The door was ordinary enough. Tempered steel, emblazoned with the Thundercat insignia, like all the others on this level. Beyond it were the chambers and person of Lord Saturnus, who had been waiting, patiently or not, for her now for the better part of half an hour. Pumyra had been putting this moment off for as long as she could, but she knew it could be delayed no longer. He had summoned her to appear and appear she must, however much she might be dreading it.

Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand and rapped softly on the metal. Her heart was in her mouth as she waited for a reply. Nothing. She offered a silent prayer for her deliverance, then turned to leave. Whatever relief she felt was firmly quashed when she heard a baritone voice call her name and bid her enter. She stopped in her tracks, letting her gaze travel down the corridor where her feet could not go. No turning back now, she thought. With bowed head and low spirits, she retraced her steps and waited as the door slid back to admit her into the lion's den.

However she had imagined Saturnus' office to be, she was taken aback at the sight before her. The room was bright and the air carried the faintest trace of spice. A large, yielding sofa was set to one side of a yawning fireplace, deprived for the time being of its log-devouring flames. Expensive wall hangings and a few finely chosen ornaments completed the picture, but could not compete in terms of beauty with the solid desk that stood in the centre of the room. The unknown carpenter had sought inspiration from its origins and fashioned the slim legs into saplings, which reached out with delicate branches to intertwine with their fellows. They seemed hardly strong enough to support the polished desktop, whose gleaming surface was at this moment hidden from Pumyra's view by heaped masses of papers and folders. She wondered briefly if it was intended as a metaphor for their current situation. Thundera the beautiful, labouring beneath a mass of woe. Adding that thought to the well of unease already fermenting within her soul, she prayed that this interview would be over as quickly as possible.

Saturnus had not made his presence known, but she guessed that he was sitting in the chair with its back to her behind the desk. Clearing her throat, she addressed him directly.

"You sent for me?"

Slowly, the chair swivelled and confirmed her suspicions. Saturnus regarded her from under his heavy brows, and she had the feeling that she was being assessed. To what standards, she dreaded to think, for there was something in his eyes that hinted at an interest beyond mere curiosity.

"Did you want something, my lord?" she asked, hoping to break his close study of her person.

He sat forward, resting his arms on the desktop. "Promptness would be a start," he said flatly. "What kept you?"

She felt her face glow with the warmth of embarrassment. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I was busy."

"Indeed," he said, eyeing her with a cool gaze. "In future, when I send for you, you will come immediately. Do you understand?"

She nodded, letting her head bow under the weight of his annoyance. Only here two minutes and already in his bad books, she thought. Not an auspicious start.

"Well, at least you are here now," he went on. "That's something, I suppose." This time his tone was less steely than before. Pumyra glanced up at him in surprise and found that he was smiling. "Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him.

The firm material hardly moved as she sat on it. The chair back rose above her head, and the arms seemed too far away for comfort. A chair of intimidation, she decided, designed to make the unfortunate sitter feel distinctly ill at ease and to give Saturnus the upper hand.

A lifetime seemed to slip by while she waited for the lion to speak. He took to sorting through the papers on his desk, until he finally settled upon a slim file, which he opened and studied. "You've done uncommonly well for yourself, Pumyra," he said without looking up. "A healer. A Thundercat. And still only twenty-five. Quite an achievement, given your background."

Age-old resentment quivered within her. "Because my parents were poor, you mean."

"Partly," he replied. "Thundercats are traditionally drawn from the best of us. And yet you are..." He let the sentence hang in the air, tormenting her with his refusal to finish it.

"You think because I'm a commoner, I'm not fit?" she said.

Saturnus shrugged. "What I think hardly matters. Surely the question now is, do you wish to continue as a Thundercat?"

"Yes, I do."

"And my nephew, do you like him?"

"Lion-O is a good friend, yes."

He considered for a moment, then sighed. "Forgive me, I had to ask," he said. "It's important we all know where we stand. As your de facto House Leader, it falls to me to give the final approval of your appointment as a Thundercat." Again the long pause, as he idly turned the pages in the file. "What do you know of your family, Pumyra?" he asked at last.

"Not much," she admitted. "I lost my parents when I was a baby. I was fostered by a lion family until I was fifteen, when they found me a position with a seamstress."

"And yet you are a healer?"

She took a deep breath and tried to calm her jangled nerves. The events surrounding her entry into the vocation were a part of history she would rather have consigned to the mists of the past. It was something she had told no one, not even Bengali.

