Lion-O arrived at the infirmary door just in time to see Panthro and Tygra coming down the corridor from the opposite direction. It had been a long day and, under normal circumstances, he would not have particularly noticed how haggard both his friends looked. Perhaps it was the lengthening shadows that made them seem more stressed than usual, he thought. After all, there was no reason to suppose that they, like he, had been asked to come to the infirmary only to hear bad news. At least, he hoped not.

Smiling, he tried to act less concerned than he felt. "So, you've been summoned too," he said airily.

"Seems like it," Panthro grunted. "How is she?"

To the point as ever, Lion-O thought. The good thing about Panthro was that he never beat about the bush. The bad thing was that he pulled no punches either. Being the bearer of bad news could, therefore, be a hazardous occupation where Panthro was concerned.

For the moment, however, Lion-O had no answer for him. Whatever it was that Pumyra had to tell them, she was keeping to herself.

"Can't be good then," Panthro muttered, shaking his head. "I had a feeling in my gut this morning that today was going to be an ordeal."

"You don't know that," Tygra said.

"And you do?"

"No, but I'm not assuming the worst."

Panthro shot him a cursory glance. "Yes, you are. Look at you. Even your mane is tense."

Tygra managed a faint smile. "All right, I am worried. But let's not panic until we know for sure what's happened."

"I still think it's got something to do with her strange behaviour this morning," said Lion-O. "Did you get a chance to ask her what was wrong?"

"We talked," Tygra said cautiously. "She seemed… a little odd."

The knowing look that passed between Panthro and him as he said it alerted Lion-O that more had probably happened than Tygra was prepared to admit. Before he could press the issue, however, the infirmary door opened and Pumyra appeared.

"Good, you're here," she said. "Come in."

She stepped aside and let them enter. Whatever Lion-O had imagined lay in wait for him in the infirmary proved to be thankfully disappointing. On one bed, Bengali was sitting up, noisily devouring an apple and apparently none the worse for the accident. In the other bed was Cheetara, silent and unmoving save for the gentle rise and fall of her chest. A monitor, bleeping with reassuring monotony, told him that she was not in any immediate danger. He made his way to her bedside and gazed down at her. She was at peace, lost in a deep sleep. The strain that had marked her brow with deep lines and had dulled the sparkle in her eyes had disappeared, making her look younger than the years he knew she lied about. She was beautiful, he thought. Beautiful… and vulnerable. The word had come unbidden to his mind and he could not shake it. He had never associated her with vulnerability before, but undoubtedly now she was. She needed his help and here he was, stood like a fool by her bedside, not knowing what to do.

"How is she?" Lion-O asked when Pumyra came over to join him.

Pumyra took a deep breath and turned her attention to her sleeping patient. "I've been able to determine her condition. The good news is that it isn't life threatening. Quite the opposite, in fact. That being said, she is delicate at the moment, so I want a promise from you all that you won't upset her too much."

"As if we would," Panthro said. "We only want to know that she's all right."

"Yes, of course," Lion-O agreed. "What is her 'condition'?"

Pumyra fixed them with an unwavering stare. "She's pregnant," she said.

Lion-O felt his mouth drop open. He stared at Pumyra, hearing but not believing. Shock had robbed him of speech, and Panthro and Tygra too for no one seemed able to express what they were thinking. For a long time, the stunned silence was broken only by the sound of Bengali's continued crunching until finally Pumyra spoke again.

"Yes, well, that was my reaction too," she said. "To say I was shocked is an understatement."

"You're saying that Cheetara is… pregnant?" Lion-O managed to get out in a voice that was so hoarse he barely recognised it as his own. "How?"

A snort of amusement sounded from behind him. "Would you like a diagram?" Bengali chuckled.

