Billy drifted. For a long time he wandered somewhere between semi-wakefulness and wakeful dreams. He could feel someone's hands tending to his needs, lifting his head to help him sip hot broth or bitter brew, re-wrapping his body in blankets, and moving him around on the cot. Those were the periods when he knew he was almost conscious.

But his dreams! The long conversations he carried on with himself, those he knew to be merely dreams. Though occasionally his mind seemed to have enough of these rambling conversations and instead would systematically go through series of logarithms, or review the periodic table, arranging the chemical elements that he knew existed because of his experiences of the last few years, but that Earth scientists had not yet discovered.

Eventually, he woke. He was lying on a cot, propped up against several pillows, which was situated lengthwise next to a very warm wall constructed of mortared stones. The other three sides of the small windowless room were built of logs. He suspected that he was in an add-on constructed around the back of a large stone chimney. He could hear talking coming from another room, probably the one onto which the fireplace must open. He listened to the sounds without trying to interpret what the words meant.

He took a deep breath, feeling a great pleasure in simply being able to breathe without coughing, as air rushed into his lungs.

An older woman walked around the end of the mortared wall. Apparently there was no door there, just an opening. She held in both hands a bowl wrapped in a towel, with the handle of a spoon sticking over the edge. She placed the bowl on a low square table next to the cot, then sat down on a small round stool.

The woman was of medium height and somewhat pudgy, her face round and shiny as a polished apple She was dressed in a long multi-rose colored skirt and jacket, and a dark solid rose apron. A scarf matching the apron was wrapped around her head so that it hid all of her hair. She reminded him of someone he knew, but at the moment he could not figure out whom. Her expression was very somber, as if she held within herself a great inner sorrow.

Billy looked at her. He suspected they had played out this scenario many times before, but now he was conscious enough to know that he was awake and that it had happened before, so he must be making progress.

She said nothing as she began to spoon the warm broth into Billy's mouth, which was fine by him. Just thinking about trying to raise his hands made him weary.

After he was fed, he slept. He woke. He breathed. Finally, he began to think, to wonder what had happened to Jason. The murmuring voices in the next room began to make some sense. The woman's name was Migga. Someone called her that once right as she walked in, and she turned and responded with sounds that somehow meant something in Billy's brain.

"Zairian, they are speaking Zairian," Billy remembered, "so we're still there, or here, or at least I am."

The next time she fed him, Billy asked her, in Zairian, "Where's Jason?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Where am I? Lord Maxim's court?"

She shook her head vigorously, and handed him the spoon.

"Two for two," thought Billy, "but I must be getting better if I'm allowed to feed myself."

Lifting the spoon took all his attention, and all his strength as well.

He slept again.

The intervals of semi-consciousness extended. To pass the time, he went back to his systematic review of his life. He had been working on this review off-and-on for some time, long before he left Earth for Aquitar that last time, attempting to ascertain a satisfactory answer to a personal question.

Was he a scientist? From his earliest memories, that had been his intention and desire; to be an investigator of the principles and procedures for the systematic pursuit of knowledge involving the recognition and formulation of a problem, the collection of data through observation and experiment, and the formulation of hypotheses. That was how science was defined by Webster's dictionary.

Science had been his primary interest since the second book he had ever read by himself. The book had explained how a prism separated white light into different colors - red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet. Hmmm, he must have been about two years of age when he had read that book. How orderly it had made the universe seem! That same book had also been the inspiration for starting him on his collection of prisms.

Then there was his knack for taking things apart and putting them back together, often in a new and much more efficient configuration. He enjoyed that pleasurable ability of deciphering how the parts of something made up the whole; of gestalting the relationships between two or more pieces of metal, or plastic, or electronic circuits, computer interfaces, neurological networks, bioecological systems, or ... zords.

It was more than a knack, he admitted to himself, it was a passion bordering on an obsession, one that he'd had since he had taken his mother's vacuum cleaner apart in elementary school and re-built the engine into one that had been a hundred percent more efficient. It had taken him four hours of determination to succeed at the task. He probably should have applied for a patent on the process, but profit had never been a motive for him. More than once he had considered that some sort of an engineering career might be more his forte, or perhaps that of a free-lance inventor.