"A few weeks after I left my foster family," she began, "I was attacked in the street by a gang and left for dead. Luckily for me, a lynx called Lycilla found me. She was a healer. She made me better and offered to teach me all she knew. I owe her my life."

"Touching," Saturnus grunted. "What of your birth parents?"

"I was told that they were killed in a Mutant raid. Why?"

Saturnus eyed her for a moment, then got to his feet and wandered to the window. He stared out at the distant horizon, hands clasped behind his back. "The problem I have with you, Pumyra, is with your origins. They did well to keep the truth from you, but I cannot ignore it."

"My parents were good people," she said. "Just because they were poor--"

"Good?" he snorted. "Who told you that? Your father was executed and your mother committed suicide rather than stand trial for her crimes. What makes you think they were ever 'good'?"

She stared at him, open-mouthed, hearing his words over and over again in her mind. "What are you talking about?" she finally managed to get out. "That's not true. You're lying!"

"Would that I were," Saturnus replied. "I suppose you have heard of the Succession Day Massacre?"

By the time she had been old enough to know, the actual events of that fateful day had long since been the subject of idle speculation and gossip. The facts, however, were indisputable. Twenty-eight people had been killed when a building had collapsed onto a crowd celebrating the anniversary of Claudus' succession as Lord of Thundera. From what her foster family had often delighted in telling her, a puma had been responsible. He had wanted to kill all the lions, starting with Claudus and his family, they had told her. Bitter and resentful, he did not look upon his betters as benevolent benefactors, but in his deluded state had seen them as oppressors. Biting the hand that fed him had resulted in his death and his family with him. She would do well to remember that, her foster family had told her. Be content with your lot, they had said, for no good will come of false hopes. In their eyes, she would never amount to anything and the sooner she realised it, the better. The lesson was driven home by her banishment to the kitchens as soon as she was able to lift a mop and wipe dishes. She had been a willing pupil, for until she came under Lycilla's care, she had never realised how different life could be.

"Yes, I've heard of it," she said. "What does it have to do with me?"

Saturnus turned from the window. With the fading light of the sun behind him, his face was plunged into shadow. But Pumyra could still make out the twisted smile and the evil light in his hooded eyes. It was a look that rose from her memories like a mocking ghost. In the past, it had heralded a beating for some minor incident. Now, she dreaded to think what it could mean.

"Can't you guess?" he said. "The puma responsible for that outrage was your father."

"No!" she cried. "That's not true!"

"He was a militant, a troublemaker," Saturnus continued. "Always going on about puma rights, as if that was supposed to mean anything. No one took any notice of him. Everyone thought he was a crackpot. How could he be serious? After all, had we not given your people everything? Pumas would have died out long ago had it not been for the generosity of us lions." He sighed deeply. "Little did we realise what he intended. I was there, Pumyra. I saw the people he murdered. Lions, tigers, cheetahs, lynxes. Many of them were children."

"Stop it!" she yelled, burying her face in her hands. "I don't believe you!"

"You can doubt me if it makes you feel better," he said. "What isn't in doubt is that he was responsible. Too stupid to leave the scene of the crime, you see. He was given a fair trial, then hanged. I seem to remember it took him a terribly long time to die."

For a long time, all she could hear was the sound of her own weeping. When the silence persisted, she looked up to see that Saturnus had moved from the window and was now crouched beside her.

"Come now," he said. "What good are these tears? The past has to be faced and accepted, Pumyra, for the Ancients' alone know it cannot be changed." He reached up and gently brushed a tear from her cheek. Instinctively, she jerked away from his touch. At her reaction, he smiled, then got to his feet and returned to the desk. Taking his seat, he picked up the file and tossed it over to her. "It's all in there," he said. "Read it and find out if I lie or not."

With trembling hands, she took it up, almost fearing to look inside. The slim hope that he might be wrong gave her courage and she delved into the assortment of reports and newspaper cuttings. She read their bald statements of the events, and to her relief found no connection. Then, she came across a folded sheet, fragile and yellow with age. She opened it carefully, and found herself looking at her own birth certificate. The names matched, as did the dates and the description of the baby's markings. There was no doubt now. She was their daughter.

Her tears splattered onto the page, turning the writing to inky pools. Her foster family had maintained that her parents were poor, insignificant farmers and that she would ever be as poor and insignificant as they had been. Had they feared what she would become if she knew? They must have been watching her every move to detect any trace of that same fire that had driven her father to such madness.

