"Innocent old men." The baron's mouth twisted into a snarl.
"They wanted nothing but to help us."
"Yes, Meikl? And we are the barbarians, eh?"
The analyst spoke disdain with his eyes.
The baron straightened in sudden hauteur. "Look down at the ground, Analyst," he hissed.
Ven Klaeden's sudden change of tone impelled him to obey. His eyes fell to the turf at his feet—moss covered sod, rich and dark beneath the green.
The baron kicked a hole in the moss with the toe of his boot. "Tell me where the infection came from, Analyst," he growled. He scraped at the hole with his heel. "And why is the dirt so red right here?"
Meikl glanced up slowly. Two men were coming through the shrubs, walking warily along the path toward the clearing. Ven Klaeden seemed unaware. He leaned forward to speak through his teeth.
"I give them nothing but what they gave our fathers—their own inner hell, Meikl—the curse they so carefully forgot. In their Eden."
The man was mad ... perhaps. Meikl's eyes followed the men who approached through the shrubs. One of them carried a burden—the limp body of a girl, occasionally visible through the low foliage as they drew nearer. One of the men was a junior officer, the other a native. After a moment, he recognized the native....