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like a little kid as he sat down in the mirror-smooth culvert that went into the hot pool below. It was like
riding the sliding board into the pool at Coney Island.
The hot tub made him feel like he was melting. He floated lazily for several minutes, wishing that he could
slip back between the warm sheets and pretend today was Sunday morning, and breakfast in bed would
soon be served, along with the SundayTimes.
But there was the responsibility, always the responsibility. Opening his eyes a crack, he saw that several
of the men were already out of the pool. Yamir stood stoically to one side, but his impatience was
already apparent. Reluctantly Mark swam over to the far side of the pool, and finding the exit hole, he
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ducked under the water.
With a quick push he slipped into the current and let it suck him along for its short length until he
reemerged into the cold water pool in the adjoining bathroom. With vigorous strokes he crossed the pool
and stepped out on the far side next to another cascade of water. This was the tough part.
Holding his breath, he ducked under the shower and let the icy water splash over him, shocking him into
full consciousness. As he stepped out on the far side, more servants greeted him with towels and gave
him a quick rubdown.
Now he was ready at last--but damn it, how he craved a cup of coffee.
"Thinking about coffee, sir?"
"Kochanski! I'd like to get back home just so I could have a cup and a pack of Luckies."
Kochanski was looking over a smiling dark-eyed redhead walking by outside in the garden, who boldly
returned his gaze.
"I don't know about that, Captain. I bet this bathtub's better than anything I'd ever have back on Earth."
His gaze returned to the girl. "It'd take more than a cup of coffee to get me to give this up. Like this age
stuff. Now, I still don't know if I believe it or not, but according to what we've been told, people who can
use the Essence can live for a thousand or more years if they stay here. Why would I want to leave?"
"But what about home?"
"Home to beautiful Trenton, New Jersey?" Kochanski said softly. "Home to getting my ass shot at by
Zeros?"
"Or ducking ten tons of bombs from a B-29."
The two turned as Ikawa and Sergeant Saito came up beside them.
"Just talking about home," Mark said evenly.
"It's what we're all thinking about," Ikawa replied as he reached for the light blue tunic and breeches that
one of the servants presented to him. It was the standard dress for Allic's sorcerers.
"If we start talking about that again," Saito interjected, "it will only remind us both what stands between
us back there--or could still divide us here."
A single bell sounded in the distance, interrupting any response. Dawn had come, and with it the start of
another day of training.
The elderly sorcerer who stood on the dais reminded Mark of one of his old briefing officers, but Valdez
was far more of a perfectionist.
"As I have told you before, you must learn to focus your thoughts. That is the key, the source of your
strength, to focus."
Allic had ordered him to finally start with the offensive training, but Valdez felt it was far too early for
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that. He looked at his charges for a moment then, exasperated, turned away. Thirty days of this, he
thought. The ones called Japanese were learning at an acceptable rate. It seemed that their minds were
better trained for what was needed--it must have something to do with how they worshipped their god.
But the ones called Americans, they were too haphazard, they would not force their thoughts sufficiently
inward, or worse yet, they had the annoying habit of acting like they already knew it all.
As Allic's master trainer Valdez was entrusted with preparing these men to use the tremendous potential
that they all had, but Allic wanted miracles. These men were out-worlders, barbarians without any social
graces.
"Now watch me."
Valdez took the crystal wristband off his right wrist and handed it to his daughter, then looked back at
the outlanders.
"Damn it, Walker, watch me, not my Liala. She's not the one with the gift, I am."
"I'd say she's got gifts enough," Walker mumbled.
"What was that!"
"Nothing, sir, nothing." The men around him chuckled.
"All right you clowns, knock it off," Mark ordered. "This could save your life someday, so listen up." He
nodded for Valdez to continue.
The old trainer ignored Mark. Raising his hand, he turned to a straw dummy that was propped up across
the courtyard. The audience grew quiet as a pulsing shimmer seemed to encompass the old man.
Several seconds later a sheet of light snapped from his hand and towards the dummy, which burst into
flame.
"That is the power of the Essence," Valdez said, looking back to his audience. "It is part of the very
fabric of this world. When Jartan and the other gods transformed Haven, they gave of their own creative
spirit and their Essence, brought with them from the Great Void. The gods and their descendants may
draw upon this power to create and to destroy."
"Does that mean," Giorgini asked with a touch of sarcasm, "that you claim to be a descendant of a god?"
"No, damn it. And don't blaspheme," Valdez replied. The genetic pattern of all humans who were
brought to Haven thousands of years ago has been subtly altered so that we mortals cannot draw upon
the Essence. Occasionally someone like me is born who does not carry this genetic trait, and thus we can
work what you call magic.
"It seems that your god did not leave any Essence in creating your world, or perhaps attempted to make
too much, and thus the Essence was dissipated, spread out too thin to be of use--for even a god is
limited in how much he can create."
"Without the direct presence of the Essence it seems probable that your god did not bother to give your
race the genetic trait that our gods chose to give us. Therefore you have the ability to use the Essence
here like few others, but it takes practice and concentration. Otherwise you'll be more dangerous to
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yourselves than to anyone else."
"Ah, but burning that dummy is easy. I've been practicing this stuff on the side," Walker replied.
Standing, he extended his hand and pointed. A second target dummy smoldered and gradually burst into
flames, while his comrades and even the Japanese cheered his performance.
"Just fine," Valdez replied sarcastically. "But inelegant and crude. Now watch me."
Valdez snapped his fingers and his daughter handed back the wristband which he clicked into place. A
second later there was a bunding crack of light. The head of the dummy Walker had ignited disappeared
in a lightning flash. Valdez swung his hand around towards a row of dummies mounted in a line. Two
holes were drilled where a real man's eyes would have been, the next one exploded in a gout of flame,
the third was decapitated by a fiery sword of light, and the fourth simply disappeared into smoldering
ashes.
Valdez swung around, and before anyone could react, the Air Corps insignia on Walker's hat congealed
into a flowing puddle of fire. The frightened tailgunner whipped off the flaming headgear.
"That is the power of the Essence," Valdez said coldly. "Think of your body as a sponge drawing in
Essence, expelling it as energy as you squeeze, and then refilling. It is the crystal that focuses my power. I
send the power of the Essence through it--to narrow it, to magnify it, and then to use it. But to do that I
must first learn to control it. Those who have the gift to use the Essence can use it at any time, but it
usually is dispersed and can only be projected short distances. Only with the crystals can we focus it,
send it to distant targets, and turn it into a finely balanced weapon or tool."
"Without the ability to calmly control the Essence, you will never receive a crystal of attacking power.
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