And suddenly the past made sense. At the time she had been attacked, she was meant to have been hard at work. However, she had slipped away from the seamstress' house to meet her boyfriend. He had promised her that everything would be all right, that he would take her away from this life. She had believed in him and his pledges of love enough to give herself to him that night. Then they had parted and she had run straight into a gang of club-bearing thugs.

With hindsight, she realised now how her actions must have appeared to her paranoid overseers. Retribution had been swift. How she had not died that night, she still did not know. Her lover had not been so fortunate. He was not lucky enough to be found in time as she had been. Even so, two days had passed before Lycilla had rescued her from the alley where she had been dumped. Others must have seen her before then. Had they simply stepped over her, not caring enough to help a fellow Thunderian in distress? She had always assumed so. But now she was forced to wonder if her neglect was caused less by indifference than the knowledge of who she was.

Aware that Saturnus was watching her, she raised her eyes to meet his gaze. "How did you get all this?" she asked.

"Not everything was lost when Thundera exploded," he explained. "That file belonged to my father, Lord Remigius. After what happened to your parents, it was feared you would be the subject of reprisals. My father saw to your placing with the foster family. After he died, I took over his position as Claudus' head of security and with it came the responsibility for you."

"You?" Pumyra gasped. "You ordered those thugs to kill me?"

Saturnus shook his head. "No, I had nothing to do with that. The order came from higher up. I got you the placement with the seamstress and left it at that. You seemed..." A smile curled the corners of his mouth. "Pathetic enough not to be a nuisance to us in the future. Little did I realise that Claudus had his own spies following you. After that regrettable incident in the alley, it was assumed that you were dead. The file was closed. Lycilla did well to spirit you away. Who would ever have thought to look for the spawn of murderers amongst the wisest of the peoples of Thundera?" He snorted. "I suppose it just goes to show that wisdom isn't everything."

She had to look away from his grinning face. Her gaze moved back the papers on her lap. At the back of her mind, a stray thought was worrying at her. Something he had said, but what? Then it came to her. "If you thought I was dead, why did you keep this file?"

Saturnus' eyebrows twitched with amusement. "I never said I believed it," he said. "I knew where you were all the time."

"But..."

"Why did I permit you to say there? Good question." He shrugged. "I had no quarrel with you. In fact, I felt rather sorry for you. I didn't buy into the inherited tendency theory. As long as you kept your nose clean, you were better off where you were. Then Thundera exploded and I thought no more about it. Imagine my surprise when I found that not only had you survived, but that my nephew had made you a Thundercat, soft-hearted fool that he is. So, now the question is, what do we do with you?"

"Will you tell Lion-O?" she asked.

"That depends on you." He turned his chair so that he was directly facing her across the desk as he spoke. "The situation is this. You want to be a Thundercat. You are clearly suitable and there is nothing more I would like to do than to grant your wish. You have an innate sense of survival that I find most commendable. In that respect, you are much like me."

Pumyra shuddered at the thought of having anything in common with him, but wisely said nothing. Saturnus clearly had something in mind for her, although she was starting to dread hearing what that might be.

"I don't see the need for anyone to know about our little discussion," he went on, "I'm sure we can come to a mutual understanding."

"Like what?" she ventured.

"You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours," he said. "Let's keep things simple. You tell me any 'interesting' snippets of information you happen to come across on your travels, perhaps do me the occasional favour, and I'll make sure your past is kept a secret and I'll see that you are approved as a Thundercat. How does that sound?"

Not too bad, she thought. In fact, not bad at all. It was hardly the deal with the devil she had been expecting.

"I can do that," she said.

He nodded approvingly. "Excellent. With that attitude, you'll go far, Pumyra."

"Cat's Lair is far enough for me."

Saturnus studied her for a moment, then took up a sheet of paper from his desk and began to write on it. "Talking of Cat's Lair," he said, "your return caused something of a stir. Just what is the matter with Lord Tygra?"

The use of the formal title confused her and for a moment she was not sure whom he meant. Her hesitation clearly vexed him and again he repeated the question.

"I don't know," she finally managed to answer him.

Saturnus sighed and tossed down his pen. "Pumyra, please. Let us start as we mean to go on. Do not insult me with lies and prevarication."

"But I really don't know," she insisted.

"I heard reports that he was twitchy and on edge before the ceremony. Surprising, considering how calm he seemed when we, I mean, Lion-O took his insignia away from him."

