Sulu had seen the palace many times in the prince's tri-d's; but he had not expected to see it in person. And the small tri-d's had not prepared him for its massive scale. Beginning with a citadel dominating the fertile plains below, the palace had grown until it seemed to have swallowed up an entire ridge of hills. Walls, pillars and even the delicate towers and spires had been hewn from stone the same blood red color as the hills, so that the palace of Angira seemed to sweep across the green plain in either direction without apparent end under the dwarf sun. He felt a sense of elation at having managed to come this far -- almost as if he owned the view himself.

And when Sulu turned back to the prince's suite of rooms, the sense of power and wealth was almost overwhelming. The ceiling was of silver embossed with hunting scenes so cunningly done that the animals seemed ready to leap down from the ceiling. And the marble walls and pillars were intricately carved to resemble trees and shrubs. "It's almost like a forest that's had a magical spell cast on it."

The prince was dressing before a full-length mirror in an ornate, gold frame. "Next to politics, my people's greatest passion is interior decorating. We are fortunate they had only marble and silver rather than plastic."

"The collar, Mr. Sulu." Mr. Spock, as impeccable as ever, nodded toward Sulu's dress tunic.

Red-faced, Sulu looked down from the ceiling. Aware that Mr. Spock's eyes were calmly inspecting him for other flaws, Sulu felt like the rawest academy plebe again. As a result, his fingers seemed twice as large and clumsy as they did up the collar which had somehow come undone.

It was like the gracious Prince Vikram to forget himself and his own worries in order to put a friend at ease. "You see, Hikaru. You should wear the soropa. There are no buttons, seals or zippers to fight -- only the pull of gravity." He held up his arms as his servant helped him wind the meter-wide, four-meters-long band of precious flame silk about his waist and loins. The tail end would be wrapped around his waist like a sash.

Sulu tried to smile encouragingly. "I should have learned how to dress myself by now." When Mr. Spock raised his eyebrows to remind Sulu of their conversation before they had beamed down, Sulu quickly added, "Your Highness."

Prince Vikram clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Must you begin the titles so soon?"

Bibil wound the silk cloth once around his master's shoulder. "But you are the ninth in line to the throne," he said in a mild reproof. Though he fussed with the prince in his gruff way, he really seemed to care about him.

Annoyed, the prince shoved Bibil's hands away. "Which means I am never to have responsibilities, only to be carted out for state banquets like a floral display."

Mr. Spock's head turned ever so slightly -- according to some precise table of courteous movements known only to himself. "But Your Highness does have responsibilities," Mr. Spock reminded him calmly. "The entire purpose of your studies within the Federation has been to help you modernize your world."

The prince draped the end of the cloth over his shoulder and eyed the effect in the mirror. "Yes, and I will certainly advise my people. And they will just as certainly ignore me. This is a world where the majority of people still believe that our world is at the center of the universe and all our stars and planets revolve around it. And even the bureaucracy regards paper clips and carbon paper as newfangled notions. How can I be expected to change all that?" The prince's face, reflected in the mirror, was furrowed in fear and worry.

In the short silence that followed, Sulu hunted desperately for something to say that might ease the prince's mind; but there was no denying it was an immense burden to bear and it was easy to see how such a lighthearted spirit as the prince's might be crushed underneath it.

To Sulu's surprise, though, it was Mr. Spock who was the first to try to comfort the prince. "It is never easy to be placed upon the border between two cultures, belonging neither to one nor the other." Mr. Spock spoke slowly and with great care as if he had already given the matter a great deal of thought. "Sometimes it seems as if one has been asked to balance upon the edge of a knife blade. No matter how one stands, no matter how one turns -- the person will always be cut."

Prince Vikram studied Spock's reflection in the mirror. "Yes, just so. But then you live on this border yourself, don't you, Mr. Spock?"

Mr. Spock clasped his hands behind his back. "It is not unknown to me." If he even noticed Sulu's reflection thoughtfully studying his, Mr. Spock did his best to ignore it.

The prince fussed with the edge of his soropa. "And yet you persist?"