Then, several years ago, out of nowhere, a being of immense transdimensional capabilities had plucked him and four of his friends from a local hangout, and ever since he felt he had been winging his scientific studies, dabbling instead with crystallanic forces, investigating human bodies morphing in ways that defied all known nucleonic data, not to mention dealing with all those magical spells that evolved from mythological sources. So was he really truly a scientist still? Or was he merely a practitioner of the craft of magic?

But science worked to codify the physical laws of the universe, and magic seemed to also require adhering to universal systemic codes. What was it one of his favorite science and science fiction writers, Arthur C. Clarke, had once written as Clarke's Third Law -- that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic? So then, perhaps he should take hope for his scientific career from the fact that that same writer had also come up with the concept of geosynchronous orbits for satellites over fifty years ago. And where would the Internet be now without the communication satellites that orbited in the same position relative to the Earth's surface? Half a century ago those satellites were considered preposterous and Clarke's ideas laughable; now they were interwoven into every day life.

When the review of his personal career goals became too emotionally painful to contemplate, Billy retreated into what he thought of as the engineering section of his brain, where he could relax and not analyze and research so much as construct and play. He would select a zord in his mind, and identify each of its parts, then mentally deconstruct and rebuild each zord. Considering how many zords the Rangers had gone through, each of these puzzles would take a considerable time, for he had known each of them intimately, even those that he hadn't piloted. He lingered longest over his first zord and secret favorite, the triceratops. Maybe he could be satisfied just being a zord mechanic. Knowing the extensive damages that zords so often sustained, it would be a career with solid security for the long run.

In his mind he reviewed the blueprints for the new, and as yet uncompleted, Turbozords, noting modifications that he wanted to be sure to pass on to the current Rangers. His skills had come a very long way from the Rad Bug.

He remembered that he had not advised the others of Zordon's concern that the Zeo crystal would at some point have to be taken off-line and allowed to replenish itself. But perhaps Zordon had given them some warning so they could take up from where Billy had left off when he so abruptly departed for Aquitar.

Aquitar. He admonished himself, "William, don't go there quite yet." Those images and experiences -- so close, so recent, so wonderful -- he didn't want to classify them as memories. He wanted them to be the reality he would wake up to again some day.

Thinking about the various zords brought him back to the other side of his brain. Zords were technological creations, as he knew better than anyone else, and yet they were animated. Was there some alliance between the electromagnetic properties of these giant created objects and the astounding electrical synapses of our own brains -- the ones that allow us to love, to hope, to share, to wonder, to care? Though he had never confessed it to the others, he always felt an intense emotional attachment to his zords, and no rational analysis could convince him that there was not a sense of some sort of emotional response being returned to him by these supposed machines.

The conversations with himself returned, but now a third party intervened that seemed to be taunting him, "What is the purpose of reviewing your past life? You think you will return to it? If Zordon and the others haven't located you by now, what makes you think they ever will? Just as you did with the Power of the Gold Ranger, you gave away the only communicator you had to Jason. They probably homed in on it and teleported him home, and now have no way of relocating this dimension."

"Where are these negative thoughts originating?" the analytical part of his brain questioned. And then, his own mental voice firmly responded, "My friends will come."

"That's not analytical," scoffed the third voice, "that's mere wishful thinking, something that can't be proven by scientific means. You're putting a lot of faith into a bunch of spaced-out, irresponsible, overbearing, over-emotional, self-absorbed, self-centered adolescents, not to mention this strange illogical insistence you have on anthropomorphizing machine constructs."

"Are we talking about Alpha?" Billy wondered. But it was clear, crystal clear, to Billy that Alpha was so very much more than a simple aggregate of circuits and metal and tri-edonian-silicon chips; far more than just a fully functional automaton.

"Alpha is my friend," was his simple declaration of a basic truth.

This triple internal dialogue troubled him somehow, even though Billy had long been used to multi-tasking thought processes. He had been very young when he discovered such an ability in himself. He could set some problem bubbling in his head, one track of his mind investigating and pursuing different angles; while at the same time on another track he would interact with the world around him, though perhaps his social interactions were not always as successful as he would have desired.

Consequently, he could absorb an enormous amount of information in very short periods of time, then correlate and interrelate them in remarkable juxtapositions between scientific disciplines. The exception was in the area of human relationships. In this particular area, he always felt as if he was off-line somehow. His usual methods of processing information just did not seem to apply.