Inwardly she berated herself for not helping Tygra keep his condition better concealed. Already she was learning that Saturnus had eyes everywhere. The realisation that she would soon be joining his army of informants made her wonder whether his offer was really as good as it sounded.

"I can't speak for him," she said. "He has not confided in me."

"But something is amiss." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Even if, as you claim, you do not know the condition, you can at least tell me his symptoms."

His gaze was penetrating, almost as if with his very eyes he was reaching inside her to find the information he wanted. His power was pulling it out of her, bringing it to the tip of her tongue. She could make no more excuses. She would have to tell him, unless...

"I don't know if I should," she said. "There is the little matter of patient confidentiality."

Saturnus' reaction was unexpected. He did not become angry, as she thought he would at being denied, but rather he began to laugh. "Clever," he chuckled. "But, yes, you are right of course. Who can we trust if not our healers? Very well, you can go."

She remained where she was for a moment, feeling a strange sense of dislocation from her body and surroundings. He had destroyed her illusions about herself and was now simply dismissing her. Suddenly she was helpless, not knowing what to do or say. She felt as though she was waiting for Saturnus to give her further instructions. Finally pulling herself together, she got shakily to her feet.

"I'll go then," she said.

"I thought you already had," he said without looking up. "Close the door on your way out."

That was an end of the matter. Nothing was left to say, for all the important things had all been said. She made her way to the door, feeling dirty somehow, almost as if she had been sullied by what had passed. She tried to reassure herself that she had not actually told him anything he had not already known. All the same, if this was how she was going to feel every time she had dealings with him, then living with her conscience was going to be difficult.

As she reached for the door handle, she heard Saturnus call her name. What did he want now? Forcing a smile, she turned back to face him. "Yes, my lord?" she said.

He took a moment to pause for effect. "I can trust you, can't I, Pumyra?"

The question stunned her into silent stupefaction. Before she had a chance to recover, Saturnus had given a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Yes, of course I can, what am I thinking?" he chided himself. "After all, it's not only your Thundercat status and your patients that you'll lose, but your family as well. You'd certainly lose the respect of your friends. It's the effect it'll have on Lynx-O that worries me. What relation was he to Lycilla again? Cousin, wasn't it? I mean, he practically sees you as his own flesh and blood. I wonder what he'd say if he found out he'd been doting on the child of his brother's killer all these years?"

"What?" Pumyra said numbly.

"Oh, didn't you know?" said Saturnus, feigning surprise to perfection. "Yes, Lynx-O's brother was one of the casualties of the, shall we say to spare your feelings, 'incident'. Small world, isn't it?"

She stared at him, unable to move or speak, until shock gave way to the acceptance of utter defeat. Under the strain, she crumpled, crying pitifully. Where would this nightmare lead her to next? Saturnus had already heaped shame upon shame on her shoulders, but this, this was too much. Lynx-O meant the world to her. He was mentor, friend, the father figure she had always lacked. She feared his knowing. She tried to tell herself that he would not blame her, but in her heart she knew from that moment on, he would always look on her a little differently. This would come between them, as much as they might try to deny it. It would always be there. Every time he looked at her, what would he see? A friend? A fellow Thundercat? The child of his brother's murderer? It was risk she dared not take.

"Please, please don't tell him," she sobbed into her hands.

An arm slipped around her shoulders. Surprised, she glanced up to find herself looking into Saturnus' face. "Now, now," he purred. "No need to distress yourself. As I said, he need never know. All you have to do is co-operate."

"You're asking me to betray a friend's confidence."

"In a good cause," he said reasonably. "Would it make it easier for you if I explained my interest?"

She sniffed back her tears and waited for him to continue.

"My first concern is always for Thundera," he went on. "The good of the people must stand above all other things. When I hear reports that the second in command of the Thundercats is acting strangely, I am naturally concerned. I think that gives me the right to ask his healer about his condition. If he is a danger, I need to know."

"He's no danger," she blurted out. "He's just..." She was on the verge of revealing his secret and stopped herself in time.

"Go on," Saturnus urged.

"It's nothing, I'm sure," she said. "He's been working too hard. He's under the weather. With rest, I'm sure--"

"He talks to someone who isn't there, forgets things, has 'blank' episodes, flies into rages of which he later has no memory," he said, counting the symptoms off on his fingers. "How am I doing?"

Pumyra stared at him. "How did you know?"