Mr. Spock stared at the back of the prince's head as if he wished he could impress his words directly upon the prince's brain. "As painful as life on the border may be, it is the place where change first begins for a culture; and something new and better can be created."

Bibil opened a jar and proffered it to the prince with a bow of his head. "As your father said when he sent you on your journey, we must find a way to combine the technology of the Federation with our own higher spiritual values."

The prince wriggled his index finger inside the jar and then raised a fingertip covered with gold paste. "I'd like to ask Great-Uncle Baruda what he thought of 'our own higher spiritual values.' The family locked him away in a tower for twenty years and then everyone forgot about him except for a few old servants who brought him enough food for himself and the rastas -- they're rather like your mice -- that he'd made into pets. Then the family rediscovered him quite by accident during a palace revolt when everyone was looking for places to hide. He wouldn't let anyone in; and later when the revolt was crushed, he wouldn't come out." The prince stared at the precious paste as if it were mud. "Great-Uncle Baruda had come to like his pets better than humans. He said they were more dependable."

"I would say 'predictable' rather than 'dependable.' " Mr. Spock corrected him politely.

With a sigh, the prince touched his finger to his forehead and then dropped it, leaving behind the caste mark of the royal family of Angira. "Well, I can 'predict' what the sinha warriors will do when they see you, Mr. Spock." It was difficult to keep the prince's buoyant spirits down for long. "They will try to outfrown you. Shall I set up a contest between you and them? The victor could choose the destiny of this world: you, the Federation and modernization; they, a closed world and the status quo." He held out his hand and the ever-watchful Bibil wiped it with a towel. "You could win easily, I think."

It was the prince's way to tease everyone, but he hadn't reckoned with Mr. Spock's dignity. The science officer dropped his hands to his sides as he drew himself up straight. "Indeed? Since I have not studied Angiran physiology, I could not say."

Voices suddenly began to drone from beneath the window, the tinkling of dozens of little bells mingling with the sound. It seemed to Sulu like a hive of giant bees holding a funeral. When Sulu looked quizzically at the prince, he motioned Sulu to follow him to the window. "Those would be priests."

There, in a courtyard some twenty meters beneath the window, several brown-robed Angirans were turning. Their voices rose in a steady drone as they pivoted endlessly, their hands hidden in long sleeves that fluttered like slim wings, and their heads covered by round straw hats a meter wide. The ringing came from small bells attached by long black ribbons to the guards of the swords that they whirled in the air.

"They belong to a mendicant order which stresses that individuality is merely an illusion, so they wear those big hats to obscure their faces." The prince shook his head. "They used to frighten me when I was small. They sound so sad when they pray and even sadder when they mourn."

Sulu leaned against the sill. "But why are they turning?"

The prince returned to his mirror. "They pray by chasing their shadows. In the old days, we used to believe that a person's shadow was the same as the soul. They'll whirl about for hours in ecstatic circles."

"And the swords?" Sulu wondered.

"They're not real swords. They don't have an edge. We call them shadow-catchers because the priests snare the shadow-souls of any dead who might want to work any mischief -- especially before an important occasion."

At that moment, someone knocked at the door. "And now my inspection is to begin," the prince whispered to Sulu. And then, with one last quick check in the mirror, he turned toward the door. "You may enter."

Prince Vikram gave a start when he saw the tall, young Angiran in the doorway a pace in front of a horde of servants. A white, pantherlike head covered his skull, and the glossy hide hung down his back to be coiled around his waist over the light blue silks of a noble.

Sulu had read of the saber-toothed sinha of Angira; but this was the skin of one. At one time, it had been necessary for a noble to slay one of the deadly creatures to prove himself worthy of the warrior society which controlled the Angiran army and navy. But the creatures had become so rare in the last few centuries that other tests had been substituted and a lined cap of white silk, cut in the shape of a sinha skin, had replaced the pelt itself. That the young noble had found a sinha of such giant size said a good deal about his courage, persistence -- and perhaps ruthlessness.