"I don't mean how," he retorted with annoyance. "I mean…"

"How is that possible?" Panthro finished for him. "Unless…" He turned on Tygra, his eyes blazing. "You! You're responsible for this! I thought you said--"

Pumyra held up her hand for calm. "Before we start throwing accusations around, there's something else you should see." She took up the limp hand nearest to her and held it in her own. Spreading Cheetara's fingers out on her palm, she held it out for their inspection. "There," she said. "I think this might explain things."

It took him a moment to register the implications of what he was seeing. "Great Jaga," he murmured. "She's only got three fingers."

Pumyra nodded. "Quite so."

"But how?"

"You keep asking that," Bengali remarked.

"Because I don't understand," Lion-O retorted. "When did she lose a finger? Did it happen today?"

"No," Pumyra replied. "This is an old injury. It's healed, see, and there is no redness around the scar. I would say this was done quite some time ago."

"But Cheetara never lost a finger, so…"

"How?" Bengali suggested. "That's what we were wondering."

"Frankly," Pumyra began, "I can think of only one explanation for this and her pregnancy." She paused, expecting them to offer their own thoughts on the subject. "Well, isn't it obvious?"

"This isn't our Cheetara," Tygra said at last.

"Nonsense!" Panthro scoffed. "Are you saying that someone who just happens to have a passing resemblance to Cheetara turned up this morning and we muddled the two up? D'you know the odds of that?"

"Astronomical, I'll bet," said Bengali.

"Too true, kid," Panthro said. "You'll have to come up with a better explanation than that."

"Then what do you think happened?" Tygra said.

Panthro folded his arms and a knowing glint came into his eye. "She lost the finger ages ago and didn't tell us. As for the cub, well, perhaps you can explain that."

Tygra's eyebrows rose. "You think it's mine?" he said. "And how do you get over the fact that our species are incompatible?"

"Miracles do happen."

"Not to me they don't."

"Wait," said Lion-O, interrupting their angry flow. "Why would you think Tygra is the father? It could be…" He hesitated, suddenly feeling all eyes in the room turn in his direction. "Well, it could be any one of us. What Cheetara gets up to in her private life is no one's business but hers. And the person she's doing it with, of course." By the time he had finished speaking, his cheeks were glowing with a flush of embarrassment. "Or something," he felt compelled to add.

"Well, well," Panthro remarked dryly. "Seems there's more going on here than this old cat gets to know about. So when were you going to tell the rest of us about this happy association?"

"No, I didn't mean it was me," Lion-O said quickly. "I never… she never…"

"Perhaps not," said Panthro, "but either we've got a dark horse in our midst or someone's pulling a very convincing lie. Pumyra, can you tell who the father is?"

"No," she replied. "It's too early. She's only about three weeks gone."

"Wasn't Cheetara staying over at the Tower about that time?" Lion-O said. "I remember because Pumyra and Bengali were here, which means…" He left the sentence unfinished and looked round in astonishment at his equally amazed friends. "Lynx-O?" he gasped.

Panthro stroked his chin and chuckled. "Crafty old devil. It's always the quiet ones."

From the other side of the bed, Pumyra shook her head disapprovingly. "Stop it, Panthro," she said. "Casting aspersions on your friends like this. You should be ashamed."

"Not at all. I'm happy for them. And how else are you going to explain it?"

"Not like that. You seem to forget, I gave Cheetara a physical exam only last week. She was not missing a finger and nor was she pregnant."

"You routinely check for things like that?" Lion-O asked.

"I check everything," she said with emphasis. "I'm nothing if not thorough, as well you all know."

"Tell me about it," Bengali muttered.

"Personally," Pumyra went on, "I think this person is an impostor. I'm running a full scan at the moment, so that we'll be able to find out who this really is." An answer to her question was quick in coming, for as she finished speaking, the scanner began to bleep, indicating that it had completed its task. Pumyra consulted the screen and caught her breath. "By all the stars," she murmured.

"What is it?" Lion-O asked.

"The molecular scan shows a match. A perfect match, in fact." Her gaze fell upon the sleeping figure in the bed. "There's no doubt now. This is Cheetara."