As he grew up, his cognitive abilities had distanced him from others, isolating him, and making him feel ever more lonely. He wanted so much to share his discoveries with someone who found the same kind of joy as he did in exploring the whys and hows of everything around them. Certain teachers and scientists with whom he had interned had seemed to appreciate his interests and talents and greatly encouraged him. But he began to yearn for someone who could travel such a convoluted double helix path of exploration with him.

He had grown academically restless in his classes, and jumped ahead grades, even though he knew intellectually that created even more problems for him, as emotionally he was way behind the developmental bell curve of his classmates. In his situation, intellect seemed to be able to do little about resolving loneliness. He didn't choose< to be different. He just was.

Then he was adopted.

He wasn't even sure when it happened. He had been vaguely aware of Jason for some time, as a classmate, in the halls, by the lockers. Then at some point Jason started asking him for help with homework.

Jason was taller than Billy, older, strong, good-looking, intelligent, and highly self-disciplined. A muscular jock type and popular, someone who guys listened to, girls had crushes on, and teachers liked. Jason was also quiet, and reserved, but in a different manner from Billy's shyness. It was as if Jason preferred stepping back and observing the passing scene, while Billy longed to join it, but was unsure of the procedure.

Jason always appeared so composed and confident, never demanding respect from others but receiving it. Although it was soon obvious that Jason needed little help with his homework, it was so comfortable to just sit at a table at the Youth Center -- a place that Billy had never even been in until Jason had suggested meeting there -- and talk with him. He seemed always ready to listen, to even interrupt Billy at times and ask him to go over again something Billy was talking about, as if he really wanted to understand the subject. It was like rain on the desert for Billy's soul. Jason treated him as an equal, not as a freak who was too smart for his own good, nor as a klutz who tripped over his own feet, but in the same natural way Jason treated everyone, someone accepted for whoever they were, with whatever gifts they had.

Once, when Billy had been rattling on about something, he stopped himself abruptly, having just realized a disturbing thought. Was Jason perhaps patronizing him? "Why are you listening to me?" he had demanded of Jason, almost a little heatedly. "I am not entirely certain that you are even capable of understanding these concepts I am discussing."

"By that, I take it you think I don't understand what you're saying," Jason had replied in his unruffled tone, not even acting surprised at Billy's atypical outburst.

Jason had leaned back in his chair, casually crossing his arms over his chest, and looked Billy in the eye, "Okay, so maybe I'm not understanding everything you say, but what you are saying is obviously important to you. You have a passion for science. That much I do understand. So I'm willing, as your friend, to try to listen. Besides," he had grinned, "maybe you're underestimating my ability to learn something new."

Billy had blinked several times, not replying for several moments afterwards. Of everything Jason had just said, two words were emblazoned on Billy's psyche, "your friend." The complexity of scientific investigation, which always searches for the most elegant and least complicated of answers, approaches nowhere near the complexity of the human heart, which yearns for a simple clear affirmation.

Along with the rain on the desert came a stunning blossom known as Trini. She sat down at the table with them one day as naturally as if they had all been friends together forever. She listened to Billy too, listened thoughtfully and intently. She did more more than listened, she understood enough to help Billy translate his ideas and perceptions, not just to others, but also to himself, so he could start to integrate the double tracks of his brain. The two of them, Jason and Trini, made him feel, well, normal. Actually, Trini made him feel a lot more than normal! Her beauty entranced him, both the inner and the outer aspects.

At first he had thought maybe Trini and Jason were a twosome, but at some point he had an illuminating realization that there was some deeper bond between the those two than simple romance. He was unclear just what it was, but there was something more there, something that perhaps had to do with their mutual research and exploration in Eastern spiritual disciplines and their interest in martial arts. It was peculiar that Billy himself had not given much attention to those subjects, though he had traveled throughout the Orient with his parents when he was very young.

And then there was Zack. He was an oddball personality in many ways, super hyper, an apparently insecure ham who craved attention, and who gravitated energetically within the more pacific orbits of Jason and Trini. The three all seemed to have been acquainted with each other for a long time.