"You don't know how long I've waited for this day, Your Highness. As Master of Protocol, I wanted to be the first to welcome back my former playmate." The Angiran gave a slight bow of his head -- so slight that Sulu suspected it was almost insulting in a court so bound with ritual that it even had a short ceremony for sneezing.

For his part, the prince did not even move his head when he spoke. "Rahu," he said with a delicate irony, "I can't tell you what a pleasure this is."

"Of that, I am sure," Rahu said. Then, with a careful twist of his head, Rahu scrutinized Mr. Spock and Sulu. "I have also been instructed to express our gratitude to you for escorting our prince during his long journey."

Before Mr. Spock could reply, the prince chided Rahu in the tone one would use for a child. "They are neither women nor servants. Do not use the low tongue with them." On Angira, as Sulu had read, there were two separate languages among the noble caste -- one used by males and one by women and servants. But their universal translator had worked too efficiently for Spock and Sulu to have known the difference.

Rahu stalked into the room with all the wariness of a cat into a roomful of dogs. "They are not of the blood."

The prince stiffened ever so slightly, but he kept the same pleasant tone and smile. "Nonetheless, you will apologize. They are of a warrior caste as noble as your own. And" -- he paused to emphasize his next words -- "they are my friends."

"Can such a thing be?" Rahu mocked him with his eyes.

"Do you call me a liar?" The prince pressed his lips together into a thin, bloodless smile. "I warn you, Rahu. The next time we cross swords, I'll have your head, not just the tip of your finger."

"Now, now, I thought you two would have outgrown such talk," growled an Angiran in a deep voice. For a moment, it was impossible to see him among the servants in the corridor, but they scurried to either side quickly to reveal a middle-aged noble. Though shorter and broader than Rahu or Vikram, the Angiran seemed as solid and unshakable as an old oak tree with its roots sunk deep into the ground. "You must forgive me, Lord Rahu, but I couldn't resist hurrying here when I heard you were going to welcome the prince yourself."

It was difficult to say whether Rahu or Vikram was more surprised to see him. But it was the prince who managed to recover first. "Lord Bhima, you could always keep the peace between two foolish cubs."

"I only needed to remind you of your duties to one another." Then, with the effect of a great oak suddenly bending, he bowed his head deeply to the prince and then to Sulu and Spock. "And in this case, an insult to your escort reflects upon all of us." He glanced sternly from the corners of his eyes toward Rahu.

Rahu held his head up as if his neck and back had changed to stone. "I think you overstep yourself now, swordmaster. We are no longer children under your care. I will not bow my head to creatures who are attempting to take over our world."

Lord Bhima gave a deep grunt. "They represent His Highness's hosts and no matter what we think of their ways, we owe them some respect."

"And will they respect Angira and its ways?" Rahu asked sharply. "We've already seen the chaos that the emperor has created with his own madness. Now we're to have this pair whisper even greater insanities into his ear and bring him new, powerful weapons."

"That may be." Lord Bhima's voice was even and controlled. "But we mustn't forget our duties. How can we criticize the emperor for abandoning the old ways if we do so ourselves?"

"Do not lecture me," Lord Rahu snapped.

Lord Bhima planted his fists on his hips. "But you know how it is with teachers when they get old. They still treat everyone like children. I might even forget myself and take a reed to your backside, as big as you are now."

Though Rahu, as a sinha warrior, had a dagger stuck through the waist of his soropa, Lord Bhima gave every appearance of being able to beat him. The two stared at one another for a moment, but it was Rahu who finally dropped his eyes. Reluctantly, Rahu managed a slight bow to Spock and Sulu. "You have my apologies."

Once Rahu had done his piece, Lord Bhima swung around to study them himself. "So this is the miraculous pair who are going to change heaven itself."

"We are simply going to help your astronomers revise their charts," Mr. Spock corrected him. "Their system of epicycles--"

Lord Bhima chopped his hand at the air with gruff good humor. "Isn't it enough that you're going to put all us sword instructors out of work with all your modern weapons? We can always find jobs as butchers and poulterers. But what do you expect all those little nearsighted astronomers to do?"