Panthro patted her consolingly on the back. "Don't worry, kid. We all make mistakes."

"Do I?" she said irritably. "Then explain this!"

She pressed a switch and the scan transferred to the larger screen. Lion-O squinted at it, but could make no sense of the mass of yellow dots and red blotches peppering Cheetara's vague outline.

"What am I looking at?" he asked.

"Yellow represents old, healed injuries, and red is for new ones," Pumyra explained.

He stared again at the screen with new understanding. Yellow outnumbered red, and even then there were too many to count. "But…"

"Well, either she's lived a very rough life that no one knows about or someone's given her a good beating at some time, and recently too. Do I need to call up a comparative scan from last week to convince you all now?"

"No," Panthro said quietly. "I'm sorry, Pumyra. I doubted you. You were right. This person isn't…" He paused and frowned. "But I thought you said she was a perfect match for Cheetara?"

Pumyra shrugged. "I can't explain it either," she said. "This isn't Cheetara, but is it, if you get my drift."

"That doesn't make sense," Bengali said.

"It is if you make a distinction between our Cheetara and this one," Tygra said.

Lion-O glanced over at him in confusion. "What? How does that work?"

"As far as we know, this is Cheetara, right down to the last molecule, in all but one important respect -- behaviour. Our Cheetara would never knowingly fire on the Thunderstrike, nor would she…" He hesitated, and there was a look in his eye that spoke of a sense of disillusionment. "I should have known then. Silly me."

Losing the meaning of what he was saying, Lion-O looked to Panthro for an explanation.

"She gave him a love-bite," he said. "Haven't you noticed how twitchy he's been?"

"She did?" Pumyra said with concern. "Is it troubling you?"

Tygra shook his head. "The injury isn't, the hormones are. Anyway," he went on, "back to what I was saying, this is going to sound crazy, but have you heard of the Eleventh Dimension?" He was met by blank stares all round. "Well, Thunderian scientists posited that every decision made in the universe gets to be played out. Imagine a tree with many branches. It's something like that. And it can be as simple as whether to have toast for breakfast in the morning. From the moment of choice, there is a split, one where you have the toast, one where you don't."

"You're talking about parallel universes, aren't you?" said Panthro. "I thought that was all theoretical nonsense."

"Is it?" Tygra said, gesturing to the bed. "Are you so certain?"

Panthro folded his arms. "All right, no, I'm not. But it's pretty far-fetched."

Tygra nodded. "I know. And if it's true, it begs the question--"

"How was it done?" Bengali finished for him.

"Well, yes," he agreed. "But I was thinking more along the lines of--"

"This will have to wait," Pumyra interrupted him. She pointed to a light flashing on one of the monitors. "She's waking up. Now I know we've all got questions, but I will not have her unduly upset. I'm not going to risk harm to her or her baby just to satisfy your curiosity."

"But Pumyra," Lion-O began to protest.

"This is my infirmary and I say what goes," she said firmly. "Whoever she is, she's carrying a life inside her that's done us no harm. I want to find out what's happened as much as any of you, but I will not have a death on my conscience. Understand?"

Meekly, he nodded and the others murmured their agreement. Satisfied, Pumyra moved to her patient's bedside and waited for the first signs of wakefulness. The merest flicker of Cheetara's eyelids was accompanied by a soft groan as she started to approach consciousness. Then, her eyes opened.

For a moment, she gazed up at them, seeing, but not focusing on their faces. She blinked several times as if trying to make sense of her surroundings. "Where…?" she murmured.

"You're safe," said Pumyra. "You're in our infirmary and--"

Before she could finish, Cheetara had recoiled from her like a frightened rabbit, backing furiously away until she came up against the headboard and could go no further.

"Don't hurt me!" she wailed. She clasped her arms about her stomach and began to cry. "I never meant any harm. Please, I'm pregnant. Please don't hurt my baby!"

