 
Breakers of the Dawn:

Book 1 of the Dawn Saga

By Zachariah Wahrer
From the Back Cover:

"Humanity has fallen from its once majestic place amongst the stars. Desperate for resources to prop up an aging galactic dynasty, humans seize every planet they find, exterminating their alien inhabitants.

Across the empire, a group of dissidents come together through happenstance. As they learn more, however, they sense a strange force directing their lives. Can they discover the truth before the empire destroys them?

Dispatched to subdue an uprising, a government operative unearths an ancient relic. It somehow knows everything about him, even his darkest secrets. The strange device promises extraordinary power, but can he trust it?

The first book in a four part saga, Breakers of the Dawn is epic science fiction, featuring a diverse cast of characters. It's easy to read, but hard to put down."

Copyright 2014 Zachariah Wahrer

All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Second Edition, 2018

Wahrer of the Worlds Publishing

www.wahreroftheworlds.com

publishing@wahreroftheworlds.com
Table of Contents

Start of Book

Letter to the Reader

About the Author

## 

##  Acknowledgements

I would like to thank all those that helped me with this book: Shanese Furlow, Megan and Lois Rahal, Frank Frey, Shreve Fellars, Patrick Wahrer, Walter Scott, Helen Brookman, Ron Davis, Ryan Collins, Björn Arnór Sveinbjörnsson, and Ignacio Tripodi. These individuals made great contributions and their help is immensely appreciated. I would like to give a special thanks to Sarah Wahrer: Without your help, love, motivation, and support, this wouldn't have been possible.

May the fires of the black star be quenched in your life,

Zachariah Wahrer

##  Dedication

For my dad.

I only had 3793 standard days, but I appreciate everything you taught me. You live on in my memory.
"Chase the sun as hard as you can, but remember it will always rise behind you."

\- Dygar Proverb

"Chaos, that need deep inside.

The end is here, you can't hide.

Ascension, where I'm going.

Blood is coming, deep and flowing."

\- Lyric excerpt from "Ascension" by The Black Fire

"Violence is despicable, except when your enemy is despicably violent."

\- Alnos Azak-so

##  01 - Felar

Felar loved the feeling of fitting a rail weapon stock snugly against her shoulder. It was unlike anything else in the world. The joy and elation was just as strong now as when she'd first picked up the weapon, even after weeks of monotonous training drills.

"For as long as I can remember," she told the group of Initiates, "I've wanted to wield this weapon as a Founder's Commando. While growing up on the underworld of Qi-3, I devoured the histories and legends of that elite group of warriors. My parents were poor, barely providing food for our large family. This made me tougher, and when we had to go hungry in Dog School, it was just like old times." Felar scrutinized the Initiates carefully, noting their awestruck expressions.

"When I was old enough and had studied FC training protocols, I tried to replicate them on my own, training my body to be strong and resilient. I fought the local toughs to gain combat experience. My defeats helped me learn more than my victories ever would, just as yours will. Then, on the day I turned 19, I joined the Ashamine Forces. I was exemplary in my Initiate class and was sent up to the FC qualification course. I passed and was given the option to continue to full FC training, known as Dog School.

"Becoming a Commando requires extreme determination, especially for a woman. The selection process is stringent and the number of Dogs passing each successive portion of the course dwindles rapidly. The washout rate is high. Of my starting class of 192, only 54 successfully graduated and earned the right to be called a Founder's Commando." Felar eyed each Initiate in succession, wondering if any of them had what it took.

"For now, focus on getting through Init training, but keep the Commandos in the back of your mind. Some of you might just be good enough to make it to FC Qualification."

Felar pushed all thoughts from consciousness and looked through the scope, centering on one of the downrange targets. She triggered the weapon and a tungsten alloy projectile blew a ragged hole through the target precisely where she'd aimed. Deftly moving the rifle to the left, Felar focused and fired on the next target instantly. The results were the same. She repeated the procedure until she'd hit every target.

"Shooting like this requires dedication and focus. Practice is key. You will now break into squads and your instructors will demonstrate technique and safety. If you have any inclination towards joining the FCs, make sure you are in the top two percent of your class for marksmanship. Give up hope if you are anything less."

The Initiates saluted Felar, then their instructors started barking orders. Her demonstration was over. Hopefully some of these fresh-faced Inits will have what it takes to become a Commando. If not, we always need front liners.

Felar left the shooting-range, moving towards one of the many indoor training facilities. It was a large, hangar-like structure that had been constructed many years ago during the beginning of the Ashamine expansion. She had a few more demos to give before combat maneuvers started in the afternoon.

Entering through a small door, Felar breathed the reassuring smell of sweat and physical toil. Row upon row of new recruits were going through their daily conditioning. She reflected back on her own time in training, not long past. The commanders had pushed them to—and in some cases beyond—the breaking point. Remembering a few of her classmates that died in training saddened Felar, but the camaraderie between those that survived made her smile. All my hard work paid off in the end, she thought, and now I'm actually one of the Founder's Commandos. She could hardly believe it, even though her black camo fatigues and crimson beret proclaimed it to anyone. A burst of pride welled up as she observed several new recruits take note of her passage.

"3rd Class Enlightened," a voice hailed, "May we have a moment of your time?" She turned towards the voice and saw Initiate Trainer Harmoth and his flock of trainees. They stood by one of the facility's many combat rings, obviously in the middle of a sparring session. The rings were large circles drawn on the dull gray cement, their purpose solely for teaching unarmed combat.

She could feel animosity radiating towards her as she approached the group. Harmoth had been in Felar's class in Dog School. During their time together, he'd been antagonistic towards all the females in the group, reserving a particular hatred for Felar. He had been fond of saying the women in the class were good for only one thing, and it wasn't combat. When those same women scored higher than Harmoth, he'd raised allegations of them giving sexual favors in turn for high scores. The fact he had been cut from Dog School, while all those women graduated, had likely made him even more salty.

She stopped in front of Harmoth, close enough to hear him over the racket, but far enough away to be respectful. She waited for a salute, his requirement as a junior officer, but all she received was a condescending smirk. None of his trainees saluted either.

Their lack of respect disgusted and enraged her. It wasn't just a formality, but an honored tradition. She was an officer and a Commando. She deserved respect from this subordinate and his underlings. Felar felt her anger start to boil, just as it had every other time she'd been confronted with this situation. I will teach them respect and prove I earned this crimson beret.

"Look at that rack!" she heard, followed by low laughter. More remarks about her appearance were announced, brazen and obvious.

How dare they! she thought, anger metastasizing into fury. Stifled laughter and smirks made Felar realize she was showing her emotion. A scream of rage resounded through her mind, then the declaration: I'll beat down every single one of them if that's what it takes. I'll rip off their arms and gouge out their eyes. I'll break every bone in their bodies. At this point, Harmoth broke into her thoughts.

"Enlightened Haltro," he jeered, "I was wondering if you could show these soldiers a thing or two, since you are a Founder's Commando. Your physical prowess is known to many," he continued. "I thought you could demonstrate to these recruits how you do it." He raised his eyebrows and licked his lips.

"As you wish," she growled, managing to cease grinding her teeth long enough to get the words out. Felar could feel the need to prove herself propelling her into a situation she should avoid. Taking off her tactical combat belt—a few whistles and lewd comments greeted this action—she moved to the center of the circle. As she moved, she emptied her mind, going into the trance-like state the FCs were trained to adopt before combat. She breathed deeply, embracing the uncertainty of battle.

"You don't mind if I pick your partner, do you?" Harmoth's voice grated against Felar's void state, condescension infusing every word.

Her response was almost inaudible, "Your choice, IT Harmoth." Harmoth shouted to his group of trainees, ordering them to form up. Moving along the line of twenty men, he selected the largest and most imposing.

"This is Initiate Alexhion, my top trainee. I've drilled him personally. He has sparred against, and beaten, every opponent in this group." As Harmoth spoke, Alexhion moved to his side of the ring.

The difference between us is ludicrous, Felar noted calmly, sizing up her opponent. She scrutinized him with an appraising eye, as she had been taught and had practiced many times before.

Not impressed, she decided finally. Despite his large size, huge muscles, and menacing demeanor, he was soft. Even with his technical training and long hours of PT, he was inexperienced. He didn't possess the hard look of a veteran. He had no scars. And despite all this, his biggest weakness was underestimating his enemy. Alexhion was too busy making jokes and smart remarks to give Felar a second look.

Harmoth brought Alexhion's antics to an end by walking to the middle of the circle. "Let's try to keep anyone from getting too injured, OK gentlemen? Oh—sorry, I mean gentleman and lady." He stretched out the last word, turning it into a jeer. "First one to tap out, go unconscious, step out of the ring, or sustain a fight stopping injury, loses." Felar bowed to the IT, though she hated to give him that courtesy, and Alexhion did the same. This formality completed, Harmoth left the ring and Felar turned to face her opponent. She began bowing to Alexhion, but as she did so, he lunged towards her.

OK, so he is going to continue disrespecting tradition, Felar thought, circling away. He pursued her around the edge of the ring, but she easily kept out of range. This fight will be on my terms, by my rules.

After a few minutes, he tired of pursuing her, stopping in the middle of the ring. "Afraid of me, pole sucker? Don't want to let a drop of blood soil your pretty new fatigues? I wasn't aware they let weak little pink holes into the Commandos, even if they do have such hot bodies. How many officers did you have to pleasure to get through Dog School?" He made a suggestive gesture and looked to the audience for approval. It was at this moment, while he was distracted and playing to the crowd, that Felar struck.

She deftly closed the distance and drove her fist into Alexhion's lower back, punishing a kidney for his lax attention. A flicker of pain crossed his brutish face, but he quickly controlled it. Felar wasn't bothered. She knew how pain lingered there, how it bored deep into you. Aim here, she remembered a trainer telling her, just before he'd driven a solid fist into her left kidney. The blow hadn't crippled her, but over the course of the instruction, each subsequent strike had added up.

Felar quickly retreated to a safe distance, her mind resuming its embrace of the void. She knew she had the edge, but she wouldn't allow herself to become overconfident. That kind of mistake usually ended with a painful loss.

Alexhion began grunting and bellowing like an incensed predatory animal. Spittle flew from his mouth and his eyes had a crazed, maniacal look in them.

Good, Felar exulted, the madder he gets, the more mistakes he'll make. Sure enough, Alexhion charged, and this was another opportunity Felar was ready to exploit.

Dodging left, she dropped low to avoid his grappling arms. Felar kicked out her right leg, tripping Alexhion as he ran past. His momentum kept his upper body hurtling forward, while his legs stopped abruptly. Her body shuddered from the impact of his massive legs, but she held strong.

Alexhion's arms kept him from smashing his face into the cold cement, but the strain of his frame was too much for the bones that supported it. With an audible snap, Alexhion's left arm broke below the elbow. As he rolled to that side, the splintered and shattered bone tore its way through his skin. The wound shone, glistening red and white, the blood already starting to flow.

Felar looked down on the prone form with regret. She had not wanted to hurt him like that. She had meant to win the fight, but not with this result. Now this man would be out of service for at least a week while nanomachines helped his body knit the bones back together. And whether Felar supported the war or not, every Conscript, Initiate, Enlightened, Separate, and Ascended was needed for the final, massive offensive.

Felar felt guilty for needlessly injuring Alexhion. She didn't enjoy his pain. Someday he would be a good soldier... Hopefully... Maybe... She approached him, intending to assess his injuries. Her conscience would not allow her to watch this man suffer, even if he had wished her harm. IT Harmoth and all his Initiates were just standing around the circle, doing nothing, looking shocked. He is losing blood. Their squad medic should be doing his job, Felar thought, feeling irritated.

She reached the fallen man and bent down to start first aid. At this range, she could hear Alexhion mumbling. At first, she thought the man was delirious and speaking incoherently, perhaps having sustained a head injury. Once she leaned in closer however, she could make out the words. He was cursing her, using livid, horrendous profanities, some of which Felar had never heard before. She considered herself well versed in swear, so hearing new curses was quite a surprise. I'll have to remember a couple of the more colorful ones. They were actually pretty good.

Not touching him and remaining out of reach, Felar looked closely for any additional injuries. She saw none. His head seemed uninjured as well, as evidenced by his vocal abilities.

Her initial assessment complete, Felar decided there was nothing she could do for him. If the squad medic wouldn't help Alexhion, she would have to call in support from the medical unit. They would do a more thorough examination, set the arm, and see if it would require direct surgery or if nano-tech alone could repair the damage.

Rising to her feet, Felar noticed the malicious looks of the men standing around her. Earlier, they had all worn expressions of perverse delight. Now, they were furious.

The Initiates started closing in, eyes burning with vengeful intent. Felar tried to regain her void state, but she found it impossible to maintain the cool demeanor that had served her so well. Her body began tensing up. Her head swiveled around furiously, trying to anticipate who would strike first.

Felar regretted having taken off her tactical belt, knowing if she hadn't, she would have access to her twin combat swords. Their vicious, tungsten alloy blades would cut a path through these monsters, and she would be able to break the circle before they injured her. She knew they wouldn't kill her, but that knowledge didn't bring comfort. A death would result in a court-martial. The sentence to Bloodsport would be more brutal than the murder that brought it about.

No, they won't kill me, she thought desperately, but who knows how bad they'll hurt me once I'm down. A flash burst through her mind and a black, warm mass engulfed her.

##  02 - Wake

Wake stared out across the jagged, snow-covered peaks of Traynos-6, his gray eyes taking in the panoramic vista far below. He found the barren landscape comforting. The bleakness helped him forget.

He felt responsible and knew the deaths were his fault. When he inadvertently looked in the direction of the accident site, his mind tried not to recognize the familiar landmarks.

"Wake!" a friendly voice said, breaking him from his reverie. He turned to face the hatch accessing this small perch on the side of the great mountain. Raimos, his superior officer, stood in the entryway.

"Oh—hey," Wake replied, distracted and lacking enthusiasm.

"It's almost time for third meal," Raimos said. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't forget to eat, like earlier today."

"I'm not hungry. Maybe I'll get something later." Wake turned back to the desolate vista. He knew Raimos wanted to help, but he needed to be left alone, needed time to think.

"Well... OK," Raimos responded after a brief pause. "Look, I know you're torn up about the miners, but they were just miners. They signed up for duty here and were compensated well for taking that risk. They knew the dangers, and they still came to Traynos-6."

"You don't think I know that?" Wake shot back. After a brief pause he continued, but this time his voice was softer, more conversational. "I understand they knew what it was like here. What they didn't realize was there would be danger in using an Ashamine built structure."

Raimos didn't say anything for a while, his gaze fixed on the mountains. "There is something I need to tell you," he said finally, tone becoming official. "I was going to wait until you recovered from the shock a bit more, but the Elder Council moved quicker than I anticipated. I've done all I can to block it, but it didn't help. They are going to put you on trial for the accident. So, you need to pull yourself out of this slump and start figuring out how to defend yourself at the hearing."

Wake felt like he'd been punched in the gut. A flood of new emotions merged with what he'd been dealing with earlier. His stomach became a rancid cocktail of grief, remorse, and helplessness. A fleeting sense of suspicion played across his mind, but Raimos resumed speaking before he could explore further.

"Anyway, I'll keep doing all I can to terminate the trial. It may or may not help, but I'll do my best." Wake smiled weakly at his friend, feeling gratitude. "Oh, one more thing: Orders came through not to reopen the incident area. I don't know why, but Command says we aren't to reestablish it." He gave Wake a moment or two to respond. When he didn't reply, Raimos continued, leaving the deck as he spoke, "Wake, pull yourself out of this blightheart. Grief is one thing, but beating yourself up is another. It was an accident. Come down and get something to eat. You'll think and feel better with a full stomach."

Wake sighed heavily, his breath misting even though the observation perch was climate controlled. The exterior air was so frigid it was hard to keep the windowed room above freezing. He tried once again to lose himself in the barren landscape, but after a few minutes, he realized it wasn't going to happen. Raimos' revelation had pushed him over an unknown edge. Now it was impossible to not think. Wake decided he had to reason it out, had to find a better way to deal with his grief and guilt. Maybe it was time to quit mourning and start processing. He felt his attitude shift.

The twelve miners had died on a structure Wake was charged with maintaining. That would mean the Ashamine would hold him liable. He hadn't anticipated the trial though. These types of accidents aren't that rare. With an empire as big as the Ashamine, things went wrong regularly. But I've never heard of a trial, not without extreme negligence, which I obviously didn't do. Also out of character for the Ashamine was the decision not to reopen the affected mining area. Wake didn't know much about mining operations here on Traynos-6, but he had heard the now-closed area contained some of the richest frozen gas deposits on the planet. Why would they abandon it?

His mind drifted back to the events leading up to the accident. He recalled typing a report that used the words "unsuitable for use" and "obvious manufacturing defects" in reference to the materials he'd ordered for bridge repairs. The reply had been: "Requested material was inspected before and after shipment. No flaws found. New materials will not be sent. Use previously shipped materials." He had up-channeled more reports and requests, but each time he did so, increasingly strong orders came down to use the parts. In the end, he had been forced to do so.

Am I sure it was the bad parts that caused the failure? Wake thought about the plans, maintenance schedule, and memories of time spent on site. His workmanship had been good, he was certain of that. It had to be the materials! Then a new thought, something buried deep in his mind, rose to the surface. Why did they force me to use faulty parts? Why didn't they just send new ones like procedure dictates? His sense of unease rose as he thought about the implications.

Wake had been raised to be devoted to the Ashamine. All the meetings, rallies, and his time in Youth Core had showed him just how great the human interplanetary government was. His parents were diplomats and had wanted Wake to follow their path. They'd sent him to several elite schools in preparation for his "great service", as they had put it. But Wake didn't want to be a government functionary, going to formal events and maneuvering for political power. He wanted to make a real difference by helping people and making their lives better. So Wake rebelled against his parents and enlisted with the Engineering and Building Division.

"We are extremely disappointed in you," his mother had seethed the day she found out. "You were meant for bigger things. Building colonies? You're wasting your potential and everything we invested in you. You could do so much more for the Ashamine!"

He had been with the Engineering and Building Division for six years now, and his parents hadn't contacted him since he'd left home. He knew initially they had been shunning him with the hope he would change career paths. As time passed however, they'd forgotten him in their fervor for the Founder and the Entho-la-ah-mine war.

When Wake had first left home, his devotion to the Ashamine had equaled that of his parents. Once out in the real world however, he had seen many things that had caused him to rethink his absolute faith in the government of humankind. Not that he was ready to forsake the Ashamine—or even wanted to—but he felt he had a more balanced view now. He was still impressed by the Founder, holding a deep conviction that he was a great man and faithfully did what he could to help humankind advance in the Akked Galaxy.

Slowly, thoughts about the building materials returned. Am I being set up? The prospect of a trial was adding a new crack in his weakening faith in the Ashamine. He was truly sad the miners had died and wouldn't duck responsibility for his workmanship. I won't take the blame for careless manufacturing, inspection, or shipping, though, he thought. I won't go down for a crooked bureaucrat's gain.

Raimos would do his best to stop it, but Wake knew the trial was inevitable. If they tried him justly, based on his maintenance of the structure, he would keep his faith in the colossal government. Otherwise... Well, if it was handled unfairly, he would fight against the injustice as hard as he could.

##  03 - Maxar

Maxar Trayfis drove a thin metallic spike through the faceplate of his enemy's environmental nominizing suit, shattering it. The void quickly sucked his atmosphere out, and the man began suffering.

Inexperienced, Maxar observed, as his opponent attempted to hold his breath. It was a major mistake. His lungs would burst. He also failed to bring his weapon to bear on Maxar, not that he would have let him trigger it anyway.

Rookie. In the next instant, the man dropped his rifle and opened his mouth. After another twelve seconds, Maxar saw him go limp and unconscious. Two minutes of painless rest, then the final oblivion. Maxar watched for a second longer, eyes narrowing. Lucky, he thought, emotions a mixture of remorse, boredom, and envy.

Maxar slid stealthily back into the ridge's shadows, a ghost of darkness. As he moved, he spotted a momentary glint near the edge of his faceplate's field of vision. Instinct took over, and he dropped down between two gray boulders.

Sniper, Maxar thought, wondering how he'd been spotted. He brought out his optical enhancer and scanned for the threat, but found nothing. Several moments passed, then he dialed up the magnification, zoom, and every other enhancement the device was capable of. Nothing. Maxar knew if there was anything to see, he would have spotted it. His vision was perfect, and with the enhancer there was little chance of missing anything as large as a human. This left only two options: a comms drone or personnel observation cam. Both were extremely hard to spot, and as long as it wasn't an opposing player, it didn't matter anyway. Rising to his feet, Maxar cautiously resumed his trek.

Back on the move, his thoughts crowded in. He wished it hadn't been necessary to kill the man. The death had been quick and painless, at least relative to what usually went on during the games, but Maxar would have rather just let him be. That wasn't an option though. Had the opponent spotted Maxar, he would have called in reinforcements and it would have complicated the mission. The man, whoever he had been, had never sensed Maxar's approach.

Focus, he thought, dragging his mind back to what had kept him alive in such a deadly environment for so long. He had work to do.

The match had started just a few hours ago, but to Maxar it felt like a lifetime. "Standard game," the team commander had said. "Each side has a sec term in their base. First team to hash the opponent's terminal wins. All vehicles except spacecraft are authorized. All weapons except for nuclear are permitted. We have a hundred players to a side. All you buggering new meats, form up into infantry quads. Expect to die. Vets, I have assignments for you, but they won't be surprising."

After the group briefing was over, his squad leader gave him detailed instructions. "You're solo, Maxar. Go in and soften up their base approach. Snipers, anti-tank emplacements, mines, and whatever else you can take out. You're the best we have for this."

"What about a stealth hash," Maxar said, referring to a tactic that kept the battle from turning into a bloody frontal assault.

"Nope. The Orator won't allow it. Apparently there are some important buggers watching this game. They don't want it to end too quickly or too easily." Maxar's hope sank. The stealth hash had worked a few games past and both sides had suffered few losses.

"OK, softening it is." That was what he had been doing ever since the match had started.

This is true blightheart, Maxar thought, working his way across the ridge. There were usually several snipers in this area. They used the high vantage point to get a good line of fire on the valley below. It was also a great position to spot and report troop movements.

I wish someone would kill me like I did that guy. If I was a hardman, I'd do it myself. He hated the repetition and pointless death of the never-ending games. No matter how hard he fought, how many he killed, or how many matches he won or lost, there were always more games to come. It was eternal, and the only way out was to die or escape. And with the security on Bloodsport, the only real way is death.

Being in a game always made Maxar remember his past life and what had sent him to Bloodsport. He'd been born and raised on Noor-5, a bustling stellar hub full of trade and rich merchants, along with a great deal of poverty and crime. He and his sister Emili grew up in a government care facility that was little more than a prison. Emili joined an indentured servant program when Maxar was 9, and she was 14, taking her out of the facility and sending her to Ashamine-2. She had written through the Terminal Network for almost a year, but had suddenly gone silent. Maxar looked for her in the Ashamine records when he got older, but she'd vanished without a trace.

When he was young, Maxar had wondered where his parents were, or if they were even alive. From his earliest memory, he'd been in the facility and had no recollections of them or any other friendly adults. By the time he had the skills to hash the Ashamine records to determine his parents' fate, he no longer cared.

As typical of many low class youth on Noor-5, Maxar began a life of crime. He remembered a time early on when a wealthy merchant's son approached him. The other boy had offered a substantial amount of Ashcreds to kill one of his peers. The merchant's son said the boy was mercilessly bullying him. Maxar felt inclined to exact justice.

After several hours of research and surveillance, however, Maxar could see his target was actually the victim. A few hashes later, he found the truth: The target was amassing a case against the merchant's son, for raping his sister. In the end, Maxar had killed, but it wasn't the original target and he didn't get paid.

Maxar's talent allowed him to quickly learn the skills needed to become an expert assassin and thief. His reputation blossomed, and the highest circles of the criminal organization on Noor-5 took note. Before long, they were commissioning him for high profile jobs, ones that required extraordinary stealth and cunning. True to his ethics, however, he would only accept certain jobs. If the mark was an innocent official, devoted family man, or an honest merchant, Maxar refused. Fortunately there was plenty of corruption on Noor-5, and Maxar stayed busy.

He continued working as a freelance, and found it fulfilling, both monetarily and as a lifestyle. He was free, stable, and controlled his own future. All had gone quite well for almost a standard decade until a major officer within one of the criminal Families had been caught off-world. Maxar never found out all the details, but from what he could gather, the individual had been one of his direct contacts within the organization. The officer had betrayed Maxar and given the Ashamine more than enough evidence to prosecute him.

The Ashamine had captured, tried, and convicted Maxar. "Let it be known that Maxar Trayfis has been censured for the malefactions stated at the beginning of this convocation. We shall now move to sentencing. For crimes of this nature there is but one option, the remainder of life spent on the Bloodsport asteroid." He'd wished for the death sentence ever since.

##  04 - Tremmilly

Tremmilly sat beneath an expansive shade tree, reading. Her large wolf-dog, Beowulf, lay beside her, sprawled out comfortably in a small patch of light. The girl's black hair shimmered in the bright light of mid-day, green eyes intently focused on the book in her lap. Beowulf's gray and black fur swayed in the breeze as he napped. This was just the kind of peaceful scene Tremmilly enjoyed so deeply.

Lost in thought, Tremmilly absentmindedly scratched behind Beowulf's ears. The action made his leg twitch, something she still laughed at, even after all the years they'd spent together. She quit scratching to flip a page, and the wolf-dog rolled over to warm his other side. Minutes passed, the two enjoying the tranquility of the deep wood.

In a distant part of her mind, Tremmilly heard the snap-crackling of someone moving through the underbrush, but her attention remained focused on the large book.

"Tremmilly?" a voice questioned, its tone melodic. She shut the book, careful to mark her page before doing so. After gently setting the tome down, she gave Beowulf a hearty belly scratch. This time she focused her full attention on him, gazing into his large blue eyes.

"Well, Beowulf, it looks like we aren't safe, even way out here." Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at the wolf-dog. Turning to face the footfalls, she called out, "Over here!"

After a few moments and more crackling, an elderly looking man entered the small clearing. Tremmilly began to rise, but he motioned her to stay seated. The old man smiled at the wolf-dog, sitting down on the soft tree needles across from Tremmilly.

The trio lounged in contented silence for several minutes. Tremmilly could feel her body take in energy from the surrounding landscape. Beowulf returned to dozing in the warm sunlight.

Finally, the old man stood and spoke. "Walk with me, if you will." His tone was friendly, his manner loving. Both Tremmilly and Beowulf rose and started following him.

"Psidonnis," she said, as they had topped the crest of a small rise, "what brings you out so far to find me?" Psidonnis continued walking, his pace brisk. He was silent for a long time. This reticence is unlike him. It made Tremmilly uneasy.

"There are heavy matters afoot," Psidonnis finally replied. His wrinkled face showed care and concern, but also resolve. "I dread having to turn our friendly relationship to one of a religious nature. There are other members of my Sect that Terra could have chosen, but it was I who received the prophecy. And I think it is because of our friendship, rather than in spite of it. I believe Terra wants me to convey it to you."

A feeling of anxiety crept over Tremmilly. She stopped walking. "You raised me with the knowledge of Terra, and you know I respect your beliefs. You also know I have no wish to partake in the Dygars Sect. If there is a prophecy, how could it apply to me, a non-believer?"

The old man shrugged his shoulders, but Tremmilly thought he knew more than he let on. "I do not know how this came to be, only that it is. As I taught you, our prophecies are always for, and about, a member of the sect. This occasion has been an anomaly."

"Psidonnis, you know I love you, but I don't want anything to do with this. My parents came here for the Sect, but I have no faith in it. I have my own beliefs." She hoped she wasn't being too strong.

Looking him in the eye, she saw Psidonnis gazing back, absolutely expressionless. At first, she thought he was angry. No, that isn't right. She looked deeper and realized he was vacant, some place else entirely. The animation drained from him, seeping away as she watched. Each moment, it progressed further, eyes becoming empty, vapid, soulless. A startled gasp escaped her as his lifeless looking lips opened and the void man began to speak. Psidonnis' voice had lost its vibrant quality, had been imbued with a harsh, primitive tone that made Tremmilly shiver.

"When the Breakers rise, there shall be six on whose choices the worlds do lie. The choice of virtue or corruption will bring an ancient existence to many, death to more still. Persevere and strive, the Acclivity will bless those who survive.

"Six shall have great influence, many choices when the Breakers rise. Woe to six, that Breakers have experience when they have none. Six shall have need of all their will.

"The first be of a light most bright, spirit most pure. Her life touched by death before cognition, her desire only for peace. She shall start the fire that kindles the worlds to the Acclivity. Woe to the Breakers.

"The next shall have hands that shed blood, his blood in motion with machines. He does not know his heart, yet through course of life he shall learn what to see. He shall be the strong hands that guide the Acclivity, albeit he is not gentle. Woe to the Breakers.

"She of battle will fight beside the hands, her heart ferocious, yet kind. Her path has been strange, her child not of her blood. She shall be a strong pillar, the Acclivity magnified through her strength. Woe to the Breakers.

"Next is a man of character, the dead that is found, wearing that which is ancient, the icon of legends long past. His heart is good and powerful, a mighty man to lead the Acclivity. Woe to the Breakers.

"He that is green has strength of mind, his people are his weapon. He is dissimilar, but his heart is good; send him not away. He shall unite a people unspoiled, he shall be the salvation of those of his kind. He shall bring his kind to the Acclivity, and the worlds will tremble at their might. Woe to the Breakers.

"Last is he smallest of all, but a boy in the eyes of the world. He is descended from power, full of power, wielding power. His mind is a weapon, though his hands be frail. His heart is strong, though his body may fail. He has the power of life, the gift of death. The Acclivity rests on his shoulders. Woe to the Breakers.

"All six shall have friends and foes alike, some from within and some from out. Many more shall sway the Acclivity, many more essential. Some will live and many more will die. Come forth you adventurers, you seekers of battle. The Acclivity calls, though the Breakers may yet decide the fate of the worlds.

"But to you who would stay in comfort and safety, not yielding to the call: Blightheart shall establish itself on you and the worlds will be sundered by the Breakers."

After Psidonnis finished speaking, Tremmilly stood in stunned silence, afraid, not knowing what to think. The life slowly returned to his face. Several minutes passed, then he was fully restored to his body.

"Did it happen?" he asked, his voice sounding dry and papery thin, bereft of its normal joyfulness. She didn't reply. "Ahhh, yes. I see by your face it did." He looked down at his feet, sighing heavily. Whether this was out of shame or another, more obscure emotion, Tremmilly couldn't tell. She was speechless and felt violated.

Tremmilly was about to say something, although she was still unsure what it would be, when Psidonnis raised his head and spoke. "I had hoped it would not happen this way, that I could be myself when I told you the prophecy. It seems Terra had a different plan and wanted to communicate in a more—direct manner."

"What does it mean?" Tremmilly blurted, unable to contain her emotion any longer.

"I don't know child. I honestly don't, at least not exactly. We Dygars are an old order. We keep meticulous records, but there have been many times when we lost information. When you are fleeing for your life, dusty old tomes and records are often the last thing on your mind." With this statement, some of his warm personality and humor returned, his voice regaining a measure of its former vitality. This comforted Tremmilly, and she felt her own emotions settle, even if it was only fractionally.

"Do you know why I was meant to hear the prophecy?" Tremmilly asked. "I need some perspective. It doesn't make sense."

"You don't see it?" He had the look on his face she had seen when he tutored her. It was the one that said, "You know the answer Tremmilly. Look harder!" She thought for several moments. Psidonnis remained quiet and allowed her to think, just like he always had.

"I honestly don't," she replied, failing to connect anything in her life to the vague and poetic prophecy. "None of it sounds familiar or connected to anyone I know."

"Well then," he said with a sigh, "I suppose it's time to bring you in front of the elders and let them explain some things to you. Perhaps you'll see the connection then." As he said this, he turned away from her and began walking towards the Dygar enclave. Tremmilly looked down at Beowulf, finding comfort in his familiar eyes. She felt determination rise within her and moved to follow her oldest human friend towards the unknown.

"Before we go to the council, Tremmilly, there are a few things I should tell you. They will make more sense coming from me than from the elders." Tremmilly tensed up, sensing she wasn't going to like what he was about to say. "You are the one the prophecy refers to as being 'of a light most bright, spirit most pure.' It is time for you to leave Eishon-2. You need to search for the other five referred to in the prophecy."

##  05 - Lothis

"Arise," the atonal voice announced, interrupting Lothis' trance-like sleep. It was the end of his three hours of rest. His vibrant orange eyes flicked open, and he was instantly aware of his environment.

Lothis looked at the surrounding room, features drab and metallic. Every surface was made of brushed metal. He was used to the space, comfortable in it. He couldn't remember any other place. His eyes ran over the dull walls, seeing, yet not seeing, the lavatory area in one corner. More wall brought his vision to another corner and what he thought of as his training area: a terminal, running device, and several other exercise apparatus. Another brief section of wall and then the final corner of the room. It contained the appliance that dispensed his meal of the day, along with another terminal and a project table. In the center of the room sat an angular metal chair and a third terminal, this one far larger than those in the training or project area. Everything in the space was as it had been when he had closed his eyes, unchanged, immutable.

Rising from the flat metal bed platform, Lothis walked over to the lavatory area. It was here he started the daily routine that was the entirety of his life. Begin daily cycle 3785, he thought, washing his body with a wet square of cloth.

Finishing up in the lavatory, he returned to the central area of his small room and sat down before the large terminal screen. The synthesized, atonal voice returned as the screen came to life. "Lothis, lesson, begin," it sounded. The screen displayed complex math equations which Lothis solved rapidly. His orange eyes flicked back and forth across the display, comprehending the information as quickly as it was shown.

After a set amount of time, the display changed, math replaced by intricate diagrams and specifications. Lothis' eyes continued to play across the screen, absorbing everything. Later, the diagrams changed to what appeared to be random numbers and symbols, scrolling by so fast they began to blur.

Several hours passed, then the screen went black. Lothis rose from the angular metal chair. Moving across the small room, he stood on top of a wide belt recessed into the floor. The belt turned. Lothis ran. The pace became furious, but he focused intently and never stumbled, never missed a single step.

Hours went by, the belt slowed, and Lothis moved on to his other exercises. He did each confidently, feeling strong. The entirety of his focus went towards maintaining perfect form. Finally, his exercises complete, Lothis stretched methodically, from his neck all the way down to his toes.

With the day's physical training finished, he moved on to other tasks. Guided by the voice, he built several small electronic devices, all of which he easily and accurately assembled.

Next, Lothis ate his one meal of the day in silence. He swallowed the protein compound bars and liquid vitamins with no enjoyment. They were bland and tasteless.

After his short meal, he sat in front of the primary terminal, which once again rapidly flashed numbers, symbols, and colors in a seemingly random pattern. This continued a while longer, then the screen went black. The monotone voice announced, "Lothis, sleep, begin."

Lothis rose from the chair and returned to his metal shelf. His mind blanked as he lay back. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and fell asleep instantly. He knew the voice would return in three hours to wake him.

##  06 - The Founder

Seated in his massive chair at the head of the conference table, the Founder seethed with rage. What more can be done to crush this uprising? He had to find a new tactic. This situation was causing him more frustration than anything else he'd experienced in his 130 years of life.

One of the Classad, the Ashamine government's highest council, made the unwise decision to break the heavy silence, "Perhaps, if we met some of their demands and change some of—"

"We have already discussed that!" the Founder roared, vibrant orange eyes burning into the man. He felt the fires of the dark star roaring within him. He wanted to release his fury on these old men, to burn them for their failure to destroy the dissidents.

I must calm myself, he thought, trying to relax his clenched jaw. These men are of no use if I alienate them. Why had he been so prone to anger lately? He had never acted like this as a younger man.

"What I mean to say," he continued, almost regaining his usual charisma and poise, "is that we have already developed that idea to its logical conclusion. The Divisonists' propaganda is particularity virulent. Their strongest weapons are peaceful protest and the ability to spread false information as if it were a disease. If we give into their demands, we'll look guilty. They will use that to infect and recruit even more of the Ashamine population. We cannot negotiate. We are the ones with power, and we must use it to fight their insidious agenda."

He paused, his mind once again running through the history, tactics, and information they'd discussed in prior sessions. In the next instant, his mind leaped to a conclusion it had previously missed. What if... he thought, a sadistic grin touching the corners of his mouth. I'll have to approach this carefully. Most of the Classad would be opposed, unable to bring themselves to do what must be done. That was fine. The Founder was used to issuing such orders. He had the perfect person in mind to perform the task. If not knowing the plan will keep the Classad's conscience clean, then so be it. They don't need to know. Their only real purpose was to offer advice and carry out his edicts anyway.

The Classad hadn't always been this weak. The Founder remembered when he'd learned the secret history, how the first Founder had answered to the Classad.

The Ashamine Charter stated: "The Founder is to lead, but he is directed and held accountable by the Classad." The Charter's creators had chosen a man much too smart and determined to be ruled by committee, however. Twenty years into his term, the Ashamine was under the total control of the first Founder. This history had been suppressed, of course, and no one but the current Founder himself knew of it. This was all for the best.

The original Founder would have approved of this course of action, he observed, the thought bringing him out of his reverie. "For the time being," the Founder resumed, fully back in his relaxed persona, "let's continue to search for alternative solutions. Now, we should move on to other, more gratifying business." He could see the Classad relax as he spoke.

"From the intelligence briefings we've received, it's fairly evident we've almost exterminated the Entho-la-ah-mines. The war is nearly at an end. They only exist on a handful of planets, their forces growing weaker by the day." This statement brought on a buzz of excitement and anticipation the Founder enjoyed. "Furthermore," he continued, "I'm told by the Ashamine Forces that we are close to discovering the hidden Entho worlds. The Engineering and Building Division has also informed me they will be ready to start developing these new colonies as soon as they are cleared of the insects." Everyone will celebrate my achievements when we annihilate those bugs and expand the Ashamine's borders. Everyone except for the Divisionists. This thought drove the thorn back into the Founder's mind and his mood soured again. Humanity needed the abundant resources on the Entho worlds, and if they had to destroy a bunch of interstellar insects to get them, then so be it. The Divisionists can go bugger themselves in the fires of the dark star, the Founder thought. They can protest all they want. We will take those worlds, just as we've taken all the others.

The discussion about the war continued awhile longer, a few of the Classad talking about this or that until the matter had been fully reviewed. The Founder brought the meeting to an end by dismissing each of them personally.

After they left, he returned to his chair at the head of the table and brought out his personal communicator. "Crasor," he said into the device, and after a few moments, a clear, soft-spoken voice replied.

"Yes, Founder?"

"Are you back on Ashamine-2 yet? I have need of my Facilitator."

"Yes, I just arrived. I can be at the palace shortly."

While he waited for his Facilitator, the Founder thought about the man. Crasor Tah Ahn was a skilled operative. He's the best I've ever seen. He wouldn't be the Facilitator if he was anything less.

The Founder remembered the time he had spent meticulously researching personnel who would best fit his newly created title of Facilitator. At the end of the search, he had summoned Crasor and asked, "1st Class Enlightened Tah Ahn, will you be my aide?"

"I will do anything you ask of me," Crasor had replied, his devotion evident.

"Anything? Anything at all?"

"Of course. You are the supreme leader of the Ashamine. Your word is law."

The Founder's Commandos hadn't wanted to lose Crasor, and with good reason. The man's skills were far superior to any other operator the Founder had researched. Over the eleven years Crasor had been his Facilitator, the Founder had grown quite fond of the man. He wouldn't call him a friend, but he was certainly closer to him than he was to anyone else.

"Founder," a voice said, and he looked up to see Crasor enter the room.

"Facilitator," the Founder replied, using the title because he knew Crasor enjoyed it. "Thank you for coming." He gestured at the chair to his right and Crasor sat down. "How was Traynos-6?"

"The bridge fell," Crasor replied, excited eyes betraying his calm voice.

"Everyone was taken care of?"

"Yes. The scene was compelling and contrary evidence non-existent."

"Perfect," the Founder said, smiling. He was glad that, unlike the Classad, his Facilitator got things done. "I have a new project for you."

"What can I do?" Crasor asked, leaning towards the Founder.

"There is business I need you to conduct on Noor-5," the Founder answered. "I have a surprise for the Divisionists, a bit of a message in fact." As he explained the details, Crasor's mouth curled up into a sadistic grin. He felt the same smile grow on his own lips, knowing Crasor would execute his plan perfectly.

##  07 - Cazz-ak-tak

Cazz-ak-tak shuffled out of the entrance to the Entho-la-ah-mine tunnel habitation. The emerald green of his exoskeleton shone brightly in the light of Lith-elo-hi-rosh's blue primary star.