Mr. Spock regarded the swordmaster with slight annoyance -- rather as if he were being barked at by someone's pet mastiff. "There is a Prime Directive to prevent the introduction of our weapons. As for your astronomers, they will go on as before -- but more accurately."

"Even if there weren't the directive, these gentlemen wouldn't do away with swordmasters," the prince assured his old instructor. "In fact, this one fences in a Terran style." He hooked a hand behind Sulu's arm and pulled him forward. "I think you'll find it interesting." He might have expanded more, much to Sulu's embarrassment, but Rahu spoke up suddenly.

"Perhaps we'll have time for such curiosities later, Your Highness," he said. "Since the official reception is to take place shortly, I thought you might like to get ready. I've brought along some help for you." He motioned with his right hand to the crowd of servants waiting in the corridor behind him. The gesture allowed Sulu to see that he was, indeed, missing the first joint to his index finger. "You have been away for a long time and may have forgotten much."

"I have not been away so long that I have forgotten who are my enemies and who are my friends. Faithful Bibil has been more than capable." The prince waved his hand for the other servants to leave, but they refused to leave until Rahu himself nodded lazily to them.

Without waiting for his own dismissal, Rahu turned. "I'll have a tray of food sent to you." And he crossed the room, passing by Lord Bhima in the doorway, to step out into the corridor.

Prince Vikram stared after him. "Rahu thinks it should be himself and not my father who sits upon the throne -- just because my great-grandfather had the discourtesy to bludgeon his before the latter could stab him." He pursed his lips. "It's rather interesting that my father should appoint him of all people as Master of Protocol."

Lord Bhima shut the door. "He had no choice, Your Highness. There are many on this world who resent the changes your father has been making." He gave a disgusted snort. "Back in your home province, he's even raised an army of peasants and armed them with toys."

The prince glanced at Bibil. "The Hounds did well enough in my grandfather's time and they were all peasants."

"But they were led by officers chosen from the nobility," Lord Bhima said. "Your father's put peasants in charge and now they're strutting about as proud as lords. They think they're our equals."

"I see. On Angira, only nobles may order a slaughter," Mr. Spock observed with delicate irony.

"There's a way to do things." Lord Bhima looked at the science officer with thinly disguised contempt.

Before the two could start to argue, the prince spoke quickly. "And what other concessions has my father had to make?"

Lord Bhima swung back to the prince. "Your father's only averted a civil war by appointing members of the opposition to certain official posts. But there's talk that you've returned with the plans for all sorts of new weapons to tip things in his favor again."

The prince seemed genuinely pained. "When I went offworld, I gave my oath not to study any military technology."

Lord Bhima seemed so relieved that his normal reserve broke. "I told the others not to judge you by your light manner. I believed that you of all people would keep your word." He gripped the prince's arm in sudden elation. "I taught you the Code of the Warrior. When your father sent you away, I knew you couldn't be fooled. We may yet bring some order to this chaos your father has caused."

The prince stared at Lord Bhima's eager, hopeful face. He looked as if he would have liked to please his former master if he could, but it was impossible. Sadly, hesitantly, he shook his head. "It only seems like chaos, Lord Bhima. I've studied enough worlds to know that it is a terrible, anxious thing when the old order passes away. Take Terra, for instance. When China and Japan--"

Lord Bhima suddenly let go of the prince's arm as if he had just discovered it was leprous. "They are simply names on faraway worlds. I only know that we were far happier when this world was closed to all offworld traffic."

"One cannot have growth without some pain," the prince said as gently as he could, "but grow we must. If I have learned one thing in my studies of other worlds, it is that the alternative to growth is stagnation and even death."

"I fear death less than I fear the changes your father is making." Lord Bhima frowned harshly. "Offworld ways are not our own."

The prince studied his instructor as if he were just noticing the many silvery hairs and lines wrinkling the swordmaster's face. Perhaps for the first time in his life, the prince seemed to realize that his former teacher might not be the same energetic, wise master he thought Lord Bhima to be.

