5

LIKE THIEVES IN THE NIGHT - Lauren Moore

The code numbers he pushed slid the doors to the main office open silently, and they slid just as silently closed as he stepped through.

And gasped. There was a man standing not a dozen yards away.

"Good evening," the man said. He was standing beside a rosewood desk, the center drawer of which was open, and there was a spark in his dark eyes and a tentative smile on his lips.

He, too, was wearing a dark business suit, shoulders covered with a long, black cape. He was slim and a few inches taller than himself and the tips of pointed ears sh owed through his moderately long, well-styled black hair.

THE MINSTREL - Karla Kelly

I came to Castle Keep a wanderer, searching for something, I knew not what. Silent since birth, my staff kept my life and my lyre spoke questions and earned my supper as I played for rich and poor alike. I came, with instrument and weapon, an innocent, to that Castle's table. How was I to know my answers would be there?

THE LAST GAME - Elizabeth Scott

Leaning back i the wobbly-legged chair, James Kirk casually surveyed the gathering: Greth of Andor, K'chin of Teller, Oea-Chu of Ceti Triangula, the cream of the galactic mercenary corps, they were all there, each surrounded by a knot of steely-eyed lieutenants as though anyone would attempt an assassination in such a prestigious gathering of the best miliary minds in the universe.

As Kirk materialized on the transporter pad, the pacing man stopped in his tracks. He was dressed in a command-gold uniform identical to Kirk's.

BEGINNINGS - Anne-Marie

"Welcome to ShiKahr, Captain," he said, emphasizing Kirk's new rank.

The desert lay calm beneath the late morning sun. On this windless day no dust rose in the air to obscure vision. One could easily see the peaks of Tuwykha two days ride to the north. In the distance heat waves danced, teasing the eye with mirages of non-existent lakes.

HONORBOUND - Ciana Mitchell (novella)

While his men entered and inspected the other tents, Spock took a firebrand from the marauder's campfire and entered the third. He tossed aside the tent flap and froze.

A man, hands bound behind his back, lay on his side on a pallet. Bronze hair and round

ears denoted him to be human. As Spock moved closer, the man rolled onto his back. Gold-green eyes glared up at him with smoldering rage.

The face was smeared with dirt. Welts, bruises and soot covered what was otherwise a finely built compact body, which was easy to see, since the human was naked.

POETRY by Erato

COVERS by Deeb.

ART by

July 1993