"Right, everyone out!" Pumyra ordered, bustling them towards the door. "I'll try to calm her down and you can talk to her later. Now go!" She fairly pushed them out of the room and Lion-O was left staring at the insignia on the metal of the door as Pumyra shut and locked it behind her.

"Well, I guess that confirms it," said Panthro with a sigh.

"I still can't believe it," said Lion-O. "But if it's true, then what's happened to our Cheetara?"

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

Floor smacked into stomach with a force that made every bone in her bone quake. True, she had been expecting it, but when the moment came, Slithe's minions carried out his orders so promptly that Cheetara barely had time to prepare herself. With the breath knocked from her lungs, she lay still, hearing already aching muscles groaning in protest and tasting the blood that had seeped into her mouth where her teeth had grazed her lip.

From above, she caught a throaty chuckle and slowly lifted her head to see Slithe sneering down at her. "You have something to say to me, slave?" he said.

Bitter experience made her swallow the angry words that readily sprang to mind. There was a place for pride, she decided, and getting beaten up again would only make her situation worse. Clenching her fists at the indignity of it, she lowered her gaze and meekly shook her head.

"Better," said Slithe. "At least your little escapade hasn't spoilt you too much. You can still be of use to us after all."

Behind her a door hissed as it opened to admit a newcomer. Taloned feet came over to where she lay, paused, then prodded her roughly in the side. The dull ache from her ribs became a stabbing pang and she gave a small gasp at the sheer stinging pain of it. Vultureman huffed and marched over to where Slithe was standing.

"I thought I said she wasn't to be harmed," he said with obvious irritation.

"Did you expect me to allow her crime to go unpunished?" Slithe snapped. "A little retraining was necessary."

"A little?" Vultureman snorted. "Awk, how am I expected to work under these conditions?"

"Be grateful you have her at all. For what she did, I should have had her killed, yesss."

The two Mutants started to argue amongst themselves, giving Cheetara a moment of respite from their attentions and time to appraise her situation. She was back in the room where Slithe had previously beat her to the ground and, apart from the odd cobweb and scrap of food on the floor, someone had done a good job of clearing up. The door, the only way in or out of the chamber, was guarded by the two large Brutemen who had brought her from her prison. The sleepy look in their eyes was deceiving; her attempt at escape when they had opened her cell door had only served to add numerous bruises to an already long list of injuries. That, added to their rough handling, the debilitating effects of the Thundranium collar and the beginnings of dehydration had all combined to leave her too weak to stand. Any chance of escape seemed as remote as ever.

All the same, she knew she had to try. If she bided her time, the opportunity might eventually present itself. One of her friends might even come to her aid, although with every minute of her imprisonment that had gone by, she had realised that hope was fading fast. Somehow the balance had been tipped in the Mutants' favour. Somehow she would have to tip it back. But it was the somehow that was worrying her.

A loud bellow finally heralded the end of the argument and she turned her attention back to their conversation.

"That's enough!" Slithe was yelling. "Instead of whining, why don't you see if what you suspected was true?"

Vultureman grumbled something discouraging and returned to Cheetara's side. Taking a handful of her mane, he pulled her up into a sitting position. Ignoring the look of hate she gave him, he took out a small scanner and proceeded with his examination. His expression of annoyance was soon replaced by disappointment when he saw the results.

"Well?" Slithe demanded.

"It seems I was wrong," came Vultureman's reply. "Awk, I can detect no signs of…" He trailed off and slowly he looked up from his scanner at her face. His beak dropped open and for a moment he stared at her. "By all the ancestors," he murmured. Then, jumping to his feet, he hurried back to Slithe. "Incredible," he twittered. "Those fools have actually done something right for once!"

"What are you blabbering about?" Slithe said.

Vultureman had to visibly quell his excitement. "They brought the wrong one back," he said.

It took Slithe a moment to catch his meaning. "No," he murmured. "Impossible. She's--" His gaze fixed on her and an uncertain look came into his eye. "You're telling me that she's…"

Vultureman firmly nodded his head.