The beauty and vastness of this planet never ceased to inspire wonder within him. Tall, emerald green grass waved gently, looking like a vast ocean. The leaves on the mighty palos trees rustled in the breeze, small groves of the huge hardwoods breaking up the grassy plains. In the distance, grand mountains reached for the sky, their heights unknown, unexplored.

Cazz-ak moved out into the long grass, his six legs easily taking him through the waving plants. He followed a well-defined path, one he could see with both his eyes and his mind.

A short distance across the prairie, he startled a tak-ai, a small rodent-like creature indigenous to Lith-elo-hi-rosh. Its green body blended into the grass perfectly when it stood still, but the animal was very skittish. As it fled from Cazz-ak, it inadvertently darted into a calath plant. The sharp leaves sliced the poor animal, and after a few moments it fell over, dead. The neurotoxins produced by the plant were fatal to most wildlife on this planet. Cazz-ak moved by both the plant and the tak-ai, not taking any special precautions. His exoskeleton protected him from the sharp leaves. Besides, the chemical was a psychedelic for the Entho-la-ah-mines, rather than a neurotoxin.

After a few minutes of walking, a huge canyon appeared before Cazz-ak. Emerald grass grew all the way to the edge. He continued on the path, and soon it wound down into the canyon and entered a tunnel. A short distance inside the narrow passage, Cazz-ak reached an enormous, vaulted chamber housing several gleaming ships. Each vessel was made from a resin the Entho-la-ah-mines secreted, a substance close in composition to their exoskeleton. It was their primary building material, easily molded into whatever shape was needed, whether it was a food basin or hull plating for a ship.

Cazz-ak thought about how much life had changed for the Entho-la-ah-mines within the past few years. Initial contact with humans had been rewarding. Both species had come together, had exchanged knowledge and information about themselves. Unfortunately, something about the way the humans had evolved caused them to see the Entho-la-ah-mines as resources rather than friends. It hadn't been long after the Unification and Harmony Tour that the humans invaded their first Entho-la-ah-mine world.

Cazz-ak could hear and feel his fellow Entho-la-ah-mines throughout the galaxy, and they in turn could feel him as well. Everyone was connected through the central mind known as the Great Thought. He sensed the deep joy and harmony of those on peaceful planets still undiscovered by humans. He also felt the pain and agony of those suffering from human expansion. The misery of his kin was like the edges of many calath leaves being drawn slowly across his mind. It was excruciating, yet somehow he and his people managed to bear it.

It was this call, this alarm, that Cazz-ak-tak was answering. Even though his race was peace-loving and had never fought in the past, Cazz-ak-tak was going to war. He felt ill-equipped to perform his mission, knowing the humans' warfare technology was vast compared to that of Entho-la-ah-mines. It had been just a few decades since the Entho-la-ah-mines had even learned the concept of war. Now they were forced to fight for survival.

Cazz-ak approached one of the many ships arrayed in a triangular pattern inside the cave. They were massive objects, crewed by up to five hundred Entho-la-ah-mines. The ships looked like two pyramids stacked bottom to bottom, a bi-pyramid. They hovered in space above him, silent, hulking, their organic hull plates shining bright green in the artificial light. Cazz-ak knew the bi-pyramid shape had been chosen because of its efficiency in focusing the mental powers of his people.

Using his mind to reach out to the hatch on the ship above, he identified himself to the security protocols. It was an easy task, one he did subconsciously. Stopping below the vessel, Cazz-ak focused on drawing power from the Great Thought. He then channeled this force towards the ground below him, rising gently into the air.

Cazz-ak floated upwards towards the mind hatch and the aperture lensed open at his approach. It was just big enough to fit his elliptical, six legged body. Once inside, he began to walk again. The corridors were oval, one body wide by two tall. As he continued through the ship, a few of the crew walked on the ceiling above Cazz-ak's head, mentally greeting him. After passing several branching corridors, he finally came to another mind hatch.

This path led to the apex of the top pyramid. Cazz-ak went through the mind hatch and the orientation of gravity changed. He now stood on what he previously thought of as a wall. Each of the five points of the bi-pyramid was its own "up", which allowed them to be observation points and command bridges in case of damage.

Now that he was on the primary command deck, Cazz-ak was able to look out through the hull plating on all three sides, seeing the upper points of the other vessels. He was amazed they had been able to build so many ships in such a short period. And with so few of us left...

Images flashed through Cazz-ak's mind. He saw his people systematically exterminated on Kii-la-ta, the first planet attacked by humans. They had been unable to defend themselves and the massacre was excruciating to remember. He saw the great councils meet, saw the philosophical debates about violence and warfare, about what they must do as a species. None of them understood at the time that they were being killed so the humans could take the resources of their worlds. More planets fell and the councils had resolved to fight against the extinction of their species. They had to do it their own way though, had to use the tools evolution had provided.

The bi-pyramids were a result of this effort. The Entho-la-ah-mines knew they could not resist the humans in battle. Cazz-ak himself had seen the power of the human ships and it would be many years, even at Entho-la-ah-mine speed, to develop the abilities to fight in that way. In the end, considering the circumstances, the Great Thought had decided it best to abandon the home worlds to the humans. The bi-pyramid ships evacuated as many as possible, but many had to be left behind.

Cazz-ak found himself wishing he was rescuing those individuals, but he knew his mission was far more important. Instead of saving hundreds or thousands of Entho-la-ah-mines, he would be saving his species as a whole.

He forced his mind back to the present and hailed his Hax-ax-ons, a group of three Entho-la-ah-mines who controlled the ship's primary systems. They returned his salute, and Cazz-ak instructed them to begin departure procedures. Each was standing in their control focus point, a Hax-ax-on at each of the three side points of the pyramid. Cazz-ak took his position in the center of his officers, the focal point of their energy. It was his channel to the Great Thought that would ultimately power and move the vessel.

In his mind, he could feel the readiness of his crew, as well as their apprehension. It was dangerous to transport the cargo they had on board, but it was far more unsafe to leave it on Lith-elo-hi-rosh. Cazz-ak felt an immense honor to be part of this mission, to help bring about the continued existence of his species. These facts created a swirl of emotion that had everyone on edge.

Cazz-ak momentarily observed the officer in charge of the ship's mind soothing and comforting all those aboard, instilling confidence and unity within the group. Cazz-ak was proud of his crew. This was not their first deployment, And with the Great Thought's aid, we will continue to help our people.

He sent out the signal to depart. All around the ship, the Entho-la-ah-mines gathered their thoughts and focused on the apex of the ship. Cazz-ak felt their power enter him and drew it in deeply. Once he'd pulled in everything available from the crew, he invoked the might of the Great Thought, drawing it into himself as well. Cazz-ak reflected and magnified the strength of both power sources into the ship's propulsion officer. She then turned the mighty force towards the surrounding fabric of space-time, warping it in such a way that it made the massive vessel rise out of the hangar chamber.

Cazz-ak gave another order and the ship accelerated through the atmosphere. As it left the planetary boundary, he gave a course towards the system's edge. As they traveled, Cazz-ak continued listening to the thoughts of those suffering due to human action. The more he listened, the more his sorrow and resolve deepened.

Once they were outside the Lith-elo-hi-rosh system, the propulsion officer slowed the ship, stopping in empty space. Cazz-ak watched her refocus her attention on a point just in front of the huge bi-pyramidal ship. The visible stars behind the focal point disappeared, but were quickly replaced by a new, different set.

As the ship began moving towards the newly created distortion, Cazz-ak fervently hoped their return to the Entho-la-ah-mine origin world of Haak-ah-tar would not end in the extinction of his species.

##  08 - Wake

Wake stood on the bridge, ready to begin his maintenance procedure. This far north on Traynos-6, everything was hidden under a thick layer of snow, ice, and frozen gases. It was bitterly cold, but his environmental nominizing suit kept him warm and safe from the brutal conditions.

He gazed at the jagged mountains encompassing the bridge, then down into the crevasse it spanned. Wonder how deep it is, he thought. He felt the bridge vibrate and looked up to find the cause. As he watched, the last of several large vehicles began crossing his side of the bridge. Miners on their way to a work shift. Wake wished he could close the bridge while he did maintenance, but that would halt production and was unacceptable to the base commander. On the far side, a few huge gas tankers and a couple transports waited for the bridge to clear. The roadway spanning the crevasse was only wide enough to allow one-way traffic. Usually that was sufficient, but for some reason, there was a queue at the moment.

Wake started across the bridge, his feelings mixed. He was doing a routine inspection, ensuring the bridge remained safe for use. The harsh weather of this polar region and heavy use by the miners put enormous strain on the structure. The bridge had needed frequent repairs since it was first put into service nearly a standard year ago.

This maintenance cycle, Wake felt particularly anxious to check the repairs he'd made two weeks ago. He needed to see if they were still in good condition. You know they won't be.

Wake stopped as he reached an inspection point, checking a cable and noting it was starting to show signs of significant wear. This was not surprising, as it was one of the new, faulty parts his requisitions admin had sent. The cable's yoke end was fraying just as he expected it would. He decided to radio the nearby mining base to inform them the bridge would be closed until he could repair it.

He turned to look as one of the huge gas tankers from the far side rumbled past. As Wake began opening the base frequency, the bridge lurched. A lance of panic pierced him, knowing instinctively it shouldn't move that way. Whirling around, he checked the cable. Several finely braided strands had snapped. The cable is compromised, he thought frantically. The bridge is going to collapse!

Involuntarily, he looked over the side of the structure into the chasm below. Even if the drop doesn't kill everyone, it would be impossible for us to rescue them before they freeze. Wake knew he had to act. Speed was critical. Just as he began to open an emergency frequency, a violent gust of wind caught and threw him off balance. He tottered near the edge of the bridge, swaying back and forth, trying desperately to maintain his precarious balance. This bridge had no pedestrian traffic, and therefore had no safety railing.

Just as Wake thought he had regained his stability, another gust pushed him over the edge. He screamed in terror and felt the reverberation as the sound bounced off the confines of his ENS helmet. He fell for a second before his safety harness and tether caught him with a jolt. Wake swung violently back towards the bridge, staring down into the void below. There was a fraction of a second to collect himself, then he arced back into one of the thick bridge supports. It dealt a savage blow to the back of his head and shoulders. Everything went dark, then Wake felt himself swimming in a fuzzy haze.

Coming to, he stared around, dazed and bleary-eyed. "How did I get here?" he stammered. As his eyes cleared, he realized there was nothing but air in every direction but up. His body continued to swing back and forth in a lazy arc. Wake blinked hard a few times, then it all came flooding back to him. Horror swept through his hazy brain as he looked up and saw the last of the gas tankers start to cross. If I don't get them to stop—he thought, cutting off speculation and forcing himself to act.

He attempted to switch on his comm unit, but it was unresponsive. Thoughts whirled through his mind. Must have been damaged in the fall. Don't have time to mess with it. Have to climb up and signal visually. He fought desperately to establish himself on part of the support structure, but the underside of the bridge was coated with a de-icing compound that was as slick as the ice it prevented. Wake couldn't grasp anything long enough to climb back up.

Trying a new strategy, he hauled himself up his tether. He made it the ten feet by brute strength alone, getting an arm on the bridge decking. Just as he struggled the rest of the way up, the gas tanker lumbered by. Wake felt the bridge lurch as more of the flawed cable broke. The moan of bending supports was audible over the wailing of the wind. It won't take another stress like that. Any moment, it's going to give out. His mind spun. He tried his comm unit again, but the result was the same.

Wake quickly detached his tether and sprinted towards the mining base. His feet slammed against the frozen ground as he left the bridge decking. An alarm sounded in his helmet and a warning popped up in his head's up display telling him he was consuming oxygen faster than the suit could refine from the atmosphere. Wake lowered his head and pushed harder, fighting the black splotches threatening to shut out his vision. When he looked up, the distance didn't seem any smaller. I'll never make it. I have to go back and wave the drivers down. Why didn't I do that in the first place?!

Spinning on his heels, he looked back towards the bridge. With a shock, he realized the two remaining transports were on the bridge. Don't these miners remember they are forbidden from crossing two at a time? It had been established to prevent so many problems it was basically common sense. The driver of the second vehicle was more interested in getting to his warm shelter three minutes faster than in being safe while doing it. His haste will kill them all.

Wake ran back towards the bridge, pushing even harder than before. He was almost close enough to signal the driver, but the vehicle was dangerously close to the point of no return. Wake started waving his arms frantically in an attempt to signal the operator of the vehicle. They weren't stopping. He knew he was close enough now for the driver and his backup to see him, but obviously they weren't paying attention. Damn auto-nav!

The lead vehicle passed the weakened cable and the structure gave a massive shudder, girders and supports moaning under the strain. In less than a second, a huge section of roadway tipped down, the lead vehicle barely holding traction on the tilted surface.

Wake fell as the deck steepened and started sliding towards the drop off. As he shot past an upright, he tried to catch it. It jerked his body to a violent, bone-snapping stop, yet Wake felt no pain. He looked down at his arm, caught between two parts of the upright. The limb was obviously broken. The sight of it made Wake nauseous.

A soft moan escaped his grimacing mouth as he disentangled himself. He didn't understand why. His arm didn't hurt, so it wasn't from pain. It was like he was watching everything happen through some amazing POV cam, feeling no physical sensation.

Somehow, even with the tilting bridge and broken arm, Wake managed to get to his feet, pulling himself up using his good right arm. He took a few precarious steps, supporting himself on the bridge framework. He looked towards the vehicles and found he was close enough to make eye contact with the people inside. As he did so, an overwhelming sense of foreboding flooded through him.

Somehow the people weren't right. It didn't make sense. Then, he noted the second vehicle was gone. It hadn't fallen off the bridge, he knew that much, but it had vanished. He turned his attention back to the people inside the cab: one man, two women, one child, an Entho, and a huge dog. That was incorrect for a standard mining crew, not to mention absurd. Crews consist of men, maybe a woman or two, but never children, dogs, or non-humans.

Breaking out of his troubled thoughts, Wake realized the situation was worsening as seconds passed. The deck angle was growing steeper, and soon the transport's tires would be unable to hold on to it. He had no idea what he could do to save the people in the transport. As his mind was grasping at a plan, the bridge segment shuddered again, then began falling. Wake, along with the transport, plummeted down into the icy maw of the crevasse.

Screaming, Wake's eyes flew open. He frantically looked around the dark room. It took a moment to realize he was no longer falling, that he was stationary and warm. He took long, shuddering breaths, wiping the sweat from his face onto the lower part of his shirt.

This wasn't the first time he'd had the dream, but this occurrence was different. In the past, it followed the events of that disastrous day quite faithfully. Why did it change? Why did I fall into the crevasse? This time had shown strange personnel in the vehicle, not the crew who had actually been there. Wake didn't know what to make of it. He didn't recognize the people who replaced the mining crew, yet he could see their faces in his mind as if they were close friends.

He climbed out of his narrow bed and walked over to a small basin on the far wall. Using a tap, he dispensed water into a small cup and swallowed. He filled the cup again and drank. His hands shook from the dream's remnants.

Wake let out a long sigh. His feelings during the day were bad enough, but the dreams were worse. Setting the cup down, he walked over to the nearby window. It was small, but still allowed him to see the stars and some high clouds moving by. Who were those people? He wished the dreams would stop. He had enough to deal with at the moment without them. His trial date was fast approaching.

##  09 - Felar

Felar's throat felt like it was full of gravel. Her head throbbed in sync with her heart, big painful pulses that made her queasy. She opened her eyes slowly and blinked several times, trying to remove the gritty feeling. She experienced a stab of panic when everything remained black, but then realized her vision was fine and it was just a dark room.

As she regained full consciousness, the illumination came on. The sudden light nearly blinded her, but Felar quickly adjusted. A tall, dark skinned combat physician walked in a moment later. He began checking the various machines hooked to her, making notes on a handheld terminal. The man looked in his middle years, which was old for the position his fatigues denoted. He had a fit, elegant grace Felar interpreted as an ability to handle himself in any situation.

"Don't try to speak," he said, noticing her open eyes. His voice was deep, melodious, and rich. "You sustained a severe head and neck injury. The medications we've been giving you have noticeable side effects. Nothing too serious, but one of them causes inflammation of the vocal cords. We are no longer administering that particular drug, but the inflammation will take a day or two to diminish. In the meanwhile, use this," he pulled another hand held terminal out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Use it to communicate as necessary. I'm Doc Hase, by the way."

Felar began typing on the terminal screen with quick, precise strokes. As she completed each line, a voice emitted from the computer. "How long have I been unconscious? Where am I?"

"To answer to your first question, you have been in a drug-induced coma for two weeks." A slight frown crossed his mouth as he spoke. She began to type on the pad once again, but he caught her wrist gently and continued, "I know what you are going to ask. Let me save you the time." Letting go, Hase walked over to a small window.

"No one knows what happened. A few witnesses saw you inside an Init training facility on Ashamine-4, but no one is willing to say who assaulted you. Someone found you in a side corridor, unconscious and in need of medical attention. Medics were called and you were brought to the training hospital."

Anger filled Felar as she heard his words. No one knows what happened? How is that possible? She typed furiously on the pad, the auto-correct working hard to fix her mistakes. "How could no one know? That building is full of Inits and officers. And why can't I remember anything?" Her synthetic voice lacked the emotion Felar felt, and this only increased her anger.

"You'll have to speak to the investigating officer. He can explain the details. I only know medical specifics. You sustained a blow to the back of the head, as well as several minor internal injuries. The cranial trauma erased your short-term memory. Thankfully, all scans show your mental functions are normal. It is unlikely you will experience long-term effects." Hase gave her a consoling smile, eyes soft.

"Thank you," she typed, and he nodded in response.

"Since no witnesses stepped forward, Command decided it best to get you off Ashamine-4 and away from your attacker. I told them it was unlikely you would regain memory of the event, but the attacker wouldn't know this, so there is a danger he might try to silence you. Command issued transfer orders for a new tour of duty, effective as soon as I clear you for combat. I think they hope to catch the perpetrator by the time you complete your new assignment."

The thought of her attacker being free made Felar angry. She was glad Command had transferred her, thankful she would have separation from the person or persons who'd done this. Given her new assignment, Felar now had more questions than ever, so she began to type. As she finished the inquiry, the synthetic voice intoned, "Where to?"

"Haak-ah-tar, one of the former Entho worlds. Things are getting messy in-system. Apparently, the Enthos are gathering forces on the edges of Haak-ah-tar space and seem to be prepping for something. We, in turn, have been sending ships there in an effort to maintain the blockade. I've also heard the Enthos landed forces and are engaging our troops. It would be the first time those alien buggers actually put up a resistance. It's strange, we take the planet from them, and they wait over fifty years to try to take it back. Now, they face a massive buildup of forces."

Feeling relieved, Felar began to type again, "I'm happy to hear they aren't putting me on some blighthearted admin duty. When do I ship out?"

Hase chuckled, his big smile also shining in his eyes. "Strange you ask. I'd think an experienced grunt like yourself would feel the ship's worm drive powering down, but you're still groggy. We're already in Haak-ah-tar space. The Separate Commander said we will arrive on-world in a few standard hours."

##  10 - Lothis

"Arise," the atonal voice demanded, interrupting Lothis' trance-like sleep. He could feel he'd gotten his three hours rest. His vibrant orange eyes flicked open and he was instantly aware of his surroundings. The room was his world, and the world never changed.

But today something was—different. Lothis could feel it, sense it somehow. He couldn't see it, but the weight of it was all around. Something is wrong.

There was a new sound. I've never heard that waveform before. His routine contained only a few noises other than those emanating from himself. The commanding voice and the occasional sound of faint footsteps were all that intruded into his space.

This sound was different. It was too loud to be imagination, but not strong enough for him to discern its origin or source. He could feel the rumbling bass frequencies in his chest. It came from all directions. The vibration set him on edge, filled him with a sense of foreboding.

And the air—something was different about the atmosphere. He had never noticed the air before. Strange.

Another disturbing development: The room was moving. That was impossible. The room never moved. How can it move?

Curiosity flooded his mind. What is causing this? Why is it happening? And then a new thought materialized: Where am I? That question felt dangerous and he shied away from it.

In his whole existence, he could not remember a time when his life had been different, where any day had even the slightest change within it. Strange events were happening, with new thoughts and concepts assaulting him. He realized his respiratory rate was faster and shallower than normal. My heart rate is also elevated. Clinging to routine, he walked to the lavatory and cleaned himself. The act didn't bring the calm focus it normally did.

With this task complete and his attention no longer buried in routine, Lothis' mind quickly returned to his plight. The air was still different, the rumbling noises and oscillations still came and went, and he still felt a foreign emotion. Fear. He sat down in the angular metal chair and waited for the voice to instruct him. He waited. And then waited more. It was certainly past when the voice should tell him to start, but silence prevailed. Just as his panic began to spill over and take control, the voice spoke.

"Lowwwwwthhhhissssssss leeeeeesoooooon beeeeegiinnnnnnnn," it said, tone slurred and deepened, words drawn out almost to the point of being undecipherable. Lothis stared at the terminal, horror etched on his face.

The screen began displaying images, but they too were wrong. They scrolled slowly, the symbols and colors distorted and meaningless. Odd bleeps and bloops issued from the console, sounds Lothis didn't recognize. Then, as if some strange mechanical heart was pumping its last, fading beats, it all slowed further, then stopped.

Lothis' panic quickly escalated to a level he could no longer control. He leapt out of the seat, a cry of terror bursting from him. Hearing that sound come from his own mouth scared him even more.

He had to get away from the terminal, but didn't know where to go. He ran a few steps, then fell, his head striking the edge of his raised metal sleeping surface. Immediately, a new sensation filled his head. Pain, he thought dully, then wondered what the word meant. Pain was abstract, something he had learned about, but had not personally experienced. Is this what it feels like? Is this what pain actually is? It's horrible!

The sensation in his head was growing, demanding more attention. Blood started to stream down his face, and he worked up the courage to touch the wound. "Ahhhhhh," he yelled, the sound surprising him as much as the surge of pain.

Lothis had no idea what to do. Change was everywhere. He couldn't cope. Before he even realized or understood what he was doing, he blocked everything out. He shut the blood, the pain, the sounds, the air, and the memories of the voice that was not the voice out of his mind.

Sitting down on the metal bed, he decided, for no particular reason he understood, to go back to sleep. It was abnormal, but at least the action itself was familiar. He laid down, closing his eyes. End daily cycle 3,793, he thought, trying to ignore his throbbing head.

In the short seconds between wakefulness and sleep, Lothis speculated the events of this cycle might only be a dream. Then he wondered, in the instant just before sleep, what a dream was.

##  11 - Maxar

Blighthearted game is finally over. Maxar felt deeply relieved. He wasn't happy, but this was as close as he came these days. That was... Interesting, he thought, remembering the final seconds before victory. Good thing Benson took out that sniper or I'd have been buggered. His whole body hurt and he walked with a limp. The games were always exhausting and this one was no exception. He was just glad it was over. That was all that mattered.

Finding a seat in the personnel transport vehicle was easier than he would have liked. We lost too many guys out there. From both sides, he thought, slumping into the most comfortable position the hard composite seat allowed. It's blightheart! We accomplish nothing but empty entertainment. At least if we are to die, send us out against a real enemy like the Enthos. He began to curse under his breath. None of the vehicle's few other occupants noticed.

The match had lasted 48 hours. He had not slept that whole time and hadn't received much to eat or drink. Midway through, when they normally would have gotten a nap and a meal, the game's coordinator announced High-Elder Hatcholethis was watching and desired an endurance test. They hadn't given the fighters anything, and the match went on. What a bastard, Maxar thought in disgust. How could someone promote the suffering of fellow humans this way, even if we are convicted criminals? As a result of the High-Elder's presence, the game had been far more brutal than usual. It was undoubtedly a spectacular show, but had come at a cost. Almost all the participants had been killed in the intense underground, surface, and near-space fighting.

"Hatcholethis should burn in the fires of the black star," the man next to Maxar mumbled, mirroring his thoughts. Everyone within earshot nodded, curses and expletives flowing freely. It was widely known that the High-Elder enjoyed viewing the games. Whenever he watched in person, there was an unusually high death count. It was rumored he'd made large Ashcred donations to Bloodsport. Probably why they let him modify the match rules whenever he likes.

As Maxar drifted in thought, the personnel transport abruptly stopped. "Buggering blighthearted Founder's cursed reception," he swore under his breath, unable to muster the energy to say it any louder. He despised the meeting more than the match itself. The most powerful fans would be there, asking lots of stupid questions. Just the thought of what he had to do made him want to puke. Having outsiders glory in his pathetic existence felt humiliating. And the thought of the body restraints made him even more nauseous.

Maxar exited the carrier, his stomach tied in knots, on fire, and pierced with daggers. All the surviving combatants made their way from the debarking area into the prep room for the reception. They had done this many times before, but few actually enjoyed it.

Restraints were placed on Maxar along with the rest of the group, and a Bloodsport official moved him into the meeting hall. Maxar ending up at the back of the line. Maybe, since I'm last, they'll be tired of asking questions and will leave me alone. The thought was a bitter hope, unlikely to be fulfilled. His stomach continued to ache and churn as the line crept forward. He wanted to hold his belly and hunch over in agony, but the restraints limited his movement.

The group of combatants crossed the length of the room to where a line of well-dressed people waited eagerly. Maxar immediately picked out the pudgy High-Elder Hatcholethis along with his stunning wife. They were at the front of the line of VIPs. The two groups met and slowly passed each other, each member of the VIP group getting as much time as he wanted with each fighter.

Time dragged by. Maxar failed to recognize any other VIPs, but he wasn't surprised. Most of the really high profile Ashamine officials didn't have time to visit Bloodsport. He waited in agony, his stomach pains rolling like waves of fire. Finally, Maxar stood before the High-Elder and his wife.

"That was an amazing performance you put on. Simply amazing! The way you were able to sneak up and kill that man with your bare hands without anyone else noticing! You were featured on all the terminals at that moment. A few of us were following you before then. It was going to be such a good moment that we told everyone to switch to you. Simply amazing! How does it feel to kill a man like that? Good? I should think that..."

The man is insufferable. I don't want to relive that. I'm not like him. It was as if Hatcholethis' words were a poison, a sickness being injected into Maxar. It was more than he could bear and there was no way to escape the verbal onslaught.

"Blood everywhere! It was fantastic!" Maxar heard the High-Elder say, his gruesome accolade never-ending. Maxar physically couldn't endure any longer. His head throbbed, his guts burned, and this fool wouldn't leave him alone. Then, he felt the rising bile. He began to strain against the body shackles, but they wouldn't permit Maxar to turn away from the High-Elder or his wife. If he spewed his partially digested rations all over this official, his life would certainly be forfeit, good performance or not.

His throat began to spasm. Clamping his mouth shut, Maxar tried to calm his stomach, fighting the urge with all his might. Still, the convulsions and spasms continued. He could feel the acid working its way up through his esophagus.

"By the Founder!" High-Elder Hatcholethis blurted in the middle of his never ending description of blood, gore, and killing. "I think this man is ill. Someone call for aid! He is a champion specimen. I don't want my winnings forfeited because of some technicality."

A foul, greenish-brown liquid erupted from Maxar's mouth. Hatcholethis jumped quickly to the side, the stream narrowly missing him. It made a wet splattering noise as it hit the composite floor.

"By all that is right and righteous!" Hatcholethis yelled, his wife emitting a short, high-pitched scream. His pudgy, overweight face flapped, his jowls reminding Maxar of an ugly dog he had known as a child. "Someone has poisoned my player. They're trying to invalidate my bet. Where is the medical aid? If I lose so much as one Ashcred, I'll order an investigation. I have a lot of currency on this man. Where are the medical personnel?" He was practically foaming at the mouth, his eyes crazed. Spittle flecked his comically thin lips, contrasting horribly with the rest of his overweight face.

If anything had remained in his stomach, Maxar would still be vomiting. Even now he won't stop blathering, even when I almost blasted him. He tried to ignore Hatcholethis, but the man's voice pierced deep into his mind. Passing out would be nice.

Just as Maxar was deciding he had enough will power to make himself spontaneously combust—anything to silence that piercing voice—the medical personnel came rushing into the room. Finally! he thought as the techs took him towards the med facilities.

Just as they reached the exit doors, Hatcholethis' frantic babbling crescendoed as he called after Maxar, "You must stay healthy! You really must. I have a lot riding on you. It's really important! Don't let them kill—" but whatever he continued to say was lost as the large doors closed, cutting off the stream of words.

##  12 - Tremmilly

Tremmilly settled into the cramped seat as the ancient passenger ship powered up its engines. "What are we doing Beo?" she asked, scratching behind the wolf-dog's ears. The familiarity of the action calmed her, helping mitigate the stressful situation. "We are going on an adventure because of a prophecy made by a religion we don't even believe in." She smiled at the wolf-dog, and he pulled back his lips in a friendly snarl. Tremmilly loved how happy it made him look. "But we'll get to see new places. I'm excited for that." She paused for a moment, feeling apprehensive. "I suppose we'll be meeting a lot of new people too." She'd lived in the same small village for her 21 years. New people were intimidating.

"It's a good thing we know how to take care of ourselves," she continued. "Psidonnis did a good job teaching that. I'm so grateful he was there for us after Momma and Papa died." She could only recall small wisps of her parents, but the recollection of their deaths was vivid. Fifteen years had passed, but she could still remember the way the plague had twisted their bodies and made them almost unrecognizable. Death, for them at least, had been a blessing. Psidonnis had cared for her since, had raised her like she was his own. She loved and missed him, but not nearly as much as her parents.

Tremmilly's mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions. She'd been studying the prophecy ever since she'd heard it, had memorized every word. Unfortunately, even though she knew them so well, the meaning still escaped her. The talk with the Dygar council had been—unsatisfying. They hadn't answered enough of her questions. Tremmilly didn't know if that was due to ignorance or if they were concealing something.

A few parts of the prophecy were very prominent. The bit about: "The first be of a light most bright, spirit most pure. Her life touched by death before cognition, her desire only for peace," actually made sense. Both Psidonnis and the council said the prophecy was referring to her, but she wasn't convinced. Tremmilly definitely desired peace and her life was touched by death, but she wasn't pure or bright. She would need to be on the lookout for someone who better fit the requirements.

"But to you who would stay in comfort and safety, not yielding to the instruction of this prophecy: Blightheart shall establish itself on your head and the worlds will be sundered by the Breakers." Now that part was clear and scary. And while it hadn't been the reason she'd left Eishon-2, she couldn't deny it played a part in the decision.

The rickety vessel began shuddering, groaning as it lifted off the ground. Tremmilly hardly noticed, despite it being her first time in a spacecraft. The prophecy consumed all her attention.

"I don't even believe in the Dygar faith, or any gods for that matter," she told Beowulf. Somehow she knew the prophecy was true though, its connection to the religious order irrelevant. Maybe it's my trust in Psidonnis. Perhaps there was a higher power in the universe that had chosen to use her. Maybe it was just the first real reason to leave Eishon-2 and she was using the prophecy as motivation. It could be all of these things, she thought, feeling overwhelmed. Tremmilly didn't know. What she did understand, despite her initial skepticism, was that the prophecy felt true. Something bad was coming, and she had an obligation to fight it.

Beowulf growled softly and let out a few muffled whimpers, his commentary on the situation. His head was firmly in her lap, eyes closed, but still awake. The rest of his body lay crunched into the seats beside her. She had never thought Beowulf was large, but when placed in this confined environment, he was massive.

"I won't take him," the ship's commander had snapped when she was trying to book passage. "He's a threat to the other passengers. Besides, he's too big. There is no way you'll get him into a single seat."

"I can't leave him behind," she protested. "I don't have many Ashcreds, but I can pay for the extra space." She was angry the seedy man was extorting her.

"That won't make him any less vicious. He looks like he could tear my arm off. If he hurts one of the passengers, I'll be liable. They'll take my ship and every Ashcred I have."

"You obviously don't have many fares, and I'm offering to purchase three seats. If you don't take me, you'll lose a lot of credits." Tremmilly was beginning to feel desperate, stuck between leaving Beowulf and not following the prophecy's mandate. For a moment, she considered bribing the commander, but she knew her savings wouldn't last long if she spent any more than she absolutely had to.

"Fine," he said finally, turning away. "But if that dog barks, bites, or blighthearts on the buggered floor, you're the one to deal with it. I take no responsibility."

Hail Terra, she thought, the ship now moving through the planet's upper atmosphere. If he hadn't changed his mind, I would still be on Eishon and who knows what the consequences would be. Tremmilly felt the turbulence fade as the rickety ship passed into space.

"Look at all those stars, Beo," she said, gazing out the small window. The points of light were far more numerous than anything she'd witnessed back on Eishon-2.

"Hopefully we'll know what to do once we get to Noor-5," Tremmilly continued, turning her attention back to Beowulf. "Psidonnis said it's located on one of the major shipping lanes. Guess that means there will be a lot of people." That spiked her anxiety, but she took a deep breath and fortified her resolve. No turning back now. "It would be nice if we could find the answers on Noor-5, but if not, we'll have to keep going. That means another transport. And that means negotiating for passage with another commander." Her resolve to pursue the prophecy was strong, but she knew her love for Beowulf would override any conflicting desire. I could never leave him, she thought, even if it means sacrificing the entire Akked Galaxy.

##  13 - Crasor

The Facilitator, Crasor Tah Ahn, deftly slid through the crowded capital plaza on Noor-5. He moved with the grace of an elegant serpent in grass, barely brushing each blade. No one thought about him or even noticed his passage. I'm a shadow.

Crasor was on Noor-5 to exact the Founder's vengeance. I will make the Divisionists pay for their heretical idealism. And he would do it in a way no one would connect to the Founder or the Ashamine.

What a blighthearted dump, Crasor thought disgustedly. These people will burn in the fires of the black star. Compared to the glory of Founder's City on Ashamine-2, it was dirty and run down, a dump ready for demolition. Once the Ashamine has finished with the buggered Enthos, he thought with sadistic pleasure, it can focus on these small, backwater planets. Founder damn them all.

He continued towards the front of the huge crowd, everyone around him enthralled to the preaching Divisionist. The speaker's rhetoric sounded like the same cliche garbage every one of them spewed. Crasor wasn't paying attention to what the man was saying. His attention was focused on his surroundings, on remaining an invisible entity inside the crowd.

The situation between the Divisionists and the Ashamine continued degrading. The Founder's public proclamation was clear: "Those who choose to follow the Divisionist teachings shall serve five standard years hard labor on the newly established colony worlds. This is education, so they might see the justification of our war against the Enthos. For those who lead the Divisionists and cause a rift amongst the Ashamine, we must enact a harsher punishment. They know the truth about our foe, and yet continue spreading falsehoods. Therefore, all will be sent to prison worlds to live the remainder of their lives." Crasor didn't think these punishments were nearly strong enough, but the heretical movement was gaining more popularity by the day. The Founder knows best and must handle the situation carefully.

The real problem, however, lay in the fact that governing officials on certain planets, like Noor-5, were ignoring the Divisionists, allowing additional strongholds to spring up. Crasor was happy to obliterate the enclave here. I will bring this situation back under control.

"Up until now," the Founder had told him, "we have tried peaceful tactics. It isn't working, and they continue to stage disruptive protests and dissension. It is creating morale loss amongst the Ashamine Forces. With the final Entho offensive occurring soon, we cannot afford these types of setbacks.

"I've come up with a plan you are perfectly suited to execute. We will fabricate a patriotic organization to strike the Divisionists. The Ashamine itself cannot be associated with terrorism, but a group of concerned citizens certainly can. Travel to the worlds with the highest concentration of dissension and devastate them. Make it look like our group of patriots is at fault. You must be extremely careful. Let no ties be traced to the Ashamine. If all goes as I believe it will, the sentiment amongst the masses will swing back towards us and the Divisionists will wither." Crasor, after compiling intel, had decided Noor-5 would be the best starting point for his retribution.

As he made his way through the clueless multitude, Crasor broke into an empty pocket. A young woman stood in the center of the void, a massive, wolfish dog at her side. The animal turned to look at Crasor and their eyes met. Crasor could see malevolence in the pale blue eyes, malevolence directed at him. The dog bared his teeth in a snarl, but emitted no sound. The girl didn't look at Crasor, didn't even notice her animal's behavior. She was entirely focused on the Divisionist and his heretical diatribe.

Crasor quickly slid back into the crowd, hoping the dog didn't follow. He would find a different path, one that didn't involve the strange pair. The girl was definitely an oddity. Her clothing, hair style, and most of all, her pet, set her apart. Maybe she is one of those back-world, para-political religious types. So many new groups had sprung up lately, but none were as successful as the Divisionists. Crasor put thoughts of the girl out of his mind. More important things to think about.

It took Crasor a considerable amount of time to get to the front of the assemblage, but he expected that. Stealth required caution. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a compact respirator, thinking about his appearance as he did so. His disguise was impeccable and would keep him from being identified by any survivors. Any security devices recording his image would come up empty when they tried to match him in the civil or criminal databases. I'm a non-person.

Crasor would rather have been in the center of the huge crowd, right where the strange girl had been standing. His weapon would be most potent there, but the Founder had been very specific. "Your primary targets are Divisionist preachers and their immediate contingent. The death of participatory crowds is encouraged, but they are a secondary concern. We want survivors left to recount the horror."

The Divisionists will feel the wrath of the Ashamine, Crasor thought. This is only the beginning. Those who practiced heresy would be punished, and perhaps citizens who heard of this event would think twice before listening to seditious speech. The governments of every planet allowing the verbal insurrection to continue would feel pain. Crasor's next step was assassinating officials who didn't punish Divisionist adherents.

"I have already begun writing a speech for after your first strike," the Founder had said. "It begins: 'The citizens of the Ashamine are upset with the unlawful, traitorous acts of the Divisionists. They seek justice and an end to the divide growing amongst our population.' I should add a line about how these patriotic citizens are heroes. That will help shift public opinion. And also something about how innocents that perished were martyrs on the altar of justice." The Founder was a genius. Crasor was glad he served him.

Placing the respirator over his mouth and nose, Crasor breathed through it. Immediately, the air had a sterile, stale smell. He reached into his pocket and grasped the weapon's triggering mechanism, but didn't engage.

This is it, he thought, mind running through a final check of all his preparations and plans. He knew his equipment and tactics would work flawlessly. The small pump and tank concealed under his jacket, the respirator, the decontamination pod on his waiting starship, the packed crowd, the Divisionist scum—all were where they should be, just waiting for him to trip the switch. He was calm, at peace, and ready to serve his Founder.

As he began to pull the trigger, a high-pitched shriek assaulted his ears. The ground shook beneath him. What is this? Crasor wondered as the assault intensified. The sound made his head feel like it was imploding. His hands left the trigger, and he tried to cover his ears, but this did little to keep the sound from penetrating. He stumbled a few steps, trying to remain standing.

Fighting through the pain, Crasor could see the surrounding mass react to the acoustic assault. First, disorientation, then panic grew as people started to scream and flee wildly. Those who didn't keep up with the herd were knocked to the ground and trampled.

The rumbling worsened as seconds passed. The square started shaking violently and many of those fleeing fell. Crasor watched as thousands tried to crawl to a non-existent safety. They're disgusting, he thought, his well-trained body maintaining balance. His composure had returned, and he calmly assessed the situation. The longer I wait, the less effective the weapon will be. He removed his hands from his ears and went for the trigger. Once it was firmly in his grasp, he tripped the switch.

##  14 - Cazz-ak-tak

Cazz-ak-tak felt the bi-pyramid shudder as it touched down onto the hard desert of Haak-ah-tar. He sensed the power of combined thought trickle away as each of his crew uncoupled their minds. In turn, he lessened the connection between himself and the Great Thought. He could still feel the Entho-la-ah-mine suffering as a dreadful ache in the back of his mind.

This mission was presenting several new challenges. Am I up to the task? Thankfully, with his leadership and the new technology, they had snuck through the human blockade around Haak-ah-tar. Cazz-ak sent a mental signal to the scientists that had developed the stealth ability. "The humans failed to see us, at least so far. Our crew successfully handled the cloaking demands and all are healthy."

The moment they'd passed onto the other side of the wormhole, Cazz-ak felt on edge. The scientists had said the technique would work, but no one had tried it in a hostile situation. "Ti-el-loth, make us unseen," he had ordered, and the weapons Hax-ax-on had done just that. None of the battle starships they passed had attacked. Invisibility was achieved by tricking human minds into incorrectly interpreting their instruments. It is now a race against time. Their ships' logs will give away our presence if anyone reviews them. Cazz-ak and his crew wouldn't be on Haak-ah-tar long, but every passing second, he worried the fleet above would discover their location.

Cazz-ak had ordered them to land near the edge of a slot canyon in the middle of a vast desert. At the bottom was an entrance to a complex system of tunnels, caves, and caverns the Entho-la-ah-mines had inhabited for as long as the Great Thought could remember.

The day the Ashamine had forced Cazz-ak to evacuate Haak-ah-tar had been one of the worst moments of his life. Each planet that had fallen to the human aggressors was a supernova of pain in the Great Thought. Haak-ah-tar had been worst of all. It was the home-world, the origin planet, the place where all Entho-la-ah-mine life had begun. It was also the place Cazz-ak had been born.

