"How could I part with it, Morgan? Arthur made it with his own hands." Katrina looked at the desk and felt a lump rising in her throat. Ah, Arthur. . . you've been gone these seventeen years. They say time heals all wounds, but this one only grows from year to year.

Morgan's voice pulled her back from the sad memories. "Now, Katrina, you know that's only half right. Arthur had some help with that monster."

"Ha!" Katrina laughed aloud. "To hear Arthur tell it, you just supervised."

Morgan affected a pose of offended nobility. "Now, now. I have a splinter or two to prove my part." He pointed toward the right side of the desk. "Take that top drawer. I did that one myself. . ."

"The one on the right?"

Morgan nodded.

Katrina smiled. "You mean the one that sticks..."

"I toldArthur he had the casing all wrong," Morgan teased. "Damn! Those were the days, weren't they, Katrina? Got anything to drink in this office?"

Katrina crossed to the corner and touched a hidden stud on one of the wooden panels, which slid up to reveal a secret sideboard. She grinned at Morgan. "Do you still drink Irish whiskey?"

Morgan shrugged. "I don't really know. St. Marinus House is dry—except for sacramental wine, that is. Your uncle, Brother Giles, runs a tight ship."

Katrina squinted and reached deep into the sideboard. "This will be a treat for you, then." She withdrew a dusty bottle and showed it to Morgan. "It's from the Connor Distillery on Arc-Royal. Patrick had them send me a case each year."

She poured out two glasses of the amber liquid, then handed one to Morgan. He held the glass aloft. "To those we've lost. May we have the strength and wisdom to build upon the foundation they have created."

Katrina touched her glass to his and then took a sip from it. The mere scent of this whiskey brings back so many memories. Of the good times and the hard times.The liquor burned her throat, but not unpleasantly. And of the hunted times.

Setting down the glass, she looked her old friend directly in the eye and asked, "Morgan, why didn't you ever tell me Arthur was a member of Heimdall?"

Morgan's nostrils flared as he slowly breathed in. He chewed his lower lip for a moment, then returned her gaze. "This will sound odd, perhaps, but I didn't mention it becauseArthur didn't tell you himself."

The Archon frowned. "I don't understand your reasoning. When Arthur died, you should have come and told me. We had so little time together, he and I. I would have cherished anything you could have said."

Morgan stepped forward and rested his large hand on Katrina's shoulder. "Katrina, you know, deep down, how much Arthur loved you and trusted you ... You doknow that. No doubts, right?"

Katrina nodded slowly. Yes. I know that. What I don't understand is why didn't he trust me with this side of himself ?

"Good, because that is the complete and utter truth." Morgan hesitated, searching for the right words. "Heimdall is a conspiracy of the loyal opposition. Though it began as a movement to undermine the LIC's and Loki's efforts to destroy civil liberties, at various times—good times, as I understand its history— it's been little more than a fraternal organization. In fact, that's how Arthur, Patrick, and I got involved. Arthur's father inducted him into the organization, and when Patrick and I were appointed to Nagelring, he brought us in. It all seemed quite innocent at first."

Morgan took a deep breath, then fortified himself with a sip of whiskey. "I was already at Nagelring and on my way to becoming a Mech Warrior when your predecessor, Alessandro, came up with his cockeyed plan of Concentrated Weakness. Then he dealt brutally with the revolts his policy inspired. Suddenly Heimdall became more active and Arthur, with his money and influence, did what he could to help the organization."

Morgan swallowed hard. "You see, Katrina, because of Arthur, Heimdall almost moved from being the loyal opposition to becoming part of the establishment. But Arthur didn't want that, and as much as he loved and trusted you, he did not want to compromise the organization. If you had asked, he wouldhave brought Heimdall into the mainstream, but then it would not have been there when needed—be it tomorrow because of a coup staged by Alessandro, or a hundred years from now because of a Kurita invasion. Does that make any sense?"

How well you knew me, beloved husband. . .Katrina nodded, then cocked her head in thought. "That does explain why Arthur didn't tell me about his ties with Heimdall, but it does notexplain why you said nothing after his death."

Morgan shrugged and Katrina felt a pang of regret for her question. He seems so helpless.

"I guess I made a mistake." Morgan again sipped at his drink. "I knew that Arthur spent much of his last few months setting up identity files and trust funds to care for the Heimdall cells that got us off Poulsbo back when Loki tried to kill you. I assumed that Arthur had either told you about his affiliation, or did not want you to know. I took your silence on the subject as a reflection of his wish. I didn't say anything because I didn't want you to think less of us."

Katrina set her glass down on the desk her husband had made and picked up a small cubical holograph display unit. When she punched a four-digit code onto the numberpad at its top, a three-dimensional image focused itself in the dark cube. Katrina smiled. Staring at the projected holograph, she almost forgot where she was.

It showed her, twenty years younger and with hair dyed a bright red, flanked by two men. On her right was Arthur Luvon. His long, fair hair was tied back with a black headband, and he was smiling broadly. His mustache and goatee gave him the roguish look that matched his spirit, but that was so unlike the staid, sober Arthur most believed her husband to be. On the left, wearing a blue shirt open to midchest to reveal a heavy thatch of black hair, was a much younger Morgan Kell, also smiling at the holocamera. His thin mustache curled up at the ends, and his expression mirrored Arthur's devil-may-care attitude.

Has it really been that long?Katrina shook her head. "Morgan, after all we went through, how could I think less of him or you?"

She extended the cube to Morgan. He looked at the image and laughed deeply. "God, the Red Corsair and her two henchmen ..."

Katrina laughed aloud as well. It's so good to hear your laugh, Morgan. How it conjures up memories of the old days.Trying as those times had been, she could now also see them as exciting adventures. "What we did to escape Poulsbo would be considered too outlandish for a holodrama series."

Morgan tossed off the whiskey remaining in his glass. "Well, I must admit that in hindsight, the idea of heading out into the Periphery and coming back through Marik space might not be the best plan, but it sounded good at the time." He gazed at the cube again. "You know, one of the brothers at St. Marinus was from a band of Periphery raiders and he says they're still looking for the Red Corsair." Morgan's smile ebbed away as the look on his face became distant and remote.

Katrina reached out and gave his shoulders a squeeze. "You miss her as much as I miss Arthur, don't you?"

"Tempest?" His head came up and he forced a weak smile on his lips. "Perhaps, had things not ended so abruptly, my answer to your question would be, 'Yes.' As it is, I just don't know."