Zack had a remarkably inquiring mind that sparked many an interesting conversation. However, the way he phrased his questions, and the rapid-fire manner he dispensed them, made Billy pause so long in considering his answer that Zack was often off on another tangent before a suitable response could be given. Yet, Billy admired Zack, especially for his obvious efforts to discipline and focus his creativity while combining it with the best aspects of his spontaneity.

Jason's earlier response about underestimating the learning capacity of others had made Billy reassess his opinions about what people could learn, especially himself. What Billy observed from Zack was that life could still be filled with joy and anticipation, even after severe emotional setbacks. Such knowledge began to ease a deep personal wound that had never healed, and one that Billy had never truly acknowledged, caused by the loss of Billy's mother.

Just as an astronomer never knows the exact moment when a supernova explodes, as its light reaches his telescope well after the actual occurrence, Billy was never sure just when Kim became a member of the group. In contrast to her graceful gymnastic skills, Kim kept Billy mentally off-balance by her intuitive abilities. Her enthusiasm for life, for relishing the moment wherever she was, was so contagious that he could not help but be swept into trying things he had never even considered, like spontaneous picnics in the park.

He had often thought she enjoyed how he made her stretch her mind -- that somehow she craved those glimpses of her own internal intellect, that there was something in her yearning to understand and know more than the sales price of every piece of clothing in the mall. And, when self-motivated, she could be incredibly focused, as evidenced by her gymnastic career.

Could that have been the glue of their mutual support network, Billy mused, that each of them so intensely desired to focus and discipline themselves, to attain their own personal goals? And they had all reacted to that kindred intensity with a sense of camaraderie?

Those afternoons in the Youth Center had been some of the best moments of his life. Just to walk into the spacious area and to see any one or all of them look up and smile and wave from where they were sitting at "their" table gave him a sense of social comfort he had never known before when he had been in any group setting.

Then came the day he decided to try Jason's karate class. Jason never pushed Billy to take the classes that Jason taught; he would simply enumerate the benefits and encourage him to consider it, to try when Billy felt ready. What happened in the next few hours after that first class was more than an earthquake caused by the arrival of an evil being, it was the day that had changed Billy's whole universe.

And the path he had taken had led here.

"What happens now?" Billy wondered.

"First, clearly define your parameters and variables," the analytical voice inside him stated.

"There's an evil force here now, somewhere on this world," Billy replied to himself. "It's like a cancer. I am certain it exists. I have to find a way to stop its growth."

"Why bother?" questioned the intervening voice, the one that he did not trust. "Isn't your first priority to find a way home, back to your own dimension?"

"Because I have to help," he responded to this internal argument. "Any other action, especially non-action, is inconceivable."

"This isn't your world, not even your dimension; it is not your concern. You are not being scientific," sneered the third voice.

"Evil is evil, that's a given in the universal equation," Billy replied. "One part of the equation is: if X equals evil and Y equals good, the solution must be zero. The universe will balance. It's not scientific, it's, it's..." He did not know how to respond, for he had no rational response. Only, he was certain that his assistance was the right thing, the necessary thing to do.

Trust your gut. That was something Jason had more than once told him. Sometimes your mind will play mental games, but your gut always knows.

Somewhere there was an echo in his mind. "You're a fool, to waste your talents, yet again..."

"It has never been a waste of my talent, I've learned that much," he replied steadily to the sneering voice. "The constant factor of the universal equation is the parameter of faith, the act of faith itself; that as a living, conscious entity I can believe and do believe and choose to believe, in which resides the true Power. . ."

Towards the end of this internal conversation, Billy had a disturbing impression that perhaps he was having a dialogue with an actual entity rather than just an imaginary one inside his head.

* * * * *

Migga finally let him get up off the cot. He still had his grey jeans, but the force field generator was nowhere to be found. Migga shook her head slowly and shrugged when he asked about a slim black box. He also had Medgar's boots and two jackets, the grey streaked rose colored one that Meglara had insisted on giving him, and the larger dark salmon one that he had last seen Jason wearing before the "demonstration". He wore both now because of the chill. It was mid-winter, according to Migga, and the snow was deep outside.

He was still very weak. He had to lean on Migga to walk around the wall of the chimney into what was an extremely large room, with huge triangular rafters running the length of the room and holding up the slanted A-frame roof. Long shaved planks ran the length of the ceiling.