The prince squared his shoulders as if he were performing a task for which he had no taste. "With all due respect, Lord Bhima, the old ways are not better."

Lord Bhima sucked in his breath hard as if he had just taken a blow to his stomach. "What did they do to you out there in the stars? Did they take away your heart?"

"I had my eyes opened." The prince slowly raised one hand and held it out imploringly to the swordmaster. "Surely we can work together for the good of our people."

Lord Bhima stood very still and Sulu could only think of a lone oak tree he had seen once on a hill before a thunderstorm. There had been a tingling sensation in the air and it had almost felt as if the tree were bracing itself for the lightning to come. "I could never cooperate in the destruction of our world."

The prince stared down at his empty palm for a moment and then folded it across his stomach. "I'm sorry that we cannot be on the same side, Lord Bhima."

"And so am I, Your Highness." With a stiff little bow, he stalked out of the room.

"Poor Lord Bhima. It's a terrible thing to be a hero when all the myths are dying." He clapped his hands together suddenly. "But you must return to your ship at once. I fear my father may have glossed over his troubles to save face with your Federation."

Mr. Spock took out his communicator but failed to raise his ship. "The Enterprise seems to have left as scheduled." He began to study the doors and windows with an eye for defense. "But I fail to understand why your father failed to notify you of such troubles."

"Face is everything with my people. They will not necessarily lie to you, but they will not rush to tell you the truth either." The prince bit his lip unhappily. "And you do not have your phasers." Only sinha warriors were allowed to carry weapons within the palace.

Mr. Spock slipped his communicator back onto his belt. "Hands and feet were used as weapons long before anything else. Both Mr. Sulu and I are acquainted with unarmed combat."

"Let us hope you will not have to prove it," the prince sighed.

The prince turned away from the door. "Well, Sulu, how does it feel to fall out of your twenty-third century into the seventeenth? You're now surrounded by palace intrigues and conniving villains."

Sulu hoisted himself onto a chair near the mirror. The chair was designed for longer Angiran legs, and Sulu's legs dangled in the air. "The stage seems set, but I wish someone would give me a script."

"Nonsense, you don't need a script. Simply let paranoia be your guide." The prince gave a light kick to a footrest so that it slid across the floor toward Sulu.

"Besides," Mr. Spock pointed out, "nothing has happened yet." But Sulu couldn't help noticing that Mr. Spock placed a chair so he could face the door. His toes barely touched the floor.

The prince applauded softly. "Bravo, Mr. Spock. You learn quickly."

Sulu propped his feet on the footrest and settled back in his chair. "From what you've told me of the palace intrigues, slow students don't live very long."

As Bibil obligingly brought a footrest over for Mr. Spock, the prince lay down on a low, broad couch. "Yes, the penalty for failure is rather heavy." He placed his hands over his stomach. "I had no idea paranoia could whet one's appetite so much. I'd welcome even Rahu's tray."

Bibil scowled. "Why simplify Rahu's task?"

"After all these years of dreaming about an Angiran meal, it is sheer torture not to be able to eat anything," the prince complained. "Surely one bite couldn't hurt."

"Do you realize how much poison could be contained in just one bite? You're not to eat a thing." And Bibil extended his jaw stubbornly as if he were not going to take any contradictions from the prince.

There came a pounding at the door, and a woman announced, "A tray for the prince."

The prince glumly motioned Bibil. "Send the tray away."

"We don't dare insult Rahu yet. Not till we see how the land lies." Bibil went to the door and opened it. A woman stood there. On her head was a huge tray filled with steaming plates and bowls, along with a gold pitcher and cups.

The prince covered up his eyes. "Give me strength."

"Then this is just what you need, Your Highness," the woman grunted as she shuffled into the room. Her low cheekbones and small mouth made her eyes seem even larger and livelier, and she moved with an easy, well-muscled grace.

"Here, let me help you, little one." Bibil grabbed hold of the rim of the tray.

"No, no, I can do it," she insisted and, stepping up to a table, carefully lowered the tray.