Growing up on Haak-ah-tar presented many opportunities to see the history of his species, to be educated at the hub of Entho-la-ah-mine existence. Hatching in the First Hive was an amazing experience, especially when he was old enough to see it from the Great Thought's historical view. To have developed in the same hive as the queen was a prestigious honor. Now, the whole planet is controlled by the humans, Cazz-ak thought, his perpetual sadness deepening. The First Hive is destroyed, the Crystal Chamber lost, and the city of Entho-hal-is empty. Without the Crystal Chamber, the species couldn't produce a queen connected to the Great Thought. Lacking that, they were without leadership.

Cazz-ak's mission, even if successful, was just a temporary solution. And it's only half the plan to save our people. All over the galaxy, from a million eyes, Cazz-ak watched Entho-la-ah-mine bi-pyramids evacuate the colonized planets. They would have to find new worlds to live on, places hidden from humans. Is that even possible? Cazz-ak wondered. What he did know was his current mission was vital to the survival of his species. If he failed, they would likely go extinct whether the humans found them or not. We need a queen to bind us together, to give us hope, to give us direction.

Cazz-ak and his detachment left the craft through the lower mind hatch and headed towards the lip of the canyon. Directly behind him was a female carrying a large Entho-la-ah-mine egg on her back. The shell was a shiny, iridescent green, glinting brightly in the mid-day star. Cazz-ak had a hard time taking his eyes off it. He hadn't seen a queen egg since leaving the hive after his birth. Behind the female were eight males, all of highly advanced age.

When they reached the lip of the slot canyon, Cazz-ak turned to survey the group. We ate aboard the ship and have everything needed to perform the ceremony, but do we have the time required? He felt the weight of the orbiting battle starships far above, their unseen presence menacing. He turned back towards the canyon, knowing he had no choice but to proceed.

The black stone of the canyon did little to reflect the bright daylight, cloaking it in darkness. Cazz-ak walked over the edge of the precipice and began plummeting. He quickly passed into the blackness, velocity increasing.

As he fell, Cazz-ak sensed the canyon floor rapidly approaching. When the time was right, he used the power of the Great Thought to slow himself. He landed lightly on the rocky floor, immediately knowing his location, both from his memories and those contained in the Great Thought. A moment later, his party landed around him, the female graceful and elegant.

Although the darkness was absolute, Cazz-ak sensed the path the Entho-la-ah-mines had traveled over their millennia of existence on this planet. Part of them was ingrained within the black, unforgiving stones, like the path was paved with thoughts and emotions.

Following this winding path, Cazz-ak and his detachment made their way through the blackness. He was grateful for his six legs and wondered how the humans were able to do so much on just two. This pathway would be hard for humans to navigate, the rocky terrain treacherous for their fragile bodies. Human technology has imparted abilities evolution never would have, Cazz-ak thought. He had often compared and contrasted the evolution of Entho-la-ah-mines to that of the humans. Why do they hate us so much? What does it gain them?

Abruptly, the pathway ceased. Before them lay the Way, a shaft cut deep into the mantle of the planet. The Great Thought had no memory of how or why the shaft had been created. The bore was perfectly symmetrical, smooth sided, and just big enough for an Entho-la-ah-mine body to fit through. It was one of the Entho-la-ah-mine mysteries, Cazz-ak thought, one that, with the human invasion, we will never solve.

Just as Cazz-ak prepared to lead group down, he felt a wave of energy resound through the Great Thought. His mind was bombarded by images of gore and destruction. He stumbled and fell to the floor under the onslaught. Mutilated Entho-la-ah-mines wished for death, unable to find it. His people were tortured by ghastly shadow figures who delighted in their pain. The Great Thought was perverted, destroyed, shattered into a thousand agonizing pieces that cut through him. Cazz-ak felt the core of his being slipping away, but he held fast, knowing that to do anything else meant death.

When it finally subsided, Cazz-ak realized none of the experience was real. The Great Thought was still there, still pure. He sensed his connection to it, and that gave him comfort. When he felt he could stand once again, Cazz-ak rose to his feet. "Is everyone OK?" he asked, particularly concerned about the egg's contents. All the males responded positively.

"I am alright," the female answered. "I believe the egg is intact, but we have no way of knowing for sure until we begin the Awakening." This response worried Cazz-ak deeply, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it right now.

He sent out a question to the Great Thought, merging with every other Entho-la-ah-mine asking the same thing. "We do not know. Nothing like this has occurred before."

Perhaps a weapon the humans developed? That seemed unlikely. Their mental capabilities were far too weak produce such an attack. Maybe our scientists will discover the cause, but right now, we must continue.

"We can't let this distract us," he sent, mentally gesturing towards the Way. "We must proceed to the Crystal Chamber."

Cazz-ak dropped into the Way, using the Great Thought to keep himself stable as gravity pulled him down. The shaft was deep and even blacker than the canyon above it. It had a feeling of disuse and decay that made Cazz-ak despair. This never would have happened if the humans had left us alone. After a long fall, they finally reached the bottom. Cazz-ak continued along the path paved in mental images, the particularly strong ones distracting him.

Cazz-ak saw the corridor as it once had been, lit in beautiful colors with thousands of Entho-la-ah-mines visiting the Crystal Chamber to see its marvels. He smelled the enticing aromas of food being prepared by the finest Entho-la-ah-mine chefs. He breathed in the intoxicating aroma of the Enlithas, young females looking for mates. Everything was so joyous, carefree, and festive. The memories, both his own and those that paved the pathway, made Cazz-ak homesick for a place no longer existing, for a time of innocence forever shattered.

Pushing on towards the Crystal Chamber, Cazz-ak tried to shut out the images he so desperately wanted to enjoy. "We will have peace and harmony once again," Cazz-ak sent to the group, trying to infuse it with as much positivity as he could. "Someday, we will find a place far from humanity. Peace and happiness will be ours once again." He felt the morale of the group rise, and he tried not to let doubt enter his thoughts. What caused that polluted wave of energy in the Great Thought? he wondered, his shield slipping. No. There is no time for that. We have to complete the Awakening and escape Haak-ah-tar.

Whether he was successful or not, Cazz-ak knew the Entho-la-ah-mines would continue fighting for survival. And I will do everything I can to save my people, no matter the odds, no matter the cost. Cazz-ak shut out both the happy memories and the polluted ones, hardening himself. He had to focus. The most dangerous part of this mission is yet to come.

##  15 - Wake

Wake bit into the krakori fish morsel, savoring the bold, tangy flavor. "Very good, no?" the vendor said. "Just one Ashcred for a whole skewer!"

"I have business, but when I'm finished, perhaps I'll return." The vendor immediately lost interest and began looking for a new customer.

Pushing his way through the crowd, Wake left the fish stall and made his way towards the Lower-Elder Council Building. The food market was quite popular with the government officials in this area. Being lunchtime, it was packed.

Wake's trial was supposed to start in thirty minutes, but since it had already been rescheduled three times, he was skeptical. From what he'd heard on the news, the Elders were busy convicting Divisionists, sentencing most offenders to hard labor on the newly colonized Entho worlds. I wonder if that's where they will send me?

He had been on Ashamine-2 for seven standard days, waiting for his hearing. He was on the third repeat of the cycle: Get up, kill time, find out they'd postponed the trial, spend the rest of that day and the next exploring the city.

The impending hearing was mentally taxing, but Wake tried to make the best of it. On the days between postponements, he wandered, marveling at the amazing buildings and their impossible architecture. It staggered Wake to think the entire planet was covered in some type of structure or well-manicured park. Ashamine-2, the city-planet. He'd never seen anything like it, not during any of his extensive travels with the EBD. Wake knew he didn't want to live here, but was glad he'd experienced it, even under stressful circumstances.

"I'm Wake Darmekus. I submit myself for trial," Wake told the guards stationed inside the entrance to the Lower-Elder Council Building. They remained silent as they led him inside. His boots, and those of the escorting guards, made rhythmic tapping sounds as they struck the polished marble floor. White pillars lined the entry hall, the bright lights making them shine. They'd never taken him this far into the building on previous occasions. That means the trial will go through. Wake straightened up, forcing himself to look calm and composed.

Focusing, Wake tried to walk naturally in his new boots, a fancy pair he had to buy to meet the dress requirements. They made his feet hurt, probably because they weren't fully broken in yet. Thankfully, his Engineering and Building Division dress uniform fit the rest of the requirements.

The weight of the synth-diamond sword at his hip felt strange. The weapon had been a gift from his parents when he was a boy. Ashamine diplomats carried some type of ceremonial armament, although few actually knew how to use them. "A diplomat must always look strong and ready for battle, be it with words or with action," his mother had always said. In keeping with their desires for Wake, his parents had gifted him the blade. Possessing a sword he could not use had seemed stupid to Wake, so he pestered them for swordsmanship lessons until they gave in. He'd learned from every blade master on his home world of Psinar-3. Now, he wondered at his boyhood obsession.

Occasionally, he would run across someone who practiced the archaic art, and they would spar, but he now lacked his former passion. So why am I wearing it now? Wake was no diplomat, but the dress code contained in his summons said formal armament was permitted. It didn't represent his role within the Engineering and Building Division, but it did say something of who he was and where he'd come from.

Wake grew increasingly nervous as they approached the massive doors at the far end of the hall. The Lower-Elders rarely conducted trials face-to-face. Usually, the Elders reviewed cases and transmitted verdicts back to the point of origin. Why is mine different? He couldn't think of a way to interpret the summons in a positive light.

Finally reaching the door, Wake and the members of his escort stopped. The guard commander fixed Wake with hard eyes. His uniform was crisp, clean, and well-maintained. It told Wake a lot about his regard for duty and position.

"Sir, please go in immediately. The convocation awaits your presence." The commander's voice was clipped and harsh, but not disrespectful. "Please speak only when directed to, show the deference due your station, and keep yourself under control at all times. Your sword will stay in its scabbard for the duration of the trial. It is decoration for this ceremony. You will only use it as such. The Elders are shielded from attack and impossible to harm. If you act threatening, however, we will take preventative action. That action will result in your death. Do you understand my instructions?"

Wake nodded, looking down at his sword apprehensively. He still wondered whether it had been the right decision to wear it. Am I going to look too militaristic?

Two of the guards pushed the doors open and stood at attention. Their crisp military manner made Wake even more apprehensive, but he pushed the feeling down as best he could. The commander motioned Wake to walk inside, and he did so, entering a space unlike any he had ever seen.

It was enormous, the ceiling so high Wake couldn't make out its details. The walls curved, creating an enormous spheroid. A wide ledge came out from the walls at a height of ten meters. Large, white banners bearing the Ashamine insignia hung above the ledge. Hidden fixtures lit the room, and since almost everything was white, there was little to diminish the overwhelming illumination.

The Lower-Elders were seated on platforms along the ledge at perfectly spaced intervals. They were old, not as old as the High-Elders, and certainly not as ancient as the Classad were rumored to be, but old all the same. When he neared the center of the room, he realized they circled around him. They do this for a purpose, Wake thought, feeling watched from every direction.

"Stop!" a curt voice commanded as Wake reached the center of the room. He did so, lowering his head in deference. A long silence followed and Wake could feel every eye on him, probing, evaluating, testing.

Moments dragged by until a new, flat voice broke the silence. "Hear, all present: This is an official convocation of the Lower-Elder Council, appointed and sanctioned by the Founder, Classad, and High-Elder Council."

"Can we dispense with the worthless formality?" an older, tired sounding voice interrupted. "We have many Divisionists to try, and they are of far more importance."

The man directly in front and above Wake rose to his feet. He was tall, and his platform rose a meter higher than the others. That must be the Presider.

"My dear Odameesi," he said, "we have plenty of time to settle both this man's case and those of the Divisionists. This trial was mandated by the High-Elders. We must give it our full attention and maintain all legal procedures." He then turned and addressed the group, raising his voice. "We are here to decide the fate of this man, known as Wake Darmekus, of the Engineering and Building Division of the Ashamine. Let it be announced to the ends of the Akked Galaxy that he is charged with the malefactions of delinquency of duty, disregard for safety, and the murder of twelve colonists."

Wake felt the Presider's words slam him like a physical blow. The High-Elders mandated this trial? They are charging me like the accident was completely my fault? What about my protest of the materials? I was forced to use them! Anger roared through Wake as he realized they were going to make him take the fall instead of some greedy bureaucrat with ties to the High-Elders.

"How do you respond to these charges?" the Presider asked, face expressionless. Composing himself and straightening to his full height, Wake looked the Presider directly in the eye.

"In the evidence log, you will see I submitted several reports prior to the bridge accident. In them, I clearly state the materials sent to me were faulty." Wake had to calm himself, realizing his anger was bleeding into his words. "I submitted multiple requests for replacements, but was continuously ordered to use the original parts. The only choices I had were to use the materials or disobey a direct command. Under these circumstances, I don't see how I can be blamed for the accident or the colonists' deaths. The officer who forced me to use the parts should be held liable. Have you even looked at the evidence?!"

As the last word left his mouth, the room erupted. Shouldn't have said that, he thought. Shouldn't have let my temper control me. These men demanded respect and were used to receiving it. Wake stood tall, knowing that backing down now would make him look weak and guilty. All around, the verbal inferno raged.

"I see no filed reports!"

"Liar!"

"He was negligent! He must be punished!"

"There's no evidence of faulty parts!"

"How can he disrespect us with such blatant lies!"

After several long moments, the tumult quieted. One of the Elders, a tall man with pure white hair, spoke out in a clear voice, "Surely this man seeks to shift his blame to others. This defense has been perpetrated since time immemorial. We have no record of reports. The Ashamine inspector who visited the site declared faulty workmanship. What do you think of that, sir Darmekus?"

"This Wake Darmekus is a fool and an idiot if he thinks we will be taken by such blightheart," a short, dark Elder proclaimed. She then uttered a curse and glared at Wake, her expression as hot as the fires of the dark star. Immediately, an uproar of insults, curses, and rejoinders flew through the large room.

Wake now had no doubt he was being set up. His workmanship had been flawless and his reports had disappeared. Lies, he thought, sliding deeper into despair.

"Order! Order!" the Presider said, fighting to regain control. Eventually, the clamor calmed and the Presider addressed the assemblage. "We have all heard this man's testimony. We have viewed the statements of his senior commanders as well as that of the inspector. With these things in mind, we must come to a decision." He paused momentarily, looking around at his fellows. "All those who feel Wake Darmekus of the Engineering and Building Division of the Ashamine is innocent, please stand."

Around the room, five of the thirty Lower-Elders stood, including the Presider. Wake began to feel a horrible emptiness in his guts. It was as if something was draining him, siphoning out all his feelings.

"All those who feel Wake Darmekus is censurable for these malefactions, please stand." Now, the remaining twenty-five Lower-Elders stood, faces grim. A few even had malicious expectation blazing in their eyes.

The Presider, a look of surprised terror on his face, stared at Wake. But that wasn't quite right. The Presider was looking past Wake, at something behind him.

Wake turned and saw a dark form crouched near the doors. The world spun violently and Wake crashed to the floor. His left leg twisted awkwardly beneath him. Just as the pain built to an agonizing crescendo, the limb slid out from under him. He looked up from his prone position as a figure strode past him, its features obscured in a billowing black robe. How did he move so fast? Wake thought dazedly.

He tried to push himself back to his feet, but his abused left leg and ankle screamed with pain. Wake fell back to the floor. Remaining prone, he swiveled around to watch the figure's progress. The guards should arrive any moment.

The dark figure stood below the ledge where the Presider sat, hooded head tilted up. Then, an instant later, it stood on the ledge directly in front of the Presider.

"I am from the Brotherhood of Azak-so," the figure said, deep voice booming across the large chamber. "I bear a message from myself and my fellow Brothers." Then, before the words had finished echoing, the figure disappeared.

"We have tried to convey this message through subtle means, but you refuse to listen." The voice was now behind Wake. He scooted around and saw the figure was now directly across the room from before. "We now force you to hear. For many years, this government—this Ashamine—has become increasingly repulsive." He said the word Ashamine like it was profane. Then he was gone again, moving to another portion of the platform.

Why aren't the guards here yet? The whole situation seemed surreal, like Wake had fallen into a nightmare.

"You have denied the poor and enhanced the rich. You have made a mockery of justice. You have made profit and expansionism your highest goal. You have slain the innocent and have sought to annihilate the peaceful Entho-la-ah-mines. You have failed humanity."

Suddenly, the man was next to Wake again, back in the center of the room. Wake could smell him, a mixture of fury and musty cloth. The man's clothing was made of some ancient material, its construction simple and crude.

The hooded man raised his hands high into the air, slowly rotating, taking in the whole room. "And though you oppress many, there are those who will bring you down. Misery to you who are mighty! You will soon be brought to your knees!"

With an effort, Wake stood. His ankle and leg protested bitterly. Having no clue what to do, Wake stared at the intruder. A quick glance at the Lower-Elders confirmed they were doing the same. From what the guard commander had said, the intruder should be dead by now. He was clearly threatening the Lower-Elders and blaspheming the Ashamine.

"Destroy corruption. Cut out the cancer eating at the heart of humanity. If you do not forsake your wicked endeavors, you shall all be consumed. The Breakers are coming!" At this final declaration, the man turned to face Wake, drawing a long alloy rapier from his robes. Glaring directly at him, the figure muttered under his breath, "Boy, cut me down, for if you do not, these men will surely hand a sentence of death."

Wake drew his translucent synth-diamond sword, but went no further. He didn't understand the situation. Everything was moving too quickly. I need time to think!

When the man lifted his own sword and attacked, Wake automatically defended himself. He deftly deflected the strikes, easily falling into the forms his instructors had drilled into him long ago. Wake's injured ankle protested bitterly, but he shut the pain out, willing the injured limb to function normally.

After a few exchanges, Wake could see the man was an expert, his movements fluid and effortless. I don't have a chance, he thought desperately, fending off blow after blow. You can't give up, he rallied, trying some of his best forms. None succeeded.

Then, there was an obvious opening. His opponent's sword strayed too far, exposing his entire left side. It was as if he really did want Wake to cut him down.

Moving instinctively, Wake made a quick slash, feeling sick about the blood that would be spilled. Not too deep. Only incapacitate him. But no—just as the sword was about to cut into the dark robe, the man vanished.

Assuming a fully defensive posture, Wake glanced around the room, expecting to see him on the ledge somewhere. Gone. Only the horrified Lower-Elders and Wake himself remained in the large chamber.

Realizing the threat was gone, the Elders broke into chaos. Everyone began talking at once, their voices loud and shrill.

"How, in the name of the Founder, did that man get in here?"

"Blightheart! Where are the guards? Why were we left undefended?"

"I could have been killed. We all could have been. I could be lying here in a pool of my own blood!"

The clamor continued on for quite some time. Voices overlapped each other. The room got louder and louder, no one listening to anyone else.

Wake was still poised in his defensive form, sword high in the air, when a throng of guards rushed in. They wielded high-powered flechette guns and were aiming them at Wake. "Drop the sword! Get on the ground! Drop the sword immediately! Get on the ground now! Get on the ground!"

Wake, let his sword fall and followed it to the floor. He had no idea why they were coming after him and not looking for the figure. "Leave him be," the Presider intoned, the appearance of the security forces restoring the Lower-Elders' composure.

Instantly, the guards started scanning the room, looking for new threats. They are disciplined and well-trained. Where were they when we needed them?

The Presider, seeming telepathic, voiced Wake's thought. "Where were you?" Wake then noticed he didn't recognize any of the guard squad. It was a different group than those who had escorted him in.

"Distinguished Elders," the commander said, straightening to attention. "My squad was dispatched to your chambers by Ashamine Command, priority urgent. When we reached the outer vestibule, we found the on-duty squad, unconscious. We rushed in to secure your personages. That is all the information we have."

"Strange," the Presider replied, eyes narrowing. "Thank you for your service, commander." Murmurs and hushed conversations sprung up around the room. Silence descended eventually, and time passed uneasily for Wake.

"This Brotherhood of Azak-so, has anyone heard of it? Or the Breakers he warned of?" Wake recognized the speaker as being one of the men who had derided him at the beginning of the trial.

A new speaker, his voice dripping with disdain, shouted, "Let us finish the matter at hand. We should not be discussing this in front of common ears."

"I believe additional consideration should be afforded this man," the Presider declared. "He was our only defense during the crisis."

"He didn't do much, didn't even kill the intruder," a voice said, barely audible.

An Elder to Wake's left cut in, "We shall vote again. Will that satisfy you, Presider?"

"Indeed, and keep in mind what this man did for us."

The Elders repeated the voting process. The same five Elders stood in Wake's favor, with the remaining twenty-five against. Just like the first time, Wake thought. How could the vote have stayed the same? Not even one of them appreciated what I did? Someone bought their votes before the trial even started!

The look on the Presider's face was stern as he stood once again. "Let it be known: Wake Darmekus has been censured for the malefactions stated at the beginning of this convocation. We shall now move to judgment. For crimes of this nature there is but one sentence, execution by asphyxiation in the void."

##  16 - Felar

Felar had been on Haak-ah-tar for several days, waiting for Doc Hase to approve her for active duty. Finally, she thought, remembering all the rehab it had taken to restore her strength and fitness levels. Mentally, she still felt a bit shaky. You know you have to move on and focus on your new assignment. The task was proving difficult. How can I put the assault behind me if I can't even remember it? Anger filled her every time she thought of her attacker free and unpunished.

While she was happy to be back on combat deployment, Felar wasn't ecstatic when she'd learned she would be leading a squad of Initiates. Blighthearted new grads. She had nothing against them personally, but it would be a babysitting assignment.

"Sir, when deployed, I'm used to being with other Foundies," she'd told her new commanding officer. "I fear their inexperience might lead to problems in the field. I need troops I can count on."

"They are a good group, graduated top of their class," her commander had replied. "You have a day to run drills and make sure they are ready. If you have a problem with any of them, let me know. We'll find a solution."

Felar wouldn't admit it, not even to herself, but when she'd first met the new squad, her anxiety shot up quicker than an orbital defense lance. You're fine, you're fine, she'd told herself, trying to relax and maintain her professionalism.

Even after she started talking with them, the feeling persisted. It took all her focus to fight down an overwhelming urge to flee. What's wrong with me? She'd never experienced anything like this before. Maintain your composure, she thought, forcing her jaw and shoulders to relax. I don't have time to deal with this now. Have to make sure these Inits are well-trained and fit for deployment.

As she put her new squad through drills, Felar realized the Inits were smart and capable. They even looked up to her with a reverential awe. During the exercises it was obvious they were trying to impress her by outdoing each other. She even noticed a few of them had picked up on her speech patterns and mannerisms. None of it bothered her, and in a way, she felt flattered. At the conclusion of the day, Felar realized her initial nervousness had dissipated. What was that all about? A vague memory of a surrounding group skittered across the back of Felar's mind, and some of her earlier tension returned. I have to get this under control, but for now...

"OK, squad," Felar said, snapping out of her reverie, "we've received new sit-reps." The armored personnel carrier jolted, throwing her against the seat restraints. "Ackerson," she barked, "keep us off the worst of the rocks. My brain's feeling rattled enough as is."

"Yes ma'am," he responded, swerving the large vehicle around some new obstacle.

"Anyway," Felar continued, trying to hold herself steady so she could read the terminal screen, "the Enthos have come back to Haak-ah-tar. Seven of their bi-pyramid ships just appeared inside the AF blockade. Nobody understands how they got there." Felar paused, wondering how such a technologically backwards species pulled off that kind of trick. "It's some creepy blightheart," she resumed, finding where she left off. "We've managed to hunt down two of the ships and destroy them, but the rest have evaded us. Looks like the remaining vessels are bombarding the surface with some kind of force or gravity weapon. The sci guys apparently have no idea how it works, but it creates earthquake-like effects and seems to emanate from their ships. They've been sending their vessels over areas with little to no tactical significance though, so enemy intel must be bad. Some vectors have gone over Ashamine targets, but it seems almost random.

"AF analysts speculate the Enthos are trying to take Haak-ah-tar back. That doesn't sound correct to me. Their tactics are all wrong for that objective. Unless they have a lot more tech, firepower, and ships coming, they can't hope to push us off world. Wonder what they are really up to..." Felar thought about the question for a moment, then looked back at her terminal screen, knowing she needed to focus on the mission and not the overall campaign. Leave that job to the Separates.

"Looks like we've also received a better brief on our current mission, thank the Founder. I was wondering if they were going to keep us boxed forever." Felar quickly scanned the report, assimilating everything she needed to know.

"Squad, we're headed to a classified research facility." She looked around the cramped quarters of the APC, making eye contact with each of them. "This is a big deal, guys. We've all received clearance to enter the installation, but none of us is to look at research intel. This is strictly a search and rescue op. An Entho vessel passed over the facility a few hours ago and Command hasn't been able to establish contact since. We are to find out what happened, render any aid we can provide, and report back."

Despite her positive tone, Felar had a bad feeling. There was too much secrecy. The initial mission briefing had been scant. She hated that. Lack of information got people killed. And the fact it was a classified installation made it even more ominous. What are they researching there? What are we going to run into?

A notice popped up on her terminal that they were straying from the navigation track. "Initiate Ackerson, why are you are deviating from the nav coordinates?"

"The point's all screwy, Enlight Haltro," Ackerson replied, tone cheery. Nav was having me go over some big buggered hills. Decided to go around, ma'am." She could see he needed praise for his actions, so she gave it.

"Well done Ack. Glad you aren't just blindly following a machine." She had guessed why they were off course, but keeping these Inits on their toes was vital. While she didn't expect an ambush—or even any Entho ground forces for that matter—it was good to encourage a habit of vigilance.

"Are there any other details about the facility, ma'am?" This was from Initiate Shanbek, a tall, gangly-looking youth, barely old enough to join the Forces.

"Nope," she replied, "and since it's a classified location, I doubt they'll give us anything else. We're gonna be in a box and on our own, so best stay sharp." Turning to her tactical readout, she addressed Ackerson, Shanbek, and the three other Initiates. "Now that we aren't just driving off into the desert to skim a nav coordinate, we can formulate mission protocol. When the blightheart comes, there is rarely time to stop and think. It has to be instinctual, so pay attention!" She paused for a moment and looked at everyone, using her eyes to reinforce the seriousness of her tone.

"First off, let's go over assignments. Ackerson, you are running tech. We shouldn't come across anything you haven't trained on yet. Intel says this is a standard Ashamine facility, so doors, computers, AI, and just about everything else should—and I stress should—be Ashamine standard. If you run into something over your head, let me know. My tech training is more advanced, so I might be able to help. Just don't panic, and we'll be OK.

"Shanbek, you are on scout and recon. Remember to calibrate to the highest sensitivity you can without getting too much interference. Since this is primarily a SAR mission, any contacts you get on your readout should be friendlies. Should and are can be very different things, so keep your weapons ready, but don't get too trigger psycho. We can't blast scientists or any other non-hostile that may be down there. That makes us look bad.

"Edwards and Unthar, you'll be on primary weapons duty. From what we know of on-site conditions at this point, you shouldn't have much to do. That isn't an excuse for laxness or inattentiveness! I've seen easy missions go to the fires of the black star so fast it would blast you from your boots. So stay on your toes and make sure you're watching your squad's tail.

"Malen, you're supporting firepower. You'll man the big multi-barrel rail weapon. I know you're certified, but make sure you respect it. Wield it wrong and you'll kill us all. Use it correctly, and you can knock down anyone or anything. That gun has awesome power, as I hope you fully realize." Felar stopped, looking at each at her troops to make sure they understood her. "Is everyone clear?" They all nodded their affirmation.

Felar's terminal alerted they were five minutes from the facility. "Check your weapons and gear loadout," she commanded. She inspected her primary rail gun to make sure it had a full charge and was properly loaded. Felar did the same for her side arm. She also checked to make sure her short swords were in their scabbards across her back. Glad I sharpened them this morning.

Her own preparations complete, Felar made sure the Inits were doing likewise. All were slow to complete the task, but by the time Initiate Ackerson stopped the APC, they were ready. "Line up for deployment," Felar barked.

When the ramp dropped, the Inits hustled out of the vehicle, running in a slight crouch with their primary weapons pointed at specific fields of fire. Felar brought up the rear, the position she had always taken when the squad drilled. Ackerson led them to a small door and began working the access panel. Good thing we didn't try to use the vehicle door, Felar thought, eying the larger entrance. They didn't design it to fit an APC.

Felar looked back to the squad and experienced a moment of pride as she watched the green Inits functioning as a team. True, it's not a combat drop, but at least they're keeping formation. Good to see all that blighthearted drilling got through their thick skulls.

"Damn it!" Ackerson swore, still focused intently on the access controls. "Everything is locked down. It's not letting me open the door. Giving some kind of nonsense about not having an authorized code. Didn't we get this sequence from AF Command?"

"Affirm, Ackerson." Felar's voice was commanding, but her tone was troubled. She clicked on her long range comm. "Overwatch, this is Tango-5."

"Tango-5, Overwatch has you with synced signal," a strong male voice replied.

"Overwatch, the supplied code for facility entry is non-functional. Request new code." The officer was silent for several moments.

"Tango-5, the supplied code is correct. Repeat, is correct."

"You sure you entered the sequence right, Ackerson?" Felar demanded.

"Yes ma'am," he promptly responded. Felar trusted his skills, so there must be another issue.

"Overwatch," she said, reopening the long range comm, "the code remains non-functional. Request updated orders." The officer was once again silent for several moments. A deep part of Felar hoped Overwatch would order them back to base.

"Tango-5, mission is still go. Use any means to gain entrance. This is a high priority objective."

"Affirm," Felar responded, wondering why they had dispatched a group of Inits if it was such an important mission. "Tango-5 out." She looked at the door, wondering if they would be able to penetrate it. Why is a remote research facility high priority? What's behind this door? Blightheart... Maybe I don't want to know.

"Squad," Felar barked, "either Intel got this buggered all the way to the fires of the black star, or the base is on extreme lockdown. Either way, we are on this side of the door and our objective is on the other. I, your ever-resourceful Enlightened, have a plan." She said all this with a big smile on her face, even though her apprehension was deepening.

"Malen, use your multi to create an entrance." After giving more precise directions, Felar moved everyone back to a safe distance. Watching the multi-barrel rail weapon spool up and launch was amazing. Its large cylinders circled slowly, pounding out a shot every quarter second. The tungsten alloy slugs packed an incredible punch, but they only dented the door at first. Felar thought it sounded like a dark star demon was beating on a horrible, tremendous metal drum. She increased the active sound dampening of her combat helmet, hoping to block out more of the shrieking cacophony. Sparks flew as rounds began penetrating the heavily reinforced door. Small metal fragments pelted her and Felar was thankful for her combat armor.

After thirty seconds of punishment, Felar called a halt. The door was bowed and numerous small holes dotted its surface, but it still barred entry. "Another thirty-second burst would probably finish the job, but I don't want to use all your ammo. We'll try a new tactic." She pulled a small package of explosives from her combat vest. This compound was distributed exclusively to the Founder's Commandos, and with good reason. She molded a gob into a shaped charge, placing it on the door. As she set the timer, Felar ordered them to take cover. Running back to safety herself, she counted down: Four, three, two, one... The concussion wave boomed around them, and Felar was glad she hadn't been any closer. The helmet's dampening had maxed out, but she still heard ringing in her ears.

"Thank the Founder," Felar announced after enough dust had settled to see a small tunnel piercing the door. Her apprehension ratcheted up a notch as she noticed the entrance's full construction. It was a meter thick, with at least 20 centimeters of metal alloy covering a composite core.

Once inside, Felar looked for the security mechanism holding the door, hoping she could open it. Don't want survivors having to climb out the hole. She discovered nothing. The interior was completely smooth. Must be controlled remotely, she thought. That means they need to keep people from leaving as well as entering...

Ackerson led down the long, steeply pitched corridor. It was almost completely dark on the ramp. Felar was reluctant to leave the light streaming through the doorway. She switched on the illumination at the end of her primary weapon and watched the rest of the squad do the same.

It took some time, but they finally reached the bottom of the ramp and entered the complex proper. The air felt heavier here and Felar could sense the weight of all the ground above. It was oppressive. Most of the lights were off here as well, leaving the long corridors in eerie pallor.

"Must be running on backup power," Ackerson noted. "At least it isn't completely dark." He stopped at a wall monitor and tried to check the compound's systems. As Ackerson worked, Felar wondered just how deep underground they were now. The ramp had seemed to go for at least a kilo or two and was fairly steep. She ran some quick mental math. At least 400 meters below the surface, maybe more.

"Bugger it all," Ackerson swore, breaking into her thoughts. "It's unresponsive. Enlightened, all the monitoring and system control access is disabled on this terminal. Should we try another one?" The squad looked at Felar expectantly.

"If the complex is on lockdown, they'll all be the same." She tried to signal Overwatch to give a sit-rep. Nothing. Her eyes flicked to the HUD on her face plate. It showed her comm status as up for local and down on long range. "Blightheart," she cursed, her expression calm, but her voice beginning to betray unease. "The command link is down. We are on our own for now. I'm guessing we are too deep. The APC should relay comms to AF Command, but our signal isn't reaching it."

She paused a moment to think. It would not be wise to share her feelings about this facility with her squad. Fear was infectious, and she, more than any of them, was better equipped to handle it.

"We all stay together and work as a fire team. No one leaves the squad for any reason. We run this facility top to bottom, find anyone still shaking, and bring them out. Search and rescue is our mission. Stay alert. Be prepared for anything. Keep your weapons hot."

Felar took point, alert, but on edge. The situation felt too serious to let an Init lead the team, even an Init she had trained. They searched room by room, corridor by corridor. The first few contained desks and terminal screens flashing "Lockdown. Report to secure quarters." No people. They also discovered a rec room with giant terminal screens flashing glitched out remnants of gaming software. The same lockdown message flickered and mingled with the game images, making the room look like an Ashamine-2 dance club.

Continuing the search, they found more offices. Their plainness allayed Felar's fear at first, but then she realized something. There is nothing personal here, no decorations, no individuality. It looked sterile, unused. There were no people here either, which was strange. Where is everyone? Where are the 'secure quarters'? And if this is a research facility, where are the labs?

Down, she thought, stomach tightening.

"We need to find the lift," she commanded. "Facility personnel must be on the lab levels." After additional searching, they found an elevator. Ackerson quickly touched the screen and selected the lift call option.

"It's requiring a security code, ma'am," Ackerson said, sounding resigned. Felar watched as he typed in the sequence supplied by Intel. She wasn't surprised when the screen displayed "Code Denied".

"Damn it," Felar cursed. "I don't want to blast through this door. We risk damaging the lift. That would make evac a nightmare." She tried to think of other options, but nothing came to mind. Her squad stood around her, looking nervous but keeping a strong perimeter. "We don't have much of a choice," Felar finally decided. She began to take out more explosives, but as she did, the control panel switched from a flashing red hand to a green thumbs-up symbol. Seconds later, a rumbling sound emanated from below.

The entire squad tensed and aimed their weapons at the lift doors. "I didn't do anything to cause that," Ackerson said, stress evident in his voice. "Maybe someone initiated it remotely at AFC?"

Felar made her voice confident and commanding, "Alright, when the lift gets here, we clear the interior, and then we all get in. This should take us straight down to the labs. We'll find any survivors and escort them back up. Keep your fields of fire sharp. No mistakes."

They finished moving into combat formation just as the lift doors slid open. Its interior flickered between bright and dark, the lights strobing in disturbing syncopation. Felar quickly checked her squad, noting the dread and unease on the Initiates' faces. She hoped they were ready for whatever faced them in the deep unknown of this eerie place.

##  17 - Lothis

Lothis awoke, pain pulsing rhythmically through his head. His hands were coated with a crust of red. Dried blood? He was scared. Everything felt foreign, unfamiliar. There is no voice, no instructions. What do I do? He stared at the half-open wall. No, no, that's not a wall. That's a—door? There had never been a door there in the past. What is happening?

His routine was broken, strict rituals lost forever. The voice was silent, the screen dark, the exercise apparatus still. No meals had come and the tap was dry. New sensations grew in his abdomen. It felt like it was gnawing at itself, like he had a ravenous creature inside. Is this hunger? His mouth was dry, his throat raspy. It was difficult to swallow. Thirst?

These sensations were starting to drive Lothis, almost as much as his routine once had. I must find food and something to quench my parched throat. At the rate the sensations were growing, Lothis knew they would soon force him to exit the room.

Leaving was impossible though. Or is it? What is on the other side of the door? And then Lothis' cognition shifted, creating a new model of his environment. This room, my world, is only a tiny part of a larger world, all interconnected by doors. How could I not have realized this before?

Lothis crept towards the door, hesitant. What if there are other beings, like myself, but different? He couldn't make himself go through, couldn't force his way into the unknown. He returned to his bed and sat, mind racing. Lothis felt unstable, both physically and mentally. His hands trembled.

Time passed, his hunger and thirst increasing. He tried staring at the terminal, but its blank screen didn't distract him for long. The door kept drawing his attention back, tempting him. What's out there? His hunger became a dull ache. Lothis' throat grew more parched and his tongue began sticking to the roof of his mouth.

Curiosity and a need for water finally overcame his fear of the unknown. Lothis had to know what was on the other side of the door, had to find out what the rest of the world was like. And maybe I can find water out there.

Rising, he crept closer to the door. His bare feet fell silently on the cold metal decking. Cautiously peering out the slight gap, he noted the outside illumination was dim. A negative feeling welled within him. Dread?

Lothis wanted to stop, wanted to go back and sleep, but he had to know what was outside. He understood now the protein compound bars, liquid vitamins, and water had been fuel for his body. I'm still learning, even without the terminal, he thought, mood improving slightly. Something like a smile crossed his small face.

Once out into the corridor, he was forced to make yet another decision. Left or right? Having no information to base a choice on, he stared one way and then the other. Blank hallway ran in both directions, fading into obscurity. They looked identical. Lothis was disappointed. What was I expecting? He made a random choice, and went left.

As he crept down the hallway, Lothis began to feel more confident. His shaking steadied and his breathing calmed. When he reached the next intersection, he could see the right corridor opened to a large room a short way in. Lothis moved towards it, excited, and nervous, to see something other than a hallway.

Upon entering, he noted there were large, jagged fragments of a clear material lying haphazardly over the floor. There were large gaps in the walls. Lothis quickly determined the pieces would fit into the gaps, forming compartments within the larger room.

After observing the space for several seconds, he realized there was a tremendous amount of blood everywhere. There were pools of it on the floor, sprays on the ceiling, and crimson smears along one wall. It puzzled Lothis how or why so much blood had been spread this way. And how was it produced?

Something moved. Lothis' heart hammered in his chest. A hunched form crouched in the darkest corner. His small ears picked up a wet, crunching noise coming from it. Slinking to one side, Lothis saw the form was crouched over a dead, half-eaten body.

His dread increased exponentially, and a cry of terror escaped Lothis' pursed lips. The form turned towards him, rising to a height of three meters. What is it? Lothis thought, eyes widening.

The grotesque figure had matte black skin, spattered with fresh blood. It was unlike anything Lothis had been educated about. It was humanoid, with long, stoutly muscled arms. Broad, blunt claws tipped the ends of its stumpy three-fingered hands. Short, spindly legs attached to its thin torso. The creature's feet had long, scythe-like claws extending from them. The narrow head had black eyes and a single slit for a nose. Non-existent lips exposed a gaping maw of dagger-like teeth.

The monstrosity let out a bellow and locked eyes with Lothis, its slit nose taking in rapid breaths. Lothis stood still, having no comprehension of how to deal with the situation. The monstrosity glared. It seemed to decide Lothis was not a threat and turned back to its meal, the wet slurping sound resuming after a moment.

As the creature's gaze left him, Lothis felt able to move again. He backed out of the space as quietly as he could. The world is dangerous compared to my room. He was afraid, but yearned to learn. Cautiously, he resumed exploring.

Stopping outside a partially open door, it occurred to him blundering around without any knowledge was illogical and hazardous. He needed to find where he was and formulate an action plan. Adapting to these challenges was exhilarating.

Lothis felt himself changing, his mind expanding in ways he never knew possible. His routine, which had once been everything, seemed stifling and claustrophobic now. The boundary of my imagination is growing rapidly.

Peeking his head inside the room, he saw nothing of interest. No threat. No dangers. He ducked in, deciding it was a suitable place to hide and form a plan. He momentarily considered barricading the door, but discarded the idea. The thought of trapping himself inside a small room reminded him so much of his old quarters that it made his stomach churn. Remaining undetected would be a stronger defense, so Lothis kept his movements silent.

Once inside, he discovered several pieces of furniture and equipment he was unfamiliar with. A large table sat in the middle of the room with a few chairs around it, all made of a white composite material. The walls were display screens, currently dark. On another, smaller table were several box shaped items formed from the same material as the table and chairs. Lothis guessed they were used for scientific analysis, but their specific purpose eluded him.

