1 Chapter 1

October 24, 1929, the day the bottom dropped out of the stock market and the Great Depression started, was also the day I was born. It never crossed my mind to think I was at fault for that, although considering the way my father, a staunch Republican, would rant during one of President Roosevelt’s fireside chats and glare at me, I could never be certain he felt the same way.

Three years later, my sister Rosalie was born. Mother’s screams could be heard throughout the huge house we lived in—apparently there hadn’t been time for Father to have her taken to the hospital—and I’d hidden in the closet in my room, terrified. However, once the screaming stopped, I crept out of the closet and into the nursery. I thought my sister was the prettiest thing, and I wanted to hold her and cuddle her, but the servants chased me out. Rosalie didn’t survive for very long, and I was so saddened, even though she’d caused Mother’s screams. Afterward, I heard the servants talking in hushed tones about how yellow the poor little girl had been. There was talk of changelings as well, but at the age of three, I didn’t understand how that could involve me.

None of Mother’s other pregnancies resulted in a live birth, some didn’t even last a few months, and finally my parents lost all hope and stopped trying. Not that they spoke to me about this, but I’d learned to skulk around the house and gather what bits of information I could from the servants.

As the firstborn son and only surviving child, I should have been well-loved. After all, in most storybooks mothers and fathers were supposed to love their children unconditionally. However, I saw my nanny Mary more than I saw my parents, and I’d quickly grown to accept they tolerated me well enough, but that was all it struck me as—being tolerated

The one thing they truly, unequivocally loved—which I’d also come to accept as I grew older—was Knight, Inc., the family company based in Connecticut. It meant more to them than I ever could. They looked on me as an intrusion, minor perhaps, but an intrusion nonetheless. They could live with me, but they could just as easily live without me.

Perhaps, given my family background, one would have thought I saw myself as a poor little rich boy.

Only it wasn’t exactly like that. I had an allowance that kept me in research books, some of which were quite rare and expensive, an excellent education—being a child prodigy had much going for it—the latest in diving equipment and a new seventeen-foot Chris Craft runabout to dive from, and a comfortable suite of rooms, first in the house where I grew up, then in my college dormitory, and finally in an apartment on which Father insisted he pay the rent.

In addition, I had numerous sexual partners.

The thing was…When I told people not to love me—not because I was unlovable or anything of that nature, but because I had no desire to hurt them or open myself to be hurt—why did they never take me at my word?

However, other than a few…blips…in the road, I liked my life. 1

I’d never had a particularly vivid imagination, so when I had another of the dreams that would wander occasionally through my sleep, I put it down as being the result of the science fiction magazines I’d brought into the house when I was younger. I hadn’t had to sneak in copies of Amazing Storiesor Argosyor Astounding Storiesas other boys did because no one in the household bothered to see what I carried in my bookbag. As long as I brought home excellent grades, which my parents could boast about, and which, as a child prodigy I was guaranteed to do, my parents gave me free rein to do as I chose.

Although a portion of my mind knew I was safely tucked in my bed, in this dream I wandered the corridors of the exploratory spaceship, Dev’o’s Honor. The captain, who was my friend, wandered at my side. I couldn’t see him clearly—frankly I couldn’t see the ship clearly either, but that didn’t matter; I knew what he looked like—a tall, caring, dark-haired man, who draped his arm across my shoulders. He communicated with me by touching my mind with his. As we walked, he shared tales of the many exploits of his ship.

I and my crew have been sent out to re-chart planets, he explained patiently, giving me the impression he’d told me this before, although I didn’t understand how that could have been possible. The Confederation long since lost contact with them

The Confederation? Is that like your government?

Mmm. He left it at that, but he was distracted by something, and I was able to peek behind his mental shields. I froze in horror as I saw what he’d had no intention of allowing me to see—Dev’o’s Honorhad been sent out on a futile mission. I didn’t understand the whys and wherefores of the politics of the situation, but someone in the Confederation, the loosely joined but harshly ruled group of planets, wanted him dead; as a result, he and his diverse crew had been sent out on this mission. What was worse, they all knew they weren’t expected to return to their home planets.