"Idiots!" Slithe roared. "I'll skin their scrawny hides for this. Jackalman!" He began to pace uneasily back and forth, rage twisting the lines of his face into an uneven scowl. "Trust that son of a mammal to get it wrong. A simple thing like catching a runaway slave and he can't even do that!"

"Slithe," Vultureman began.

"Wait till I get my hands on him. I'll wring his neck, yesss!"

"Slithe…"

"Useless, incompetent, no good--"

"Slithe!"

The reptilian came to an abrupt halt. "What?" he barked.

Vultureman gave a supercilious smile. "It doesn't matter," he said. "In fact, it's better."

"Oh? And how d'you work that one out?"

"Awk, she's young, fit and healthy," he said, consulting his scanner readouts. "She's perfect."

Curiosity and growing concern finally got the better of her. "Perfect for what?" she demanded.

"So you do have a voice," said Vultureman. "I was beginning to think that Slithe had bitten out your tongue."

Trying to ignore the unpleasant imagery his words had brought to mind, she pressed on. "What's going on here?"

Vultureman grinned nastily. "Oh, you poor thing. Yes, this must all seem very strange to you." He tapped his chin and considered. "All you really need to know is that the life you had is over."

"And so will yours be when I get my hands on you," she retorted. "What have you done with my friends?"

"Your friends?" Vultureman mused. "Hmm, I hadn't anticipated that. But I suppose all things are possible in an infinite universe." He chuckled. "Somewhere out there, we might not even get along, Slithe."

The reptilian scowled in reply.

"You see the fact is, my dear, someone has played a very nasty trick on you. You've been 'swapped', shall we say. You have her life and she has yours now. Simple really."

"What?" Cheetara uttered. "Are you saying this isn't Third Earth?"

Both Mutants burst out laughing.

"Oh dear," said Vultureman. "You are in for quite a shock, aren't you? Let me explain. Yes, this planet did used to be called 'Third Earth'. Now it's New Plun-darr. Thanks to a quirk of fate and an accident of ecology, we found ourselves stranded on this cesspit of a world. Still, it hasn't been all bad, has it, Slithe? In fact, it's been quite good for business."

"Business?" Cheetara echoed. "And what is it exactly that you do?"

"We deal in slaves. Whatever you need, we can supply. Berbils are very popular, you know. Good workers and easy to break."

"You scum," she growled.

Vultureman waggled a finger at her. "Now, now," he said. "Is that any way to talk to your master?"

Before she could reply, the door opened and Jackalman came running in. "You called, Slithe?" he said.

"I certainly did," the reptilian hissed. "You cretin, you brought back the wrong one!"

Jackalman blinked several times. "W-what?" he stammered uncertainly.

Slithe marched over to where Cheetara sat and, grabbing her left hand, held it out for the jackal to see. "See there, you fool!" he roared.

"B-but she looks like--"

"Of course she does," Slithe bellowed. "All you had to do to be sure was to check her hand. How many three-fingered cheetahs are there, d'you think?"

Jackalman visibly quailed. "Sorry, Slithe," he whimpered. "I'll make it up to you. I'll go and get our Cheetara back."

"Yes, you will. And this time I'll be coming with you to make sure you get it right!"

"Does it really matter?" Vultureman interjected. "This one will do quite as well, and I dare say breaking her will be fun too."

Slithe took to grinding his fist in his hand. "She thinks she got the better of me, but I'll show her, yes. She'll regret the day she ever thought of running away from me. What I'll do to her when I get her back here…"

"No, you can't."

"What?" Slithe spluttered. "You dare tell me what I can and can't do?"

"Not me personally, Slithe. It's a little matter of the laws of physics."

"And what do they have to do with anything?"

Vultureman grinned knowingly. "Awk, well, Slithe, two identical atoms cannot exist in the same dimension at the same time. You bring your little runaway back and it won't be long before both are completely useless to us. You," he said, prodding Cheetara in the leg with his foot. "Before that blithering idiot of a jackal brought you here, you were unwell?"