Continuing to scan the room, something caught his eye. It was a terminal screen that resembled the one in his room. He had a hunch it might have knowledge of this new world. A feeling rose within him, a powerful emotion that made him excited and positive for what was about to happen.

He nervously touched the screen, thinking of how much he had learned in front of a terminal just like this. The memory caused mixed emotions, conflicting and powerful. Lothis had always loved learning, and the screen provided it. Now, he could see this activity was part of what kept him confined. The manipulation and imprisonment angered him. Surprisingly, melancholy was also mixed in this strange, toxic brew of feelings. He knew he'd been abused, yet habit and nostalgia made him want to go back. And who or what was keeping me there? The monstrosity? Something unknown?

Lothis jumped in surprise as the screen flickered on, its brightness glaring in the dim room. He squinted and tried to read the words, but it took a moment for his pupils to adjust.

Once focused, Lothis realized the interface was unlike the terminal in his room. Lessons were the only available feature on his old display, but this one had cascading menus and options. On the primary menu he saw "Personnel Status", "Experiment Status", "Security Systems", "Defense Systems", "Lock Down", as well as several others that were less interesting.

Lothis selected "Personnel Status" and saw a long list of names and a system to track their vital signs. Something had to be wrong with the interface though, because everyone was non-responsive. There were over two-hundred people listed. Not one had a heart rate. Odd, Lothis thought. Perhaps a receiver malfunction? And then he thought about the creature and began to wonder if perhaps the data wasn't erroneous after all.

He returned to the main menu and started to select "Experiment Status", but was interrupted with a pop-up notification box. "Complex in lockdown. Lab access requested from primary lift." In the box was a video of six humans in front of a metal door. Below the video were three options, "Allow", "Deny", and "Defend".

Lothis was captivated, all his attention focused on the video. One of the figures was working on the terminal next to the door, while the rest nervously watched him and their surroundings. One figure stood out from the rest. It was female. She was gesturing to the others, and they responded immediately. Lothis wished the feed had audio, but he saw no option to enable it.

He pondered which of the choices to select. Either they had come to save or destroy him. The longer Lothis watched the woman, the more he felt drawn to her. Have I seen her before? Do I know her? That seemed impossible, but Lothis couldn't find another way to explain the growing connection.

If all the personnel inside this place are dead, these people must be from outside. They might be my only way out. Between his fascination with the woman and his lack of other options, Lothis decided to make contact with them.

Without further hesitation, he selected "Allow" and watched the door open. The figures went through, looking wary. Once they left the vid frame, the display disappeared.

Wondering what to do next, Lothis stared at the menu options. He needed a view that showed the corridor layout, something that would help find the people from the video. He selected "Security Systems", deciding it was the one most related to the sought-after data. Lothis was rewarded with a map of the facility, complete with indicators showing the status of each of the doors. Scanning the display, Lothis saw three different icons, one type labeled with names, one with "U", and the other prefixed with "E" and ending with several numbers. All name icons featured a single letter followed by a name. None of these moved. Those must be the facility personnel. The fact they were stationary further confirmed they were all dead. A pattern of movement in the map caught his attention. Lothis quickly forgot everything else. All the "E" icons were converging on a door near the bottom of the screen. Behind it lay the "U" icons. Looking closer, Lothis saw the door was labeled "Main Lift".

An awful, sinking feeling slammed into his gut as Lothis understood what was about to happen. With even more agony, he realized it was his fault. He had let his rescuers in, sending them towards a grotesque ambush.

Hurriedly, Lothis memorized the map and tried to orient himself. Where am I? Where am I? he thought, panic stabbing him. Then he noticed another icon, one that was alone and unmoving. It was labeled "S" and was in a room tagged "Conference 4". When Lothis recalled his path here, it matched the map. Am I the "S"? What does that mean?

Without time to form a hypothesis, Lothis found a series of turns to take him to his rescuers. Jumping up from the terminal, he looked around the room, trying to find something to defend himself with. Nothing was readily apparent, so Lothis raced out into the corridor, thinking he might discover something later. He accelerated to a fast pace, confident all the danger of the "E" icons was concentrated closer to his destination. As he headed towards the elevator, Lothis was uncertain of what he would find when he got there.

##  18 - Maxar

It felt good to be out of the games for a few days, not having to fight for your life every moment. But now Maxar had recovered, and Bloodsport was thrusting him back into the same old blightheart. He wished his stomach ulcer had been worse. Well, maybe not worse, but at least recovering might have kept me out a little longer.

"So what happened to you?" a small, wiry man named Benson asked. His accent was strange and lilting, characteristic of the inhabitants of the Maris-4 colony. It had been difficult for Maxar to understand him when they'd first met. Both men were lounging in the staging area, waiting for the match briefing. My first one back. Yay...

"This blighthearted place pushed me over the edge and gave me a stomach ulcer. Who'd of thought Bloodsport would be bad for your health, right?" Maxar gave Benson a sour grin. "Anyway, the med heads injected me with experimental nano-tech. I guess it worked, because I recovered almost immediately. In fact, I think I feel better now than ever before."

"You do look refreshed," Benson replied. "No denying. Man, when we unloaded from the meat wagon after your last game, you looked buggered. I thought maybe the sniper had nicked you or something before I term'd him. Can't deny we were all bummed your spew missed Hatcholethis though. Woulda been a good ending to a blighthearted day, and at least you would have gotten merry outta your pain."

"Yeah? Well, I don't think it would have gone well for me had I hit him. I suppose the fact I racked him a ton of money would have helped. And thanks for taking that sniper out. You saved my ass." As Maxar finished the sentence, a tall blond man entered the staging area, taking his place on a platform at the front of the room.

"Give your attention," he said, voice harshly ringing off the room's metal walls. Maxar and his teammates quieted down and listened intently. The briefing was important for developing strategy for the upcoming game. No one wanted to risk their lives by ignoring it. "Today will be irregular," the blond man continued.

Upon hearing these words, Maxar became more interested. Irregularities meant a possibility Bloodsport security might be compromised somehow. Somebody, somewhere might make a procedural mistake. He focused harder, trying to spot any opportunities.

No one had ever escaped the Bloodsport asteroid. Many had tried. Maxar could remember several he'd seen killed in the attempt. He'd also been forced to watch the lethal hand-to-hand cage matches of those who'd been caught. All the would-be escapees were experienced operators with good plans. But then again, none of the runners were me. A small, wry smile crossed his face.

"As some of you know," the briefer said, "Entho ships have been bombarding Haak-ah-tar with a new kind of weapon. The buggers don't seem to know how to use it though, because they aren't inflicting much damage. Since the Enthos are in system, however, attendance for this next game will be low. In accordance, Bloodsport is scaling down." He then went on to read the list of those participating and those sitting out. Maxar heard his own name in the latter list. Yes! If he was in the game, any chance of escape was seriously decreased. The security in the fighting areas was too tight. In the barracks though...

The briefer continued, "Those of you who are still on for the game—" A screeching alarm drown out his words.

An ear-splitting announcement boomed, "Bloodsport is under attack, I repeat, Bloodsport is under attack! All participants return to your dormitories immediately! All security and gaming personnel, perform your emergency duties. This is not a drill. Bloodsport is under attack!"

They sound afraid, Maxar thought, hope soaring. This is more than I've dreamed of!

For a moment after the message ended, everything remained calm. Maxar could see comprehension becoming apparent in the eyes of everyone around him. A roar of mingled hate, rage, and elation rose from the competitors. Chaos exploded like a malfunctioning worm drive. People dashed in every direction, their intentions a mystery. Maxar remained seated, finishing his escape strategy.

He caught sight of Benson, who was staring intently at him, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. He too was still seated, as calm and composed as Maxar. Benson was never very intelligent, Maxar thought, but he has a soldier's mindset and follows my lead.

Maxar turned, feeling more hope than he had in years. "If we can get to the shuttle dock, we might be able to use this riot to get off the asteroid. The spectators will be evacuated. Security might be buggered enough not to notice a couple extra people on a shuttle."

Benson's eyes narrowed. Maxar could tell he was unsure of the plan. Just then, several chairs came hurtling through the air. Maxar dove away, unharmed. He saw Benson had also avoided the projectiles. "Damn," the other man sputtered, making a profane gesture towards the throwers. "This is going to the dark star!"

Maxar understood the pent-up rage at Bloodsport and its personnel, but he would use this opportunity for more productive endeavors. Most of the rioters had a natural, unrestrained love of violence that had landed them here in the first place. They were now focused on getting revenge. Maxar watched the briefer and his aide get bludgeoned to death. It was a grisly sight. Other rioters were bent on destroying as much of the facility as possible, using chairs to smash doors and the meager decorations of the briefing area.

"It's a full on riot," Maxar agreed with Benson, voice calm and steady. "And you are welcome to stay here. I'm sure if you go join the action you'll do fine, for now anyway. What's going to happen when the Blood gets back on its feet and starts to exert control? I doubt any of you live to fight another match, even if you want to. Of course—" he paused dramatically, smiling, "you could come along with me. Just for the fun of it, of course. At least then you would have the chance of escape offsetting the certain death awaiting here."

Benson's eyes once again narrowed, only this time, no chairs flew their way. After another moment or two, he said, "Sure Maxar, why the buggers not? How can I say no?"

"You can't, and that's why I like you. No matter the situation, you always see sense and act on it." Maxar rose, grabbed a piece of chair that would serve well as a club. "Grab something and let's go. We don't know how long this damned opportunity will last."

Maxar led them out of the briefing room, dodging rioters and security personnel locked in heated combat. He didn't count on much time to complete his plan. As expected, the security forces were already cracking down hard. Hopefully the Enthos would continue their attack, further confusing and hampering the Bloodsport overlords.

To his amazement, Maxar realized he had a huge smile on his face. Its presence was unfamiliar, yet welcome. Maxar felt a strong emotion well up deep inside him. It was so foreign it took a moment to identify. Happiness, he thought, happiness... It was strange, out of place. Feels good.

He didn't understand his elation. Maybe it's because I'm finally doing something productive? Maybe it's the hope of a real future, even if I'm always on the run? Whatever the cause, it was good. It felt like liquid sunlight coursing through his veins.

Maxar ran towards the participant sector exit, dodging other Bloodsporters and security personnel alike. He flew down several small corridors, bypassing huge groups of combatants that would take too long to fight through. Maxar had spent a long time memorizing the more obscure areas of the participant sector, but that work was finally paying off.

When they reached the exit leading towards the shuttle dock, Maxar was both elated and crushed. The door itself was unguarded, but was in full lockdown. Two security guards lay on the floor, blood pooling next to them.

"Watch my back," Maxar said running over to the door control panel. He quickly paged through several menus, using all his hashing skills to break deeper and deeper into the interface. In his time on Bloodsport, Maxar had bought knowledge from every hasher he came in contact with. Now, he hoped one of their techniques would work. The matrix tile overload exploit, he thought, remembering one of the more obscure hashes. Several taps on the screen, a moment of waiting, and the door opened.

"Woah," Benson announced. "You'll have to explain how you did that later."

"Sure thing," Maxar replied. "Hey! The door just opened," he continued, raising his voice so a nearby group of rioters would hear. As if controlled by one mind, the crowd turned and ran towards the exit. Maxar and Benson stood to the side, letting them through. "That should help soften the way."

After a few moments, Maxar followed. The exit was the first of many major obstacles. His path was still fraught with danger. But this might actually work!

##  19 - Tremmilly

Beowulf whined, startling Tremmilly out of her thoughts. The room shifted and she felt herself rise. Tremmilly saw her body below her, Beowulf nudging it anxiously. Noor-5 fell away. She began accelerating. Stars blurred, leaving bright streaks across her vision. Tremmilly knew she should be frightened, but something about the experience made her calm, at peace.

After an indefinable amount of time, Tremmilly slowed. She passed a barren, desert planet, its surface sparsely inhabited. Soon, an asteroid came into view. She slowed even further. Tremmilly stopped above the asteroid, noting extensive structures. Directly below was a military-looking complex. People fought outside on the pale gray surface of what she thought of as an asteroid or moon. They were killing each other, filling Tremmilly with sorrow.

Then, she was moving again. The whole scene shifted drastically. Tremmilly wasn't herself anymore, yet she knew she still existed. Looking out of his eyes gave her a different perspective on the world she had seen earlier. Now she was inside the complex. It was in chaos. She had never seen anything like it in her life, yet he stayed calm, which soothed Tremmilly. Her new perspective was exhilarating. She could feel muscles moving, could sense emotions. Tremmilly was unable to take action or hear his thoughts, but felt totally integrated otherwise.

He was running through the pandemonium, dodging small knots of people brutally slaughtering each other. His strength was evident, and she felt he was capable of handling the situation. A deep, complex desire drove their body forward.

A man followed them, but she sensed he was an ally. Tremmilly felt their movement slow momentarily to work through a group of rioters blocking the corridor. He became nervous. Time was precious.

The mental pressure eased somewhat as they halted in front of a wide door. Above it was a sign labeled "Shuttle Service". She sensed this was the destination. Tremmilly felt his tension rise as they crept through. Once inside, she saw many small shuttlecraft lined up in neat rows along the deck. Their swept back wings and elongated fuselages gleamed brightly in the artificial lighting.

With a jolt of awareness, he spotted a group of security guards. The small man ran into the hangar and stopped next to them. Simultaneously, the guards noticed there were intruders in the room. They drew large pistols from shoulder holsters and fired.

The first round whistled by their head, and she felt the wind of its passage on his cheek. Before the guards could tighten their aim, he dove behind the nearest shuttle. The small man was not as quick.

As he and Tremmilly watched in horror, their ally took a round directly in the stomach. His midsection exploded. A spray of blood and tissue flew out behind him in a gruesome fountain. A silent scream escaped Tremmilly's lips. He bellowed in rage.

Tremmilly became sick, dizzy, and disoriented, but she sensed he had been through much worse and controlled these emotions. Staggering to their feet, Tremmilly felt his sadness. They ran through the rows of ships in a haphazard pattern. From the small glimpses she caught, the guards were starting to spread out and lose sight of each other. She felt satisfaction and knew this was what he hoped they'd do.

Carefully moving through the ships, they doubled back behind the guard the furthest from his comrades. He had no idea anyone was there until it was too late. Tremmilly felt his flesh as their hands twisted his neck. She heard a grinding noise, then a quick pop. The guard fell to the deck, dead. Picking up his flechette pistol, she felt his happiness rise. Tremmilly found it strange they'd killed the guard without remorse. Instead, revenge felt right. Their ally had been murdered. They would have found the same brutal end if the guard had better skills.

Over the course of the next few minutes, Tremmilly experienced more killing as they eliminated each guard. Having a weapon made things so much easier. He thoroughly searched each body. Tremmilly felt his desire for something. Much of what they found was of little use, but then, he spotted it. The laser key was such a small, mundane object, but it brought so much joy.

Key in hand, they ran over to a terminal screen and began entering commands. The first opened the hangar's exterior doors. A plasma barrier kept the area pressurized and separated from the vacuum of space. The bright blue field shimmered, magnetic lines of force evident in the swirling plasma. The next command powered up the closest shuttle. It was sleek, streamlined, and looked expensive. The ship lacked a wormhole generator, so leaving the system would be impossible.

They quickly hopped through the shuttle's hatch, hitting the close button before the door fully opened. Sitting in one of the six chairs, they watched the surrounding terminal as the ship began a short self-diagnostic procedure. It listed their destination as "Bloodsport Dock" and that auto-nav was engaged. Tremmilly noticed the seats were plush and luxurious, but he seemed intent on other things. Once the self-diagnostic was complete, the ship rose off the deck and exited the shuttle bay. It passed effortlessly through the plasma barrier, accelerating. They watched out the large view window as the asteroid fell away below.

"Thank you for visiting Bloodsport," a voice said, startling Tremmilly. "Remember to register to watch upcoming matches. If a return journey is not convenient, all battles are streamed live over the Terminal Network. Check the Bloodsport Information Channel for more details." The farther they got from the asteroid, the more relief he felt. He was calm, at peace, and most of all, happy.

As the shuttle moved towards the large orbital ship dock, Tremmilly felt a tug. She was then outside him, moving quickly away. Stars streaked by for an indeterminable amount of time. She felt herself falling, then, a snap. It took Tremmilly several moments to orient herself. Finally, dull gray walls came into focus.

As her cognition formed back into the reality that was her and only her, Tremmilly felt her lungs screaming for air. It took a few seconds to realize she was holding her breath. Stale air exploded from her. She gasped, taking in huge lung fulls of air that made her head swim. How long was I holding my breath? And why? Moments passed, and her heart rate and breathing stabilized.

What was that? Tremmilly wondered, mind still reeling. Beowulf continued nudging her, whining anxiously. Looking at the room's display clock, she realized half a standard hour had passed. Was that real? Was it a vision? She embraced Beowulf, pressing her face into his long fur.

This incident was just the latest oddity Tremmilly had been experienced. She felt she was on the cusp of a new reality, like she was touching something massive and unknown. It was scary, but also exhilarating. Sometimes it felt like she might even be able to see through reality, to view the underlying fabric of space-time. This all began when Psidonnis told me the prophecy, she observed.

Tremmilly tried to analyze the experience logically. "I left my body and traveled," she said. Beowulf's whimpers subsided. "So that seems to lean towards it not being a vision. Why go through the trouble of moving if it wasn't my actual consciousness that was there. And since time moved normally, it makes sense I was there in real time. But how, or why, did it happen?" The last question had no answer and was part of what was troubling Tremmilly ever since she'd left Eishon-2.

Now she was on the orbital dock above Noor-5, had been for almost a week. Tremmilly smiled sardonically, finding it amusing her life was now guided by a mysterious force, just like the Dygars. The sect was peaceful, loving, and to be honest, laughable. It had seemed obvious their consumption of farcanthis leaves caused their strange experiences, but now Tremmilly wasn't so sure. She hadn't been anywhere near the hallucinogenic plant, yet had just experienced something she couldn't explain. This was different. Psidonnis had told her about the Dygar visions. They weren't as vivid as what she had just experienced. Maybe their visions are because of farcanthis, she thought, but what caused me to leave my body?

And even if she answered that question, did it explain what she was supposed to do now? Why was she connected to the man? Was he the important part, or the location? Tremmilly felt influenced by some entity greater than herself, driven to do things she had never imagined. Leaving Eishon-2, her birth world, was never one of her goals. Thinking back, Tremmilly realized departing Eishon-2 was allowing her to explore the galaxy. Perhaps the "influence" was just a strange way of convincing herself to go. Maybe I'm going crazy... Maybe I should have stayed on Eishon. It's where my parents wanted me to be.

"Your father and mother came here a few years before your birth," Psidonnis had told her when she was old enough to understand. "On other worlds, lower class citizens live in densely populated city-states, mostly in the underlevels. These places are unpleasant. Your parents sought to escape the urban wasteland, wanting space to live and clean air to breath. They sold every possession and used the Ashcreds to buy passage to Eishon-2. Arriving with nothing, your parents homesteaded a small plot of land away from other settlers and made life work for them.

"You were born a few years later. Your parents were delighted. Six years passed in happiness, some of which you probably remember."

Tremmilly stopped the remembrance, wiping away tears. The terrible plague had killed her parents. She hadn't meant to remember that much. The memory was painful, even after fifteen years. What caused it? she wondered. Was it carried on a cargo ship or was it spread by the Ashamine? It had been a vicious, nasty illness, causing intense pain. The victims ran high fevers, fell into comas, and bled out shortly thereafter. There was no cure, no answers, no proof about where the plague came from or why it had died off as quickly as it began. Why did it kill my parents and not me? Tremmilly hoped she might get answers while traveling. It seems like such a small chance, but anything is possible.

After what had happened on Noor-5, she was willing to believe in small odds. She and Beowulf had been listening to a Divisionist orator rebuke the Ashamine and its war on the Entho-la-ah-mines. Tremmilly had found the man boring, but his words had some truth to them. It was unclear exactly what had happened, but an earthquake had struck the area and released a poisonous gas, killing many onlookers. Tremmilly would have been one of them, but a few minutes before, she had felt a strong push to leave the area, so she did.

When the earthquake hit, Tremmilly was knocked to the ground. Thankfully, there were no tall buildings around her, and she escaped without serious injury. The poison gas had been localized to the crowd. If I hadn't moved...

The many deaths and her narrow escape upset Tremmilly. She felt it was time to get off the planet. The people she was looking for were elsewhere. Noor-5 was in chaos. It took time for her to find transport, but eventually she'd reached the orbital dock above the planet. Now Tremmilly was stuck there, sleeping in the cheapest lodging—which she still couldn't afford—not knowing where to go next. Maybe this experience is the key to the next step, but if I don't figure it out soon, I'll run out of what little savings I have left.

As she replayed her out-of-body experience in her head, more details popped out. The voice had said, "Thank you for your visit to Bloodsport." She'd heard that name before. Isn't that the place on the news?

Tremmilly hurriedly accessed the small terminal in her room, streaming archived footage. "We don't have much information at this time, but it appears the Enthos are trying to take back Haak-ah-tar, a world they fled over twenty-five years ago. They've broken through the Ashamine blockade, attacking several installations on-world. The nearby Bloodsport asteroid's security was compromised and the popular gaming area is now in security lockdown. Players are rioting, causing a disruption in programming. All scheduled matches are postponed until further notice. Bloodsport officials say they will release "Best Of" riot footage on the Terminal Network within a standard week. We will keep you updated on further developments."

The reporter went on to interview several celebrities and highly placed Ashamine officials. They all complained about the interruption and the fact Bloodsport wouldn't be streaming live riot footage. Tremmilly switched off the terminal in disgust. It made her sick, thinking about what occurred at the "games," even if the combatants were convicted criminals.

The backdrop of violence and rioting in her experience made sense now. I was seeing a Bloodsport participant escaping in real time. The fact he was a convict gave her pause. He was helping the other man escape though. He only killed the guards because he had to.

Am I supposed to go to Bloodsport to help him? That seemed like the obvious conclusion. It was beyond risky, but Tremmilly was developing trust in whatever had been guiding her. She didn't know if it was coming from within or without, but if it had taken her this far, why wouldn't it guide her the rest of the way?

"Come on Beo," she said, gathering up her few belongings. "We've got somewhere to go now!" Leaving the decrepit room, Tremmilly and Beowulf made their way down to the docking sector of the orbital facility. Tremmilly knew it would be challenging to find a captain willing to take her into a war zone.

"I'm seeking passage to Haak-ah-tar and the Bloodsport asteroid," she told one captain, trying to sound casual.

"Are you a buggering blighthearted idiot?" he said, laughing. "The Enthos are back. Founder curse you as a fool." Beowulf's ears pinned back and his lips rose in a snarl. He moved between Tremmilly and the aggressive captain. The man fell back, angry. "Get your buggered dog away from me!" Several other seedy captains and crew began to take notice. Tremmilly decided it was time to move on.

After asking several friendlier looking captains and receiving negative responses, Tremmilly sat on bench, realizing this required more craftiness and deception. "Who would be going to that asteroid?" she wondered aloud. "Military personnel maybe, but there is no way they'd let me join them. And I don't think we'd be able to slip through security and become stowaways." She continued thinking, scratching Beowulf behind the ears in his favorite spot. "Let's walk around some more," she said finally, hoping it would give her a chance to think like she used to while wandering the great open spaces of Eishon-2.

After an extended period of travel through the facility, she came to a ship she had missed on her first pass through the area. Looking closer, she realized why. It was small, stuffed into a corner. A derelict.

Tremmilly was amazed at the terrible condition the ship was in. Maybe the mechanicals were fine—she didn't know about that kind of thing—but the hull was mottled with corrosion and needed a new coat of paint. Presumably the interior was even worse. The vessel's captain was probably too lazy to work for what little money Tremmilly could offer. She had to try though. "He certainly won't be worried about his ship getting damaged," she said to her friend.

"Hello?" she asked into the darkness of the open hatch. No answer. "I would like to speak to the captain of this vessel." Still no answer except for a faint echo. Stepping further up the ramp, she peered into the interior, but could see nothing in the blackness.

Waiting a few moments longer, Tremmilly backed off the ramp, brows furrowed. Thwarted again, she thought. Then, inspiration dawned. Tremmilly knew how she was going to get to Bloodsport.

No captain will go near the Haak-ah-tar system, so I need a ship without a captain. And since I can't afford to buy a ship, I'll have to borrow one. Here it was, unguarded and empty of personnel. She had no experience piloting and knew almost nothing about ships, but she could figure it out. Maybe there would be a vision or someone would come along at the right time to help her. I have to try. I feel like this is meant to be.

She walked back up the ramp with Beowulf, entered the ship, and groped around in the dark looking for the interior light switch. This was made difficult by the large amount of what felt like refuse strewn about the floor. The stench was terrible. Those who break a wheel shouldn't complain if the spare one squeaks, she thought, a saying her father had told her many times.

Finally managing to hit the illumination switch—more by accident than design—the pale lights revealed what her nose had already suggested. Piles of junk and refuse littered the floor, coming to knee height in the deepest places. Dust sat heavy on the bulkhead support structures. Grime caked the dingy walls. Beowulf sniffed one of the piles and Tremmilly had to command him to return. "You don't know what nasties are in there, Beo. Leave off." The wolf-dog looked disappointed, but returned to her side.

Carefully picking her way around the worst of the garbage, she stalked towards the command deck. That might be an overly grand name on a ship like this, she thought, trying not to breath too deeply. Upon entering the deck, she was glad to see garbage and refuse were absent from this area. It wasn't clean by anyone's standards, but at least it wasn't full of rotting whatever-they-weres.

Tremmilly sat in the captain's chair and tinkered with the ship's terminal, wondering if she could pilot the vessel on her own. The menus seemed easy, but she wondered if there was more to it. She tried to remember her trip to Noor-5, but she had been in the passenger compartment, unable to see what the captain had done. "No help there," she said. She began navigating menus, hoping something would stand out. A file labeled "Checklist" caught her eye. She opened it. Scrolling down past headings for "In-System Travel", "Worm Travel" and "Arrival", she finally found "Departure". Tremmilly began reading.

##  20 - The Founder

The Founder sat behind his expansive hardwood desk, fingers steepled. He had a look of calm on his polished exterior. Inside, he was seething.

How had everything gone so wrong? Now, in addition to the Divisionist problem, the Enthos were striking Haak-ah-tar. They've been on the run for twenty-five blighthearted years. What changed?

And where was Crasor? He'd heard nothing from his Facilitator. This was the longest he'd gone without contact, and the Founder was desperately in need of the man's skills.

Worst of all was the loss of communication between himself and the Legacy Genetics Project on Haak-ah-tar. He could find a new Facilitator, but if the Enthos had destroyed the LGP, the Ashamine's most vital project was in jeopardy.

Priority first, the facility on Haak-ah-tar, he thought. That needs to be resolved. I have to know what's happening. The potential loss of development could destroy the Ashamine. He checked his terminal yet again for a report from Ascended Rathis on Haak-ah-tar. Nothing. He gritted his teeth. I need Crasor!

The LGP was a tricky situation. The fewer people exposed to the information contained in the LGP facility, the fewer he would have to silence. The Founder didn't mind disposing of personnel, but he wasn't stupid either. The consequences of a security leak on this project would be catastrophic. And the loss of highly skilled officers and soldiers would be detrimental as well.

When he'd failed to contact Crasor, the Founder had ordered Ascended Rathis to dispatch an investigating team. "Send a Founder's Commando with a squad of Initiates for support. They report directly to you when they return. Let them speak to no one else. This mission is classified Ascended or higher. Fully quarantine the team after the mission. I will issue further instructions after." Those orders would compartmentalize the squad, minimizing personnel loss. Just one FC and a squad of Inits. The FC is regrettable, but I need a lead with experience. And the LGP would have to be relocated immediately, regardless of its current functionality. Not even an Ascended can be trusted with knowledge of its location. The Founder's orange eyes lost focus as he thought about the LGP's history.

Started almost as early as the Ashamine government itself, the Legacy Genetics Project was initiated by the original Founder. He wisely wanted to insure an individual of his caliber would always control the government.

The product of the LGP, while not clones of the original Founder, were close. The Ashamine populous was told each successor was the son of the former Founder, but this deception was simply to engender support. The Founder didn't want to think about what would happen if the Ashamine people discovered his true origins. Clones, or anything even remotely resembling them, were despised by the common citizens. Memories of the Archetype War kept the prejudice strong, and the Ashamine priests reinforced the sentiment. Humanity could never again experiment with genetic modification or enhancement. The risks were too great. Except for where the Founder is concerned...

The LGP facility had moved several times in the past due to security concerns. After near-discovery by a zealous Terminal Network reporter, the program was relocated to the isolated planet of Haak-ah-tar. Buried deep under the desert, the LGP continued advancing its goals with minimal chance of discovery.

What if the Entho bombardment killed my successor? The thought was horrific. The government would be thrown into disarray. A total collapse of the Ashamine was a real possibility, especially with the rising popularity of the Divisionists. Hopefully the attack just damaged the facility's communication capabilities. That would explain why he had not received his weekly sit-rep from the Director.

I don't trust Gerald Kasol, the Founder thought, a grimace marring his beatific face. He'd appointed the new Director after the former had committed suicide under questionable circumstances. Gerald Kasol was brilliant. That was the reason I chose him. Recently though, the Founder had come across some dark bits of information about the man's past. It wasn't a stretch to think Director Kasol had experiments on the side he'd conveniently forgotten to tell the Founder about.

Frustrated, the Founder tried the comms link to the LGP facility, receiving the same blighthearted message stating the link couldn't be established. He then tried Crasor, wanting his Facilitator to go figure out what in the fires of the dark star was going on. The device said Crasor was unavailable for an unspecified reason.

The Founder experienced a feeling of helplessness, an emotion completely foreign to him. Never in his long reign over the Ashamine had he felt this way. It triggered recollections of his childhood, something he had worked hard to forget. He raised his fists and slammed them on the desk.

The outburst brought him back to his senses. He sat in bemused introspection, wondering why he was losing his tight grip. He had to get control, had to form a plan. Knowing it was crucial, the Founder began prioritizing the situation again. First, I must secure my successor. Concurrently, but with lower priority, I must get in contact with Crasor. Tertiary, I must meet with the Classad and discuss how to handle the Haak-ah-tar attack. At least the potential security leak from the Traynos-6 discovery has been resolved and research is up to full capacity.

Feeling more at ease and empowered, the Founder rocked back in his sleek chair, steepling his fingers once again. "Tohnn," he announced to his assistant through voice comm, "prepare to dispatch orders." It was time to bring his power down on all those opposing his will.

##  21 - Crasor

Crasor felt baffled. Why did an earthquake occur on a geologically stable planet? And why did it happen just as I was about to strike the Divisionists? It could have been an unfortunate coincidence, but it felt planned. The timing was too perfect. If the Divisionists had access to Ashamine technology, I might believe they orchestrated it. But they had no way of knowing I was there. Besides, using an earthquake to disrupt my attack would be like using a rail pistol to repair a worm drive.

It was getting harder to analyze the events of the past few days though. The burning in my Founder's cursed head is driving me insane. It felt like someone was forcing a searing-hot rod through his brain. And whenever he turned, the sensation shifted inside his skull, continuously pointing towards something. It made no sense. He could find no explanation for its presence or why it had developed during the earthquake. The chemical agent he'd released into the crowd didn't cause this type of reaction. I used all the necessary protection and decontamination procedures anyway.

Crasor peeked out the window of his rented room, watching as more and more people walked out of the city, looking like dazed automatons. I'm not the only one experiencing this strange sensation. They were all heading in the direction the burning line pointed. Where are they going? Will I end up like them?

As days passed, the burning continued building, crowding out everything else. Then it began pulsating, its rhythm creating an atonal beat in his brain. Why is it stuck in my head? Where is it pointing? Crasor successfully resisted the pull, but often forgot why. He knew he should report back to the Founder, but that felt trivial. The line was all that mattered, all he could focus on. Crasor dully realized he no longer had his miniaturized comm device. Why am I so apathetic about my duty? he fleetingly wondered. Deep down, he felt a twinge of anger at how his strict discipline had been swept away, but the feeling quickly passed. The line. The line. The line. The line. The burning line was all that mattered.

***

Crasor stood at the edge of a giant fissure scarring the crust of Noor-5. Its depths were black, unfathomable, and mysterious. How did I get here? He had no recollection of the journey, but from the way his feet hurt, he could tell he'd walked a great distance. The line pointed straight down into the fissure. The pain had lessened, from the burning of a fiery inferno to that of a torch. Why am I here? That question was the most terrifying, and Crasor shied away from it.

Time passed as he peered intently into the depths. Slowly, a soft, hazy glow began to emanate from deep within the blackness. It grew brighter, but the fog-like quality remained. As the glow's intensity increased, so did the burning of the line in Crasor's head. Every molecule in his body strained to reach the light.

Before he could stop himself, he started climbing down the vertical walls of the crevasse. This is insane, a small, logical voice protested. Why am I doing this? What am I going to find down there? Crasor didn't care though, and the protest shrank and shriveled into insignificance as he drew closer to the light.

The loss of logic made him realize that something had a strong hold on him. He vaguely wondered why, in the name of the Founder, he was climbing down a crevasse that could close at any moment.

Crasor's will attempted to reassert itself as sharp edges lacerated his bare hands. Pain gouged its way through his haze, a torrent that heartened him because it loosened the hold of whatever was drawing him down. Rough stone continued cutting his palms and fingers like course daggers, making him bleed profusely. This nearly brought him back to his senses, but it was not enough to stop the compulsion.

After several long minutes, Crasor neared the glow. Just as he reached the light's edge, his foot slipped off a small hold. His hands, slick with blood, were unable to support him. Crasor grasped desperately at the rock, but he was already moving too fast to stop himself.

Falling towards the unknowable depths, terror enveloped Crasor's mind. As he passed into the light, his consciousness shifted. Memories were pulled from him, extracted in one violent motion he couldn't comprehend. All his secrets were known, all his vile acts exposed. He was helpless, unprotected, violated.

***

Crasor woke up. Not back in his rented sleep room in the city, but on an uneven surface in darkness. There was light, but it was weak and far overhead. He rose, a throbbing ache pounding the back of his skull. He reached up and touched the area, immediately drawing his hand away as a bolt of pain shot through his head and out his eye. Then he realized the burning line was gone. I've arrived, he thought.

Dimly, Crasor remembered how he'd gotten here. In addition to the line being gone, his mind had cleared. His hands were raw and bleeding, his head throbbed, and his whole body ached. It's going to take some time to recover, he thought.

As more of his training, memory, and logic returned, he remembered the Founder and his failure to report. I need to update him. After a brief examination of his pockets, Crasor realized he'd misplaced his comms device.

"You were brought here for a purpose," a light, harmonic voice said. Crasor wheeled around looking for the source, almost making himself blackout. He couldn't see much in the darkness, but he thought he knew the direction. Strangely, the vast stone walls produced no echo.

He crouched down close to the floor to lower his profile, hoping whoever had spoken could not see well in the dark. "Ah, you bow down already, Facilitator. So wise." The woman's tone carried sarcasm. This time, he could not intuit its location.

Figuring he was at her mercy anyway, Crasor spoke as he rose from the rough stone floor, "Who are you?" The words felt like a lame response, but he wanted to know the answer.

"We, oh Crasor of the Ashamine, are everything you have ever wanted, everything you have ever dreamed of. You were drawn here for a purpose, and now, we offer everything to you. Yet we know you have questions, so ask."

Indeed, Crasor did, and he supposed the statement had been a logical guess, but something in the woman's tone suggested she knew more. Crasor had studied voice inflection as part of his training, and all his senses were telling him something was wrong. A vague memory of feeling violated passed through his mind, but vanished as soon as he tried to remember.

"Forgive me for my impertinence, but could you explain your answer in more detail?" As he said this, he began to edge towards the wall, a plan forming that involved climbing back out of the deep crevasse.

"Simply put, we are," the voice said, placing special emphasis on the last two words, making them sound like a title. "We are life. We are power. We are control. We are... the ultimate."

By this time, Crasor had made his way to the rough wall. When he grabbed the rock, pain shot through his hands, feeling like he'd touched a shuttle's hot exhaust cowling. I can't do it, he realized, knowing his hands were too raw and damaged to function.

The feminine voice laughed delicately, and Crasor guessed she had known he would make the attempt. Dread welled up within him. All he wanted was to get away from this Founder's forsaken place. Since that was impossible, at least temporarily, he decided to play along.

"OK," he said, voice impassive. "You said I was led here for a purpose. Please tell me, what is it?"

"Your destiny depends on a choice, one of greatest importance. It is simple. You can either take control and dominate the universe, or you can be absorbed and watch as someone else does. We can give you the Akked, Crasor of the Ashamine."

Crasor cocked his head, forgetting some of his anxiety. "It is my experience that gifts often require a reciprocal favor. What is it you would ask of me, were I to agree?"

"Only for you to become the driving force behind the new order of this universe, to be at its center, its quintessence. No more will be asked of you, Crasor." From what he could tell, the voice spoke truth. He was skilled at detecting lies, and he sensed no falsehood.

"Let me ask you then, will this new order be humanitarian in nature?" As he continued, he couldn't keep a greedy note from overriding his normally flat tone. "Or will it be subjugation?"

The woman's voice laughed delicately. "Subjugation—most definitely." All the mirth, fake or real, was gone now. It was cold, final, a fist to the face. "Crasor, we know." He certainly didn't like the emphasis she put on the last word. "We know what you are qualified for, what you are willing to do. We know your actions prior to coming here, how many have died, and how many more have suffered from your actions. We know the joy you took in all of it. You were selected for this because of who and what you are. If we were humanitarian, we wouldn't have separated from the Empress." Crasor wondered what empress the voice spoke of, but had no time to think it over. "Any more questions?" The note of mirth returned to the voice.

Crasor knew he could say no to her proposition, if he wanted to. All the mental compulsion that had been used to get him here was gone. The voice was permitting him to make this decision completely on his own.

He paused for a moment, considering. The anticipation was exquisite. "What do I do?" Immediately after asking, he felt a directive in his mind. The voice said nothing, and Crasor decided it was his answer. He began following the crevasse down its length. Even though it was nearly pitch black, he had no problem navigating. He never faltered or stumbled. It was as if the directive was a map in his mind, leading him around jagged rocks and steep drop-offs he couldn't see. He felt empowered, like they'd unlocked his mind. After a short distance, he felt a weighty presence overhead. The crevasse has turned into a cave. His footfalls echoed and the floor begin sloping downward.

After a few more minutes, he noticed a soft glow, growing as he neared its source. Rounding a bend, it became so bright he had to squint. Finally, his eyes adjusted and a small chamber came into focus, illuminated by harsh, cold light.

There was power in the air—awe-inspiring and terrifying. It felt like electricity was arcing through the air. The place was malicious, dangerous. He momentarily thought about turning back. He could escape the blightheart his deepest self knew was coming. Crasor forcibly squashed the desire and entered the chamber.

Immediately, he sensed the power emanated from a multi-faceted crystalline structure jutting from one of the chamber's walls. Seared and melted rock surrounded it. The crystal's beauty and complexity entranced Crasor. Light was not shining through it, but from it, producing a yearning. Its power felt overwhelming. I'll do anything, he thought.

"Kneel," the woman said, voice as hard as diamond. He bent his knees and settled to the floor. Pride kept his head high, despite the demeaning position. He had no idea what to expect, so he readied himself for anything.

A small, dark core appeared inside the crystal. As he watched, it enlarged and began swirling, its edges granular. It became fractal, growing larger than his fist. An appendage sprouted from the darkness, stretching in Crasor's direction. When it reached the wall of the crystal, a tiny stream of dust fell out onto the floor. It flowed towards Crasor. When it was ten feet away, the dust stopped advancing and started to mound up. More continued flowing from the crystal, and the pile grew higher. In less than a minute, a humanoid shape stood before him. The indistinct figure grew more defined, becoming that of a woman.

As details clarified the woman's face and figure, Crasor realized who she was. It was Emili Trayfis, his first and only love from back on Ashamine-2. Her eyes were closed, her breathing soft.

Conflicting emotions raged in Crasor's heart. Should he run? Should he embrace her? Should he kiss her familiar lips? But Emili is dead. Has been for eighteen years. Crasor had no doubts, because he had killed her.

When the doppelganger opened its eyes, Crasor had to choke back a scream of horror. Shiny crystalline orbs replaced the cool, refreshing blue ones he'd once stared into.

"Does my appearance please you?" the doppelganger said, flashing a sultry smile. He didn't know how to answer. She continued without a pause. "True, this body is not actually Emili, but it matches her in every way that matters. Details are as you remember them, even the dark, warm spots you loved so much. And this Emili will never die, no matter how you please yourself with her. The same can't be said of the original, can it? Are you ready for your transformation?"

The second question was so abrupt and off topic it took a moment to sink into Crasor's excited mind. "Transformation?" was all he could say in response.