Large logs comprised three of the walls, which were lined with framed shelves from the floor to where the ceiling began its slant. The shelving was interrupted on one wall by a door. There were no windows. The fourth wall contained the fireplace behind which his sleeping area was located. Off to the other side of the fireplace were two curtained sleeping alcoves, each containing a cot and personal items. Next to the alcoves was a wooden counter with a water basin, fed in winter by pipes from the run-off of melted snow. A shelf close to the hearth held the cooking pots, bowls, plates, mugs, and other kitchen utensils.

The room vaguely reminded Billy of Medgwin's cottage but on a grander scale. It was stuffed with diverse supplies. The numerous shelves held various bundles of dried foods, milled flour, legumes, several large wheels of cheese, and some kind of rootlike vegetable. More bags were piled on the floor, spilling everywhere, while aisles wound between the shambles and led to the cluttered shelves and the door. Bags and bundles hung from the rafters as well.

Migga made Billy sit in a large wooden rocking chair, one of two that were placed near the hearth. She wrapped blankets around him and handed him a mug of the same tea-like drink that Meglara had so often given him. And, as before, two pots bubbled on tripods on the hearth. A sense of deja vu engulfed him, reminding him of the kindness shown him by Medgwin's family.

He rocked and sipped in silence for a long while, watching as Migga moved quietly around, chopping up roots for the pot of stew and checking on some rising dough. The only sound was the crackling of the fire, until the door opened and a well wrapped figure came in, brushing snow off his clothes.

The man had on a furlined cap with ear flaps. He pulled it off to expose a half-bald head. What hair there was grew long in the back, well past the collar, and down below the shoulders. He came to stand by the fire and started pulling off layers of outer clothing. Migga picked up a long coat, jacket, muffler and other wraps and hung them on pegs near the alcoves as the man warmed himself at the hearth.

"Well, lad," he said, turning to Billy. "Are you feeling better?" His eyes seemed to shine with an absent-minded kindness.

Billy took several moments to reply, first to frame his comments in Zairian, and also because the man before him could have been a twin for his old high school principal, Mr. Caplan, minus his toupee. Now Billy was able to place Migga. She was a much more melancholy and thinner version of Miss Appleby, one of his favorite teachers! It was more than just a little weird, it was extremely unsettling.

"You're awake, William, you are awake," he told himself sternly. "You can feel the heat of the fire, the soothing of the tea in your throat. Pull it together."

"I am feeling much better, sir," Billy finally managed to get the words out in Zairian. "I am grateful for your and your wife's care of me."

The man smiled. "No, Migga and I are not married. We are just old friends who care for each other. But I can guarantee she is a good nurse. And it's not 'sir', it's Marlbert." He extended his right hand.

Billy shook it as he replied, "I'm Billy."

Marlbert pulled up a bench near the hearth and sat down. Migga handed him a hot cup of tea.

"Well, Bilyee, is there anything you need to tell us?" Marlbert asked.

Marlbert, you sound just like a certain principal I know, Billy thought, attempting to question two certain someones who you think might be a culprit in some school prank.

Aloud Billy said, "I hope that my presence here is not a problem for you and Migga. I do not even know how I came here. The last thing I remember clearly," Billy hesitated a moment, then looked straight at Mr. Caplan's, er, Marlbert's, eyes, "was being dropped into a pit with my friend, Jason. We had offended Lord Maxim."

"That's not hard to do," snorted Migga.

"Yes, but it is dangerous," Marlbert replied, with a serious look on his face.

"I would not want to place you in any danger," Billy said. "As soon as I am well enough, I will leave." I have no idea where I will go, he thought, but I am not going to endanger anyone else.

"Lad, you are not going anywhere anytime soon," Marlbert responded, but in a friendly manner. "Migga has put too much time and effort into keeping you alive, so I don't think she will let you leave. Plus the snow out there is higher than my head. I am afraid you must stay here until you are better. But rest easy, from the state of the weather it does not look like we will have visitors any time soon."

"Your kindness is greatly appreciated," Billy said. "Do you have any idea of what happened to my friend?"

"I'm sorry, there was no one with you," Marlbert replied. "We found you on the doorstep quite some time ago, by yourself, unconscious and sick. There is nothing else I can tell you."

So, I'm a foundling, thought Billy.