The prince widened his fingers so he could peer through the cracks. "Oh, look at this." He reached over to pick up a diamond-shaped shell so thin it was transparent except for the faint rainbow tinge on the surface. "Rahu remembered all my favorites."

"Your Highness." Bibil fixed him with a stern look.

With a reluctant sigh, the prince set the shell back on the plate. "This is agony."

"Oh, don't be such a baby, Your Highness," the woman said.

The prince sat up to stare at her. "There's only one person on all of Angira who dared to talk to me like that. Urmi?"

The woman smiled and nodded her head as if pleased. "Yes, I've taken a post in the kitchen." She added with a nod to Bibil, "It helps being the niece of a famous old warrior."

The prince looked at Sulu. "When we used to visit Bibil's old village, this terrible creature made my stay simply miserable with her pranks." He lolled his head back on the lounge. "If you'd only known that you weren't plaguing a little serving boy from the palace, but an imperial prince."

Urmi smiled mischievously. "Oh, I knew, Your Highness. We all did."

The prince sat up. "But I was in disguise."

"You thought you were in disguise," she corrected him.

The prince collapsed back on the lounge. "Ah, you puncture one of my most cherished memories. All these years, I thought I put on such a marvelous performance."

"I wasn't going to let a terror like you walk around unsuspected." Bibil slapped the prince's shoulder as he went to Urmi. "And how is the family?" Bibil threw his arms around her and gave her a hug.

"We'll talk of it later," she said quietly.

"No, please, I think of your village as almost my own," the prince said. "I have so many affectionate memories of it when Bibil would take me there for the harvest festivals."

The woman seemed glad of an excuse to change the subject. "Even though I beat you at all the games?"

"She cheated," the prince insisted as Sulu and Bibil started to laugh.

"Only because you changed the rules to suit yourself," Urmi said snippily. "Did you try to do that with the offworlders too?"

The prince pretended to glare at her. "I was only a humble prince among the many royalty offworld."

"Ah." Urmi folded her arms. "And what did Your Highness do when he met an imperial prince from another world? Who went through the doorway first?"

The prince balanced the heel of his right foot on the toes of his left. "It depended on whether he was the eighth or ninth in line to the throne."

"I hear," Urmi suggested with a slight smile, "that there are worlds where even women rule."

"Yes, quite a few," the prince agreed cheerfully. "But I still asked them what place they had in the line of succession."

"And if they were ninth like you?"

The prince pretended to flip a coin into the air. "We tossed for it, of course."

Urmi shook her head in mock sympathy. "How terrible to have the imperial dignity depend on random chance. No wonder you came home. Your pride must be badly bruised."

"I was looking forward to at least one day of being pampered." The prince lolled his head back upon the couch. "But not at the hands of Rahu."

She lifted up a plate. "Then feel free to indulge. I connived for this duty and switched plates just to make sure they were safe."

It was Bibil, however, who picked up the first shell. "Your Highness." And he popped it into his mouth, shell and all.

Urmi pivoted as if offended. "Uncle, how could you think I'd try to poison His Highness?"

He patted her on the shoulder while he waited for something dire to happen to him. "You are my favorite niece--"

"It's not much of a compliment, considering that I happen to be your brother's only surviving child."

"Let me finish." He left his hand on her shoulder, close to her throat. "But I would not trust my own dear, departed mother."

"Shame on you," she pretended to scold him. "Everyone loved grandmother."

"That's because she was always the first one to sample the plate." Bibil nodded smugly to the prince. "I think it's safe, Your Highness."

"At last." The prince looked apologetically at the two Federation officers. "You must forgive my manners, gentlemen. But I have dreamed of this moment for years." And, saying that, he swept up a handful of the shells and began to pop them quickly into his mouth. "Oh, they're heavenly. Do try some." Mr. Spock refused, but Sulu could not resist and found that the shell crunched easily between his teeth, like wafer-thin candy, and the meat inside was like shrimp but with a nutty, sweet flavor.

"It's delicious." Sulu smiled to the prince.