"Surely you have experience with nano-machines? My appearance, my voice, my substance, is all created from the aggregate of these machines. The technology you're familiar with is in its infancy by comparison. Imagine the difference between a pebble and a starship. Your transformation will be accomplished by our nano-tech. We will empower and network you. We will reconstruct you into an entity of domination. You will become." The woman's last word contained an emphasis Crasor was drawn to. His desire was fully aroused, all misgivings discarded.

"I am ready," he said, voice rich with anticipation. The doppelganger's visage wavered momentarily and then shattered, individual nano-machines cascading to the floor like dust. The black flow of machines moved towards Crasor. It reached his kneeling form and swarmed over his skin. He threw his head back and bellowed a cry of triumph that rang harshly off the chamber's walls.

Once the nano-machines had totally enveloped him, there was a moment of calm. In the stillness, Crasor could feel the legs of the tiny machines, although he knew their microscopic size made this impossible.

Then, there was pain. It felt like every cell in his body was rent in two. He was invaded, desecrated, devoured. More than just physical anguish, this pain penetrated his life force. It was excruciating, engulfing, all consuming. The nano-machines should have been able to pass into his body without this punishing sensation. "What–is–happening?" he screamed in agony. Crasor thrashed, his body battering and tearing itself on the jagged stone floor.

In the midst of the pain, an image and voice developed. Not just any voice, but the voice. It was huge, booming, and epic beyond all size or proportion. "We are, Crasor Tah Ahn, and now you are as well. You were chosen. Now you will become." Crasor felt it. The cleaving was replaced with mending, his life force being knit back together. And something had been added, something mysterious and powerful.

In the next instant, Crasor felt another shift, although this was solely in his mind. He could still feel his body on the floor, but his vantage point was now on a building far above a vast city. The star of this planet was a cold red, the atmosphere dry and arid. A battle raged on the streets below. "We are ancient, Crasor Tah Ahn, and now you are One. We are immortal, Crasor Tah Ahn, and now you are One."

One side of the combatants, which was obviously human, fought on foot as well as with armored vehicles Crasor was unfamiliar with. Each rolled on tracks and had a large tube protruding horizontally over the main body. Every so often the tube would boom, launching an explosive projectile that made giant geysers of dirt spray from the ground.

The force attacking the humans was composed of strange looking creatures. While they looked humanoid, many of their features told him they were definitely not human. At this distance, Crasor couldn't pick out details, but their major features were visible. Their skin was pale gray, absorbing more light than it reflected. The creatures' heads were tall and narrow with jaws full of sharp, symmetrical teeth. The vertical leading edge of their heads glinted brilliantly, suggesting some type of metal. An elongated, powerful neck joined the head to a lean, strongly built body. The creatures' legs propelled them swiftly over the battlefield's broken terrain, effortlessly leaping over ten meters in a jump. Their arms were much longer than a human's and each forearm had a jutting appendage that reached out past the elbow and reflected light. It reminded Crasor of a sword. Long, slender fingers tapered down to sharp points which also shone in the waning light of the red star.

"Gaze, Crasor Tah Ahn, and see the subjugation of your forebears in a previous age." Crasor watched in awe as one of the creatures jumped towards a human target twenty meters away. As it landed, the man was easily cleaved in two by the attacker's slender head. Others used their forearm weapons to brutally dismember their human adversaries. They weren't killing everyone, however. Sometimes, they used their fingers to penetrate a human's thin flesh, causing them to spasm and convulse. After several minutes of writhing, the human would rise. Crasor watched with a twisted grin.

"Those not chosen are exterminated. Only humans with a certain penchant can become One. It takes time for them to mature, but they serve and are loyal immediately." As if to illustrate this fact, one of the converted staggered his way towards a human. The convert knocked the woman down, and after a brief struggle, tore open her throat with his teeth. He raised his blood spattered face, searching for his next target. Crasor delighted in the dominance of the creatures. Excitement pulsed through him as he considered his own transformation.

"This is but a small foretaste of what is to come. In times past when we ascended, the universe was disinclined. Now, there is richness for harvest. We can sustain. We will fully consume and the universe will ascend to the higher plane with us. But first many things must be broken, and you, Crasor Tah Ahn, will do the breaking. The humans and the Entho-la-ah-mines will be crushed under you. Both young and old will fall. You will subjugate the weak and you will obliterate the strong. Space-time is no match for what you will become. The dominion of flesh is at its end. Their ascension will not come—cannot come—because you, Crasor Tah Ahn will break their Dawn."

##  22 - Cazz-ak-tak

Cazz-ak marveled at the crystal cave's fractal structure. He wondered, for the hundredth time, what had formed it. Thousands of Entho-la-ah-mine queens had been brought to this Great Chamber to usher them into adulthood. Its walls emanated a pale blue luminescence that made his exoskeleton glow. Cazz-ak could feel the group's increasing excitement as they walked further into the depths. It was a special place, a structure revered and treasured by their race. There would be no Entho-la-ah-mine species without it.

Cazz-ak led them into the chamber's center, and they formed a rough circle directly beneath the enormous primary crystal. Elth-eo-lan and her ward stood in the center. She looks nervous, but excited. As long as everything proceeded properly, there would be a new queen at the Awakening's conclusion.

The ritual was precise, the formula ancient. Remembering the Entho-la-ah-mine history in unison was the first step. We will relive the path of our species through the Great Thought, using the power of the crystal to bind it to the ward's mind. It was important the group be large, so the history wouldn't be interpreted through an individual's perception. We must be balanced, Cazz-ak thought, linking his mind to those around him. The ritual would show everything, no matter how brutal or gory, so the new queen would understand their history.

***

The group's sense of fear heightened as they stared down the shaft. The proto-Entho-la-ah-mine whose memory they were reliving thought there might be food below. It could also harbor predators. There was no scent trail. None of his kin had ever ventured down. The hive was hungry. He must check.

The creature made his way into the shaft, tenuously clinging to the unnaturally smooth walls. He carefully moved each of his six legs. A single slip would send him plummeting into the darkness below. He felt very exposed to predators. There was no place to hide. It took him quite some time to get to the bottom, but when he finally did, he quickly slid behind one of the large crystal structures, listening. Silence. He tried to smell out possible food sources, but again, nothing.

Moving from behind the pillar, the creature began exploring the large cave. Inadvertently, he wandered under the large central crystal. A surge of energy flowed through his brain, creating new pathways and complex cognizance. New emotions welled up within the creature as he saw the world in a new light. Who am I?

As the ancestor left the cave, he noticed details that had escaped him before. Questions about his surroundings flooded through him. It felt overwhelming and it took him time to organize his thoughts and emotions. There is so much I have to learn, he thought, excitement welling.

When he ran into another of his species, he tried to explain what had happened. I have found something great and wonderful. It is a place that brings your mind to life.

The other rubbed his front legs together, signaling he didn't understand.

Come, the proto-Entho-la-ah-mine sent mentally, desperately trying to communicate. Without further exchange, the other departed, continuing the hunt for nourishment.

The proto-Entho-la-ah-mine's newfound intelligence made him realize he was the only one of his kind. I need someone to talk to, he thought, wishing for a friend. This desire inspired a plan: I can signal I found food in the cave. They will follow. Once I lead them under the crystal, it will change them and give this new method of communication. So he did just that.

The group watched through the proto-Entho-la-ah-mine's eyes as he and the newly developed members of his population slowly converted their entire hive. Eventually, the only one left without cognizance was the Queen. She is too frail to climb down The Way, the first ancestor, now called Del-ele-ex, told the hive through the newly discovered group mind. Sadness ran through them, but they all knew it was true. They had barely been able to help the other old members of their group down the steep tunnel. The Queen was far less agile than the worst of them.

As cycles passed, Del-ele-ex and his mate had children, as did all the other mating pairs. Each egg hatched, producing offspring connected to the group mind without need of the crystal. The species had evolved, or so they thought.

When the revered Queen passed, her daughter succeeded her, as was the custom. The queen, while not required for procreation of the species, was a vital component in shaping their culture and developing its leadership. They could survive without her, at least for a little while, but morale dropped and the species' faltered. She was a vital binding agent, a benevolent leader shepherding their path and psyche.

Del-ele-ex was there when the new Queen's daughter was born. The egg hatched and the Queen-to-be was healthy, but she had no connection to the group mind. This was easily solved by taking her to the crystal chamber, but no one understood why she was born without the connection. In later years, Entho-la-ah-mine scientists discovered the male genetic component was needed to pass on the trait. Since queens procreated asexually, they had the increased brain capabilities, but lacked the ability to give their progeny the connection.

Now, Cazz-ak watched the species' history through the perspective of the group mind, which slowly evolved into the Great Thought. The hive, now more intelligent and able to communicate efficiently, quickly built several new colonies on Haak-ah-tar. As generations passed, their mental power increased. Science became a beloved field of study. They built starships and ventured to other planets and then to other solar systems. They built underground colonies on worlds that suited them. They studied the universe.

Their harmonious hive mind prevented major conflict, and lacking wars, they advanced quickly. Soon after the Entho-la-ah-mines developed interstellar travel, they ran across humans. Initially, they were overjoyed. It was great to find other life in the galaxy, and they felt excited to share their culture and scientific discoveries.

The humans were on the brink of extinction, their planets polluted and overpopulated. The Ashamine seemed a good government, but its citizens weren't united. The Entho-la-ah-mines offered to share some of their resource rich planets and the Ashamine gladly accepted. At first, everything worked quite well, but then the humans started breaking agreements. They encroached on Entho-la-ah-mine settlements and mining areas. The Slaughter of Kii-la-ta revealed humanity's true nature.

The group watched through the eyes of the Entho-la-ah-mines on Kii-la-ta as the Ashamine invaded, raiding their city with rail guns and long swords. None had been spared, not even the young. They'd wiped out the entire hive.

After the Slaughter, the Entho-la-ah-mines held many meetings. The group watched some of them through Cazz-ak's eyes. Claiming self-defense, the Ashamine tried to explain away their actions. Cazz-ak knew that was a lie. Looking back, it was obvious the humans had been stalling the Entho-la-ah-mines, hoping to keep them from developing a military. They needed time to convert their newly gained resources into warships. The group felt Cazz-ak's sadness and anger—an emotion new to their race—that the humans would deceive them. The human mentality was so alien it was hard to place it into a comprehensible framework. The Great Thought wondered if they had ever wanted to coexist or if they had been planning treachery all along. Based on human history, they suspected the latter.

Even with the extensive research into the humans and their culture, they were still a mystery. If it was resources they wanted, the Entho-la-ah-mines had offered them freely. They had done everything possible to assist the humans. The Great Thought decided the best hypothesis was simply that humans didn't understand how to share or co-exist with another intelligent life form. They seemed to even have a hard time just co-existing with each other.

Millions of Entho-la-ah-mines had been slaughtered over the past few years, the aftershocks of which would reach many generations into the future. Until recently, this xenocidal extermination had gone unchecked, and a feeling of hopelessness pervaded the Great Thought. Now, things were changing.

Although a peaceful species, the Entho-la-ah-mine self-preservation instinct rivaled humankind's. The group knew it was strong, but wasn't perverted and misused in the human way. Once their existence had been threatened, the Entho-la-ah-mines began developing defensive military hardware and a small amount of tactical weaponry. Cazz-ak's group relived the joy of the first time one of their ships withstood an Ashamine attack. The enemy vessel had been small, but that was tremendous progress.

The Entho-la-ah-mines took no joy or pride in their newfound combat prowess. The entire species mourned the loss of any life—including that of their enemies—no matter how many of their kind were slaughtered. Killing went against the nature of their species, but the humans had forced them.

Coming to the present, the group saw several Entho-la-ah-mine ships causing destruction and death amongst the humans on Haak-ah-tar. They were trying to create a distraction, one that would keep the humans from coming after those on the surface. Hopefully, when it was time for the Entho-la-ah-mines to once again withdraw from Haak-ah-tar, they wouldn't leave too much destruction behind. It was such a beautiful planet. It was home.

"Cazz-ak-tak," Elth-eo-lan thought, bringing Cazz-ak out of the group mind. "We are ready for the next part." He realized the Remembrance was complete, the memories of the hive mind imprinted on Elth-eo-lan's ward.

Elth-eo-lan, taking the place of the deceased Queen-to-be's mother, took the egg off her back and carefully cradled it. She stroked it with her forelegs, signaling the egg's occupant it was safe to hatch, that the time had come. A small crack formed in the surface as the infant pushed. Soon it grew, fracturing the iridescent green surface. A small head poked out, and in another moment, the egg broke in two. A small Entho-la-ah-mine stood before them. Everyone bowed, joy soaring in their hearts. The Queen-to-be wasn't able to communicate psionically yet, but she did wave her limbs in acknowledgement of their deference.

With the hatching complete, all that remained was to allow the power of the Focus to bind the memories and responsibilities within the young Queen. Cazz-ak melded his thoughts with the group, their psionic force becoming one. They strengthened their connection to the Great Thought, allowing all Entho-la-ah-mines in the galaxy to see the event. Tapping into the Focus, they pushed the Remembrance into it. They brought the resulting energy out and directed it down towards the Queen-to-be. But something was wrong.

A dark presence pushed at the edges of their psionic gathering, probing for weakness. They could feel it trying to snake its way in, a putrid energy seeking to corrupt and infect them all. Acting as one, the group pulled in strength from the Great Thought, building a shield around Elth-eo-lan and her ward. They flexed their mental abilities, pushing them to their limits. The corruption struck back, lashing at the mental barrier with staggering force. They held strong, locking their barrier together with even greater determination. After several more fierce attempts, the intruding energy vanished.

The group kept the shield up for several minutes, nervous the attacker might return. We must continue. The queen must be brought forth if we are to have any hope of survival, the group thought. They cautiously lowered the shield, ready to raise it at the first sign of danger.

Once again, they grasped the energy of the Focus and brought it down towards the Queen-to-be. They fused it inside her, binding psionic ability, memories, and the Great Thought connection to her mind. The group split its psyche back into individual states and Cazz-ak felt himself return to a mix of emotion.

The Great Thought was excited, nervous, worried, and overjoyed. Cazz-ak felt the same and for the same reasons. There was great rejoicing and thanksgiving at the bringing forth of a new queen. The previous monarch had been killed by a surprise human attack on a previously hidden colony world. She had been young, and her loss was devastating. This young—almost too young—successor had been the only candidate available to take her place, and the odds of getting her into this cave safely had been bad. But Cazz-ak and his crew had overcome all obstacles. He was truly happy.

Even with the new queen a reality, Cazz-ak-tak was not at ease. There was still so much that could go wrong. What if the humans dispatched more ships to Haak-ah-tar or destroyed the Entho-la-ah-mine diversion? They might be able to sneak out using the psionic trick, but that worried Cazz-ak. There was too much at stake. He would try his best, and he knew every Entho-la-ah-mine would lay down their lives for the new Queen, just as he would if it were required. The Queen, now consecrated and psionically enabled, was no safer than her mother had been. Cazz-ak just hoped more human ships didn't arrive before they could escape.

And what about the dark energy that assaulted us earlier? Cazz-ak worried. It wanted to corrupt the Queen. We barely stopped it. What if it had gotten through? It had to be connected to whatever assaulted them on the Way. We can't fight another enemy, especially not one that is so psionically powerful. We are doing all we can just to survive the humans...

##  23 - Wake

Wake's hands trembled as he thought about his future. Someone in the Ashamine had set him up, and now they were about to execute him. He felt his mind falling into a black hole, accelerating, spinning, and tumbling through a multitude of subjects. What is this Brotherhood of Azak-so? he wondered. Were they trying to help or hurt me? What do I do now? What can I do now?

After his trial, the military police escorted him to the ASN Antadroga, a Rubicon class ship. Although he knew his life was about to end, Wake could not help but be amazed by its vastness. His previous space travel experiences had consisted of small transport vessels. And that newly completed ship everyone is talking about, the ASN Founder's Hammer, is supposed to dwarf the Antadroga. Wake shook his head. He could hardly believe it.

The hatch to his cabin opened and Wake looked up as a large marine stepped in. "Come with me," the stone faced man commanded, motioning Wake towards the door. He followed the guard, taking calm, measured steps. Keeping himself under rigid control was his only hope of staying calm. They entered a lift and it shot up several levels to the main deck.

Exiting into a large, open area, Wake immediately noticed the crimson colored environmental nominizing suit displayed in the middle of the command deck. It was the universal symbol of the damned. Everyone who knew anything about the Ashamine had heard of this suit. Wake couldn't take his eyes off it. It possessed a captivating beauty, making his eyes follow its angular segments and graceful curves. He had never seen a suit like it.

"I see you've noticed your ENS," a deep, gruff voice said. Wake pulled his eyes from the execution apparatus and turned to face Separate Yaladon, commander of the Antadroga. He was a short, stout man with close-cropped gray hair. He faced Wake squarely, looking up at him with a stern expression. "I won't make this any harder than is necessary. I'm here to do the will of the Ashamine, not torture you. Within the constraints of my orders, I will try to make this as quick and painless as possible." He turned to face his subordinate officers, standing at attention across the command deck. "The ceremony shall now begin. Wake Darmekus, formerly of the Engineering and Building Division, censured by the Lower-Elders of the Ashamine for the malefactions of delinquency of duties, disregard for safety, and the murder of twelve colonists on the planet Traynos-6, please don the Clothing of the Iconoclast."

Wake remained silent, nodding his thanks to the Separate for his consideration. It was the closest thing to kindness he had received during this whole ordeal. He walked over to the suit, heart pounding so hard it made his chest hurt.

As he approached, he continued to marvel at the ENS's beauty. Silver scroll work, intricately detailed, drew the eye and contrasted beautifully with the deep crimson color. The suit appeared ancient, yet its uniqueness made it look almost futuristic.

After a brief study, Wake began donning the Clothing. Soon, all that remained was the helmet. The suit felt elegant, and Wake wished he could see himself in it. He turned to face Separate Yaladon. Once he'd made eye contact, he pulled the helmet over his head and sealed it.

"Wake Darmekus," the Separate's voice said over the suit's comm, "the Clothing of the Iconoclast has been used to execute all those who've turned traitor to the Ashamine or committed crimes of great magnitude against its people. You will be sent through the airlock of this ship and set adrift in the void. Contemplate your crimes, but do so quickly, because your oxygen will only last so long. Once your life expires, we will dispatch your body to roam the galaxy as a witness of your crimes." After a brief pause, the Separate pointed towards a large, circular door. "Enter the airlock."

Wake looked down at his ENS clad feet, motionless, immobile. He couldn't force himself to move. Panic flooded his mind, and he knew at any moment he would lose control and try to escape. A sudden jab in the back propelled him forward. Wake barely managed to keep himself from falling. He looked back in time to see one of the guards resume his rigid stance.

"Enlightened Alexhion, stand down!" Yaladon's voice was hard as tungsten. Alexhion made no further movement, but also showed no remorse. Yaladon was obviously on the verge of taking further action. Instead, he escorted Wake to the airlock's threshold. Wake continued into the chamber alone. The airlock's bright lights caused the ENS's crimson finish to glow, the silver scroll work shining brightly. Wake wondered absent-mindedly how many people had worn this suit and taken the one-way trip through an airlock.

"Turn," Yaladon's gruff voice intoned. Wake did so, stopping midway into the airlock's deep expanse. "Watch Captain, seal the inner doors." Even as spoke, the heavy panels began moving silently, sliding in from each corner with a circular motion.

A clanging sound resounded through Wake as the corners met. The finality made him shudder. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. Some people claimed images of your life swam before your eyes as you died, but all Wake saw was the gray finish of the surrounding walls. Maybe I'm not dead enough yet, he thought, the morbid humor making him smile.

The little levity he'd built up vanished as the outer doors opened. They hadn't equalized the airlock so the blast of escaping atmosphere would force him out. No chance they were gonna let me hide in there while I die. They want to see it. They're probably recording everything. He found the thought revolting, not because it was his own death, but because it would probably be streamed across the network. Recording it for evidence was one thing, but letting people watch for pleasure was quite another.

The hemorrhaging air violently propelled his body into the void. He was weightless, with a slight spinning rotation. This wasn't his first experience with zero-g, but every time caused him to marvel at how he could think of any direction as "up". Wake looked around, seeing the beauty of this remote sector of Ashamine space. Stars were everywhere, bright points of light in the vast blackness. The Antadroga was backlit by a giant nebula, making the human ship look tiny.

As the vessel grew smaller and smaller, the majesty of the nebula increased. A few minutes passed, then Wake felt gravity tug on his side facing the Antadroga, stopping his spin. The ship is focusing its gravity-mass beam on me. It was a strange sensation, having a gravitic pull only on his chest. That area became "down," but he had a hard time shifting perspective since it only effected his core.

When Wake was within some predetermined distance, they stopped manipulating him. Now the waiting began. He knew it was important to breathe slowly to maximize his remaining time.

Earlier, he had been frightened into paralysis, but now he grew progressively calmer. This was contrary to logic, but felt right. Perhaps I'm learning to control my emotions better.

Thoughts of his parents floated through his mind. It still pained Wake that they couldn't accept his decision to join the EBD, that they no longer talked to him or even acknowledged his existence. I can't change any of that now.

The more he thought of his parents, the more he despaired, regretting how things were going to end with them. Upon hearing the news, they would think him a traitor. His parents would trust the Ashamine. No doubt would linger in their minds.

Anger sparked within him for their absolute belief. If Wake's experience was any indicator, the government was corrupt and manipulative. He wished he could have seen this sooner, had been able to fight it. Who am I kidding, he thought, I couldn't even win my own trial.

Wake had been so devoted to the Ashamine. Seeing his efforts wasted on such an unworthy cause made him sick. In the next instant, he decided he would be better off leaving this world and its greedy, deceitful inhabitants. Death would bring nothingness, a true void the deep shadow he floated in now could only poorly imitate. Wake welcomed the darkness, the eternal nonexistence comforting him. The longer he floated, both in his agony and in the void, the more he realized that maybe the Ashamine were doing him a favor.

Wake had no illusions of a blissful afterlife. Those peaceful, happy images were a luxury only those such as the Dygars and other cults had the benefit of. Even the Ashamine used the promise an afterlife to promote the state religion.

Between that thought and the next, Wake's atmosphere ran out. It was there one moment and gone the next. There was nothing to breath in, nothing at all. Wake's chest struggled to draw in oxygen, but the result was a jerking spasm that made panic flood his body. He fought to remain calm, to keep his mind focused, but he knew it made no difference.

As his body struggled to breathe, Wake's mind calculated how much longer he had to live. Two minutes, max, he decided. What to do, what to do, what to do? He found no viable answer. Now that he'd begun dying, it was unacceptable and his body clung desperately to its spark.

Black spots formed across his vision, like little splotches of oil floating on water. As time passed, the blots converged, forming a large mass. "Hold on Wake," sounded somewhere in his head. "We're trying to get you, but this Ashamine ship is making it blightheartedly difficult." The noise was a buzzing in his ear. He couldn't understand it.

The urge to take off his helmet grew in Wake's mind. He knew it was crazy. The void is worse than what I'm already experiencing! As precious seconds ticked away, the idea grew more and more compulsive, however. His hands rose towards the release controls around the neck of the suit, but he forced them down.

Wake vaguely noticed the Ashamine ship rapidly accelerating away from him. The buzzing continued in his ears, but was growing faint. He once again raised his hands towards the helmet controls. There has to be air outside! It was that simple. He had been stupid to wait so long, had almost killed himself being stubborn. In just a moment, the refreshing air would fill his lungs, purging the consuming burn.

But Wake couldn't seem to work the fittings. He cursed, dimly wondering why his fingers were so sluggish and far away. Finally, after several long moments, he found the controls and began operating them.

As the helmet flew off, Wake was blinded by bright lights, his body experiencing a tremendous acceleration. The punishing g-force lasted a few seconds and vanished. Whaaa, Wake thought dazedly, unable to understand what had happened. Once his eyes adjusted, he realized he was laying on the floor of a cargo hold. Magnetic deceleration, he thought, explaining the earlier g-force. His whole body felt bruised and breathing caused a stab of pain in his rib cage.

The joy of the atmosphere filling his lungs eased his discomfort. Wake welcomed the stale air of the cargo hold, drawing it deeply. It tasted so sweet. After a minute, he managed to rise to his hands and knees.

A man strode into the cargo bay as Wake got unsteadily to his feet. Both men stared at each other for a moment. The newcomer broke the silence, voice echoing hollowly off the metal walls. "Sir Darmekus, we are happy we got to you in time. Good thing we surprised that blighthearted Ashamine ship." The man spoke rapidly, but Wake understood. "We are still not safe and I'm quite sure they will bring their big guns down on us as soon as we are within range. Captain Malesis is an amazing commander and pilot, but I fear this situation will push him past his limits." The man smiled and motioned Wake to follow. "We'll do our best, as that is all we ever can do. Come with me. We must move fast and get strapped in before the shooting starts."

Once he was sure Wake was following, the man strode out the way he had come. Their journey was short and ended in a small flight deck containing four other humans. The man escorting Wake sat in one of the back seats and motioned Wake towards the single remaining spot. "Strap in tight, things could get bumpy." A look of frustration crossed his face, and he smacked himself in the forehead. "I always forget to introduce myself. Momma says it's a character flaw. The name is Ralen Call, member of the Brotherhood of Azak-so."

"Wake Darmekus, although you already know that," Wake replied, a tentative smile crossing his face. "Is there anything I can do to help? I have some computer and machinery skills."

"Captain Malesis here, Brotherhood of Azak-so," a man in one of the front seats said. "I don't know if there is much you can do. We are trying some tactical maneuvers to stay in close to the Ashamine ship and inside their weapons range. That ship is too small to carry fighters, thank Azak-so, so we don't have that to worry about. We are in a precarious situation here. Too close, they ram us. Too far, and they send tungsten ripping through our hull. The only thing keeping us alive so far is smooth flying—not meaning to brag, just stating the situation. Do you have any ideas?" Wake looked thoughtful as he removed the crimson gauntlets covering his hands.

"I may have something," Wake said after a brief pause. "Let me check your systems and then I'll know more." No one else spoke. They were all engrossed in their displays.

After a few moments scrolling through specs and readouts, Wake felt he had a viable plan. "OK, here is what I'm thinking: Your ship is obviously more maneuverable than the larger vessel, but far out gunned. We need to use our maneuverability to get into a position where we can strike at a vital system. I know you're thinking all those systems are well armored, and in that you are correct. But I was just on that ship, and I had a pretty good look around. I was paying special attention since it was my first time on a vessel that size, and I didn't really have anything else to do. One flaw in their impeccable design is the view port on the main deck. Someone told me during battle they lower an armor plate to keep it from being compromised. In order to watch my death, they had it wide open. I'm guessing since we are such a small ship they won't have bothered to lower it since. If you can—"

"If I can get a couple of rounds through that window," Captain Malesis interjected, "they will experience explosive decompression."

"Exactly," Wake replied, smiling. His emotions had risen to a level they had not been to since his trial. His face turned somber as he thought through the situation further. "We will be killing everyone on the command deck, but I guess it's us or them at this point."

Ralen gave Wake a strange look as he said, "Considering what they were about to do to you, I'm surprised you aren't excited for it. We can fill you in on the terrible things the Ashamine has done to the human and Entho-la-ah-mine races if you feel guilty. Trust me, if your plan works, you are doing a service to the gods and the Universe."

Ralen does have a point, he thought, remembering how close he'd come to death. The fact it was unjust and unfair mitigated some of his anticipated guilt.

"Ralen," Captain Malesis said, "I'm going to bring the ship in on a vector that will allow us a clear shot on the main deck window. If you miss, we won't get a second try. They'll bring the armor down. Game over. I'm not trying to stress you, but you need to know the stakes."

"Sure, sure," Ralen said, speaking in his characteristically quick manner and not bothered in the least. He continued in a low mumble Wake couldn't understand. After making adjustments on his screen, he looked back towards Captain Malesis and nodded to indicate readiness.

Captain Malesis took the ship in low over the top of the Ashamine vessel, moving fast and skimming the hull. After a few seconds they were to the front of the ship, and he pulled up sharply into a tight loop.

Ralen began mumbling, and all Wake could make out was, "Great, great, great," said in a tone that sounded less than enthusiastic. Ralen's mumbling ceased as the Brotherhood ship reached its apogee from the Ashamine vessel. Wake monitored his console, still trying to think of anything to help.

As they dove towards their target, the interior of the deck flared brightly as a rail projectile passed within meters of the Brotherhood ship. "Damn them to the fires of the dark star!" Captain Malesis yelled.

Just as Wake was feeling it was time to fire, Ralen did so. The ship bucked as four tungsten projectiles left their barrels. Ion tracer trails streaked towards the Ashamine ship. It briefly appeared the volley was a complete miss, that the rounds would pass in front of the enemy ship. Ralen's calculation and Wake's gut feeling had been correct, however. He watched as the Ashamine ship flew into the line just as the projectiles were about to pass. All four tungsten alloy rounds hammered directly into the deck window. The plasti-glass fractured and exploded outwards in a shower of debris. Wake saw the bodies of the deck crew fly into space and knew they were experiencing the fate he'd just escaped. Us or them.

Captain Malesis pulled out of the dive as hard as he could, trying to avoid a collision with the Ashamine ship. "This is gonna be close!" Wake checked his harness straps, knowing they wouldn't save him if they struck the other ship at this speed.

We're gonna hit, Wake thought, the enemy ship looming in the main window. Collision alarms sounded, too late to change anything. Closing his eyes, Wake braced for impact. His body felt the extra g-force as Captain Malesis pushed the ship to its limit, barely missing the larger vessel. Bodies bounced off their front window and hull as they passed the Antadroga. The muffled thumps made Wake queasy.

He thought they were away from the debris cloud until a final figure came streaking towards the window, the hulking body spinning wildly in the air. Striking squarely against the main window, its head exploded, leaving a smear of blood and brain that froze instantly. Then he was gone, body consigned to the void for eternity unless the Ashamine somehow retrieved it. "Damn," Wake muttered.

"We cheated the fires of the dark star once again!" Captain Malesis proclaimed. "I won't say I'm happy those people died, but..." After a beat or two passed, he resumed. "We have the needed separation from the Ashamine ship and are far enough inside the worm zone to engage the drive. Carson," he said, glancing towards a dark skinned man Wake had yet to be introduced to, "it would be quite unfortunate if the Ashamine tracked us from the worm impression, so forty for seven." The man named Carson raised his hand and nodded to acknowledge the order. He didn't look up from his console.

Wake didn't know enough about worm travel to understand what the Captain had said, so he turned to Ralen. "Forty for seven?"

"Yeah, forty false signatures for each of seven worms," Ralen replied quickly, looking up from his terminal. "No way to get rid of our actual worm impression, so we try to keep the odds in our favor by using false trails." He let out a short bark of a laugh. "Carson will make sure that some come out near black holes, or in star-forming regions like that nebula. Attempting to follow us would be hazardous."

"Sounds like it," Wake replied, impressed by their resourcefulness. Silence once again returned to the deck, each of the crew focused on their tasks. "Captain," Wake said after a minute had passed, "is there anything I can do? I appreciate what you did and would like to do what I can in return."

Before Captain Malesis could answer, the ship shuddered, and blackness sprung up at its nose, enveloping it. The void soon swallowed the entire ship, the exterior darkness. Then the stars were back, but in a different configuration than they had been just moments before. Wake let himself breath again, glad their passage through the worm had been successful.

"Don't worry about it," Captain Malesis said, picking the conversation back up. His voice was straightforward, tone frank. "We simply did what was right. We know the failure of the Traynos bridge wasn't your fault. The Ashamine is to blame, completely. We intercepted intel that they were planning the sabotage, but weren't able to get there in time to stop it. When we arrived, the bridge had already collapsed.

"After that, we kept an eye on you. The Brotherhood figured the Ashamine would try to eliminate conflicting stories. We hoped our demonstration at your trial would scare the Elders, that defeating Karthis would show them your loyalty and patriotism. We thought it would change their decision to have you take the fall."

"Wait, wait," Wake interjected. "Why would the Ashamine kill those colonists? They were miners. Those people wouldn't show up on anyone's sensors."

"All you say is true, or at least it was until a few weeks before the accident. What brought those miners onto the Ashamine High Command's sensor array was a discovery made while mining. We don't know all the facts, mind you. The Brotherhood can only hash so deeply and all the details are way deep, like High-Elders deep. We did manage to find out it's something ancient, and obviously important to the Ashamine. They seem to think it could revolutionize humanity. Ashamine HC didn't want the discovery becoming public knowledge. The logical thing was to eliminate those miners and blame it all on the engineer responsible for the bridge. Simple, clean, easy. They took some gambles though, especially when they sent you the faulty materials, but all that fell into the crevasse. The data evidence disappeared too. We looked for it. They were very thorough."

Wake hadn't believed those critical of the Ashamine, at least until his trial had become such a joke. Now, with what Captain Malesis had told him, he was convinced. "I knew the components they gave me were sub-standard, but they should have been serviceable for at least a few standard months. I was even on the bridge doing maintenance. I saw it all happen..." Wake trailed off and fell silent, eyes falling to the floor.

"It wasn't your fault," Captain Malesis tried to comfort Wake.

After a moment, Wake looked up, a supernova's worth of fury burning in his eyes. "They set me up. They tried to execute me. I felt guilty, felt responsible for the deaths. Now I find out the bridge was sabotaged?" His voice boiled with rage. "They killed innocent people to keep an archaeological discovery secret? That's despicable. Horrendous! I hope they get blighthearted while they burn in the fires of the dark star. It would be the smallest part of what they deserve!"

Captain Malesis' face lit up with a broad smile. "Welcome to enlightenment, Wake. You are experiencing what every one of us in the Brotherhood has gone through: the realization the Ashamine government you love and trust isn't the pure, altruistic entity you thought it was.

"Any one of us here could tell you our stories about how we discovered the truth, but it wouldn't sound a lot different from your own. Diverse circumstances, same blightheart. We are here to hinder and remove as much of the Ashamine corruption as possible, using any and all means necessary. That's partially why we came to your aid. Innocent people being executed in the selfish interest of government is unacceptable. The Brotherhood won't allow it. You were a special case, as I mentioned, because we couldn't stop the murders before they happened. We couldn't let you take the fall. We were honor bound to intervene."

Wake felt drained after his outburst, overwhelmed at the growing implications. The system he had served was rotten and putrefying. "What do I do now?" he asked, unsure if he was questioning Captain Malesis or himself. Captain Malesis answered first.

"I'm sure you realize you can never go back to any Ashamine controlled planet, at least not looking like or being identified as Wake Darmekus. So here are your options as I see them: you can either live out your days hiding on some outer planet, or you can take a stand against the Ashamine and fight for the good left in humanity.

"Obviously you know what decision we would like you to make, but we will help regardless. We read your personnel file. We know you have valuable skills. We also noted your integrity. If you decide against us, we will drop you off in a safe place and give you enough Ashcreds to start a new life. If you decide for the Brotherhood, you have a home amongst us. It's dangerous, but what worthwhile thing in human history was not worth fighting or dying for? The choice is yours, no pressure. Take all the time you need."

Wake knew he couldn't live in hiding, couldn't stand by knowing the corruption that festered in the heart of the Ashamine. He had to do something about it and the Brotherhood seemed the best way. The human government still contained many good qualities. Maybe I can be influential in restoring the Ashamine to the just and honorable system I thought it was.

Wake took a deep breath. "I want to join the Brotherhood. I'm ready." He looked into Captain Malesis' eyes, confident. "I need to make a difference. I want to help restore the Ashamine."

"Well now, that was quick. I don't think you'll regret it though. We're a good group, and we take care of our own. Let me be the first to formally welcome you, Wake Darmekus, into the Brotherhood of Azak-so."

##  24 - Felar

Darkness. Felar couldn't hear anything over the sound of her thudding heart and ragged breathing. Terror writhed within her. Have to slow down, have to get control, she thought. Remember your training and your experience. None of her past combat had been anything like this. She focused on controlling her breath, which in turn calmed her heart rate.

Felar took stock of her situation, both assets and liabilities. She couldn't see anything in the darkness, but the acoustics told her she was in a small room, perhaps an office or utility closet. That door is definitely a problem. It had felt flimsy when she'd entered. Those things won't have a problem breaking through. Felar hoped perhaps, in all the chaos, she had slipped away from the attackers.

In the way of assets, she had little. Her whole squad was dead. Felar had lost her primary weapon—boy, would her instructors have blighthearted her for that back in Dog—leaving her with a semi-automatic rail pistol. She also had a few illum sticks, combat short swords, and a small amount of the special explosive. When listed, it sounded like a lot, but Felar knew it was a weak set of tools to fight those things out in the corridors.

Everything about the current situation was a liability. She was pitted against a foe she knew almost nothing about, and those things had easily obliterated everyone but her. She now had no backup whatsoever. How, in the fires of the dark star, am I supposed to extract myself from this place? It seemed impossible.

The carnage, gore, and death of her squad was burned indelibly into Felar's memory. We should have buggered out when they attacked at the lift exit, when we still had the chance. "Keep your fields of fire tight," Felar had ordered after they'd repelled the first wave of things. Everything within her told her she needed to go back, had to retreat. FCs don't retreat. FCs complete the mission. So they ventured further into the facility, and the blackest fires of the dark star broke loose.

"We're flanked," Shanbek shouted. "What are these things?!"

"More attackers inbound from my sector," Malen reported.

"Full defensive posture," Felar ordered. "Fire when ready."

And they did just that, Malen's multi-barrel mowing down the creatures as Unthar guarded his back. But the monstrosities were too fast, too agile, and far too smart. A minute into the battle, they changed tactics. Instead of full-frontal assault, they started focusing on short hit-and-run attacks. They darted in and out of corridors and rooms until Malen's gun ran out of ammo. Then they reverted to full assault, overrunning Felar and her squad.

Felar shook her head, trying to forget what had happened next. It was too much to process right now. She had to focus on saving herself. Regret, guilt, and remorse could come later.

Control yourself, Felar thought, pushing the memories out of her mind. She had to embrace the mental state they'd taught in Dog School. Isolate yourself from fear, agony, and hopelessness. Embrace the now. She pushed the pain away, tried to forget the guilt of being the sole survivor. She could do nothing about that at this moment. Felar blanked out the terror of being isolated in this alien and frightening situation. Emptiness and stillness enveloped her, a shield from the external pressures.

Pulling out her side arm, Felar checked the weapon to make sure it was ready. The small, tungsten alloy rail rounds were still powerful enough to take down the creatures, but she wouldn't have to discharge the weapon if her plan was successful. Stealth was her best tactic. Will they continue pack hunting or will they split up to search? Felar didn't know which was worse.

She manually slid the door open and poked her head out. A few small emergency lights lit an ominous hallway. Felar couldn't make out any targets or threats. Low light optics would greatly increase her effectiveness, but neither she nor her squad had deployed with it, not anticipating the need. If they had told us where we were going sooner, she thought, inwardly cursing Ashamine Forces Command.

Felar slipped out into the hall, careful to be silent. The floor was hard and her boots soft, making her task easier. The main obstacle was to avoid kicking or stepping on fallen debris. Fortunately, there was little in this area. The darkness made every task harder, forcing Felar to stay focused.

Nearing a hallway junction, she slowed. Rushing will get me killed, but being overly cautious is more exposure to danger. Consistency and alertness were key.

Easing her head around the corner, Felar dry heaved at what she saw. A large hulking form stood over what was once a human body. It's matte black skin was barely visible in the darkness. Felar had to squint to make out the creature's stout arms and narrow legs. The low light obscured the monstrosity's actions, but from the sounds—wet slapping accompanied by tearing and grunting noises—she knew what was happening.

Felar felt repulsed and disgusted by the creature and what it was doing. Why are these things here? They had to be some sort of genetically modified organism, something manufactured to kill. Or maybe they are an unknown alien species. Whatever the case, she didn't want to get closer to find out.

Why was the mission briefing so flawed? It said nothing of these fiendish creatures and their powerful killing ability. They effortlessly took out an entire squad, Felar thought, fear beginning to creep back in. She would tell the blighthearted buggers about their shoddy intel when she got back to AF Command.

Felar quickly transitioned across the intersection and continued on, hoping to find a map. The creature didn't pursue. I need to orient myself. Getting lost in the earlier chaos had left her with no idea where she was in relation to the exit. Another stupid mistake, she chided herself.

Finding a terminal in one of the hallways, Felar began to hash it, attempting to break through the security lockout. "Access Denied," kept popping up no matter what she tried. Finally, an anti-hashing protocol locked the terminal off the network, and she was forced to move on. Time for a new tactic.

It was a crude method, but Felar figured if she kept moving in a straight line, eventually she'd reach an outside wall. From there, she'd trace the perimeter of the facility until she reached the lift, which she knew was on one of the outer walls. Felar continued following her current hallway until it ended, and she was forced to turn. When that happened, she went right and then took the first left, thereby continuing in roughly the same direction. She did this same maneuver several times until she heard the sounds of a feeding monstrosity ahead. She quietly detoured to the left, and then took the first right. How many of those blighthearted things are there?