She nodded, remembering the strange feelings that had dogged her all morning.

"Yes, as I suspected," he went on. "You were feeling the effects of dual existence. One of you had to go, I'm afraid. Unlucky for you."

"Are you telling me," Slithe said, "that I have to leave her there in some cosy parallel universe?"

"You could always swap them over, although where's the fun in that? Personally, I prefer fresh material to work with."

"Perhaps we will keep her then. But that other little runaway will still have to be punished. Tell me, Vultureman, if I kill her in that other universe, what then?"

He shrugged. "She'll be dead. End of story."

"So be it," said Slithe, rubbing his hands together with obvious satisfaction. "Jackalman, get your team together. We're going on another trip through that Eye machine of yours. In the meantime, Vultureman, begin breaking this one. I'll finish the job when I get back!"

So saying, he headed for the door, almost bowling a startled figure who had appeared in the doorway from her feet as he went. After reptilian and jackal had gone, the person stepped out of the gloom of the corridor and stood uncertainly on the threshold. The candle she held in her hand illuminated her features and Cheetara found herself looking at Pumyra.

"It's lighting up time, master," she said, keeping her eyes carefully downcast. "Shall I come back when you've finished?"

"No, you can go about your business," Vultureman said to her. "Don't mind us."

She gave a small nod and went to the first of the wall sconces. The flame caught and brought light to the chamber. Cheetara watched her, knowing and yet not knowing this strange apparition. She looked like Pumyra. She sounded like her. She moved like her. And yet here she was, meekly carrying out the orders of the Mutants she called her masters.

Aware of Vultureman's keen eyes upon her, she looked up and met his gaze.

"It must seem strange to you, seeing her like this," he said. "I understand things are different in your world."

"Very," Cheetara murmured. "Thundercats bow to no one."

As she said it, out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Pumyra hesitate for a fleeing second before continuing with her work.

"A Thunder-what?" Vultureman sneered.

His ignorance was too convincing. She could almost believe that this was some elaborate deceit, designed to make her believe that she had indeed fallen into a crazy world, where her friends were slaves and the Mutants ruled over them. But if it was a charade, it had been rehearsed to perfection.

"I don't believe you," she said at last. "I don't believe any of this. I think you're a liar. What did you do to my friends to make them so… so servile?"

Vultureman frowned. "You think we're making this up? My, you are hard to convince. Very well, I see a demonstration is in order. Pumyra, come here."

Obediently, she stopped what she was doing and came over to where he stood.

"Now, Pumyra, my dear, what are you?" he asked, taking the candle from her as he did so.

"A slave, master," she answered him.

"And what does a slave do?"

"Whatever my master wishes, master."

"Good girl. Now hold out your left hand."

As she did so, Vultureman grabbed her wrist and brought the candle under her outstretched hand. She made no attempt to resist or move away, even when the flame began to lick at her palm. Her body had tensed and a tremor was running down her arm, but she endured the pain in silence. If she could bear it, Cheetara could not and she yelled at Vultureman to stop. He ignored her and a full five seconds passed before he removed the candle and released Pumyra's wrist. Only then did a small pained gasp escape her lips as she clutched at her wounded hand.

"What do you say, slave?" Vultureman said.

"Thank you, master," she answered him in a quavering voice.

"Very good. Go and put something on your hand, then continue with your duties."

Pumyra nodded, then dashed away.

"Well?" he said, looking down at Cheetara.

She glared at him, feeling surges of hatred rising from the depths of her soul. "Bastard!" she hissed.

"Language," he said reprovingly. "Anyway, why are you angry at me? You wanted to know. You were the one who needed convincing."

"You didn't have to torture her to prove it!"

"Think nothing of it. Awk, it was pleasure."

It was a sentiment she could believe, judging from the look on his face as he said it. It was a look he maintained as he crossed to the table and took up a pitcher and goblet. He filled the vessel with water and took a long swig.

