were quite literally crawling out of the holes they had buried themselves in when the Invid had landed。 Tens of thousands； many of whom had spent the past year or more in internment centers in what had once been called Canada； were migrating south from the ruined Northlands； lured to Brazilas by rumors of massive reconstruction efforts and the promise of a United Earth Government rising from the ashes of the Southern Cross apparat。 At the same time thousands more had taken to the cracked and rutted roadways of the thrice…invaded world in search of lost friends and loved ones； while others busied themselves by exacting vengeance on spies； sympathizers； and any who had profited during the occupation。
Soldiers of any army； private or otherwise； were often at the receiving end of the general wrath and blood lust； espe璫ially those unfortunates who had fancied themselves insurgents or freedom fighters。 It was an accepted fact that insurgency had done more damage than good…Invid reprisals having far outweighed the dubious worth of destroying a handful of Shock Troopers or Pincer ships…and that the Regis had not really been defeated but had willingly abandoned the planet in search of richer hunting grounds。 The returning REF consequently was not looked upon as some beneficent force of liberators but as yet another conquering army； a gang of thugs looking to resume control after a fifteen…year absence。
Under the circumstances； Scott's small jet was less a product of choice than of sheer necessity。 And the same held true for his civilian attire。
Mention of the Invid sister simulagents had dropped him right back into the lap of the REF's intel people for two more weeks of memory probes and debriefings。 Ultimately； however； Scott's inquisitors had e to accept that Marlene's present whereabouts were unknown and that Scott himself stood the best chance of finding her。 That he had agreed to do； under the condition that he be given an opportunity to undertake the search alone and in his own fashion。
G2 had acquiesced； figuring that it would prove a simple matter to assign a team of agents to the colonel； but Vince Grant had received word of the operation and vetoed it before a single operative had been assigned。 Back on the surface； meanwhile； Scott had been quizzing migrants； bribing local officials； and bartering with foragers for a line on any one of his six former teammates…counting one for Lancer； and Marlene among them。 He had concentrated on Rand； who months ago at Yellow Dancer's final concert had said something about heading for the outskirts of Norristown； where he planned to write his memoirs。
A downside week had gone by before Scott locked onto what seemed a worthy lead； and that lead had now brought him and the toy jet to Xochil； a pueblo not far off the route the team had taken through Trenchtown； in the heart of the Southlands。
A tatterdemalion crowd of vacant…eyed townspeople and rough…trade foragers was gathered around the craft by the time Scott raised the canopy and climbed out。 He answered a few questions about the state of things on the north coast in exchange for information on Rand and； for five hundred New Scrip （with a promise of that much again when he returned from town）； enlisted the services of a couple of locals sporting turn…of…the…century military…issue projectile rifles to keep an eye on the jet。
Twenty minutes later he was negotiating a narrow alley of