"Let's just say I am familiar with the condition." He smiled. "There now, that wasn't too bad, was it? And because you've been so helpful, I think, as a show of good will, I'll put in a word with Cassorian on Lynx-O's behalf for you, just to make sure he gets his approval as a Thundercat. What do you say to that?"

"Thank you, my lord."

"Very good," he said. "Now why don't you run along? When I need you, I'll send for you."

He opened the door for her and, with a pat on her behind, fairly propelled her from the room. Mercifully, the corridor was empty. At least she was spared the curious gazes of the other inhabitants of the Lair. Forcing herself to move, she started down the corridor. One step at a time, each taking her further and further away from Saturnus and from what she had done. Traitor! came the accusing voice of her conscience. Call yourself a healer?

"I didn't tell him!" she cried out loud. "He already knew! Gods forgive me, he knew!"

As if that made it better. Disgust at herself rose as hot bile in her throat and sent her dashing into the nearest bathroom to throw up.

***************

The closer he came to consciousness, the more intense was the pain. It felt as though his head had been filled with molten Thundranium. The effort of dragging himself through the murk of sleep was hardly equal to the discomfort he was experiencing. For a moment, he considered giving up, but then a soft voice filtered through the curtain of gloom that clung to his mind, and he summoned up all his energy to pull himself towards it. With greater awareness came an assortment of other aches and twinges throughout his body, although none as searing as the tight band of pain that seemed to be firmly clamped about his head. That, and the feel of something rough pressing against his eyes, was enough to discourage him from attempting to open them.

"Bengali, are you all right?" asked the same voice, this time sounding even more concerned.

"Define 'all right'," he grumbled. "What in Thundera just happened, Cheetara?"

He heard and felt her sigh of relief. Up to that moment, he had not realised how close she was sitting to him. Unnaturally close, in fact. Her shoulder blades were rubbing against his and through the muscles of his back he could feel her slightest movement. Only when his searching fingers intertwined with hers did he realise their situation was less through choice than necessity.

"Are we tied up?" he asked.

"Yes," she said simply.

"We didn't make to Midas then?"

"No."

"Do I take it that we're in trouble?"

"Yes."

"Any idea where we are now?" The brooding silence that followed was more unsettling than her previous laconic replies. "Well, are you going to tell me or am I going to have to guess?" he said, trying to prompt any sort of response.

He felt the depth of the breath she released and guessed that the news was diabolically bad.

"Forget it," he said. "Maybe I don't want to know."

"Don't you remember?" she said.

He refrained from telling her that at that moment he could scarcely remember his name let alone anything of what had happened. Instead, he shook his head, immediately regretting it as his headache started to thump against the front of his skull.

"We were attacked by Mutants," Cheetara told him. "I remember being thrown across the cabin, but I must have passed out after that."

"So where are we now? Or are you blindfolded too?" Something about the way her muscles stiffened made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. "Cheetara, what's happening?"

"I'm not blindfolded, Ben," she answered.

The shortened use of his name. Now the warning bells really started to clang.

"Your eyes are bandaged," she went on hesitantly, "because..."

"Because?" he prompted.

"It looks like you suffered an injury to your face."

Her words sent a cold sweat cascading through his body, drenching his clothing in seconds. "How bad is it?" he asked, dreading her reply.

"I can't tell."

"But I'm not blind, am I?"

She didn't answer. She didn't have to. He already knew. Her hesitation only confirmed it. Blind. The word resounded in his mind like the roar of a thousand demons. Sight, precious sight, always taken for granted, taken from him in a moment's inattention. Now there would be darkness forever.

But there was still hope. A small voice whispered consolingly that perhaps his injuries were treatable. Someone somewhere must have thought it possible; why else would they have bothered bandaging his eyes if he was a hopeless case? A slim chance, but hope nonetheless. It was something to hold onto and use against the rising swell of panic that had formed a knot in his chest. Not that it would allow itself to be crushed completely. From its dark place, it taunted him with the memories of Lynx-O's agonising adjustment to a world of unrelenting night. Bengali had been there with him, seen his struggles, his determination, his bitter frustrations. Lynx-O was every inch the Thundercat his sighted brethren were, but it had been a long and painful road.

"What are we going to do now?" he asked, turning his thoughts back to their immediate situation.

"I would say our options are decidedly limited," Cheetara replied.

"Well, we can't just sit here."

