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'Yes indeed, Yast,' rejoined Dwynaar. 'We don't need reminding how we came to be here.' He looked pointedly at Felbaac. 'Not from anyone.'

Felbaac moved from his position at the front of the shack, fed up with shielding his eyes from the glare. A few faces in the crowd turned to follow his movements, but the rest, like Dwynaar, stared sullenly at the ground.

He'd seen it before. He'd been in enough prisons and known enough men who'd lost their hope, their conviction, even their faith in the ideals that had landed them there. The correction treatment was very effective. But, while a few would be repatriated and forced to publicly denounce their allegiances for propaganda value, the only reward most got was to die as restored citizens of Thannos with a decent state burial, instead of having their carcasses chucked out to rot on some pinprick planet far from anywhere.

So you had to restore faith. You had to lead, firmly but with compassion.

Your decisions could never be wrong. You had to play deity to them, be unassailable, unbeatable. Wherever possible, give them a miracle.

He knew the score. He'd been one of Somaath's band for years. Somaath had pulled Felbaac off Ipmuss when there seemed no hope. He remembered the gruff man's burning zeal, his insane courage. The countless feats of heroism that made him an icon to millions, fighting the K'Arme across the system, bursting into speeches the way a show chorus would break into song. A righteous man, and then a hero.

But Somaath was dead now. And, as his only trusted confederate and partner in rebellion still fighting with any degree of success, Felbaac was finally becoming known system-wide.

So this rabble could damn well show him some respect.

'All I'm saying,' he began again, his tone urgent,'is that you must be ready.

You'll be needed to fight the fight again. We all will.'

'You've been here... how long?' Dwynaar made an elaborate show of counting his fingers. 'Two months? Well, we're all up for fighting the good fight once again, Felbaac, but where are we going to fight it? Out there in that red desert? Not many souls to save out there.'

Felbaac cut across the rising murmurs of agreement with Dwynaar. 'It's our own souls we have to nurture for now. You've been left here now almost twenty years. I know what that does to men. Believe me, I know. But you've survived, took what little they threw at you and made yourselves strong on it -'

'We've kept ourselves alive,' snarled Dwynaar, rising to his feet.

'And what for, eh?' Felbaac stared at him with burning eyes. 'Have you kept yourself alive for so long just to give in and die here?'

Yast walked nervously across to Dwynaar, shooting embarrassed looks at Felbaac. 'We're already retraining you. We're going to equip you, too.'

'We're going to let you fight back!' Felbaac shouted.

There was a long silence. Dwynaar broke it.

'Let us fight back? Or make us?'

The sheet-iron door was kicked open with a loud bang and the squeal of rusty hinges. Framed in the searing brightness outside was a tall figure, panting with exertion.

'Tanhith!' Felbaac exaggerated his concern, grateful for the interruption.

Then as his squinting eyes adjusted to the light, he realised the man was carrying something. Something slight and blonde.

Tanhith lowered his burden to the dusty floor. Coughing saliva noisily from his throat, he looked up at his leader. 'I found her out there in the desert' He coughed noisily, again.

'She's not dead. Not yet.'

The men in the room stared in silent disbelief. Then a babble of astonishment swept the room, and chairs scraped noisily across the floor as the men crowded round the new arrivals.

'Back! Get back!' growled Tanhith, crouching protectively at his find as hands reached out to poke, prod and feel. 'Get back!'

Dwynaar swung round from the periphery of the crowd and marched over again to Felbaac.'This another facet of your brilliant master plan?'

Your decisions could never be wrong.