As time passed and she continued avoiding the creatures, Felar began feeling confident in her escape. Don't let your guard down, she thought. Still a long way to go and a lot of things that can kill you.

A dark flicker of movement in the corner of Felar's eye told her she was about to die. She had the rail pistol aimed and her finger tightening on the trigger before she consciously realized what she was doing. Thunder boomed in the confined hall as the projectile broke the speed of sound. The light from the tungsten's ionization was brief but intense. Felar was momentarily blinded, unable to see her attacker. A bellowing roar sounded as the hulking creature crashed into her. Felar grunted, slammed to the floor by the creature's weight.

She struggled fiercely to free herself, thrashing and lashing out with every ground fighting technique she knew. This thing might kill her, but Felar would leave it a few broken bones to remember her by. It took her a moment to realize the form on top of her wasn't moving. The dead weight crushed the air out of her lungs. She could hardly breathe.

Felar tried to shift the massive creature off her. The more she struggled, the heavier it seemed. Then, in a moment of rest, she heard a chilling sound: a distant snarling and fall of heavy feet, growing nearer and nearer. Obviously, some of this creature's friends or family heard the battle and were now coming to investigate.

Felar, feeling terror rise again, strove for emptiness and calm. She summoned all her strength, pushing the corpse as hard as she could. It moved, but not far enough to extract herself. She could breathe normally, but her legs were still pinned.

Just as Felar was figuring out the best method to extract her legs, a flash of motion in her peripheral vision caught her attention. Damn it all to the fires of the dark star, she thought, snatching up her pistol and triggered a round. The same deafening boom accompanied the brilliant flash of light. Blood misted the dark air, a gaping hole punched through the creature's bullet shaped head. The monstrosity hit the floor hard, sliding for a meter before coming to a stop, its dagger-like teeth exposed in a death snarl.

Through the ringing in her ears, Felar heard a faint sound behind her. Knowing all too well what she would find, she lay back as quickly as she could. She extended her arms over her head in a firm shooters grip. The creature running towards her was upside down in her weapon sight, but neither this nor the awkward position was a problem. The round took the creature low on its head, severing a portion of it and sending it flying through the air. The rest of the creature fell next to Felar, one of its taloned feet almost landing on her head. It's sharp claws carved small furrows in the smooth stone floor. She shuddered at the thought of what they could do to flesh.

Looking at the body lying on her legs, fury rose from deep within Felar. She was sick of this damn thing just sitting there. It was going to get her killed, all because its stupid self had decided to station its buggered corpse on top of her. Anger gave Felar the strength she needed to pull one leg out, and with that free she was able to push harder and extract the other.

Just as she gained her feet and got oriented, two monstrosities came at her from the intersecting corridor. She dropped to one knee, quickly shot both of them, and then stood again. Previously, her situation had been severe, but now it had shifted to dire. Her rail pistol held five shots, the last two of which she had just used. Felar had no reloads since the pistol was strictly a backup weapon. Now she was down to just her short swords. They will be less than effective against these adversaries. She had exceptional skill with the blades, but these creatures were deadly at close quarters.

Not having a weapon in hand made Felar nervous, so she drew the swords. They were nearly invisible in the low light, their matte black surfaces whistling through the air as she flourished them. Hoping she wouldn't have to get near enough to use the blades, Felar started forward.

Before she could resume her search for the elevator, a pack of the beasts rounded the corner at the far end of the hallway. "Blightheart!" Felar cursed, sprinting away. She skidded to a stop a moment later as a second pack of monstrosities blocked her escape.

Looking around frantically, she noticed a door. It was large, made of heavy gauge metal, and looked quite sturdy. She tried the handle. Locked! She didn't waste time jerking on the handle or slamming it with her shoulder. The solid feeling was all it took to realize it was securely bolted. There was no way to open it without the proper pass-code.

Knowing this would be her final battle, Felar returned to the middle of the hall and assumed the sword fighting stance known as the High Low, left sword held horizontally at head height, right sword by the hip in a reversed dagger grip. It was an excellent stance for all around defense, but she knew those who had created it had never fought one of these things.

When the monstrosities were less than ten meters away on either side, the lights directly above them kicked on, dazzling the creatures. They bellowed in surprise and pain as the bright light flooded what must be sensitive, dark-adjusted eyes.

A split-second after the lights kicked on, Felar heard a snicking sound beside her. When she turned to look, she saw the previously locked door had swung in slightly. Taking no time to ponder how or why these events had happened, she rushed through the door and slammed it behind her. She heard the bolts slide into place just as a large mass slammed into the other side. A second later, another heavy weight crashed into it. Thankfully the door was built for security as opposed to privacy and it easily stopped the creatures from bludgeoning through.

Feeling safe, at least temporarily, Felar surveyed her surroundings. The room was lit by soft shafts of light emanating from recessed ceiling fixtures. It was almost as dark in here as the hallways, but the effect was not of chaos, but of style. A large desk made of smooth stainless steel and burnished hardwood sat near the far wall. There was another door behind the desk, but it was hard to make out in the dim light.

Deciding to reassess her situation and develop a new plan, Felar walked towards the desk, intending to find a place to sit. As she neared it, faint noises became evident and a new feeling of apprehension settled on her. She heard murmurs of what sounded like speech, but couldn't make out the words.

Felar stalked towards the desk, dark swords poised and at the ready. It wasn't until she was a couple of meters away that she realized the sounds were coming from behind the door instead of under the desk.

Creeping up to the door, Felar kept her footfalls silent. Placing her ear next to the metal surface, she strained to understand what was said. Just as she settled in, it burst open. Felar stumbled back, catching herself before she fell. The man in the doorway was just as startled as Felar, fat face taking a moment to register her presence. He was obscured in blackness, but enough of his short form was visible for her to recognize him from the mission briefing.

"Director Kasol?" she asked tentatively. The man continued standing where he was, swaying in place as if he was drunk. The briefing had listed him as the commanding officer of this installation. Felar hoped he knew what was going on and could provide intel to aid their escape from the facility.

"Yas? Blah blah blah. Mam ma ma? Ba bab lack shap have you any wal? Ra ra rah come to mah." He continued swaying in the doorway.

"I'm 3rd Class Enlightened Felar Haltro, Founder's Commando with the 9th Batt of the Ashamine Forces. My squad and I were sent here to ascertain what had happened to this facility and to assess damage. If it is at all possible, you need to come with me, sir. We can return to the surface and report to Ashamine High Command."

"Wha? Sush good timin. I wus ghettin ungry and nah you here ah food." His voice continued its slur, but at least now she could make sense of some words. "I been stuhk here. Poor deshishin on the secur syshtem. I cannu controly here. Ima still ungry, so littuh met left on hem. Huh yah gat in her?"

"The door unlocked for me at a very opportune time," she said, trying to think of how to deal with this drunk man in the middle of a deadly situation. "Sir, we need to move out and get to the surface as quickly as possible. I can escort you and I'm sure if we work together we will get out just fine." She had no such confidence, but they needed to move.

"I donneed an escurt, this is muh facilty and I runit. Whu I ned is met. Luts and luts of red met. Yuh have met and yuh were led har by gohds, gohds that wannut me to hab met." Felar did not like where this was heading. Now he wasn't sounding drunk.

He's deranged. She took a step back, not wanting to be forced to hurt him. Obviously something had gone terribly wrong in this installation and this man was responsible.

As she reflexively moved back, the Director stumbled out of the doorway. Now she could see more details. His hands, arms, and face were coated with dried, crusty, reddish brown blood. His wispy hair was in disarray, as were his formal clothes. Felar glimpsed the remains of a body in the room behind Director Kasol. All that was left were stained scraps of cloth and bones. The surrounding floor was covered in dried blood.

"Met! Met! I ned teh met!" Director Kasol chanted as he stumbled towards Felar. He wasn't moving fast, but he was determined, despite the fact Felar had weapons. The closer he came, the farther she withdrew, until she backed up against the exit door.

"Sir," she said in a tone of command, "stop where you are. I don't want to hurt you." She flourished her swords, the blades whistling through the air.

"Met! Met! Met!" he chanted, a burning insanity in his eyes. He kept coming, inexorable, steadfast. She knew she had no choice. If she ever made it out of this blightheart, she would have to explain her actions to her commanding officers and a court-martial. She hoped they would understand why she had injured such an important official. He was obviously insane, but would her superiors believe her?

All these thoughts played through Felar's mind in the short time it took for Director Kasol to cover the meters between them. Once he was within the range of her swords, she performed the Spinning Blossom. Feinting to Kasol's left and then spinning to his right, she slashed the back of his knees, severing his hamstrings. At the end of the maneuver she was behind Kasol, with the full length of the room to maneuver. His knees crumpled, and he fell to the floor, slamming down with a sickening thud that sent chills through her.

"Grahhhhh," Kasol growled. "Muh met, I ned muh met!"

"I don't want to kill you, Director Kasol, but if you continue to attack I will be forced to do so." While Felar spoke she searched for an escape, but there was no way out. She couldn't stay here, not with Kasol trying to eat her. Even now he was crawling, moaning and sighing in what sounded like a combination of agony and ecstasy. As Felar watched from across the room, he stopped, fingering the bloody wounds at the back of each knee. He moaned, sounding euphoric. Sticking his fingers into his grinning maw, he licked the warm blood from each finger. Felar shuddered in deep revulsion. Killing him would be a favor, but it's not my decision.

Leaving the Director to his perversion, Felar scouted the small room at the back of the office. It was only a closet. She turned back to the main room and saw Kasol had resumed his crawl. Obviously he wasn't a true threat, but all the same, it made her feel defiled just looking at him. "Met! Met! Met!" he continued chanting.

Is his madness caused by a contagious pathogen? The thought scared her. Is he turning into one of the monstrosities?

When he was close enough to touch her, Felar leapt agilely over and returned to the exit. During the time it took Kasol to crawl back across the room, she wondered how the man had operated the door before the lockdown. There was nothing obvious in the room. She was sure any inquiry to Kasol himself would only result in him chanting "Met! Met! Met!" Just as Kasol was nearing, Felar heard a familiar snicking sound. When she turned to look, the door had swung slightly ajar. Who or what is controlling all these doors?

Before she could ponder further, she felt something grasp her ankle. The pressure was tight and immediate. Felar turned and looked down, dread forming in her stomach. Kasol had her ankle grasped in both of his bloody, disgusting hands. As she watched, he began using her leg to pull himself closer, arching his back to bring his head up to where he could bite into the meaty part of her calf. He bared his teeth, manic light burning in his eyes. Felar's light combat armor didn't go down that far, so the only thing protecting her from his filthy, diseased mouth was the cloth of her combat fatigues. She knew what she had to do before he touched her skin with any part of his loathsome body.

Felar brought her blades down, rotating them in her hands so the edges pointed inwards and towards each other. She hooked the sharp edges under Kasol's stretching neck and brought them up and out in opposite directions, using the deadly edge of each blade to full effect. Blood spurted from severed arteries and both body and head collapsed to the floor. The head rolled over, and before Felar could look away, maniacal eyes gazed into hers. Their insanity and desire were intact, even in death. She shivered and stepped away, repulsed by the entire situation.

Felar had to get out of the room, had to get away from the severed head and decapitated body. If she didn't, she knew she would blow that morning's rations all over the already defiled floor. She fled through the door, instantly feeling better.

The corridor was dark again, with no sign of the monstrosities. Maybe they went to look for prey elsewhere. Even the five she had killed were gone. Did these creatures eat their own dead? Hopefully they aren't going to ambush me. The thought sent chills down her spine.

Felar got her bearings and decided to resume her prior search pattern. Logically, it made the most sense. Hopefully, most of the creatures would be grouped towards the middle of the complex, allowing her to make her way around the outside without being discovered. It sounded good in theory, but Felar held no illusions she had much chance of survival. If I had a projectile weapon...

Lights blazed on as Felar began to move. They created a straight line going the opposite direction of her intended path. Again she wondered why these things kept happening around her. Perhaps someone was trying to assist her? Did AF Command somehow patch into the facility's system? Perhaps a facility AI? Certainly everything that had happened so far had been helpful. I would be dead if someone hadn't flash-blinded the monstrosities and opened that door. The lights seemed to deter the ugly, deformed creatures, leading her to believe the intelligence operating the system wanted her to follow this path. In reality, it was just as good an option, if not better, than what she had planned to do.

The lights flashed a few times in measured intervals, as if the source had heard her thoughts and was sending confirmation. Of course that was impossible, but it made her feel a little better, knowing there was a chance she wasn't alone in this hostile environment. Maybe she was going to make it out alive. Just maybe. She allowed a faint glimmer of hope to shine in her heart as she ran down the center of the hallway, following the bright lights.

##  25 - Lothis

Lothis drove the monstrosities off from around the woman's room as fast as he could. They hated the light, and he used that to his advantage. Now, to open the door. He checked the video feed and was horrified to see the bad man had caught hold of the woman, was about to bite her. Nooooooo! Lothis screamed mentally. The woman placed her blades beneath the man's neck and took off his head. The terminal showed everything in gruesome detail. Human death was a relatively new idea to Lothis, never having experienced such a thing before encountering the creatures. It disturbed him, but he realized the woman had to defend herself. She was not evil like the bad man or those things in the hallways. What does 'evil' mean? Lothis wondered as he watched for what the woman would do next.

He had not meant to trap her in the room with the man, had not even known the man was there. Lothis had seen her distress, opening the door and locked it again once she was safely inside. He knew he'd saved her from being devoured by the monstrosities. That made him happy.

Lothis had watched the woman explore the room and find the man in the closet. It surprised him there was another living human being in the complex besides the two of them, since the security system hadn't displayed the bad man.

At first, Lothis had been happy because he could help another human. He had recently discovered he was one himself, relishing the concept of belonging to a group larger than one. When he realized the man had eaten another human being, Lothis became sick, regurgitating the meager contents of his stomach. This too was another reason he was not sad for the bad man's death.

The woman quickly exited the room, looking like she too might be sick. Once she was in the hall, she composed herself. The woman looked both ways and turned towards the corridor leading straight into the largest group of creatures. Don't go that way, don't go that way, Lothis chanted in his mind. This way, he thought, switching on the lights behind her. She stopped and turned, seeming puzzled. Lothis was so focused on her image, on her presence in his mind, that he glimpsed she was worried about what was operating the lights. That can't be right. There is no way I can sense that. Just an intellectual guess, he decided, pulling up a new menu on the terminal. I will guide you, he thought, flashing the lights in such a way she would know intelligence was behind it.

Responding, the woman began following the path he laid out. It was extremely complicated to route her through the complex. Several packs of creatures were roaming around, searching for prey that didn't exist—except for the woman. A couple times, he was forced to change her path at the last second. Had he been any slower, the woman and a pack would have collided.

Her journey was long and circuitous, but he finally managed to bring her to the secure room adjoining his own. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. I just have to proceed cautiously. The cell he had occupied—the cocoon that had been his world—now gave him perspective on the immense scope of things. There was a lot happening, and he felt most comfortable when he had sufficient time to analyze and absorb it.

The woman was reluctant to enter the room though, pausing outside the door. Get inside, he thought, worried about the pack of creatures coming around the nearest corner. Lothis looked at her image intently, trying hard to think of a way to urge her inside. In his mind, he coaxed her to enter. After a second or two, she did. Lothis thought it an interesting but insignificant coincidence. She just needed time to make sure it was safe.

Now, Lothis couldn't decide what to do next. He had spoken little previously. Will she be able to understand me? Before Lothis could begin though, the woman spoke, "Who are you? Why have you brought me here?" He started to form a response, but she beat him again, "Are you A.I.? Are you part of Ashamine Command? What happened in this facility?" She paced around the room, making Lothis anxious.

This time she was quiet long enough for him to reply. Lothis selected the menu item activating his audio sensor and tried to speak. "I... I... am... Lo... Lothis," he said, voice sounding feeble to his own ears. He cleared his throat. Lothis concentrated hard on the words and continued, although his voice was still monotone. "I'm not A.I. I do not know what happened here, but I need help. That is why I have been assisting you. I do not know how I came here, but I was held captive. Will you help me?"

The woman thought for a moment, then replied, "I would be glad to aid you, but I need to know where you are. It would also be helpful to know how to get out of the facility, which after the trip you took me on, I bet you have figured out."

Lothis thought over the situation once again, afraid to place his safety in the hands of another after he'd just won his freedom. I don't have a choice, he thought. She was the only way out of this wretched place. He didn't know for sure there was more to the world than this facility, but there had been more to the world than his room, so it was a logical deduction.

The woman must have sensed his internal struggle, because she kept silent, waiting patiently. His mental debate consumed him a few moments longer, but the choice was inevitable. He activated the audio sensor, speaking again, "I am in the adjoining room. I'll unlock the door."

She entered his small room, her height slightly taller in person than the console screen suggested. Her light brown hair was tied back in a pony tail and her emerald green eyes burned with fire. Lothis shrank back, her visage and combat gear frightening him so much he fell off his chair. He scurried away, barely noticing the look of concern that had come over her.

"No, honey," she cooed, "No, don't be afraid. I'm here to help. I won't hurt you, wouldn't dream of it. We're gonna get you out of here straight away. I'm going to need your help though. This place is full of those monsters and I don't know the way out."

"I... I... I am Lothis," was all he could say in response. He backed himself into a corner and huddled into a ball, scrawny arms clutching his bony legs. The woman crouched over him and began smoothing his hair, her touch gentle. Lothis didn't understand the gesture or what it meant, but it did make him feel better.

"I'm Felar," the woman said after a minute. "It's nice to meet you, Lothis. We are both going to get out of here, I promise you that. It will take us working together to do it, but I know we can."

"Thank you," he responded, voice still small but lacking the stutter. "I will do everything I can." Lothis didn't know how he was able to converse with the woman so well, but so far she seemed to understand him. Does she think I'm weird?

"Good, good," Felar said, voice still calm and gentle. "I assume you have access to the computer systems? Can you show me a map? Do you have a way to track those monsters?" Lothis showed her the console he had used earlier. After a minute of watching the creatures move on the small screen, Felar was ready to go. "Can you run?" she asked, eying his scrawny frame.

"Yes—very well," Lothis answered. He felt a new sensation, a burning in his cheeks. He hadn't taken notice of his personal appearance before this moment, but now it felt important. How did I miss something so vital? What else am I missing even now?

"OK, well I think our best bet in this gamble is speed. We need to avoid those creatures and get out as fast as possible. I need you to run as hard as you can and keep up with me, OK? I know you can do it." By this time, they were almost to the outside hallway door. As she reached for the handle, a thought seemed to strike Felar. Lothis watched her return to the computer.

"Founder blight their hearts. It's not right. What were these people doing?" she said under her breath. Lothis barely heard her and didn't understand what she meant.

"What?" he prompted, voice lowering to match hers.

"Nothing," Felar answered at a normal volume, "I was just talking to myself." Lothis didn't understand why someone would talk to themselves when thinking was infinitely faster, but he didn't say anything, knowing this was not the time to ask. "Damn it," she said after a moment. Lothis looked at the terminal screen and saw "Access Restricted" flashing in big red letters.

Lothis, eager to help, stepped over and motioned Felar to let him have the terminal. She did so, and he began hashing the machine. Before long, he was into the restricted system. Lothis moved aside, wondering what she was interested in. Felar scrolled through the information, reading at a pace Lothis thought quite slow.

"Founder blight their hearts," she repeated, only this time it was in awe. Lothis found this phrase no easier to understand than her previous self-speech, but he kept silent, assuming she would explain if explanation was needed. Apparently it wasn't, because Felar pulled a small shiny square out of one of her combat vest pockets and pushed it into a slot on the terminal. She selected items on the screen and sat back. The square blinked a couple of times and the terminal chirped a notification. Felar retrieved the square, returning it to her pocket.

"It's time to go," she said, voice carrying an emotional edge Lothis couldn't identify. They walked towards the door again, but now Felar had resolve in her step, her eyes burning more ferociously than before. Lothis wasn't scared though. He knew the fire wasn't directed at him and would soon be burning those who tried to hurt him.

As Felar opened the door, she grabbed Lothis' hand. The boy felt another surge of reassurance and wellbeing overtake him. They were good feelings and Lothis savored them, as if they were a flavor on his tongue. But before he could fully appreciate the subtleties of these new emotions, Felar started running.

##  26 - Maxar

Maxar felt the loss of Benson more acutely than anyone else he'd watch die on Bloodsport. The way he'd been killed right in front of Maxar was ordinary, but Benson had been a true friend in a place barren of that commodity. Maxar's other teammates had been comrades-in-arms, but none brought a smile to his face or made a brutal day bearable the way Benson had.

He wished he could have given his friend a proper burial, but there had been no time to retrieve what was left of him. In the end, he knew Benson would care little one way or the other regarding his remains. He would have wanted Maxar to escape rather than retrieve his body if it meant capture. Nothing I can do about it now, was Maxar's mantra on the short trip from the Bloodsport asteroid to its orbital dock.

Looking out of the shuttle's large view window, Maxar watched the dock draw nearer and nearer. He hoped the disappearance of this small craft would go unnoticed in the chaos exploding over the asteroid. He'd have to deal with the dock's security force soon enough. A tough job even if they aren't alerted.

The lights in the cabin seemed to dim, and Maxar stiffened. Then, he realized something had eclipsed the light of the primary star. He turned to look out the large side window—no expense had been spared in the creation of this lavish transport—and saw several enormous bi-pyramidal shapes silhouetted by the primary star.

The sight filled Maxar with awe and fear. Up until recently, at least if the terminal news was true, the Enthos had been quite ineffectual at battle and war, but things changed a short while ago. Now they were fighting back using alien weaponry the human scientists had no way to counteract. They hardly even understood it, theorizing the species had some sort of group mind they brought to bear with devastating results. How do you fight against telekinesis and mind weapons? Until a defense could be developed, the Enthos had attained offensive equality with their tetragonal bi-pyramid ships.

Maxar stared at the Entho tetra ships for a moment longer until he was sure they weren't tracking a course for his shuttle, Bloodsport, or the orbital dock. Their arrival caused chaos that allowed him to get this far, but he didn't want those ships coming any closer. Too much chaos, even for me.

"Shuttle 2489, please state your passenger manifest and pass-code," came over the cabin speakers.

Dammit to the black star, he thought, I should have prepared for this. Maxar cast off the self-incriminations and thought as quickly as he could, knowing time was critical. Definitely can't transmit my real name. They would have a record of that. And as for a pass-code, he had none.

"Shuttle 2489, please state your passenger manifest and pass-code. This is your second prompt," came again over the cabin speakers. Apparently, their operating procedures mandated a quicker response than he'd hoped.

More time dragged by, and then Maxar thought of a reply with a chance of getting him inside the dock. "This is... this...," he said, making his voice sound quavery and old, stuttering to suggest a terror he didn't feel. "This is Joseph Gunderson, I... I... just escaped from that terrible asteroid. Several of the competitors were holding me captive. I barely escaped with my life. You have to help me!" As he spoke, he sped up his words. By the last sentence, words were coming out in rapid fire.

A brief pause followed his transmission, silence filling the cabin. Maxar held his breath.

"Shuttle 2489," filled the cabin, "Joseph Gunderson, our record shows you leaving Bloodsport yesterday. How is it you are still on the asteroid?"

Had he been lucky enough to randomly guess the name of an actual spectator? I just said the first thing that came to mind. His initial intent was to buy enough time to get onto the dock, then fight his way to a worm-capable ship. That was risky, but up until this point he had no choice. Now though, there might be an alternative.

"My original plan was to leave yesterday, but I hadn't checked out yet. I don't understand why it shows me as departed. I paid the extra day fee." He hoped the lie worked. If not, he could always go back to his original strategy.

"During normal conditions, there wouldn't be a problem, but under the current circumstances we will be forced to detain you and confirm your identity. Please be advised two guards will be waiting at the shuttle dock. They will escort you to a secure holding facility."

Diving further into the role of rich plutocrat, Maxar became angry. "You are going to lock me up after what I just went through? How dare you!" He considered pushing it further, but he could easily handle two guards. If he protested too hard, they might send additional security to restrain him.

"Sir, it's simply for everyone's safety. We don't want Bloodsport participants running loose on the orbital dock. I assure you, your accommodations will be adequate and comfortable. Please do not be alarmed."

Acting sufficiently cowed, Maxar responded, "Well, when you state it in that manner, I do suppose it's for the best."

"We'll see you in a moment, sir. Please relax and enjoy the journey. You are safe now."

Sitting back in his chair, Maxar looked out the large shuttle windows and analyzed the orbital dock's defenses. It certainly wouldn't be able to hold off military ships, but it had enough weaponry to disable or destroy unarmored vessels.

He quickly revised his plan, factoring in the guns that would take out his ship before he had a chance to open up a worm. Disabling the dock's weapons systems would be a top priority, followed closely by acquiring a suitable escape ship. At this point, anything that flew and was an easy capture would be perfect.

By the time he had everything sorted in a tactically sound way, Maxar was almost to the dock. It loomed large, his shuttle a speck compared to its size. Although Maxar had never been to the dock, he had heard much about it from the spectators and advertisements constantly playing on Bloodsport. It featured huge hotels and casinos, lavish brothels, large viewing areas for the games below, shops with merchandise catering to the wealthy, and many other luxurious features. It was paradise for those who loved to view the deaths of others and live expensively.

The dock's operators took over piloting, and Maxar's craft entered the shuttle bay without his hands on the controls. This bay looked almost identical to the one on Bloodsport and the similarity summoned painful images of Benson's death.

Maxar shook his head, shutting out all distractions. He quickly spotted the two escort guards standing next to an empty shuttle space. Both were tall and well-built, wearing neatly pressed uniforms of Bloodsport security. Their armbands were red instead of orange, denoting a different branch than their comrades down on the asteroid. Guest services, Maxar thought, laughing derisively. Their armament wasn't amazing either. One flechette pistol apiece, still in holsters. Easy.

After the shuttle landed and powered down, everything was still. The guards stood too far away for his plan to work, so Maxar decided to wait them out. They finally grew impatient and came to open the hatch. As it slid open, Maxar struck fast and hard. He had no weapons, but his body was enough.

Maxar swung out of the hatchway, giving the first guard a hard boot to the face. There was a grinding crunch as the man's jaw shattered, and he fell to the floor, unconscious. Maxar pivoted and shoved a fist into the second man's face, knocking him out. Both guards were incapacitated in seconds without any loud noises. Perfect.

Looking down at their flechette pistols, Maxar considered taking the weapons. If it came to an armed battle, he would never get off the dock. He had to rely on stealth and confusion. There were too many opponents for a frontal assault. Move fast and never be where they expect you, he thought, dismissing the pistols. Besides, they will make me more conspicuous. I have no way to conceal them.

Maxar dragged the two men into the shuttle, knowing they would soon be missed, but wanting to give himself as much of a head start as possible. Maybe their superiors will think they've gone off for a drink or something, Maxar thought, closing the shuttle door. Like the fires of the dark star they will... But you never know.

Moving at a fast walk, Maxar started scouting for a place to hole up. He needed to perform surveillance and plan the next steps of his escape. He made his way out of the shuttle area, hoping the dock's security system wasn't tracking him.

While not a scientist, Maxar knew the facility's defensive rail guns required massive amounts of power to function. It stood to reason all the cannons ran off of a central power source. Disabling or destroying this source sounded like an excellent way to take out all the cannons quickly. He was basing everything off assumptions, but lacking any other place to start, it seemed like a good idea.

Maxar got lucky as he exited the landing area. Huge conduits ran along the ceiling of the corridor outside the main bay, likely leading to central power. All he needed to do was follow them and eventually they'd lead to his objective.

He had yet to run across any dock personnel, but Maxar had a feeling that would change at any moment. It was against his instincts to move openly, but there was a chance if he looked confident, no one would question him.

After rounding the corridor's first bend, Maxar felt his heart leap. Three security guards were running towards him, shock batons in hand and grim expressions on their faces. As they neared, he ran through several scenarios to dispose of them. Most were violent, risky, and used up precious time. He opted instead for trying to blend in and hope they didn't notice.

When they were a few meters away, he sprang to the side, flattening himself against the wall like a normal person would when about to get run down. The guards didn't give him a second look. Maxar found it surprising nobody had briefed the guards on Bloodsport participant uniforms. That would have made him easy to recognize. The security on the orbital dock isn't up to the standards I'm used to, he thought, chuckling. The lack of security cameras here was another indicator of laxness.

Not wanting to give the guards a chance to rectify their error, Maxar hurried on, following the conduits until they turned off the corridor and went through a wall above a door. Maxar doubted the central power supply was behind it, but perhaps it was a utility room with an access way. The door was pass-code protected, further confirming Maxar's hunch.

Just as he was formulating a way to gain access, something flew by his neck, its heat causing a searing pain to blossom. A loud concussion wave passed over him, making his ears to ring. Without thinking, Maxar clapped his hand to his burned neck and dropped to one knee, lessening his targetable profile. Looking down the corridor, he saw the three guards he'd dodged so easily. They'd abandoned their shock batons in favor of rail pistols. Well, they know I'm a Bloodsporter now.

Another projectile flew by, but this time he saw its ion tracer trail after it passed. This slug wasn't as close, but he knew if he didn't bring the fight to his attackers, they would be scraping bits of him off the walls. He cursed himself for choosing stealth over aggression. I should have grabbed those flechette pistols when I had the blighthearted chance.

He charged towards the guards, running low and veering randomly back and forth across the large corridor. Ion trails stitched the surrounding air, the rounds making strange musical tones as they ricocheted off the corridor's armored walls. The air boomed as round after round broke the speed of sound, concussion waves washing over Maxar as he ran.

In a dim, detached way, Maxar noted the looks of horror on all three of their faces. Beginning to wonder if their marksmanship will bring down the terrible beast.

Finally, a shot hit Maxar directly in the chest. Rather than being cut in half, he was knocked off his feet and propelled back ten meters. He sprawled on the floor, dazed. Maxar felt no pain where the projectile had hit, but the rest of his body ached from the massive acceleration and subsequent fall to the floor. After rolling over to his hands and knees, he looked up and saw the guards sprinting away.

Maxar rose to his feet, unsteady from mental shock rather than pain. How did I survive that? There was no way to explain it. Those were live rounds, not training loads. All the slugs ricocheting off the walls were proof. And how was I knocked so far back without injury? Maxar shook his head, trying to clear the haze. Puzzling questions that need answers, but right now I should be moving and not contemplating. Those guards will report what happened. Their commander will send more men, no doubt about that. His chances of escape had shrunk immensely.

Maxar returned to the door blocking progress towards the central power center. Accessing the terminal beside the door, he tried the same hash he'd used back on Bloodsport. The exploit failed, and he was sent back to the main screen. Maxar tried more hashes as precious time slipped away. After a particularly risky exploit, the screen flashed "Invalid" several times and posted the message "Terminal Lockout, Contact Admin for network reconnect."

Dark star fire take them all, Maxar thought viciously, frustration pulsing through his veins. Think! What can I do? The only option was to try to find another way to the power center, and it didn't require much imagination to guess they were secured as strongly this one.

All this way just to be captured. So close, he thought bitterly, scorning himself. Chewing on his bottom lip, he stared at the door. Such a small thing to send me back to Bloodsport. Back to agony and misery. Back to death.

Disgust for the life he'd almost escaped flooded him. Maxar slammed his fist into the door in white-hot rage. It shuddered. Maxar cocked an eyebrow, examining the door closely. It was quite sturdy, a security hatch made to keep out the unauthorized. He slammed his fist into it harder and it shuddered more, trembling as if made of flimsy plastic instead of reinforced alloy.

Sensing a possible solution, Maxar dealt a third blow. This time he meant to cause damage, and he struck the door accordingly. His blow fell slightly to the right of the center seam, the hatch being two panels that slid to meet in the middle.

Maxar's blow was so hard he should have broken several bones in his fist. Intellectually, he knew this, but instead of pain, his hand felt normal. He looked down at it with wonder, and when he looked back up at the door, he was shocked even further. The right panel bowed in, not far, but it was something no human hand should have been capable of. Once again, he had to pull himself back from analyzing the situation and focus on the lack of time.

The problem of getting through the door was solved. Maxar battered it, bending the right panel farther inward until he could slither through. When he finally managed to pull himself inside, he was in a small room connected to a long corridor. Looking up, he saw the conduits running along the ceiling like a bright arrow pointing towards freedom.

Maxar sprinted down the hall, following the arrow.

##  27 - Tremmilly

After reviewing the checklist and the ship's systems, Tremmilly felt ready to leave the Noor-5 orbital dock. Clicking the toggle, she transmitted, "Noor-5 control, we request departure."

"Departing vessel, what is your origin and destination?" a smooth voice asked over the comm.

"We are leaving from the orbital dock and will be traveling to the worm area to tunnel to–" She faltered, unable to think of a lie. Tremmilly couldn't say she intended to go to Bloodsport. She'd never get clearance, and they'd likely escort her back. "What do I tell them Beo?" The wolf-dog looked back at her inquisitively.

"Didn't catch your destination, departing vessel," the smooth voice said.

"Eishon-2," Tremmilly transmitted, blurting out the first place that came to mind. Even just saying the words caused a twinge of homesickness.

"Not much out that way, but have a safe journey and hopefully we'll see you back in the Noor system soon."

"Thanks for the help, Beo," she scolded, trying to find the menu for automated takeoff. Beowulf cocked his head. After several long moments of being lost in the hierarchical structure, Tremmilly felt anxiety rise. "Where did it go? It was just here!" The whole auto-nav system had vanished. The only options available were for manual control, and Tremmilly knew she wouldn't get far piloting the ship herself.

"Departing vessel, you are cleared for exit. You are holding up the pattern. Please takeoff immediately." The voice now sounded agitated, deepening her anxiety.

Hurriedly swiping menu entries, Tremmilly's palms started to sweat. After several tense moments, she found the problem. "I accidentally switched to manual controls," Tremmilly exclaimed, finding the option to initiate auto-nav. "Departure," Tremmilly voiced, selecting the command sequence she had memorized from the checklist. "Orbital dock. Launch authorized. Execute."

Composing her voice and trying to sound professional, she transmitted: "Sorry for the delay. Headed out now."

"No worries, departing vessel. Safe travels."

Clearing the orbital dock, the ship accelerated for a few minutes. When the engines cut out, everything became eerily quiet. "I guess now we create the worm tunnel and travel through it to Haak-ah-tar," Tremmilly said, trying to fill the emptiness. "Worm travel. Destination," she said, scrolling through a long list of planet names. "Haak-ah-tar," she continued, finding it. "Execute."

"Insufficient gravity well clearance," the screen flashed.

"What does that mean?" She tried to initiate the worm again, but the same message flashed. Tremmilly consulted the checklist, realized she was still too close to the planet, and executed commands to take them further from Noor-5.

After an hour, the terminal screen announced they'd reached sufficient clearance. Tremmilly tried the commands for the worm tunnel again. This time, it materialized. "Even on auto-nav, this takes some getting used to," Tremmilly told Beowulf as they flew through the worm. She entered more commands, and they began accelerating towards the planet of Haak-ah-tar.

"You know Beo," Tremmilly said, turning again to look at him in the nearby seat. His weight completely compressed the tired foam. "I think once we've found all these people, we should return to Eishon-2 for a break. Maybe just a year or so. Then we need to check out the habitable planets near Eishon, see what they have to offer. I think it would be good for us to get out and explore." Beowulf looked back at her, seeming happy to do whatever she wanted. He had taken to space travel quickly, something Tremmilly herself was having a hard time stomaching. The drab walls and canned air smell grated harshly against her love of sunny, wide-open spaces. Despite the cramped conditions, she felt energized by this adventure. The newness of it all astounded her. Taking everything in was a great joy. And the beauties of space, she thought, remembering the huge nebula visible from the Noor system.

Tremmilly thrust her hands out just in time to catch herself as she flew forward. "Did we hit something? Why are we decelerating?" Beowulf, sensing her anxiety, whined.

Something is wrong with the ship. Tremmilly had no idea what it was or even where to start looking. To add spite to affliction, she was in an area where help was unlikely to come flying by. "Well Beowulf, guess we'll have to see what we can do. Maybe there's a checklist for troubleshooting." Tremmilly's voice was bright, but tinged with worry. The wolf-dog raised his ears, his eyes locked on the door at the back of the small command deck.

Just as Tremmilly sensed his alertness, the hatch opened, and to her shock, a man shambled through. He was rumpled and disheveled, long brown hair tangled and greasy. Swaying, the man held an antique looking glass bottle in one hand. It was partially filled with a clear liquid that sloshed gently as he rocked back and forth.

"Hure you? An why arh ya on muh ship?" he asked, voice slurred. Tremmilly stared for a moment before realizing he must be the captain of this junk heap.

"I'm Tremmilly Octus," she replied, fixing her gaze on the man's muddy brown eyes. She figured it was far past the point of using deception to attain her goal, so she decided to tell the truth. "I needed passage to Haak-ah-tar. Your ship was available, so I took it."

"Shtole it ya mean," the drunk man replied, tall frame still wavering as he moved to the middle of the deck.

"Yes, I did steal it. I would have gladly paid the fare, but no one was willing to go to Haak-ah-tar."

"And why whould they want ta? Itsa whar zone there right nhow. No one whants their ship pulled apart by Enphos." A note of disgust had entered his voice. The man looked around the small flight deck, not really seeing anything. His eyes slid right across Beowulf, who had taken up a position next to Tremmilly. The man did a double take a moment later. "I don't whant nothin tado with ya," he stammered. "Gotta go back ta sleep. Need more ta drink." The last statement was said in a low voice, speaking to himself.

He turned and left the deck, disappearing back into the bowels of the ship. Tremmilly hesitated, but she had to figure out why they'd stopped moving. Her intuition was screaming time was critical, and she was swiftly wasting the little extra she had. Tremmilly hoped she wasn't too late to rescue the man from her vision.

"Wait," she said, stepping quickly to catch up with the captain. "Please, I need to talk with you. It's vital we get back underway towards Haak-ah-tar." As she walked through the doorway, she saw the piles of garbage and refuse once again. How this man had let his ship fall to this condition was beyond her understanding. When she saw what he was doing, she realized why she'd missed him on her initial search.

The drunken captain was burrowing down into a particularly large pile of garbage and filth, using it as bedding. He would periodically take a large gulp from the bottle, being extremely careful not to spill. Tremmilly felt disgusted. Beowulf, picking up on her emotions, growled softly.

"Sir," she said imploringly, "I need your help. Something is wrong with the ship and I need to get to Haak-ah-tar."

"Nuthin' wrong with muh ship, I jus diabled main power. I don't let shcamps steal muh ship. Now leat me shleep." He collapsed into his garbage bed, taking no further notice.

Well, perhaps since he only disabled it, I might be able to figure out what's wrong, she thought, feeling optimistic. Walking through the cargo hold, she opened the engine room door. One look inside told her it would be impossible. Everything was complicated and foreign. There were too many wires, circuits, and components. Her pleasant outlook faded as she shut the door. Whatever the captain had done, Tremmilly knew she wouldn't be able to find it.

Developing a plan as she went, Tremmilly walked back into the cargo area. She reached through the piled litter and shook the man briskly, hoping to awaken him before he fell into a drunken coma. He moaned, slapping at her hand. Beowulf was in the captain's face in a split-second, growling. This had the effect Tremmilly wanted. Captain Garbage sat up, a scowl on his deeply lined face.

"What?" he asked, more sober now than during their prior conversation.

"First, if you could tell me your name, I could address you properly." Tremmilly spoke in a bright tone she hoped would not be taken as sarcastic or high-handed.

"Jaydon Erath," he snapped back.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain Erath."

"The name is Jaydon, Captain Erath was my father. He's dead. What else do you want?"

"Can you please reverse what you did to impair the engines?" This she said while giving him her most winning smile.

"You are touched by the dark star if you think you can steal my ship, flounce your way into a battle zone, and then try to sweet talk me into helping you. It's not gonna work."

"I don't have time to explain, but it's vital we get to the Bloodsport asteroid as quickly as possible. There is no time to waste. It's critical."

"I'm sure it is, but you aren't listening. I'm not going to help you. Neither is the A'Tal's Revenge—my fine ship in case you were confused. Now please, leave me so I can drink in peace."

Tremmilly grew more and more desperate as time slipped by, and she felt herself on the edge of hysteria. A new idea occurred to her, but she was loath to carry it out. As another minute dragged past and Jaydon continued to lie in his rubbish bed, she realized it was her only option. You have to put your conscience on hold. "I'm very sorry to do this, but we have to get to Bloodsport. I asked nicely, but you wouldn't listen." Tremmilly gave a quick, one-handed signal to Beowulf and the dog advanced towards Jaydon, thick fur erect on his back. A deep chested growl intensified as he got closer.