Marlbert and Migga appeared to have little interest in asking more questions of Billy, and he was content to rock and rest, though through his head seemed to continuously ricochet the thought, "Where ARE you, Jason? Please, please, be alive and well."

The next days were quiet ones. Billy tried to make himself useful, by peeling spuds for Migga and doing whatever else could be done from a sitting position near the fire. She refused to let him do anything more strenuous.

"Rest now, lad. Once the snow ices enough for travel, or the passages have been dragged, there will be more than enough work when the soldiers come through needing to be fed," she said.

Apparently, Billy realized, this place is a kind of food depot or supply station for Maxim's troops. He had better make plans not to be around when they do come through, as some of them might recognize him.

Marlbert frequently struggled over several piles of rolled papyrus, trying to record what supplies were stored here. Billy was sitting at the same table one evening, snapping peas for Migga. He was trying to unobtrusively look over Marlbert's shoulder, to decipher the part hieroglyphics/part runes that apparently comprised the written language of Zair. But Marlbert had noticed his interest.

"Here, lad, can you read?" he asked, shoving a papyrus towards Billy.

"I think I could learn," Billy replied cautiously, "if you could tell me what these symbols mean."

They were mostly representative drawings of the various foods and other objects stored, but by the end of the evening Billy had greatly impressed Marlbert with his ability to so quickly decode the symbols.

"So, ARE you a wizard?" Marlbert asked him then. Apparently that had been Marlbert's assumption all along.

Probably those blasted grey jeans again, Billy pondered, just like Meglara and Mugdower had assumed. What was it with the colors of clothes on this world anyway, what prism were these people looking through? And how did they define just what a wizard was?

"No, sir," Billy spoke aloud. "Where I come from, everyone is encouraged to learn to read and write."

"How peculiar, everyone is allowed to read and write?" asked Marlbert, as if he found that a hard concept to accept as common.

And this comment comes from the image of an educator, someone who handed me my diploma a year early and pushed me out the doors of high school, Billy mused. By now, he had become very fond of the couple, and found it intriguing that the position of teacher and student had been so strangely reversed in this dimension.

Billy's next step was to construct an abacus. He had noticed Marlbert trying to inventory what had been littered so carelessly on the floor, muttering unkind things about the farmers and other suppliers who had just come and dumped things in the storeroom instead of stacking them neatly. After Billy realized that Marlbert was using base twelve, it was quite simple to devise a system of thin wooden straws and beans with holes drilled through each one, that fitted into a small wooden frame. Marlbert was stunned as he rapidly picked up the concept during one evening session.

"You may deny it, Bilyee, but you are a wizard," he insisted.

While Marlbert could be voluble, Migga seldom said anything, and never smiled. Billy wondered if she found his presence an inconvenience or perhaps even a peril. He expressed his concern to Marlbert one day while they were at the far end of the storeroom, rearranging supplies on the shelves.

"Oh, Bilyee, it is the reverse, I assure you," Marlbert replied. "I have not seen her so content in many years. Her family, except for a couple of sons, all died from the Great Plague, you know, as so many, many people did. That was a terrible time, a terrible time. And then later her sons died during a skirmish of this useless war with the Ceruleans. She is a good woman, a kind woman, perhaps a little more dour than one could wish. I think you have given her a purpose in life again, to see you well. You may well remind her of her own children."

"Marlbert, what is this war with the Ceruleans about?" Billy asked.

"You truly do not know?" Marlbert seemed more surprised at Billy's ignorance than at anything else about the young stranger.

"No, I don't."

Marlbert looked over to see if they were still out of earshot of Migga. He settled down on a pile of bags on the floor and indicated to Billy to get comfortable.

"I'm sorry, but this subject is painful to her, Bilyee," he began. "The war started not long after the Plague ended, um, that must be a decon now. There have been frequent plagues, but always before the healers seemed to be able to help the sick. This one was awful, awful. Even healthy people died quickly. Some say it was because we had lost the Protectors, driven them off. For some reason, the Ceruleans blame us for the Plague, saying that the plague came down from the north. As if we weren't suffering so badly ourselves. Maxim was very young when he came to be lord, his father and brother having died untimely from the plague. Unfortunately, his councilors seem to encourage this conflict to continue."

Marlbert shook his head sadly, "It is all to no purpose, Bilyee. What good does it do for us to kill each other? We are so few in number now anyway, and fewer every year."

