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The instant the shuttle touched down, Tristan was out of it. Jacoby had said it would be large, but it wasn't large enough. There was nowhere he could be in it where he wouldn't see or smell Alex. It was driving him insane.

And Jacoby snickering at him when he wasn't looking was wearing at his patience. He knew it was him, since the only other in the shuttle had been Alex and he wouldn't. If he'd been piloting the shuttle at least he'd be doing something, but Jacoby had been the first in. When Tristan had growled at him Alex had told him to go sit down.

He should have thrown Jacoby out of the chair, He should have smacked Alex for ordering him about. What he did was sit down seething inside. He was going to kill both of them. It was just a question of time.

He stood in a lot with other hovers parked there. He considered running, getting away from Alex, but he breathed in the air and under all the artificial scents of crete, poly-plastics, metals, there was one he couldn't place, but he found himself breathing easier. With the stress of the trip down leaving him, the urgency to get away also vanished.

The sun was high and brighter than a lot of the planets he'd been on. The sky was vivid blue, without any clouds. Which contrasted with the gray buildings around them.

"You know," Jacoby said. "I sort of expected something more primitive."

"I doubt any of this is original," Alex replied.

Tristan didn't comment, but he agreed with Alex. The little he remembered of his time in the city was low buildings, no more than three floors. None of these towers that almost reached the sky.

"We're heading that way." Alex said, putting away his datapad.

Every building was made of perma-crete, glass and metal. All the angles were sharp, not what he thought they should be. But the people did look like they belonged here, on this planet. They were all Samalian. The two humans were the ones standing out.

It felt wrong to Tristan, seeing so many non-humans walking the streets. Nowhere he'd gone to had been this way. Humans always outnumbered the aliens. Even reminding himself this was Samalia, a Samalian world, didn't help. He kept looking for humans among the crowd.

"I could have landed closer to where we're going, if you'd told me where that is," Jacoby said, his tone neutral. He was looking at the people around them with studied disinterest.

"It isn't far, and that section doesn't have any designated landing pad."

"I'd have managed."

"If you don't feel like walking, you can go back to the shuttle and wait."

Jacoby didn't reply.

They reached a corner and Alex pulled out his tablet. He backtracked, and went up a narrow lane between two buildings. It opened up to a courtyard with a few trees and benches among the grass.

"Now that's what I expected," Jacoby said.

The building beyond the grass might have been considered tall, before the towers went up around it. Now, it was unnoticeable, hidden, forgotten. The walls were carved stone, by hand. There was nothing machined in the uneven lines of the blocks. The binder between the stones would be a mix of stone powder, sap from the... The Arbash tree, and... there was a third component, but he couldn't remember what it was.

Alex headed for the door, and Tristan followed. He paused by the door to run a hand over the stone. It was amazing workmanship. Words were written next to the entrance, in the down to up traditional way of these kinds of place.

'All are welcome to the Source, All are of the Source, Be at peace and enter.'

"What's it say?" Jacoby asked, behind him,

"Nothing useful," Tristan replied, entering.

He walked along a tall corridor of the same stone as outside. It was smaller than he remembered. And he wondered how he could remember such a place when his father had never-- His mother. She'd taken him to a place like this.

The corridor opened up to a large room, a half sphere, lit primarily with a half a sphere in the middle of the floor. The light was soft so the alcove in the wall had lights on each side of them so the occupant could be easily seen.

Tristan felt a sense of reverence that was more remembered than experienced. This was--

"Wrong!" someone said loudly. "This is everything that's wrong with these people,"

Shut up, he wanted to tell his father who was striding in the center of the room, but the few people there weren't paying attention to him. The human couple was looking in one of the alcoves pointing at the occupant.

"They should be working toward ensuring their survival, not putting their faith in some made up beings to rescue them. What are you doing here? Didn't I teach you better than to believe in things like that?"

He didn't believe in them. He was here because Alex was here.

"Yeah, and what are you doing following him around?" His father peered in an alcove. "Knowledge. What is that? Do they think this woman walks around the world touching people and they just magically know things?"

She wasn't Knowledge, she was the Learner. She represented the aspect of people who were driven to learn."

"And how do you know that? I certainly didn't teach you."

His mother must have told him when he was a child--

"Don't bother thinking about her, she was a waste of time. Only good for a fuck."

Tristan's fists tightened at the comment. Emotions were swirling inside him, but most were faded, old, and didn't take hold.

"She believed in those things, your mother. It's a good thing I took you from her. I don't want to imagine what she would have turned you into." He looked into another alcove. "Sex." He snorted. "Not even a good looking woman."

Tristan closed his eyes. She was fertility, not sex. And she was pregnant. She cared for the mother, those expecting children, for the field growing to maturity.

"How do you know all that crap?"

Tristan wished his father could be quieter.

"Who cares about them? They're all going to die."

It didn't mean he had to attract so much attention to himself.

"Just answer my question boy. How?"

He'd read up on them, how else?

"Why would you do such a thing? That's not useful knowledge."

He sighed. Of course it was useful. He was Samalian, he had to be able to pass as one, and it wasn't like his father had taught him how to be Samalian.

"I taught you better. I taught you how to survive. Not that it's doing you much good, following that human around like you are. You should kill him and get on with your life."

Tristan's fists were shaking. If he said something like that again he was going to punch his father.

His father let out a familiar sounding snicker. "Look at this one. Violence. Now that's a man. The coloring's wrong, but he could be you."

Tristan looked up and his father was right. Tall, large shoulders, muscular, hands closed into fists. The fur was ruddy. The Aggressor. The one who confronted his problems head on, fists at the ready. The one who went looking for fights. Who reveled in them.

"Violence, like I said. Why do they have to give them fancy names? Can't they just call them by what they are? Violence, fucking, eating, getting the crap beaten out of him."

Tristan's head snapped in the direction of the one his father was looking at. The Defender. The position was the same as the one in Alex's case. Crouched, swords in hand, ready to stand in the way of anyone who'd harm those he cared about, those he was sworn to protect. His pants were black, and his fur was a dark reddish-brown, instead of the tan of Alex's statue. His ear had the same notch in it.

Tristan remembered thinking it had been damaged when it was stolen, but now, maybe it was just the way he was represented.

"He got the crap beaten out of him," His father said. "What do you expect?"

Tristan didn't reply. There was something familiar in the determined expression he was looking at. This was someone who didn't give up easily, or at all. This was someone who Tristan could beat over and over, and he would still stand, grab his weapons and be ready for more.

Something caught in his throat. This was the expression A--

"It is an ill omen when someone like you graces a House, Tristan."