"Delicious!" he said. His gaze returned to her face and his eyes narrowed. "You want this, don't you?"

Body and soul cried out for it, but she was not about to admit that to him. Sensing her need, however, he knelt down in front of her and refilled the goblet.

"Are you sure you don't want any?" he said. "All you have to do is ask, Cheetara."

"Get lost!" she growled. "I don't want anything from you!"

"Think of it then as giving and receiving. Give to me and you'll get what you want."

"Never!"

He shook his head and sighed. "You can't go without fluids forever. If you persist in this, we'll have to force feed you and that is most unpleasant for all concerned. But if you're sure that's what you want…" He took another long draught and carefully licked beads of moisture from his beak. "Come on, my dear," he urged. "Why delay the inevitable? You know you'll do it in the end."

She gritted her teeth and tried to resist. It was painfully difficult. Her throat was so dry that swallowing was agony and her tongue had turned to leather in her mouth. She craved that water, needed it as never before. Let them force it on her, she resolved, for she would never willingly submit.

"Hmm, you are tough, aren't you?" Vultureman remarked. "Your time here will be interesting indeed."

"Why don't you drug me like you did my friends if you want a quick result?" she retorted.

He snorted with amusement. "Awk, what a suggestion! We would never use artificial means. Where's the fun in that? Besides, the results are always so uneven. We have a reputation for supplying a reliable product. A good slave can only be produced by old-fashioned methods. No, when you break, you'll do so because you'll want to. Believe me, I know. I've seen it so many times."

I'll bet you have, she thought. "And what if I won't?"

"It's not happened yet, but I suppose it's possible. In that case, I'm sure we'll find another use for you. Until then, why don't you have a drink?"

He held the goblet out to her. With it just inches from her face, she could see the faint traces of water around its rim. She found herself imagining what it would be like. Cold and refreshing, soothing to her raw throat and parched tongue. With effort, she tried to force the longing away, but it refused to die. Don't be a fool, Cheetara, you need that water, it tormented her. Is your pride worth jeopardising any chance you have of escape? It's only a few words after all. What does it matter?

But it did matter. Beg for water now and who knew where it would end? Actually, she had a pretty good idea. How long would it be, she wondered, before she ended up like Pumyra?

"You're wasting your time," she said defiantly. "I won't do it! Never!"

Vultureman held her gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, very deliberately, he tipped the goblet and let its precious contents spill out onto the floor. Water spread wide beyond her reach and disappeared down the cracks in the boards.

"Very well," he said, getting to his feet and tossing the goblet away. "If you choose to be difficult, then so be it." He barked an order at the two Brutemen. Obediently they lumbered forward and took hold of her arms. To weak to resist, she could do nothing as they manhandled her from the room.

"Take her up to my lab," Vultureman called to them. "Bind her to the examination table and make sure she can't escape. Awk, I don't see why Slithe should have all the fun!"

His laughter followed her up the corridor as her captors dragged her along behind them. What awaited her, she dreaded to think. Not that she could much to prevent it. She was held fast and her struggles were largely ignored. Every now and again, they would wrench her arms and the pain would force her into silence. Then, they would continue on, intent on carrying out Vultureman's orders. Until, that is, one suddenly tripped and fell flat on his face. The other promptly followed suit and both lay senseless on the floor. Surprised, she had half-turned to see what had happened when a hand clamped over her mouth and she was dragged into the shadows.

"Promise you'll be quiet," whispered a gruffly familiar voice.

She nodded as much as she could and was released. Looking round, she found herself staring at Bengali. Or rather his double, she reminded herself.

"Pumyra tells me you're a changeling," he said. "That true?"

"If that means I'm from a parallel universe, then I guess, yes, I am."

He swore under his breath. "How did they find out so soon?"

"About me?" she said. "Something to do with my hand, I think."

"No, I meant about where she'd gone," he said with irritation. "Curse it all! Was she all right?"

"I don't know. I never met her."