"Who were the Protectors?" Billy wanted to know. He had felt an unexplained shiver go through his body at the mention of them.

"A myth, my boy, a myth. My mother told me stories about them, but like all mothers, I think it was only to encourage me to behave, a reward for being good, to tell me that some day I might become a Protector," Marlbert sighed regretfully.

Just then, Migga came to let them know dinner was ready, and Marlbert displayed a strong reluctance to discuss the plague or the war in her presence.

* * * * *

Time passed. There was now little snow actually coming down, but the bitter cold discouraged any trips outside, even when the sun shone. A woodshed and toilet just outside the door was as far as Billy traveled. He grew stronger and began to undertake simple exercises in his sleeping cove to renew his strength and endurance. It was a period of quiet contemplation for him in many ways, involuntarily enforced. No books, no computers, no communicators calling him to battle evil forces. As he meditated for long periods every day, his mind seemed to welcome the respite as much as his body.

He helped Marlbert rearrange and organize all the supplies on shelves, and readily did the least chore that Migga asked of him. To Migga's obvious pleasure, Billy totally redesigned and reengineered the plumbing system that brought in the melted snow for washing and drinking so that it functioned reliably. He would encourage Marlbert to conversations, trying to learn more about the history and peoples of Zair, though many an evening passed where the three of them would sit before the fire with fewer than a dozen words being spoken.

Their winter idyll of isolation came to an abrupt end one day with a banging on the door. Marlbert opened it to discover a dozen soldiers who had arrived on half a dozen wooden sleighs, each as large as a farm wagon. Small, shaggy, broad-hoofed ponies were harnessed to each sleigh. Orders were, the troop's commander told Marlbert, that as many supplies as possible were to be transported to Lord Maxim's castle. Immediately.

"Not good, not good," Marlbert muttered to Migga and Billy, "these were supposed to be held back for a spring offensive. If we are already in retreat, Lord Maxim must be expecting a direct attack."

Billy stood back in the shadows when the soldiers first entered. He was thankful that he was wearing some old tan trousers that Migga had found for him, and not his grey jeans. He kept his head down. Marlbert tapped him on the arm, startling him.

"Come on, you're going to have to help us load," he said.

"What if they recognize me?" Billy asked with a worried expression.

"Here," said Marlbert, slapping his earflap hat down on Billy's head.

But Billy's worries seemed groundless. The soldiers appeared only interested in loading up the large sleighs as fast as possible. They even refused Migga's offer of a hot meal until most of the supplies had been piled in the sleighs.

Migga had made up a pack of their personal things, and had laid out several layers of clothing for Billy to put on for the journey.

"Migga, I can't go to Maxim's castle," Billy protested quietly under his breath, concerned that the soldiers might hear him.

"You can't stay here, either," she said firmly. "If they're clearing out the supplies, that means they're expecting an attack soon from the Ceruleans, even now in winter. You must come with us. And don't worry, we can keep you out of sight at the castle. Marlbert and I have talked about this already."

So Billy reluctantly prepared to leave with them, helping to carry the last of what supplies could be heaped on the sleighs. He climbed up to sit next to Migga on the seat bench.

The leader of the troop, a soldier with two small plumes on his helmet, tromped by their sleigh and looked suspiciously at Billy. After all his exertion loading the sleighs, Billy had pulled off the cap to wipe his forehead as the day was surprisingly warm. Now how he wished he had left on the cap!

"And why is a strong youth like that not in the service of Lord Maxim?" the soldier demanded.

Billy glanced at Migga, whose expression was unreadable.

"Why, sir," said Marlbert jovially, who had come up next to the sleigh, "Don't you recognize the kitchen idiot, a dolt, when you see one?"

"You're the idiot, Marlbert," Migga screeched at him suddenly, totally unlike her usual taciturn attitude and completely out of character for her. "Don't you see this is our chance to unload the lad?"

Marlbert took a step back and looked at Migga with a strange expression, then picked up on her lead, continuing his jovial tone.

"Of course, of course, a good strong lad and one you can certainly take. Here, lad, fetch your things now, and be a good boy for the lieutenant," Marlbert pointed his finger toward Billy, as if admonishing him. Mr. Caplan's image in the school hallway disciplining Bulk and Skull for some dumb infraction of the rules flashed across Billy's memory.