"We've nowhere to go," she said. "You can't see and I can't walk and--"

"Why can't you walk?" he asked.

She drew in a deep breath. "My leg is broken," she said. "Actually, shattered is a better word. The bone has come through the skin of my calf."

"Ouch! That must hurt some."

"No. I can't feel a thing."

He wondered for a moment if she was trying to be funny, but her voice had been even, lacking in emotion. She had simply given him a frank statement of fact.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" he said.

"Perhaps," she said quietly.

"Perhaps? Anyone else would be turning cartwheels at not feeling any pain. Well, as much as they could with a broken leg. I could do with a dose of whatever you're on."

"I haven't been given anything, Bengali. In fact, they haven't treated me at all."

"What?" he spluttered. "Are you seriously saying that you're sitting there with a broken leg and you can't feel a thing? I don't believe it!"

"Nor do I," she said. "I don't know what it means."

"It means you're dead lucky."

"Or just dead."

"That's just plain ridiculous!" he retorted. "By that reasoning, I'm dead too, or d'you think I'm sat here talking to a ghost? Sorry to disappoint you, but you feel real enough to me."

Cheetara shook her head. "You don't understand," she said. "I can't feel anything. My whole body is numb. That's not a good sign, is it?"

Bengali considered for a moment. Pumyra had always maintained that pain was a positive thing, at least in small doses, for it showed there was still life in an injured limb. Conversely, he guessed that numbness was less desirable, although what such a general feeling meant he didn't like to think.

"They might have given you something," he ventured. "Without you knowing, I mean. That would account for it."

"It might," she said. "But I doubt it. Serpentians aren't known for their kindness towards prisoners."

"Meaning?"

"Work it out for yourself."

"You think they're going to do what, Cheetara? We're at peace now with the Mutants." He hesitated. Considering how they ended up in this position, he guessed that remark no longer applied. "Why would they have attacked us? Maybe they don't know about the peace treaty."

"Of course they know about. They just don't care. You do know about Snakes, I suppose?"

He shrugged. "Not a lot. As they're Mutants, I guess they don't like us very much."

"'Don't like us' is putting it mildly," Cheetara said. "They hate all Thunderians with a vengeance, and Thundercats even more so. They must have thought we were a gift from the gods. Two real live Thundercats, oh, sorry, I mean one Thundercat and me. Still, at least you aren't wearing an insignia. We might be able to bluff our way out of this, but..."

"But you doubt it?" Bengali finished for her. "Don't be so pessimistic, Cheetara."

"Sorry," she murmured. "I can't help it. I'm resigned to my fate."

"You mean spending the rest of your days tied up with me?" he said, trying to lighten her mood.

"That I could live with," she said, in a way that made him guess she was smiling. "It's just...well, we probably aren't going to leave here alive."

"You don't know that for sure. No doubt all they're after is ransom."

Cheetara gave a firm shake of her head. "Snakes aren't interested in money. They're sadists. They stalk the galaxy, looking for victims to torture. Everyone fears them, even other Mutants."

A moment of silence dragged into a long minute. When he finally tried to speak, he found that his mouth had gone dry. "When you say torture..." he began slowly.

"As in torture, yes, Bengali."

He gulped and fought down a rising need to throw up. "But why take us? We aren't worth torturing. We don't know anything."

"And we don't have to," she said. "They torture people because they like it. To them, it's an art form. They pride themselves on their skills in the techniques of pain. There are stories of captives being kept alive for years in a perpetual state of torment."

"Something the Lunatacs could sympathise with after a lifetime with Luna." When it failed to raise even a titter, he tried a different tack. "You're worried, aren't you?"

"Aren't you?"

"I'm quietly confident. In fact, I expect a rescue any time now. The Sword of Omens should have alerted given Lion-O to our situation and they're probably already on their way."

"Except I'm not a Thundercat any more and you took off your insignia. Without it, the Sword can't find us. And if anyone does come looking for us, they'll be looking in the wrong place. We were well off our designated course when we were attacked."

Before he could counter that, he heard a soft swish as a door opened and admitted what sounded like two people. Bare, scaly feet padded across the floor towards them and then a sibilant voice spoke.

"Welcome, Thundercats. I trust you are uncomfortable?"

"By what right do you kidnap us like this?" Cheetara demanded. "We are simple Thunderian traders, trying to return to our home planet and you--"

A hissing laugh silenced her. "Please do not insult my intelligence," said the speaker. "You, she-cat, are Cheetara and this striped wretch here is Bengali, Thundercats both of you. Or at least you were."