He fell silent for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind. Moving behind her, he set to work on her collar. "You can't stay here," he said.

"My sentiments exactly. But how--"

"Find Panthro. He'll tell you." There was a loud click and he pulled the open collar from her neck. "There. Now get out of here." He glanced up and down the corridor and was about to dart away when Cheetara caught his arm.

"What about you?" she asked. "What will they do when they find out I've escaped?"

"What do you care?" he retorted. He must have seen the genuine concern in her eyes for he relented. "All right, well, since you're interested, I suppose they'll think Panthro rescued you. They'll probably take it out on us, but it doesn't matter. As long as you aren't here."

"Why?"

He shook his head. "No time to explain. Ask Panthro."

"Bengali, wait!" she called. "Was Pumyra all right?"

"No," he answered softly. "But she will be. Now go!"

She watched him as he hurried away, not entirely sure what he expected her to do. Find Panthro? She hadn't a clue where to start looking. On the plus side, however, her condition was slowly improving. Removing the collar had been a step in the right direction. Already her strength was starting to return. The remaining headache and nausea she would just have to try to ignore.

The corridor was empty when she peered out from the shadows and, taking a deep breath, she set off, hugging the wall as she went and listening out for any signs of life. A little way along, she came to a window looking out over the bleak moat below. She was on the verge of jumping out when she stopped herself. What was she doing? Running, when her friends needed her? Running, like a coward? This was not the action of a Thundercat, she told herself. Friends were never left behind, no matter what the cost. To her shame, the thought struck her that since these were not the friends she knew, then loyalty did not apply. But of course it did. She could no more turn her back on them than she could on any person in need.

With a sigh, she left the window and started back down the corridor. She would rescue them and they would all leave together, she resolved. Quite how she was going to do that was something she had not made up her mind about. Making it up as she went along seemed her best and only option, but it came with the odds loaded against her. Still, win or lose, she knew she had to try.

She had not gone ten steps, however, when two Mutants appeared from the opposite direction. They stopped and stared at her, mouths dropping open in shock. But in a second they had recovered and, brandishing weapons, they charged at her. On any normal day, she knew she could easily outrun them. But this was far from normal and capture was certain. Hating herself for what she had to do, she hurried back to the window and jumped through the opening.

The shock of the icy water as she dived into the moat drove precious air from her lungs, so that by the time she surfaced, she was gasping for breath. Glancing up, she could see the two Mutants yelling abuse at her from the window she had leapt from. With a final curse, they vanished. She guessed that they would not let her get away so easily; it was more than likely that they were already on their way down. For the time being, she had the advantage, but she was fast finding that putting it to good use was more difficult than she had anticipated. Despite her best efforts, the safety of the other side seemed as far away as ever. What little had returned of her strength seemed to have already been used up. Her limbs were heavy with tiredness and numb from the cold. Even staying afloat was draining and, every now and again, brackish water slopped into her mouth, choking her. Fear, colder than the water, raced through her body. The realisation that she was losing the battle gave her a little extra and she struggled on towards the bank.

Sure that she had reached it, she stretched her hand out to the dark mass in front of her. It bobbed away from her grasping fingers and she realised her mistake. The darkness and black waters had colluded to convince her that the log she had touched was safety. With dismay, she saw that the bank was still some distance away. A moment of frustration cost her dear, for she stopped swimming and the waters closed above her head. She fought her way to the surface, only to be smothered again. Her lungs cried out, but water had taken the place of air. She was falling, drifting down in the water's deathly embrace. Too weak and cold to keep fighting, she watched the silvery patch of moonlight on the surface above her grow ever more distant. As her vision dimmed, she saw violent ripples move across it and jumble up its outline. Then a pair of arms encircled her waist and denied the moat its prize. Someone pulled her up to the surface and forced sweet, wonderful air into her lungs.

Surprised and relieved, she coughed and blinked up into the familiar smiling face of her rescuer.

"You're alive, thank the gods," said Panthro. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

Back to Fanfic Archive