Catching on to the charade, Billy tried to put on his most idiotic expression, and nodded dumbly.

"Oh, no, you don't," the soldier backpedaled quickly. "I have enough morons as it is in my troop. I don't need another idiot, especially a certifiable one. On your way now."

"If you insist," Marlbert replied amiably, climbing up to sit next to Billy on the bench and taking the reins. He clucked to the ponies and they began to pull away.

They had traveled some hundred yards when Marlbert exploded in laughter, and Migga even smiled. Billy looked a little bewildered from one to the other.

"Bet that was the first time YOU have ever been called an idiot," Marlbert said shrewdly, looking at Billy.

Billy grinned again, less idiotically this time. "Certainly not in that sense," he replied, and never from Mr. Caplan or at least his look-alike, he thought to himself. "But thank you."

"You wouldn't have lasted a day with such as them," sniffed Migga. Then, to Billy's surprise, she affectionately ruffled his hair, which by now was long enough to flip up in soft little blond curls on his neck. "You stick with us, my boy."

* * * * *

They traveled for several days, the ponies apparently tireless as they pulled the sleighs forward through the snowy woods. The first two nights the troop stopped at small inns, mostly deserted, and hosted by dispirited innkeepers. The innkeepers were even more downhearted when they learned the soldiers were transporting all possible supplies to Maxim's castle. It was obvious that they were all anticipating an invasion. The second innkeeper started packing up the next morning even before the troop had departed, planning to follow them.

The third and fourth nights were spent in small camps in forest clearings that were staffed by soldiers. Billy kept his hat on all the time, his head down, and shuffled along behind Migga, his hands stuck down in the side pockets of his outer jacket in a familiar gesture that several old friends, had they been present, would have remembered from the days he used to wear overalls all the time. He was usually drafted into helping serve the meals at these camps, dipping a ladle into big pots of stew and dishing it into the bowls held out, not daring to lift his head to even look at the individual soldiers for fear of one of them having been present during Jason's "demonstration" and recognizing him.

The last evening in camp, as he ladled out yet another serving, he heard one soldier joshing another, "You sound just like that Peaceful Warrior we've been hearing about, the one that doesn't like to use weapons, and kicks like a whirlwind."

Billy jerked his head erect, but the two soldiers didn't even appear to be looking at him. Nothing else was said on the subject within his hearing, but Billy felt his heart pounding. "That has to be Jason," Billy thought with trepidation. But was he fighting for or against the Ceruleans? Was he using his skills to harm others? Was that the personal price Jason had paid to get Billy out of the pit?

Later that night, bundled up against the cold and gathered around their own small campfire, Billy questioned Marlbert if he knew anything about this Peaceful Warrior.

Marlbert shook his head. "Never heard of him before tonight. You think he might be your friend?" he asked.

"It is highly probable," Billy replied. "Jason has a very unique fighting style, especially for this planet. And he prefers not to use weapons, though he excels at their use."

Marlbert sighed. "You always talk as if this world is not the only one, Bilyee. Someday I hope you explain all this more fully. But I will ask around about this Peaceful Warrior."

Billy did not add what else he was thinking and fearing, which was that Jason was an active participant in the war with the Ceruleans. Jason would not deliberately use violence on anyone except in defense of another. Such principles were the core of Jason's very being. Billy knew that all too well. "Please, sensei, don't have sold your soul to have saved my life," he pleaded silently to his absent friend and instructor.

He was thinking, too, about a short conversation they had held that last night when they were with Medgwin's household. The two of them had been standing outside again, contemplating the myriad stars of the Zairian night sky. Jason had asked abruptly, as if it was a matter that had been preying on his mind, if Billy thought that the use of weapons had been all that effective against the monsters they had fought when they were Rangers?

At the time, Billy had been so surprised by that query that he had equivocated his response and replied something to the effect that he supposed so. He had wanted to explore Jason's mindset on this topic some more, to see if the Peace Conference had given him a new perspective, but they had been called in to supper, and then the opportunity for more discussion had been derailed by other matters.

Wrapped warmly for the night in blankets piled on him by Migga, Billy fell asleep. No longer was he dreading the arrival at Maxim's castle, but was now anticipating the opportunity to find out more information that could help him locate his friend.

*****