"You seem to know a lot about us," she said. "In that case, you'll know our peoples are at peace."

"Peace?" the speaker sneered. "Out here, Thundercat, there is no peace. Out here, we make our own rules."

"And you are?"

"Scintax. Commander of the Serpentian Fleet. Grade One Encourager. You do know what that is, don't you? I 'encourage' my subjects to experience a pain the like of which they have never known. I have honed my technique on a thousand prisoners, but I have never yet had the pleasure of a Thundercat. Tell me, spotted one, how does a Thundercat suffer?"

"Quietly," Cheetara said defiantly.

Scintax chuckled. "We'll see. Hiss, get the venom." The sound of running feet indicated that the loyal Hiss had gone to do his master's bidding. Moments later, his return was heralded by the dull thud of metal doors opening and closing. The low murmur of voices made Bengali guess that master and minion were discussing tactics.

"Before you do this, mind if I ask a question?" Cheetara spoke up. "You were expecting us, weren't you? You knew we were Thundercats, even though neither of us is wearing an insignia."

"Yes, you are correct," Scintax replied grudgingly. "If you must know, I had my instructions. I am to take you to Plun-darr, where you will be tried for crimes against Mutant kind and executed."

"As long as it's fair," Bengali said, only to wince when Scintax kicked him in the leg.

"Watch it, tiger," he hissed. "I was told to get you to Plun-darr alive. That can mean not quite dead, so keep your mouth shut."

"But you haven't explained how you knew where to find us," Cheetara said.

Scintax sighed. "Your return course from Third Earth was no mystery. It was the timing that was crucial. Once I had that, the rest was easy. Your detour did surprise me somewhat, but it wasn't too much of an inconvenience."

"Glad to hear it," Bengali muttered.

"And who told you when we would returning?" Cheetara asked.

Scintax chuckled. "Ah, that would be telling. Let's just say a not very loyal Thunderian."

"I logged our departure time with Thundera," Bengali murmured. "I was right about the traitor in our midst, wasn't I?"

"But not clever enough to conceal that fact. My problem is that I was expecting more than just the two of you. Now I have to 'encourage' you to tell me where your friends are."

"What friends?" Cheetara said quickly. "We were alone."

Scintax tut-tutted. "So much for the Code of Thundera when you insult me with a downright lie."

"But as you said, I'm not a Thundercat any more. How would you know if I'm telling the truth or not?"

The snake snorted with contempt. "Oh, I think I'll know, she-cat. By the time we're finished here, you'll be begging me to believe you. The only question is how long it will take until you reach that point and whether your comrade here has the stomach to sit by and listen to your suffering."

At the snap of his fingers, Cheetara's arm was wrenched to one side, the violence of the movement dragging Bengali along with it. Her small gasp of pain and the tightness with which she squeezed his fingers made him guess that she had been given an injection of some sort. Then her arm was released and they were both roughly shoved into an upright position to await Scintax's next orders. Already Bengali could detect a light sweat on Cheetara's skin. If this was the venom's work after only a few seconds, he dreaded to think what the next hour would bring.

"While we wait for the venom to take effect," said Scintax, "I should explain a few things, as you are clearly both beginners at this. The venom we have given to your friend is quite extraordinary. It stimulates the nervous system, heightening every sensation. Just a touch can produce exquisite agony. I'll let you imagine the pain that heated metal can cause."

"Don't," said Bengali. "I'll tell you. Don't hurt her."

"Hmm, so you do understand. Then this session will be most rewarding. Hiss, our little she-cat is injured. Treat her leg."

"No, wait! You wanted to know where our friends are?"

"Bengali, shut up!" Cheetara yelled. "Tell them nothing!"

"They were following us," Bengali went on, ignoring her protests. "They had engine trouble. They had to make a detour around the Cluster Nebula."

"Interesting," said Scintax thoughtfully. "Engine trouble, you say? They would be going slowly, so we might yet catch them. But how do I know whether you are telling the truth, tiger? I am always suspicious of information that comes too readily."

"It's true, I swear it."

"We shall soon find out. And if I find that you have been lying, Thundercat..."

"Thundercats don't lie," Bengali said firmly.

"So they say," murmured the snake. "Very well. The Cluster Nebula it is. In the meantime, Hiss, see to the she-cat's leg. It would be a shame to let that lovely venom go to waste."

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