"Really?" Jaydon asked, sounding exasperated. "You're gonna force me like this? Can't you just let me be till I sleep this off? We'll work on it when I'm in a better mind." Tremmilly merely looked at him, saying nothing as Beowulf continued advancing. "Alright, alright, since you're gonna let that dog take a chunk out of me, I'll fix this junky crate. But I'll tell you again: this is a bad idea. Personally, I couldn't care less about my hide or this wreck, but I'd hate to see your pretty face get blown into the void." At first, Tremmilly thought his comment was backhanded, but then she realized it was genuine. She began to blush. Tremmilly recalled Beowulf and watched Jaydon rise and walk to the back of the cargo hold. He removed a small panel next to the engine room door, reached his hand in, and did something she couldn't see. The ship lurched, ceasing its deceleration. After a moment or two, Tremmilly felt them speed up.

"It's a bad idea to go to Haak-ah-tar right now. I admire your daring in stealing my ship and going headlong for whatever goal you're punching towards, but all it's gonna do right now is get you stuck in the crossfire between the Ashamine and the Enthos.

"I'm going back to sleep. If you need anything, wake me. But please, don't need anything. I have to sleep this off. If you're gonna get us killed, please do me a favor and make sure it's quick. The void is fine, but I don't wanna get burned to death or anything like that." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked back to his garbage nest, taking another tug of the clear alcohol.

Feeling there was nothing she could say, Tremmilly returned to the flight deck, leaving him to his drink and sleep. Once back in the pilot's seat, she scanned the ship's grungy terminal screens. According to the computer, it would be another hour before they reached Haak-ah-tar space. She was beginning to feel a bit drowsy herself. Knowing things would probably get crazy when they reached their destination, she decided to take a quick nap. Beowulf was back in his seat, watching the stars through the dirty view window. Tremmilly's eyelids grew heavy and she nodded off.

She awoke from dreamless sleep with a start, nearly falling off the seat. She managed to catch herself on the control panel, but it took her several seconds to fix everything she'd accidentally hit in the process. For a moment, she wondered what had awakened her so violently.

"Unidentified craft, turn away from this facility. We are not accepting inbounds at this time. Be aware, this whole sector is in a state of conflict and is declared off limits for civilian traffic by the Ashamine. Please acknowledge receipt of this transmission and turn away at once." The voice was coming from the ship's comm, sounding tinny and garbled.

It took several moments for Tremmilly to realize what was happening. She quickly looked at the terminal displays, showing the ship had arrived at its destination. The auto-nav had automatically slowed and vectored them to the Bloodsport orbital landing dock. Apparently they weren't going to let her land, an obvious development she felt quite stupid for not having anticipated.

The voice came over the speakers again, repeating the message. Tremmilly began chewing her nails, a nervous habit she'd acquired recently. Beowulf whined softly. Say something! Say anything! Just as she was about to transmit, Jaydon arrived on the flight deck.

"Hold on, Trem," he said. Tremmilly found the nickname simultaneously irritating and endearing. "I'll handle this one. Been in plenty of tight spaces. I know how to work the system." He was sober, although she noticed he was still lugging the clear bottle around. It looked like it held as much liquor as it had earlier in the day.

He eyed Beowulf, occupying the only chair other than Tremmilly's. "Can you please have him move? I need access to the controls." Tremmilly signaled the big wolf-dog, using only her eyes. Beowulf obliged. Jaydon took his seat and checked the console and terminal screen in front of him. "Follow my lead and I think I can get you to the dock at least." He looked like he'd cleaned up a bit, his hair less grungy and somewhat cleaner clothes on his lanky frame.

Without waiting for a reply, he turned to the console and hit the transmit toggle. "This is the civ ship A'Tal's Revenge. We declare a state of distress." Jaydon let off the toggle, turning to gaze at Tremmilly as he waited for a response.

A moment passed, and just as Tremmilly began wondering if the transmission had gone through, a harsh burst of static came over the speakers. Then, a voice. "Civilian ship A'Tal's Revenge, you must leave this sector. It is in a state of conflict and has been declared off limits for civilian traffic by the Ashamine. Please acknowledge receipt of this transmission and turn away at once."

Instead of following the instructions, Jaydon took manual control of the ship, increased thrust, and began flying towards the dock. Once under way, he sent: "Transmission garbled. Unable to understand. Must land as soon as possible."

"Civilian ship A'Tal's Revenge, I repeat, you must leave this sector. You may not land here. Reverse course! I repeat, you may not land here." The voice had gained a note of panic, evident even through the poor quality transmission.

"Kind of odd they don't want us to land when we declare an emergency, even with the Enthos nearby and a riot on the asteroid. I wonder what's going on." Jaydon drummed his fingers on the console, his face a thoughtful scowl.

Tremmilly was having a hard time knowing what to think of this man. One minute he was drunk, and now he'd taken control of the situation and was handling it well. Hopefully he doesn't report me for theft once we dock...

"What do we do now?" she inquired.

"Well, it's pretty simple. I keep disregarding their orders, and then we land. I hope they don't suspect we have any mischief planned, because if they do, they'll send slugs through this heap. In the meanwhile, tell me why we are going to Bloodsport and why it's important enough that you stole my ship."

She did as requested, deliberately going through the entire story. The voice interrupted her several times, making the same warnings and demands as before. Tremmilly told Jaydon almost everything, including her vision of the man on Bloodsport. One thing she didn't reveal was Psidonnis' prophecy. That felt personal, and she wasn't ready to share it with this man, even if he was showing more character and integrity.

"That's quite a tale," Jaydon replied when she'd finished. He bit his lip, frowning slightly. Tremmilly knew parts of her story, principally those she attributed to a power guiding her, were far-fetched when viewed from outside. She hoped Jaydon wouldn't draw attention to this. "So you think there is a guy down on Bloodsport who needs our help, someone who will be crucial to saving humanity?" He raised one eyebrow.

"Yes, that's exactly what I think," Tremmilly yelled. She hadn't meant to be so forceful, but her insecurity made her irritable.

"Calm down," Jaydon said soothingly. "I wasn't trying to insult you. It's just a lot to take in. You have to admit that. I'm still going along, aren't I? If I thought you were crazy I would be tying you up, turning around, and getting the dark fires out of here."

Tremmilly shuddered involuntarily at the thought of being bound, but quickly regained her composure. "I'm sorry for snapping. I know how crazy it all sounds."

"I understand," he replied, still in the same soothing voice.

Time passed in silence, Tremmilly still worried he was going to turn her in once they reached the orbital dock. As more time passed, a new question began nagging at her. She tried to think of a subtle way to approach it, but nothing came to mind.

"Why did you decide to help me?" she blurted, surprising herself.

"Well, I don't have time to explain it completely, but let's just say you remind me of someone I used to know. I missed the opportunity to help her, and things turned out pretty bad." Jaydon had a far away look in his eyes, and Tremmilly could see pain written on his face.

"I'd like to hear about her someday," Tremmilly responded, matching the soothing tone he'd used earlier.

"If we get out alive, I promise to tell you. At any rate," he said, snapping out of his reverie, "we need a plan for once we get inside the landing dock. I assume you—or we, I should say—need to get down to the asteroid itself. The only way to do that is by shuttle, so we'll have to—uhhhh—procure one, as you procured my ship." This last he said with a grin on his weathered face, and Tremmilly couldn't help but smile back. "Not that I've forgiven you just yet," Jaydon said, laughing. "That one you'll have to earn."

As they continued talking, the ship moved closer and closer to the dock. After several minutes, Jaydon guided the A'Tal's Revenge into the incoming area of the facility. The space was expansive, but barely any ships were present. All vessels had Ashamine insignia on their hulls. Odd to see so many official ships in a place used solely for entertainment. Tremmilly also thought it strange so many were still here even when this locale was declared a conflict zone.

"They're probably all watching the riots," Jaydon said, sensing her question. "I'm sure they are paying a lot of Ashcreds for the privilege. Most of those ships are diplomatic vessels. Likely a bunch of High-Elders somewhere on the orbital dock." Tremmilly felt disgusted. The more she learned about the Ashamine, the less she liked it.

Jaydon set the ship down lightly and pointed out the flight deck window. "Look over there," he instructed, sounding resigned. "I hope you understand what you've gotten us into. I need to go back and disable something so it doesn't look like we were faking the emergency." With that, he rose and went through the door, leaving Tremmilly to watch a platoon of heavily armed soldiers running towards the A'Tal's Revenge.

I hope I know what I'm doing, she thought, unsure what to do next. She still felt she was doing the right thing, but the situation's severity had increased exponentially. This path is right, at least I know that... I hope...

Watching the soldiers accomplished nothing, so she stood up and followed after Jaydon, signaling Beowulf to do the same. When she reached the cargo hold, Jaydon was reattaching a wall panel, wiping his grimy hands on his clothes. "That should hold up to cursory inspections at least," he stated.

A loud pounding sounded on the exterior door and a muffled voice ordered them to open up. "Hold on, we're dealing with an emergency," Jaydon hollered. He then lowered his voice to a whisper and looked Tremmilly straight in the eye. "We don't have long, but we need to get our stories straight. You're my daughter. Your mother died when you were young. We were trading when our worm generator malfunctioned and were forced to land here. Keep it simple and straight and we might have a chance." He spun on his heels and headed towards the door, hitting the open button before Tremmilly could point out that unless they were selling garbage, there was nothing tradable in the hold.

Hopefully no one else notices...

As soon as the door opened wide enough, a soldier slid through the opening, his comrades just behind him. They quickly secured Tremmilly and Jaydon in restraints, but were unsure of what to do with Beowulf. "He's big," she told them, "but is completely harmless." Tremmilly signaled the wolf-dog with her eyes and he relaxed, although she could see he was still alert.

A detachment of soldiers surrounded Beowulf, guns trained and ready to fire. They attempted to muzzle him using cordage, but didn't seem to know the right knots. Finally, they gave up, settling on having three soldiers watch him. "If he so much as growls, we shoot," one of them announced.

"As I said, he's harmless," Tremmilly replied, hoping Beowulf would continue following her command. As the trio watched, the rest of the group quickly swarmed over the small ship, prodding piles of garbage and searching every trash heap and service panel. Evidently they didn't find anything of interest, because after several minutes they returned empty-handed.

A large, muscular man walked towards them, the soldiers in front of him clearing out of the way. Tremmilly was unsure of military rank and procedure, but everyone took orders from him, making him someone important. "You have landed at this dock when expressly ordered not to," he growled, voice harsh and low. "This facility is under security lockdown, elevating the offense from minor to severe." This evidently excited the man, as his eyes burned with anticipation.

"We had an emergency. We couldn't under—" The man standing next to the commanding officer cut Jaydon off with an open-handed slap. His slight frame and dress uniform made Tremmilly guess he was an aide rather than a soldier.

"You will speak when Separate Domis tells you to," the aide announced, tone conversational. Jaydon nodded and lowered his head. The fire in his eyes gave away his defiance to Tremmilly, but none of the soldiers noticed.

"We are required to thoroughly check this ship and its occupants. I hope this will not be a problem?" Separate Domis was excited once again, eager to have it be just that.

"No, no problem, sir," Jaydon answered. Separate Domis nodded his head slowly, eying each of them. After several long moments, he turned to his men.

"First and second squad, search and detainee detail. You know the procedure. After you finish, bring the detainees to the security sector. I will give you further orders there. Remaining squads, back to ready state at assigned duty stations. All squads, execute!" As the last word left his mouth, a flurry of action ensued.

Tremmilly was briefly puzzled at why they had been left on the ship, but after a minute it was clear they were being used as a kind of measuring instrument. Their captors watched them closely. Probably hoping to spot a tell if they are close to anything hidden. Fortunately, Tremmilly had nothing to hide and if Jaydon did, he'd concealed it well.

After what felt like hours, but was probably less than two, their guards led them from the ship. They marched Tremmilly, Jaydon, and Beowulf across the dock's massive floor, the expansive spread made to hold ships several times larger than the A'Tal's Revenge. This place must get a lot of business, Tremmilly realized. The memory of her dream returned and the thought of what was done in the name of entertainment, sports, and justice made her nauseous.

They walked for several minutes, finally coming to the edge of the docking area. The troops led them into a small corridor, terminating at a passcode-protected door. The squad leader entered the code, but was too fast for Tremmilly to see. As they passed through, she looked back and saw there was no corresponding keypad on the interior. That's a small blessing, she thought, even though she figured it probably wouldn't matter.

After walking a short way down the hall, they stopped in front of a door with a thick pane of security plasti-glass embedded in it. The interior looked like a cell, and in combination with the view port, it was quite obvious they were being locked up. Tremmilly still couldn't see what the squad leader was entering on the pad, so she looked around instead.

She analyzed her surroundings in much the same way she had done back on Eishon-2, only here she saw nothing she liked. The small, dim lights left ugly shadows that pooled on the floor. Several huge conduits ran along the ceiling from further down the hall, a ninety degree turn allowing them to snake through the wall above the doorway directly opposite the cell. Why this area of the dock was so dark and dreary while the rest was glamorous and clean was anyone's guess, but Tremmilly figured it all part of their attempt at intimidation.

With a soft triple beep and a whir, the cell door began sliding open. The squad leader was turning on his heel when the door opposite the cell began opening too. Everyone turned to look.

When the door was half open, a figure sprang through, hitting the ground and rolling. It came up slashing with a long knife. The blade sliced through one soldier's abdomen, sharpened edge slipping through a joint in his battle armor.

The figure turned towards Tremmilly. For a fraction of a second, their eyes locked. The man—for she could clearly see his features now—had a stubbly, shaved head and pale, ice blue eyes. He was tall and lean, with a look that reminded Tremmilly of Beowulf when he was hunting. It was a presence that always chilled her. And then, all at once, connection. She had looked out of those eyes, had shared space in that body. The man standing in front of her, blood covering the blade in his hand, was the reason she was here. He was the goal, and now that she saw him, she was terrified. Follow your intuition, she admonished herself, the words seeming empty and useless with this killer in front of her. What have I gotten myself into?

And then their link broke and everything began happening at once. The intruder had caught them off guard, but the soldiers were professionals and recovered quickly. Each of them unsheathed knives that were nearly as long as the newcomer's. They can't use rail pistols in this small space. Too much risk of hitting their friends.

Without a weapon, Tremmilly found herself wanting to fight for freedom, but unable to do anything against the armed and armored foes. Beowulf had no such inhibition.

Tremmilly watched the wolf-dog spring into the fray, teeth bared and hair raised. From the short glimpses she caught, it seemed he and the new man sensed each other, understanding the other's intent. To Tremmilly, they appeared a manifestation of the same being—a snarling, bloodthirsty, killing entity. Glad they are on my side, she thought, dodging a guard and his bladed fist.

Tremmilly watched the man dance through the soldiers, makeshift blade slashing and occasionally parrying a knife thrust. Tremmilly found it hypnotic, but it also made her sick to see the mutilation and crimson sprays.

Beowulf was distinguishing himself as well. He had a tougher time than the man. His large muzzle was too big to slip between armor plates, but the soldier's unarmored throats fell prey to a side of her friend Tremmilly had never seen before. She didn't know who she was more frightened of: the wolf-dog or the man. Beowulf was covered in gore. His lustrous gray and black fur was stained crimson. From what Tremmilly could see, none of the men who faced Beowulf had any idea how to fight him. Apparently, dispatching dogs with knives was not part of their training.

A hand grabbed Tremmilly's arm, causing her to utter a short, high-pitched scream of surprise. When she looked, she saw Jaydon standing beside her, grizzled face a mixture of emotions. "We gotta get out of here, get back to the ship," he jabbered. "That guy and your dog are buying us time. We gotta get moving." He tugged her arm again and continued doing so.

"He's the one," was all she could come up with, voice choked. Jaydon stared at her, his hand falling away. They both turned to watch as the man quickly finished the battle. Beowulf helped by flanking the last few opponents, snapping at the backs of their legs.

"What do you mean, 'He's the one'?" Jaydon asked, brows furrowed. He'd lost some of his frantic intensity when it was apparent the man and Beowulf would win.

"He's the one from the vision. He's the one we came here for. We have to get him out of here before he gets killed." Her voice sounded wooden, even to her own ears. The amount of bloodshed was larger than anything she'd ever witnessed. True, the chaos on Noor-5 had been bad—the way the ground had split open and swallowed so many people into its seemingly infinite depths still made her feel sick—but it was more abstract than what was happening in front of her. And the way Beowulf was acting scared her most of all. He had been a gift from her parents. She had raised him ever since he was a tiny pup. He had always been protective, but this was extreme. The way he fought alongside the man, working as a pair to bring down the soldiers, was a type of behavior she'd never experienced.

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, I think your man can take care of himself," Jaydon said in a small voice, his words interrupting her revere. "Are you sure it's safe to take him along? That's a Bloodsport fighter's uniform. He's a convict. He's skilled with that blade too and it's quite likely he'll kill us once we are on the ship."

Tremmilly winced as the man dealt a particularly fierce blow, killing one of the few remaining soldiers. "No, I'm not sure it's safe to take him along, but I know it's what I'm supposed to do, what we're supposed to do." Her voice had gained a steely tone of resolve, surprising Tremmilly. When she finished, Jaydon straightened up and took a deep breath.

The universe holds so many intriguing secrets, Tremmilly thought, watching the man and Beowulf kill the last soldier, their movements so coordinated it seemed rehearsed. How this man and dog fought so well together when they had never met was just another faint glimpse of that world of secrets. She supposed they might share some kind of linked life force or essence. The thought buoyed her. Anyone linked to Beowulf can't be bad, can they?

"Fine animal," the man said. He sounded tired, but a spark of admiration and joy lurked deep in his voice. He reached a hand down to pet the wolf-dog and Tremmilly thought Beowulf would do his standard low growl and baring of teeth, but the dog leaned in instead. It puzzled Tremmilly to see her old friend once again acting out of character.

"We should be getting back to the ship and jumping the worm," Jaydon said, head swiveling to watch both lengths of corridor.

"You're right," the man said. "Thank you for your help." He paused a moment, eyes scanning the hallway as Jaydon had. He then turned and noticed Tremmilly for the first time since their initial eye lock. She could feel his scrutiny. "Have we met before? I feel like I know you, but your face is unfamiliar. My name is Maxar Trayfis. I would be grateful if you would tell me yours."

His politeness and its stark contrast to the prior violence stunned Tremmilly. "I... I... my... my name is Tremmilly. And this is Beowulf." She motioned towards the wolf-dog, embarrassed by her discomposure.

"And I'm Jaydon," the captain said. "Now can we get going? I'd really like to get out of here."

"How do we get back to your ship?" Maxar asked. "Do you know if it's guarded?" Jaydon answered Maxar's questions, giving him directions and his opinion it was probably still being searched. Maxar took it all in, looking calm. Tremmilly had just seen him take on two whole squads of well-trained soldiers with a long knife and a dog at his side. She knew she shouldn't be surprised, but she was.

While they talked, everyone grabbed a compact rail pistol from the bodies of the dead security personnel. Jaydon raised the idea of taking battle armor, but Maxar explained that without training, the armor was more of a hindrance than a help. Calm beyond any natural ability, Maxar gave Tremmilly quick instruction on how to use her new pistol. Jaydon seemed a little too interested in Maxar's instruction and Tremmilly guessed he did not quite understand how to use it either. But he's too proud to ask, she thought, shaking her head.

Tremmilly was unsure if she would be able to use the rail pistol, feeling it would probably be as useless as the armor would have been. I don't think I can fire on a living being. Hopefully Maxar, and at extreme necessity, Beowulf, could handle any new threats.

Their preparations complete, the group set off towards the hangar. Maxar took point, Jaydon followed, and Tremmilly and Beowulf brought up the rear. They reached the doorway to the incoming dock without incident. Tremmilly thought their guards would have been missed by now, but for whatever reason, nothing had happened. The group, after more walking, grew close to the A'tal's Revenge. When Maxar saw the ship, he looked perplexed, but then veiled his emotion so quickly Tremmilly was unsure she had seen it in the first place. It isn't much of a stretch to think he'd be surprised to be rescued by a ship looking like the Revenge. Tremmilly remembered how, when she had first seen the vessel, she'd wondered if it would even get off the ground.

The same two squads were clambering over the ship, inspecting every nook and crevice. They had been searching for quite a while and Tremmilly supposed they would have stopped long ago had it not been for their harsh commander. A shudder coursed through her at the thought of that horrible Separate Domis.

Maxar led them towards a small cluster of metal containers stacked near the A'tal's Revenge. Tremmilly feared the soldiers would spot them, painfully aware of how exposed they were while crossing the expansive floor.

"I don't think we have time to wait for them to finish," Maxar whispered. "If we don't get out of here, the dead guards will be discovered and this group will set a defensive perimeter around the Revenge." He looked back and forth between Tremmilly and Jaydon. Tremmilly could tell he was evaluating them, seeing if they could handle what he was about to say. "We need to rush in and ambush them. If we are in close, we'll be somewhat protected from rail fire. They won't be able to shoot without hitting their comrades. Beowulf and myself will be able to work."

Now that the time had come, Tremmilly was sure she wouldn't be able to point the rail pistol at a living creature and pull the trigger. She knew she would feel tremendous guilt if she did manage to kill something. Yes, they had been treated unfairly, and yes, saving this man was what she had come here to do, but did that justify killing? The thought ricocheted through her mind, and she was unsure what to do. Her companions were counting on her and if she didn't help—well, the odds weren't great to begin with. You'll be making them worse. Tremmilly steeled her resolve, knowing if she did manage to kill one of the soldiers her conscience would beat her up. Letting your friends die would be much more painful, and you know it.

Maxar counted down silently on his fingers. Five...four...three...two..., and just as he was about to flash the single digit, something made him pause. Then, Tremmilly sensed it. Jaydon too had noticed, head cocked to the side to take in the sound.

There was a rhythmic stomping of boots, growing louder by the second. We were seen, Tremmilly thought, cold dread falling over her already tumultuous emotional landscape. She looked at Maxar and was surprised to see he was grinning. Tremmilly didn't understand. He's a veteran. I must be missing something.

Maxar motioned for Tremmilly, Beowulf, and Jaydon to follow him as he slunk down the line of containers. They reached the end of the row and slipped around the edge just as the soldiers who'd been at the ship jogged past the other end. Close, Tremmilly thought, realizing they'd almost been spotted. She breathed a small sigh of relief. Jaydon looked as if a load had been taken off his shoulders. Maxar still looked the same, a small bit of happiness on his face.

"They made our job a bit easier," Maxar whispered. "Once they are far enough out, we board the ship. Hopefully you can get us out of here before they get back to their ops base and realize a couple squads and several prisoners are missing. We won't have much time, so we'll need to work as quickly as possible." Tremmilly and Jaydon nodded. Tremmilly, last in line, peeked out to observe the soldiers' progress.

"I think they are far enough now," she said, hoping she was right. Tremmilly had the distinct impression if they were caught now, they would find their situation much worse than before. She was feeling more confidence in the tall man with the pale blue eyes, however. This too felt like the right thing to do, but she could not decide whether this was intuition or desperation.

Maxar slipped around the far edge of the containers, footfalls silent. Jaydon followed, his movements producing considerably more noise. Tremmilly, with Beowulf at her side, brought up the rear. Maxar led them to the A'Tal's Revenge, which was surprisingly devoid of guards. Once inside, Jaydon reversed his earlier sabotage, and then hustled to the flight deck.

Tremmilly started to follow, but Maxar stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Can we trust this captain and his ship?" he asked, eyes probing hers as if he could delve the answer from them.

"Well," she responded, "he brought me this far on my word and a small threat." Maxar cocked his head, brow furrowing. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, a shudder ran through the ship. Jaydon's voice came back from the flight deck.

"I got the engines powered up, but guards are running towards us. They have rail pistols drawn." He sounded panicked, but was holding it together. Maxar left Tremmilly, running towards the deck. When she caught up, she saw the situation had grown worse.

Two guards had rail pistols leveled at the view window, while another two stood behind them, apparently lacking ranged weapons. The two with the pistols were signaling Jaydon to power down and open the ship's hatch.

"We all know what happens if we stop now," Maxar said. "The outcome of pressing on, while seeming dire at the moment, at least gives us a chance. The commander of this facility will certainly not let you go now, not after we killed several of his men." Jaydon was terrified, but after Maxar finished speaking, he sat up straighter. Tremmilly was ready to put her life into this convict's hands, crazy as it seemed. Both she and Jaydon nodded.

Jaydon put the ship into a vertical takeoff and flew towards the huge docking doors, the stress causing the ship to groan ominously. Tremmilly also heard several popping noises. Then they were out the doors, into the void. Space and the confines of a small ship have never felt so good, Tremmilly reflected as they flew further and further from the orbital dock. Jaydon let out a small whoop, sliding his chair back from the console. Maxar was a bit more stoic.

"I would save the celebration until we are safely outside their grasp," he said, settling down into the other deck chair.

A terrifying thought occurred to Tremmilly, "What about their defense systems? Won't they shoot us?"

"No," Maxar said, "they can't. I disabled their power. That was what I was doing just before I found you."

As Maxar finished speaking, several warnings popped up on Jaydon's grungy control console. "Hull breaches. We're losing pressure," Jaydon said anxiously. "It's venting faster than the converters can keep up with. We've got about two hours until we reach critical level," he stated, voice quavering, but eyes resolved.

"You keep putting as much distance as you can between us and that dock and I'll go see what's wrong, although I'm pretty sure I can guess what it is." Maxar left the flight deck. Neither Tremmilly nor Jaydon spoke.

After a minute, Maxar returned, face still stoic. "It's as I thought. Those popping noises were rail projectiles punching through the hull. We've got at least three or four decent holes. They are venting atmosphere rapidly. Where is your emergency patch kit located?" Jaydon shook his head, not looking at either of them.

"I sold it," he said, eyes downcast. After a pause, he added: "For drinking credits."

"Then we just seal the hatches and ride the rest of the way on the command deck. We'll cycle all the remaining atmosphere out of the compromised areas."

Jaydon shook his head again. "Pirates blew the door seals during a raid. I never got around to fixing them."

"You don't have anything on board that we can patch the holes with?"

"Nope, not unless you can stuff them full of garbage."

"No, I don't think that will work." Maxar didn't seem upset, and even smiled a little at Jaydon. "It'll be rough as the fires of the dark star, but we can pull through. Once we are at worm distance, we'll just have to jump to some place we can land without attracting attention. Any ideas?"

"We'll be safe on Eishon-2," Tremmilly interjected. "It's where I'm from. It's quiet, and I know a lot of people there. They also aren't exactly loyal to the Ashamine, so I'm sure no one will report us. We'll have plenty of time to repair the ship and figure out what to do next." Tremmilly heard how eager she sounded and realized she was more homesick than she'd previously understood.

"Sounds fine to me," Maxar replied, small smile returning. Jaydon also agreed.

Minutes passed in silence as the ship accelerated towards the worm zone. "I ran the calculations," Jaydon said. "If I push the engines to their max, we should get to Eishon-2 before our atmosphere peters out, but just barely. We won't have a lot of time to spare."

"Then we'll have to make sure there are no delays," Maxar replied, still optimistic.

Tremmilly was too nervous to join the conversation. She had begun thinking about the air flowing out the rents in the hull. What if Jaydon's calculations are wrong? The thought of being locked in this box with no atmosphere... Well, she didn't want to think about that.

Silence returned. Jaydon was busy programming the coordinates for the worm drive. Maxar sat in contented silence. Tremmilly managed to get her fear under control somewhat, but the anxiety of the situation kept her from socializing.

After an hour of uneventful acceleration through Haak-ah-tar space, the ship reached the worm zone. Not a moment too soon, Tremmilly thought, excited to be heading back home.

"Here we go," Jaydon said, initiating the worm generator. Nothing happened. He tried again. Still nothing. "The worm drive is down," Jaydon announced, sounding defeated. "I can try to take a look at it, but I'm not qualified to repair something that complex." He leapt out of his chair and left the command deck, heading for the engine room.

Less than an hour left, Tremmilly thought, feeling helpless. Maxar too was apparently unskilled in worm drive repair, because he remained seated. They waited, seconds dragging by. Is the atmosphere getting thinner?

An enormous burst of light filled the ship and Tremmilly thought she would be blinded. It was the brightest thing she'd ever seen. Jaydon messed something up! It exploded. Only when the light's intensity had lowered somewhat did she open her eyes. The view window on the ship had tinted as dark as possible and the light was still painfully intense.

"What in the fires of the dar—" Maxar began to say, but an emergency tone from the ship's speakers cut him off.

After several seconds, a voice replaced it. "All ships, this is Bloodsport orbital dock. Haak-ah-tar Primary has just gone supernova. We repeat, Haak-ah-tar Primary has just gone supernova. Suggest moving to worm area and retreating to a safe system with haste. This is not a training exercise. Flee with all possible speed."

"That's bad," Maxar said with a sigh, covering his face with his hands. "The participants back on Bloodsport used to talk about how long it would be before the primary went nova. There was even a betting pool."

"How did it just go supernova?" Tremmilly asked, her fear of suffocation momentarily eclipsed by curiosity. "And how did anyone guess it was going to happen? It's not like there is a timer or something."

"The primary star has been dragging material off of its smaller binary companion, gaining mass. Scientists have predicted the supernova, but when was the big question. Some thought years, some thought millennia. Guess we know now, and I would have lost the pool." A far away look came over Maxar's face. Tremmilly guessed he was thinking about his friends back on Bloodsport, how it would be destroyed by the oncoming shock wave.

Jaydon had evidently got the news as well, because Tremmilly heard him cursing loudly from deeper in the ship. "This certainly makes our situation more complicated," Maxar said. His characteristic fleeting smile appeared, and it made Tremmilly feel better. "It wasn't enough for Bloodsport to be after me. Even the star itself pursues us."

"Hopefully Jaydon can get the drive fixed," Tremmilly said, fear returning. "Otherwise, we'll all suffocate in this box and be blasted into the particles of existence."

"On the bright side," Maxar interjected, still sounding hopeful, "at least the Ashamine won't be able to find us."

His cheerful demeanor was doing less and less to comfort Tremmilly. A deep and paralyzing fear overcame her. Did the leading bring me all this way just to kill me?

Maxar stood and left the deck, perhaps heading back to try to help Jaydon. Tremmilly couldn't think of anything she could do. Tears welled up in her eyes. She hugged Beowulf, the two illuminated by the light of a dying star.

##  28 - The Founder

The Founder rose from his knees and made the sign of the Ashamine, left hand covering the top of his right fist, upraised to chest level. He then bowed towards the chalice at the front of the enormous cathedral. Is it really the same one the first Founder drank from to seal his covenant with the First Council? It was certainly a sight to behold, original or not. The gilded pedestal it rested on was worth the price of a starship by itself. The surrounding cathedral cost exponentially more. Probably could have started a colony world with that price. It was no wonder so many citizens made pilgrimages to see it.

All those seated behind the Founder rose and followed his example, bowing towards the Chalice of Unity. They also made another bow towards the first Founder's statue, something inappropriate for the Founder to do.

Seeing the statue and its likeness to himself, he thanked the spirit of Ashamine for delivering the boy who would someday take his place. Ascended Rathis had briefed him on this development and the news had elevated his mood.

The Ascended recounted how the Founder's Commando had gone into the LGP facility and retrieved the boy. He was safe, but the operative, one 3rd Class Enlightened Felar Haltro, had been the only other person to survive.

No one had heard from Director Kasol. The Founder was relieved. The man had been out of control, conducting experiments without the Founder's authorization. I should initiate an investigation into what he was doing and where he disappeared to. Crasor would be perfect for that task, but he too was still missing. Perhaps it is time to select a new Facilitator, the Founder thought, eyes narrowing.

The boy, known as Lothis until he assumed the title of Founder, was orbiting Haak-ah-tar, his guardians awaiting orders of where to take him. The Founder was still deciding where to set up the new LGP. His top scientific and strategic advisors were reviewing suitable locations. Many factors had to be taken into consideration, with secrecy and proper facilities heading the list. Hopefully this Enlightened Haltro will keep her mouth shut about the LGP until she can be taken care of, he thought. She was a hero, but she'd probably learned too much while she was down in the facility. It's unfortunate, losing an FC. She had served well, and while he regretted the decision to terminate a member of his namesake unit, it had to be done. The Founder had ordered Ascended Rathis to remove Haltro from quarantine and send her to recon what the Enthos were doing on the surface of Haak-ah-tar. And once she is back out in the blighthearted desert, a well hidden explosive in her APC will restore secrecy.

Just as the Founder turned to leave the cathedral, an aide ran towards him, disheveled and manic. He was so erratic that the Founder's Fist, his bodyguards, tensed and reached for their flechette pistols. Before the situation could escalate further, the Founder motioned the Fist to stillness. The aide, Delson, stopped abruptly in front of the Founder, almost touching him. He is certainly putting on quite a show, the Founder thought, anger rising. The man was causing a scene that would inspire gossip and scandal across the Terminal Network.

"Haak, Haak-ah-tar, just, just went supernova," Delson stammered, loud enough for those nearby to hear. Immediately, several of them ran out of the cathedral, looks of horror on their faces. The news quickly spread around the cathedral. Mayhem erupted. The Founder stood in the middle of it all, feeling stunned. He turned and watched as people fell to their knees, praying to the first Founder. That should have been kept confidential until we had time to assess the situation, he thought, a strange sense of detachment engulfing him. He felt hollow, empty, husked.

And then he remembered the boy. Lothis was on a ship in the Haak-ah-tar system. He is almost certainly dead. His heir had been saved from the crazed scientist only to be wiped out by a supernova. All his feelings of depression and uncertainty slammed back into place like a kick in the gut. The realization that years of work had been lost and would need to be repeated stoked a blaze of fury within the Founder.

Before he realized what he was doing, he struck out at Delson. The Founder's well muscled arm drove his fist into the aide's face. Blood flew from Delson's nose, mouth, and lips, the ornate rings on the Founder's hand gashing and lacerating the man's narrow features. Delson's eyes rolled up and he went down hard, flat on his back. The Founder, rage still fueling him, began kicking, aiming his blows for the most vulnerable points on the aide's body.

The Founder continued attacking Delson's unconscious form until one of the Fist pulled him away. By this time, however, his rage and lust for blood had been sated. He looked down at the dying man, a feeling of serenity beginning to emerge in his turbulent mind. He wasn't remorseful, only regretting that Delson had caused so much chaos with his lack of discretion. Cleaning up this negative publicity would take quite an effort, but now that he had vented some of his emotions, he would be better able to handle the work ahead.

He strode down the aisle, the Fist clearing a way through the crowd. The Founder exited the building and climbed into his personal transport. After a few selections on the console, the ship rose into the night sky. The Founder gazed down onto the city-world of Ashamine-2, letting out a deep sigh.

His predecessors had worked far too hard on this empire for him to let it fail. His heir was vital to the Ashamine's future, but the Founder would hold the government and the people together until the LGP could create a new one. There is no other option. He was old, but with careful planning and optimization, everything could be set right again. And perhaps the Traynos discovery could prolong—No, it's too early to speculate. I cannot permit false hopes.

Once he arrived back at his residence, the Founder read the full reports about Haak-ah-tar. Such bad timing, he thought, wishing he had moved Lothis sooner. Based on the intel, the Founder guessed there was a chance the boy was still alive, that perhaps the ASN Founder's Hammer could outrun the shock wave. It will take time to know for sure. Communication with the system was down, so he had no way to signal the ship. Until it turned up somewhere, he would have to assume the worst and begin working on a new successor.

The Founder still didn't want to give up on Crasor, but he needed a Facilitator. Right now. He had waited long enough and the lack of a highly qualified operative was decreasing his effectiveness. I need someone to be my hands, to do the things I cannot. Pulling up a file on his terminal screen, he began viewing candidates. Time passed and the Founder only grew more frustrated. "None of these FCs is even half as good as Crasor!" he yelled.

The memory of all the help Crasor Tah Ahn provided caused another spike of anger through the Founder. Where has he gone and why hasn't he contacted me? This lack of communication was atypical of Crasor. He is either rogue or dead. The Founder preferred to think the latter, not believing someone so loyal to be capable of treason. Anything is possible, he allowed, but I won't believe he deserted until I'm proven wrong. He closed the candidate file, sighed heavily, and looked out over the city-world stretching below him.

Where are you Crasor? the Founder part lamented, part raged. I need you now, more than ever...

##  29 - Crasor

Crasor climbed out of the crevasse, relishing his strength. I'm like a spider. He still used the wall's hand and foot holds, but he possessed boundless power and endurance. A sadistic grin curled his lip as he saw what awaited on the surface.

A vast sea of humanity covered this remote area of Noor-5. They lined both sides of the crevasse leading down to the Breakers' temple. They'd been drawn by the spore, the same thing that had drawn Crasor, burning his mind with a desire to come to this very spot.

As the crowd caught sight of him, they roared. The sound was nearly identical to when Bloodsport combatants scored a brutal kill. Crasor could see into the minds of everyone gathered. They wanted him, needed him, but none understood why.

Anticipation bubbled in Crasor as he strode into the crowd. Feeling triumphant, he stabbed his newly elongated and sharped fingers into the abdomen of a tall, dark skinned man. The seed of the Breakers flowed through his fingers, injecting the man with nano-machines that would modify his DNA. His first convert writhed in an ecstasy of agony. Crasor realized this was what he'd looked like when he received the seed. But my transformation will be greater, more powerful. I will transcend flesh!

The nearby crowd shrank from the writhing man, looking horrified. Crasor broadcast a mental command and the mass lined up, nervous, yet eager for the chance to receive the seed. Several hours passed as Crasor worked. He enjoyed every second of it.

After he'd injected the last person, Crasor looked out across the crowd of what had once been humans, but were now something else. They were clumsy and ungainly at the moment, unintelligent. Their only desire was to kill and feed. Soon, they will evolve into the Breakers I see in the million memories swirling in my mind.

"I am the Breaker of the Dawn," he proclaimed, mouth silent. "You were chosen to serve and conquer. Go now and do so. Bring me those who can become like you. All others, do as you will." With the mental order complete, the horde set off in a thousand different directions, each heading to convert or kill. Many will die, Crasor reflected, but we have established an anchor in the Akked. The thought gave him a savage pleasure he had experienced occasionally when in the Founder's employ. This time, the sensation was exponentially stronger.

Days passed and much of Noor-5 fell to Crasor. Early on, he hashed the planet's main terminal, shutting down all communications. We can't let anyone off-world know, he thought, smiling crookedly. They will hear of us soon enough...

***

Crasor stood on the primary street of the once bustling capital city, its boulevards empty except for the handful of Breakers he'd selected to help. The five of them stood before the Ashamine Planetary Governor's house, a lavish residence embodying the wealth and opulence typical of the Ashamine. Seeing it made Crasor rage with envy and lust. Why had the Ashamine never acknowledged him? Why had the Founder never promoted or rewarded him for all his sacrifice and devotion? Hate burned within Crasor like the fires of the dark star. He wished for something to kill.

Be calm. Focus! He needed to give all his attention to this situation. Compared to a fully ascended Breaker, I am still weak and frail. My followers even more so. Going into this dangerous place and getting out alive would require all his burgeoning powers: mental, physical, and spiritual. He desperately wanted to use them, wanted to bring them to bear on the nearest manifestation of the Founder's power. Since he couldn't destroy the supreme leader, the man's authority on this planet would have to suffice for the moment. Crasor would fight through the soldiers and bodyguards to reach the Governor. I will kill or convert him, he thought. There is no other option.

When the Breakers had begun overrunning the planet, Crasor's growing intelligence force discovered the Governor and his family were hiding in their estate. Apparently they thought it a safe location to survive the outbreak. Now, the storm has come for them. There was no one left to defend the family except for those on the grounds. No more Families, no more military, no more government. Still, the force they retained was strong and well-trained. Crasor knew what he was up against from his Ashamine days, and he wouldn't let his newfound power make him reckless. I just hope there are no Founder's Commandos inside.

Crasor stepped forward, approaching the massive gate leading into the estate grounds. His acolyte Breakers followed, their gait lurching and ugly. When they reached the barrier, Crasor drew back his arm and struck, flat palm hitting the gate on its middle seam. The heavy panels flew inward as if blasted by a charge, sturdy metal screaming in agony. The two halves burst off their hinges and tumbled across the estate grounds. His acolytes said nothing, but he saw their eyes widen. I even surprise myself a little, Crasor thought, the side of his mouth twisting up in a vicious grin.

With the way cleared, Crasor strode onto the Governor's estate, four acolytes following. The grounds were large, containing several buildings that might harbor the Governor. Crasor would search every one if he had to, but his guess was that the man would be in his house. They headed across well manicured lawns, eschewing the immaculate pathways headed in every direction. Abusing the pristine grass added a touch of disdain Crasor liked.

Soon, they were within firing range of the soldiers in the buildings. Crasor reached out with his mind, touching the air around the group. Without fully understanding what he did or how, Crasor bent the fabric of space-time. Nothing happened visibly, but he sensed a strangeness in the surrounding atoms.

In the next instant, projectiles flew towards them, ion trails blazing brilliantly even in the daylight. They passed right through Crasor's bubble, emerging on the other side without harming anyone. Crasor let out a whoop of exultation and started to jog. His followers had a hard time keeping up, their shambling gait not suited to the faster pace. Crasor slowed, but still maintained a brisk walk. If any of them slip out of the bubble...

Crasor was amazed by the lack of defenses for the highest official on Noor-5, but he supposed there had been no real threat previously. Soon, the Ashamine would learn how ill prepared they had been. Of course, Crasor thought derisively, how could they have been ready for something like us?

As they neared the buildings, the defenders began firing wildly. Shooting at things defying physics might cause such fear, Crasor supposed. No matter. Whether they shoot true or shoot wild, they can't harm us.

The group finally arrived at the grand entrance of the Governor's mansion, its black columns supporting a dome roof. The whole building was a large oval, three stories tall, black facade gleaming in the mid-day light. The oval front door was large enough for several humans to pass through at once. Crasor hit it the same way he had struck the gates, only not quite as hard. The doors boomed open. Crasor strode inside.

The first person he encountered was a young male Initiate, fatigues fresh and newly issued. They placed an inexperienced soldier at this critical point? Before the Initiate could act, Crasor reached out with what he thought of as his soul and touched the man. He caressed his essence, as if he were a lover touching his dearly beloved. When the man's soul writhed in revulsion, Crasor had his answer. He leapt forward, bringing a flying forearm into the Initiate's face. He heard bones break and knew instinctively the blow had killed him. Without looking back, Crasor continued his hunt for the Founder's puppet. His acolytes wanted to feed on the Initiate—he could feel it—but he didn't allow it. More important things to do. Feeding will come later.

He ascended a grand set of stairs and walked down several halls without seeing anyone. Strange... He opened a door to a large antechamber and found the ambush. There were at least fifteen soldiers in the room, poised for action. They fired, simultaneously, and the roar of projectiles breaking the speed of sound deafened Crasor. Thankfully, he had not reversed the effects of the space-time warp. Crasor felt the protection strain as the rail rounds encountered it, shuddering under the massive force.

The fact he'd wandered into the ambush infuriated Crasor, but he knew he could only blame himself. Instead of self-incrimination, Crasor focused his rage externally. He reached out again, lovingly caressing each foe's life-force in turn. His acolytes performed the same feat, but more slowly. They delved half in the amount of time it took Crasor to do those remaining.

Three of the opponents responded the same as the young Initiate. The rest cherished his touch, lusting for more. Even now he could see they wanted it, needed it. It's such a beautiful thing, he thought, laughing.

Equipped with the knowledge of who needed seed and who needed blackness, Crasor and his acolytes sprang into action. He directed them to kill those marked for such first and then subdue the others. The odds of succeeding without Breaker causalities wasn't good, but it was too late to turn back.

Crasor released the warp and focused his mind on a different task. He reached out to those who needed the seed, splitting his soul into a hand with many fingers. He caressed and stroked the group, pacifying them with blissful tranquility. As Crasor did this, his acolytes battled the remaining soldiers. After a short struggle, three human corpses lay on the floor, blood pooling from torn throats.

Carefully approaching each of the remaining solders in turn, Crasor stabbed his elongated fingers into the left side of each one's chest. Seed flowed through the digits and into their hearts, beginning their conversion. Crasor loved watching the change. He saw the fire enter their eyes, joy and savagery evident in their countenance. It was a sight that warmed his heart more than anything he'd ever done for the Founder.

With the task of seeding complete, Crasor had access to each of the new acolyte's minds. From this he learned the Governor was inside the adjoining apartment. He strode across the large room feeling like conqueror, head high and triumph in his eyes. This world has only one small, flimsy door protecting it from complete conquest.

Crasor's blow caused the privacy door to splinter and fragment. It was wood. Surprise on surprises. They make it so easy. When he entered, he saw a man, a woman, and two small children. He once again performed the delving. Crasor wasn't surprised at the results. The man and the woman for seed and the young for blackness. He had yet to delve any children who were destined to become Breakers.

Crasor intended to savor this moment. He would not caress them into docility. He wanted to enjoy the flavor of their emotions. "Governor," he said, nodding to the lean man with dark blue eyes and tawny hair. "And lady wife," he continued, this time nodding towards the short woman with auburn hair and hazel eyes. "How nice to meet you both."

He intentionally ignored the children, as they were fit for nothing. Mentally, he directed his acolytes to seize them. The governor and his wife tried to resist, but gave up easily. Either they are heartless or very good at hiding their emotions, Crasor observed.

The four acolytes firmly grasped the younger child, a girl, and this broke through the mother's stoicism. The child began crying, and her mother reached out a trembling hand towards her. One of the acolytes took hold of the girl's head and slowly began to twist it. The mother started to gibber, spouting nonsense words. The girl screamed and cried as her head was forced past the point of comfort. There was a loud pop, and the child went limp and silent. Her mother wailed, a long keening noise that was music to Crasor's ears. Again, laughter rose within him. The girl's father did nothing however, face still a mask of disaffection.

Crasor guessed the Governor's weakness and directed his acolytes to do the same to the boy. The male child's death was enough to provoke him. He strode up to Crasor, producing a rail pistol out of an interior coat pocket. He raised the weapon, but the move was slow and clumsy. He isn't used to wielding death himself. Crasor caught the governor's wrist easily and with a quick twist the man dropped the pistol, wrist broken like a dry twig.

"A pity you are destined for the seed," Crasor said offhandedly. "You are weak, a failure. Unfortunately, we need everyone we can get, and you will serve like the rest." Crasor lifted his right hand and plunged his fingers into the Governor's heart. After the seed flowed into the man, he fell to the floor and convulsed for a moment, eyes lolling.

When the fit was over, the Governor awkwardly rose. He shambled towards his wife, moaning. She backed away, fear blazing in her eyes. Before she could escape, Crasor leapt on her, injecting the seed. The woman repeated the same process as her husband, spasming on the floor. Eventually, she got back to her feet.

"Meh tha dahn be bruken," she said, words guttural and barely recognizable. She saluted Crasor, movements halting.

"May the Dawn be broken," the assembled acolyte Breakers roared, voices loud even in the large room.

Crasor nodded his head, lop sided grin etched on his face. He had conquered a planet, true, but what was that in perspective of all the Ashamine? And what of the Entho-la-ah-mines? They had an empire too. Perhaps, before too long, both mighty civilizations wouldn't be quite so great. He had taken one planet, why not more? Why not all of them?

##  30 - Cazz-ak-tak

Cazz-ak-tak felt the star go supernova. The Great Thought sensed it through him. A cascade of sorrow and mourning swept across the hive mind, its intensity staggering. The Entho-la-ah-mine's had known of their home system's fragility. The larger star's greed for the matter of its binary companion had been a subject of scientific discussion for quite some time.

To Cazz-ak, the impending loss of Haak-ah-tar felt like a condemnation to extinction. They had brought forth the new queen, but that only ensured the species' continued existence until she perished. We fought so hard to birth the new Queen. Now it is all for nothing. Our victory has merely staved off the inevitable. The Great Thought's depression and anxiety deepened as more people realized the situation's meaning.

With the loss of the crystals and the cave that contained them, there was no way to bring forth a new queen. Perhaps the cave might survive the shock wave, but the scientists weren't optimistic. It was a small consolation that the humans would be driven off the planet.

Even if the cave is destroyed, I will do my best to keep the Queen alive, Cazz-ak thought. We must not give up hope. I will not let the sacrifice of our escort vessels be wasted. The humans had destroyed every single support ship that had come with him to Haak-ah-tar. The other vessels had done everything possible to distract the humans so Cazz-ak's mission could succeed. Now, Cazz-ak's ship was alone, fleeing a dying star. I wish their sacrifice hadn't been required, he thought, mourning.

Cazz-ak mentally sent a course adjustment, and the huge bi-pyramidal ship changed course slightly. He hoped it would bring them to distortion clearance distance a little faster than before. Hundreds of ships, large and small, fled with them, trying to get to escape the shock wave. Cazz-ak wasn't worried about most of them. Many are the type humans use for utility and transport. One of the other evacuees was making him nervous, however.

The battle cruiser following close behind could easily obliterate them. That one destroyed several of our decoy ships, has killed so many of my people, Cazz-ak thought, seeing images of the human vessel through dying Entho-la-ah-mine eyes. So far the battleship hadn't threatened them and was simply fleeing like everyone else. Cazz-ak hoped they would continue that way. Perhaps we will all choose different paths once we reached the distortion area. If the humans attacked, it would likely mean the complete destruction of his ship and crew, either from their weapons or from the impending shock wave.

Cazz-ak could feel the prevailing emotion on the command deck was one of guarded optimism though. Since the humans had yet to attack, everyone hoped they would continue to desire only escape and forget about the Entho-la-ah-mine ship.

Elth-eo-lan stood next to Cazz-ak, the new Queen beside her. She sent out gentle, calming messages to both Cazz-ak and the new Queen. He was glad to have her there, her comforts needed in this stressful situation. The Queen was eager to explore her surroundings, the newly formed connection to the Great Thought creating hunger for information and knowledge. She asked many questions of Elth-eo-lan. The guardian was doing her best to answer, despite the myriad distractions. Cazz-ak hoped the young queen's birth into the midst of war and turmoil wouldn't taint the naturally gentle and peaceful nature that was the species' archetype.

When the Entho-la-ah-mine ship finally made it to the distortion area, Cazz-ak immediately set his Hax-ax-ons to the task of generating the warp. The unified force began encouraging the space to condense and fold, to warp and stretch, to form a tunnel. As they worked, Cazz-ak tried to think of the best place to go. He didn't want to lead the pursuing battle cruiser back to an Entho-la-ah-mine home world, and the lack of safe places in the galaxy left few options. The time was drawing near for him to specify the distortion's end point, but he was unable to think of an acceptable answer.

I don't know what to do, he thought, desperation threatening to overwhelm him. Then, a stray thought lodged in his mind. Not a thought of his own, but from outside him, from beyond the Entho-la-ah-mines and the Great Thought all together.

"We will be safe at Eishon-2," it said, hopeful, positive. Cazz-ak saw lush forests and gently rolling hills. A small human contingent inhabited the place, but they were friendly, kind in heart and peaceful. Under all the images ran a current of serenity and safety. Cazz-ak couldn't tell who was projecting these images, but he could feel the person somewhere nearby. A human.

If Cazz-ak delayed any longer, the distortion would be incomplete and the Entho-la-ah-mine ship would disappear into non-existence. With no time left to consider, Cazz-ak passed on the images of the lush landscape and peaceful people to his Hax-ax-ons. They took the information, using it to carefully manipulate the distortion. With mere seconds to spare, they flew into the newly formed path between Haak-ah-tar and Eishon.

Before Cazz-ak could close the distortion behind them, the human battle cruiser entered it. If we smooth it now, we sentence the humans to timelessness. Cazz-ak knew letting the human ship follow posed a monumental risk, but he could not order his crew to doom the humans that way, even if they had killed so many Entho-la-ah-mines. They had not attacked his vessel yet. Perhaps they want peace. "Smooth the distortion as soon as the human ship is through," he directed.

The battle cruiser cleared the distortion a moment later, and his crew began closing it. Just as they set the process in motion, however, another human craft darted into the pathway. We can do nothing for them. No way to stop it now. Cazz-ak, through the eyes of his crew, looked back at the doomed vessel. It was small and decrepit, hull pitted, and obviously in need of repair. Cazz-ak's knowledge of human ships was limited, but this was the worst one he'd ever seen. It surprised him it was still capable of flight.

They aren't moving fast enough, Cazz-ak thought, sad it was at least partially his fault for what the humans were about to experience. To his surprise, the small ship managed to stay ahead of the quickly dissolving pathway. As he watched, the decrepit vessel shot out of the distortion just as the end unfolded and disappeared.

Cazz-ak and his entire crew felt relieved, happy they were not responsible for loss of life. The joy was short-lived, however.

It's turning, Cazz-ak thought, watching the battle cruiser move on a heading he knew meant impeding attack. Beside him, Elth-eo-lan grew nervous, her stream of comforting thoughts interrupted. The new Queen, rather than being frightened, grew more interested and exhilarated by this development.

Cazz-ak, along with Elth-eo-lan and the entire crew, knew their lives were nothing compared to that of the new Queen. With the elimination of the crystal temple on Haak-ah-tar, it was even more imperative they keep her alive. If our species is to have any hope, her health must be preserved.

Knowing he had no other choice, Cazz-ak, through his Hax-ax-ons, began to lay the foundation for the newly developed Entho-la-ah-mine weapon. He was reluctant, but the humans were forcing him. He gathered strands of the Great Thought, using the Hax-ax-ons to magnify his strength. Cazz-ak could feel the entire Entho-la-ah-mine species watching the situation unfold. Every individual in the galaxy stopped what they were doing, adding their concentration to the effort.

The battle cruiser continued drawing closer and closer. We will soon be within range of the metal throwing weaponry. This was not his first time in this situation, but he had the sinking feeling it might be his last. It easily destroyed our diversion ships on Haak-ah-tar. The Entho-la-ah-mine weapon had never been used on a ship of this size. Will we even have enough power to damage it? The opposing ship grew larger and larger, and Cazz-ak's optimism for bringing the Queen through the engagement shrank proportionally.

He redoubled his efforts, gathering strands of power in the Great Thought, his Hax-ax-ons doing all they could to help. He wove the fibers together, the thread growing from a string to a rope, then to a cable. Cazz-ak knew, at any moment, the human ship would be within range to use its weapons. I'm working as fast as I can! If he attacked too soon, it would be ineffective, and he would have to start over.

In the next instant, the battle cruiser fired. Bright trails of color streaked towards them, signaling death. The sight was as beautiful as it was fatal.

Quickly melding the many strands of Great Thought together, Cazz-ak formed a rod. He carefully folded the rod back onto itself several times, creating a gigantic shard of mental energy. Once he'd formed it properly, Cazz-ak took a steadying breath. With his mind completely focused and fully aware of the lives he was about to end, he thrust the shard at the oncoming ship.

The effect was instantaneous and devastating. It was as if a massive sword had cut the human vessel in half. The severed segments began flying along differing courses, explosions and venting atmosphere propelling them in ever-changing, erratic trajectories. Cazz-ak immediately ordered evasive maneuvers, hoping to avoid the rapidly approaching weapon rounds and ship debris.

We aren't moving fast enough, Cazz-ak thought, helplessness engulfing him. The metal slugs fired from the human ship slammed into them, punching massive holes through the lightly armored hull. The impacts and subsequent venting atmosphere caused the bi-pyramid to jerk and shudder, knocking many of the surrounding Entho-la-ah-mines to the floor. Cazz-ak, already weak from his massive use of the Great Thought, flew into one of the walls.

As he was rising to his feet, Cazz-ak saw Elth-eo-lan and the new Queen a short distance away. Looking past, he saw the oncoming debris of the human ship. While most of the larger pieces had spiraled off in different directions, one distressingly large fragment remained on a collision course. Cazz-ak knew instinctively the current state of his crew would prevent further maneuvers, leaving them dead in space. The damage and death caused by the human weapons were too severe to overcome in such a short time. The impact of the fragmented human ship will finish the destruction of our vessel.

Small jets of venting gas drew Cazz-ak's eyes to the foremost chunk of the human ship. At first, he couldn't tell what was happening—Perhaps some of their supplies exploding?—but then he realized it was some sort of escape system. He had never seen such a thing before, but he immediately understood that having such a system would save many of his crew.

When he looked back down at Elth-eo-lan and the new Queen, he immediately sensed their terror, and more deeply, an unfaltering trust in him. I cannot help them, he mourned, feeling like a failure. Had the Queen not been aboard it would have been a terrible loss, but with her death, he would be responsible for the extinction of his species. In that moment, he felt a grief and pain so intense his connection to the Great Thought began severing.

The Queen's voice brought him back, both to reality and the Great Thought. "Cazz-ak-tak, you were chosen for this duty because you will not fail." Her voice was light and soft in his mind, encouraging, yet firm. Cazz-ak almost responded that he was already failing, that they were already dead, those on this ship and eventually the rest of the species. Experiencing the Queen's trust and Elth-eo-lan's hope made him push aside his despair and self-condemnation. I am still alive, and I will fight until all strength has departed.

He had no idea how to save the Queen, but a look back at the human escape system gave him a flash of inspiration. He set about implementing his plan, knowing he had no time for mistakes or delay. It would be a matter of minutes before the fragments hurtled into the Entho-la-ah-mine vessel. Cazz-ak had much work to do.

##  31 - Wake

It was taking days for the Ashamine's Bane to jump from system to system, stopping each time to decoy its worm impression. As he waited for them to reach their final destination, Wake often found himself deep in thought, trying to come to terms with the new life he'd chosen. His thoughts felt like a black hole, threatening to suck him in. Since the small ship held little entertainment, he needed other ways to occupy himself.

The crew didn't need his help, so that option was a dead end. All the ship's systems were up-to-date and in good repair, so Wake couldn't pass the time in technical pursuits. Talking was a good diversion, and he struck up conversations whenever possible.

"Where are we headed, Captain?" Wake asked on the second day.

"Eishon-2," Malesis replied. Wake had never heard of it. "It's a wild place," Captain Malesis continued. "Several political and religious factions are based there. They run the spectrum from ambivalent to hostile in their feelings towards the Ashamine. The Brotherhood maintains a large complex on the planet. Our leader, Parick Olvold, should be there when we arrive. He moves from world to world, staying ahead of the Ashamine. Eishon is a relatively secure location, so he spends his downtime there."

By the end of the second day, the crew grew more accepting of Wake and started including him in conversations and banter. Soon, he realized they were just as bored as he. They eagerly swapped stories and told him everything he wanted to know about the Brotherhood.

"Alnos Azak-so started the group," Ralen said, voice taking on the tone of an experienced storyteller. "He was a minor merchant who lived thousands of years ago. When all his fellow merchants formed a guild to protect their interests, Alnos gladly helped in its organization and funding. After a few years however, some larger guild members started price fixing and enforced it amongst the members. Common goods became expensive, creating shortages and protests by the poor.

"Alnos Azak-so spoke against the tactic, arguing it was unfair to the buyers and unnecessary for the merchants. The leaders of the guild threatened him, promising to kill his family if he did not get back in line. For a time he was silent, not scared into passiveness, but devising a plan. When everything was in place, Azak-so struck and the guild leaders were dead, their entrails spilled by his small blade. The price gouging stopped and Azak-so was the people's hero."

Wake wondered if Azak-so had been a real man or just a legend, but in the end he supposed it didn't matter. The principle of the story remained true.

After having time to reflect, Wake felt he'd been hasty in joining the Brotherhood, but he was still happy with the decision. He was impressed by Captain Malesis, Ralen, Carson, Qul, and Terron, both for their selfless effort to rescue him and their skill in doing so. If they were any representation of the Brotherhood as a whole, he was content to be part of the organization. Besides, I can always leave if I don't like it.

After a few more days in empty space, the group conversation died off, leaving Wake with free time he had no idea how to fill. He didn't want to fall back into the trap of over-thinking, so he once again looked for something to occupy him. Since he yearned for a technical pursuit and the ship needed nothing, Wake began examining the Clothing of the Iconoclast.

Upon closer inspection, he determined it was ancient, but had no way to figure out exactly how old it was. Its crimson exterior was decorated with ornate, finely detailed silver scrollwork. Maybe it was made for someone in a position of power? Wake's attention was drawn to the fact this environmental nominizing suit contained many electrical components, but none functioned. He also discovered it was armored, something rare in an ENS. Fascinating...

While digging around inside the suit's systems in an effort to make them functional, a module caught Wake's attention. It was discordant, newer than the surrounding parts. Its connection to the suit was brutish, out of place in the intricate circuitry. Curious of the module's function, he carefully disconnected it. Initially, Wake saw no difference, but after a while he heard a light rushing noise coming from inside the suit. Tracking it down revealed the ENS was now processing air. The Ashamine disabled that to turn it into an execution chamber. Wake smiled. One step closer to being able to use it as a fully functional ENS.

Another thing he noticed was an inscription on the back of the helmet. It was worn and old, just like the rest of the Clothing. It was hard to make out exactly what it said because the script was odd and flourishing. Callhis Hnghlwing was his best guess at the first line. The second, after much scrutiny, read: By this, you will know honor. Wake went back to the first line, puzzling over it for some time. It's probably a name, he decided.

Having never heard of anyone named Callhis Hnghlwing and thinking it was a strange name—Did I get some letters wrong?—he wrote it on a portable terminal and set out to find Captain Malesis. Not seeing him on the command deck, Wake knocked on the door of his quarters.

"Come in," Malesis said. Wake did so. After some small talk about how Wake was finding his accommodations on board the Ashamine's Bane, Wake showed him the name.

After looking at what Wake had written, Captain Malesis' expression grew puzzled. "You say this was on the helmet of the suit we picked you up in?" Wake nodded his confirmation and Malesis thought for a moment. "Would you get the helmet, so I can take a look?"

Perhaps the ENS is interesting for more than just its technical aspects, Wake thought, getting the helmet and returning to the captain's quarters. Captain Malesis studied it, turning the crimson sphere over and over, pausing to look at the inscription now and then.

"I think you wrote the name wrong, even though it matches perfectly. Some letters are worn through or scratched." His voice contained a bit of a quaver, although Wake could see no cause. "The name is Calthis Brightwing." He paused, looking at Wake expectantly. When he said nothing, Malesis spoke again, breaking the silence. "You've never heard of her?"

"No," Wake replied, "I didn't even know it was a woman's name, let alone who she was."

"Calthis Brightwing was Orick Brightwing's wife, the legendary leader of the government preceding the Ashamine. She was his battle commander, a genius of warfare and master of tactics. Legend says she wore a cobalt blue battle suit, not crimson. I suppose this could be coincidence, but that seems unlikely. What you possess is very valuable." Wake was speechless, thinking through everything Malesis had said. "Many would seek to take this artifact from you," Captain Malesis continued, "but I promise you none of the Brotherhood will do such a thing. I will have to report to my superiors, but they will allow you to keep it, especially due to the circumstances by which you came to possess it."

"Thank you," was all Wake could say.

"If you would, please continue to study and report anything you find to me. And if you desire to sell it, give the Brotherhood the first chance. This is an important artifact, assuming it's authentic. It is especially valuable to our order. More so than you probably understand at this point."

Wake regained his composure somewhat after his earlier astonishment. "For now, I would like to keep it and see what it can do. It's unlike any ENS I have ever seen."

"Of course, of course, take as long as you like. The Brotherhood would love to hear anything you can tell us."

So Wake went back to his quarters and began working in earnest, trying to determine what the suit's individual components did. It was slow going due to the fact most of the technology was unlike anything he'd seen or studied before. The suit appeared to lack anything but an emergency power supply, so Wake rigged up a small battery to fully energize it. Only the most basic systems came online, and the more advanced features continued eluding him. When he tried to access them through the face plate interface, the whole system simply shut down. Wake speculated several sub-systems were combat related, but he couldn't determine how they operated. Their presence confirmed some of what Malesis had said though, and for that, Wake was grateful. Before he could learn more, they neared the final worm transition and Captain Malesis asked Wake to operate one of the ship's stations.

When they entered the worm area near the Eishon system, Ralen let out a startled shout, jumping in his seat. Even the silent Terron cursed loudly at the sight unfolding in front of them. A huge Tarton class Ashamine vessel was pursuing one of the strange Entho bi-pyramidal ships, both vessels still inside the worm area. A transition was closing behind the enormous human ship. As it did, Wake noticed a battered little vessel speed out.

"They sure cut that one fine," Captain Malesis commented dryly. Wake agreed, knowing if they had lingered a moment longer, everyone on the ship would have been lost forever in the folds of space-time.

"Ideas?" Captain Malesis asked, sounding angry. "I don't think we can ju—" but whatever he had been about to say was cut off as the human ship launched a volley of tungsten slugs towards the Entho ship. Each round's ionic tracer glowed either blue or green as they streaked through the blackness. "Damn Ashamine should burn in the hottest fires of the dark star," Captain Malesis fumed.

Wake was at a loss for what to do. Their ship was far too small to engage in the battle. One round from the huge ship would turn them into particles. Lacking anything else to do, everyone aboard the Ashamine's Bane watched the conflict unfold, hoping the Enthos might somehow escape. Wake held no special love of the alien species, but he supposed the foe of his foe was his friend. Considering the Enthos' prowess, that isn't much of an alliance.

The Ashamine ship and its tungsten rain bore down on the bi-pyramid. Wake thought the Enthos lost, knowing they had no weaponry. It will be a short battle. Then, something unfathomable happened.

To Wake, it looked like a massive, invisible blade sheered the Ashamine ship in two. One moment, it was bearing down on the bi-pyramid, and the next it was separating, explosions and venting atmosphere sending pieces off on erratic trajectories. It was impossible to see what caused the damage, but its aftermath was clear.

There is no way the Tarton class ship will recover, Wake thought, a sense of terrible awe nearly overwhelming him. Those on board were coming to the same conclusion, because escape vehicles jettisoned away from it. Some vehicles were obviously damaged and Wake wondered how long they would be able to survive. He shuddered at the thought of being in the void again, no air, lungs spasming to draw breath.

"Move it, move it, move it," Ralen chanted. It was as if the Enthos had heard him and finally realized their danger, slowly exiting the threatened area. They didn't act fast enough though.

The tungsten slugs were unforgiving, punching huge holes into and through the bi-pyramidal ship. It began to lurch and jitter as atmosphere vented into the void. Thankfully, their momentum helped them avoid most of the Ashamine ship debris. They might survive this after all.

Many of the Ashamine escape vessels were on course to smash into the large bi-pyramid. Wake could see small winks of light as they tried to maneuver around the larger ship, their efforts in vain.

Realizing he had a terminal in front of him, Wake started scanning the oncoming debris for anything large enough to threaten the Entho ship. After a moment, the terminal returned its results. A huge piece of the Tarton class' hull was heading straight for the bi-pyramid. "Fires of the dark star," he muttered. The fragment looked like a jagged, enormous battering ram. They can't get out of the way.

"Good gods..." Captain Malesis muttered, eyes wide as the bi-pyramid collided with the hull fragment. The piece drove through the Entho ship, transfixing it. There were no dramatic explosions, simply a catastrophic union.

Wake knew thousands were already dead on both sides, more dying at that very moment. And all we can do is watch. Wake mourned the useless loss of life. His surrounding crew mates were silent. The fact there was one less Ashamine ship prowling the galaxy didn't seem to comfort anyone. It certainly wasn't a trade I would have chosen.

##  32 - Felar

Getting into the APC felt like arriving home after a long journey, even though it had only been a standard day since Felar had left it. She breathed a deep sigh as the engine powered up and they began the journey back to AF Command.

"Make sure you latch your seat restraint," she told Lothis, feeling the same strange protectiveness that had sprung up the first time she'd seen the boy. He looked at the straps like he'd never used them before, but quickly figured out how they functioned.

I've never wanted children, so why a mothering instinct now? She found it deeply puzzling. Since they were safe, at least for the moment, Felar needed to think about the information she had retrieved. It's dangerous to keep the data square. Lothis seemed happy in silence, so Felar spent the long drive back thinking about what she'd learned down in the horrific research station.

***

"The boy is going up to the Founder's Hammer," Felar's commanding officer said. "He will be debriefed and taken care of." Felar, who'd normally be fine with that decision, was skeptical about what was really going to happen.

Loyal, patriotic Felar vanished when I read that terminal screen inside the research facility. She hadn't dared access the information she'd transferred onto the data square. Felar worried there was some kind of alert tied to the files, that AF Security would know she had confidential information she wasn't cleared for.

"Request permission to escort the boy back to the Hammer," Felar replied, hoping it would buy time to figure out how to rescue him from the Ashamine.

"Negative, Enlightened, the boy has an escort inbound."

"Request permission to see the boy. I feel talking to him would be useful for a tactical debriefing." She thought no such thing, but she needed an acceptable reason. Her heart would break if she didn't see him soon. Careful, Felar, she told herself, you'll lose your edge if you journey further down this path. You're risking everything you've worked for.

"Permission denied. The boy is in isolation until his escort arrives."

Felar had to disconnect her emotions from Lothis. He would be off world soon and Command would issue her new orders. She couldn't quit thinking about him though, no matter how hard she tried. She kept seeing his face in her mind and then the information from the facility would flash through her consciousness. The agony was like watching an asteroid fly towards your home planet: slow, inexorable, and in the end, deadly. The boy had been rescued from what amounted to living in the fires of the dark star, had been saved from the ravages of those monstrous creatures Director Kasol had created, had been taken back to a civilized and ordered culture. Now he was to be returned to his creators, enslaved once again to the will of the Ashamine.

When they had arrived back at the AF base, security had quarantined and searched Felar. She'd barely kept the data square hidden. They would bring out the Clothing of the Iconoclast for what you did. The search was not standard post-mission procedure, but it made sense given what she knew about the facility's purpose. Good thing the square was durable enough to swallow.

The files Felar had uploaded onto the device contained the kind of information that turned loyal citizens into rebels. Simply put—and that was hard to do, considering the amount of content she had skimmed—Lothis was the original Founder's clone. Felar had a hard time wrapping her head around that fact, but it did make sense when she noticed the boy had the fabled orange eyes, the same color of the leader. The Ashamine citizens were provided continuous news about the present Founder's son. It appeared those stories were complete fabrications.

This also wasn't the first time a clone had been made. She'd downloaded information about all the Founders and their origins, and from what she could remember, all of them were clones of the first. What was different about Lothis were the new protocols implemented in his upbringing. Further reading informed her he was being kept at the installation for what was euphemistically referred to as "raising". Really, they were programming him, she thought, feeling disgusted.

Felar had also found data that hinted at some type of experimental therapy Kasol was performing on the child, but she hadn't had time to read them. I wish I could open up the square on a terminal, understand what they were doing to him.

There was also information about what Director Kasol had been up to in his other labs as well. Felar had no desire to relive her experience in that dark place, so she doubted she would ever read those. Having seen the creatures and Kasol himself was enough to convince her the man was evil and maniacal.

One of the files she'd skimmed down in the facility was unrelated to both Lothis and the monstrosities. It contained information about some form of military technology Kasol was developing. The information was vague and full of code-names, but it seemed he was creating some form of super soldier nano-tech. It was nearing its final stages. The file indicated the experiment had been moved out of the facility and was now on Bloodsport. Felar hoped to learn more once she opened the square. If it was successful, the program would change how the entire AF operated.

Felar lay awake that night, unable to sleep. She couldn't allow the boy to fall back under the Ashamine handlers' control. Her superior officers wouldn't let her escort him, eliminating any possibility of spiriting the boy off and hiding him en route. Felar tried desperately to figure out a way to help Lothis escape, but she didn't even know where they were holding him. She fell into a fitful sleep, her dreams an endless loop of running from misshapen forms in the dark.

The next day, Felar's commanding officer summoned her. She felt heavy as she entered his office, knowing she would never see Lothis again. I wonder if he's dispatching me to lead a new group of Inits, she thought, thinking about her next assignment.

"I'm sending you and a new squad of Inits out to recon what the Enthos are doing," her CO said after she sat down. "Satellite data shows they landed a ship on a remote patch of desert. We have no idea what they are up to. Orbital recon shows they went down into a cave."

"Yes, that seems very important," she said, failing to muster her old enthusiasm.

A chime sounded from the CO's terminal. He was silent for a moment, reading. "Well, you can rescind that assignment," he said finally, sounding puzzled. "I just received orders from AF Command that you are to escort the boy up to the Hammer." He poked the terminal a few times, then turned to look at her. "You're transferred to escort detail, effective immediately. You are to be the boy's personal protection. Prep for ship-out in a standard hour. Someone will come get you when the shuttle is ready to leave."

Felar was puzzled at the last minute shift in orders. The Ashamine Forces didn't operate that way, but she supposed anomalous things happened in an entity as large as the AF. Even under the strange circumstances, she was ecstatic her assignment had shifted. It would be nearly impossible to steal the boy from the rest of the escort party, but she would try as best she could. She cared too much to do otherwise.

Felar returned to her quarters, packed her few belongings, and was ready well before the aide came to escort her to the shuttle. After entering the small craft, she saw Lothis was already on board. His blank expression momentarily brightened in what was probably supposed to be a smile. It looked more akin to a grimace. Felar smiled back. Seeing Lothis again strengthened her resolve.

The contingent of soldiers on board the shuttle had packed it to capacity. As the shuttle left the planet's surface, Felar watched several fighters and a heavy gunship fall in as escort. Both the soldiers and the intense air support disclosed just how valuable Lothis was to the Ashamine. Perhaps this will be harder than I thought, Felar lamented. One thing her instructors forcibly instilled while going through the rigorous FC training was that you had to be lucky to pull through tough situations. And the definition of luck? Preparedness meeting opportunity. She set about forming numerous plans in her head, knowing it was vital to be ready when the chance came.

Even though the cabin was packed, Felar outranked all other personnel. Her seniority made it easy to get the seat next to Lothis, displacing a hulking soldier who vaguely reminded her of Initiate Alexhion from back on Ashamine-4. She wondered momentarily what had happened to Alexhion and a feeling of revulsion came over her. Then the shuttle took off and everything else was quickly forgotten.

The ride was short and easy. Lothis remained silent, looking intimidated. Felar could understand. Going from no human contact to a ship packed full of sweaty, smelly soldiers had to be frightening. Actually, now that she thought of it, he was doing quite well.

Every so often, Felar would hear him speak an isolated word or phrase, but when she turned to look, Lothis was just silently staring off into space. Nobody around them noticed, so Felar decided it was just nerves and began ignoring the fragments.

When they were finally outside Haak-ah-tar's atmosphere, she caught her first glimpse of the ASN Founder's Hammer. At first, it seemed like the ship was in low orbit. As time passed and it continued growing larger and larger, Felar realized the extreme size of the ship made it appear closer than it actually was. That has to be the largest ship I've ever seen. That realization drove home, viscerally, just how badly the Ashamine, and probably more directly, the Founder, wanted this boy. A wave of despair washed over her, but she rallied after looking at Lothis and seeing the need in his eyes. She was amazed at how quickly the boy was picking up on his surroundings. He must be every bit as intelligent as the files said.

Once the shuttle docked inside the massive vessel, a staff officer showed Felar and Lothis to their quarters. The other escorting soldiers were stationed in a ring around them. This would pose a bit of a problem for some of her plans, but Felar hoped it would only be a minor setback. Preparedness meets opportunity, she kept chanting.

Shortly after settling in, Felar and Lothis were summoned to a meeting with the commander of the ship, Ascended Talnavis. Talnavis was an older man, understandable for the leader of such an exalted vessel. His eyes had a fire in them, but whether it was a burning of devotion or madness, Felar couldn't tell. After a salute to Felar and a smile to the non-responsive Lothis, the commander addressed them. "Welcome to the Founder's Hammer," he said, voice hoarse, probably from a lifetime yelling orders. "We're honored to have you on board."

Felar gathered from his welcome and ingratiating manner that he knew Lothis was the Founder's child, but she doubted he had any knowledge of the manner in which the boy had been conceived. "Thank you for your service to the Founder and the Ashamine," Felar said, trying to summon a likeness of her old patriotism. "You have quite a ship, you must be very proud to command her."

"Indeed, indeed," the commander rasped. "The Hammer is an amazing vessel. There is no other ship that can best her in combat, perhaps no two ships paired together could equal her prowess. She may not be indestructible, but she is damn near close."

"Well if her size is any indication," Felar said, faking enthusiasm, "she very well might be." This sentiment encouraged the old commander, and he began telling Felar and Lothis all the technical details of the ship and its systems. Felar tuned the man out, still nodding and expressing the same fake enthusiasm in all the right places. Lothis said nothing.

"So you see," Talnavis continued, "the ship is perfectly designed to exterminate Enthos." The mention of the Enthos brought Felar back to the conversation and she began listening closer. "We caught several of their ships around Haak-ah-tar and drilled them with tungsten slugs."

The look in his eyes had definitely swung to the side of madness. But no, that isn't quite right. Felar decided it was probably more like devoted madness. Big difference, she thought, as the man recounted the destruction of the Entho ships. He obviously enjoyed the slaughter of an innocent species. Felar herself felt the war with the peaceful aliens had been a poor decision on the part of the Ashamine. When she saw men like this, it made her wonder how the government could keep from destroying itself. Government propaganda had whipped the Ashamine populace into a frenzy against the Enthos, but the troops knew better, at least most did. Apparently, Talnavis wasn't one of them. Felar wished she could support the war, but the way the government was handling its lack of resources by stealing the Entho home-worlds made it hard. And what they did to Lothis is more than I can forgive.

It took quite some time for Talnavis to finish his monologue, but once he was done, Felar and Lothis returned to their quarters. The fact Lothis had said almost nothing since they left Haak-ah-tar frightened her. The boy had to have a fragile psyche and all this turmoil couldn't be helping. The Hammer offered much in the way of recreation, but Lothis was content to stay in quarters, so they sat in their assigned rooms. Felar didn't mind. Lately, the more she saw of the Ashamine, the angrier she got.

Just as she was settling back to relax in her bunk—good soldiers knew to rest whenever an opportunity presented itself—Lothis startled her. "I can feel him... Them... All..." The boy's voice sounded eerie in Felar's ears. She looked at him and his normally vacant expression had a rapturous quality.

"Lothis," she said tentatively, realizing these were the first words she'd said to him all day. The boy turned to look, but she realized he wasn't really seeing her. His expression gave her chills, not because it was frightening, but because he looked so elated. He also seemed gone somehow.

"They have her on their ship. She is lovely. She will save them, but he must save her first."

Upon hearing this, Felar felt a crawling pit open at the bottom of her stomach. What is he talking about? Before either of them could say anything else, a loud alarm blared.

After a few moments of ear-splitting volume, the alarm dropped a few decibels and Talnavis' voice came over the address system. "Attention all crew. We've detected an Entho bi-pyramid and are in pursuit. Assume ready stations. We will destroy the enemy craft and resume our primary mission." The rough voice ended and, thankfully, the alarm remained at its lower volume.

If Felar had to put Ashcreds on it, she would wager this was not an approved diversion. The commander was simply fulfilling his desire to kill. He would say something like, "That's what this ship was made for, how can I deny its use?" In war, killing the enemy was certainly desirable, but doing it while you had the heir to the Ashamine supreme leader on board was foolish.

Upon consideration, Felar decided this development might provide additional opportunity for escape. Surprise is always best when attacking, but chaos is also a useful ally. Deciding she would learn nothing if they stayed in their quarters, Felar decided to venture out. She took Lothis, who was back to normal, and they left for the command deck. The rest of the escort followed closely, maintaining a tight perimeter.

Everything was operating efficiently on deck when they arrived. The commander issued orders and his under-officers carried them out, bringing the huge Tarton class ship around on a course to follow the Entho craft. Then Lothis began screaming.

The boy's agonized wails were guttural, sounding strangely deep for someone so small. He fell to the floor and Felar followed him, attempting to comfort while holding him in her arms. In her peripheral vision, Felar could see everyone on the command deck was mesmerized by the child's outburst. The escort guards rushed in, looking concerned, but not knowing what to do. A few seconds later, the comms officer turned to his terminal. He was focused, obviously listening to the communications set he wore. After a moment, his face grew pale.

"Ascended Talnavis," he yelled over Lothis' screaming, "Ascended Talnavis, I have a priority communication from Haak-ah-tar." It took a moment for the commander to notice, his attention enthralled by the screaming child in the middle of his command deck.

Probably not used to having suffering children this near, Felar thought as she comforted Lothis. He's always had them on the other end of his guns.

Once Talnavis finally realized his comms officer was yelling, he strode over to the man and bent close to listen. The news blanched his face the same way it had his under-officer. He strode back to his terminal, only now his walk was shaky and tremulous. "Attention all hands," he broadcast ship wide, voice sounding like it had aged twenty years. "We've just been informed that Haak-ah-tar Primary has gone supernova." Everyone on the bridge stared at Ascended Talnavis, incredulous. "We must get to the worm area as fast as possible. We have vital cargo that we must safeguard at all costs." As the commander spoke, the navigation officer frantically made inputs on his terminal. When he concluded, he gave a thumbs-up to Talnavis. The commander, seeing the signal, continued his announcement. "I've been informed by navigation that we will have enough time to get clear of the system before the shock wave catches us. Unfortunately, there will be many lost on Haak-ah-tar itself, as well as ships that are not fast enough to escape." A look of anger began replacing his pallid shock.

Talnavis stepped away from his terminal, and Felar saw the calculation and cunning in his old eyes. By this time, Lothis had subsided to soft whimpers that were somehow more awful than the screams.

"You'll be alright honey. Everything is going to be OK," Felar said, trying to comfort the boy, but feeling inadequate.

"I don't know how they did it, but these Enthos," Talnavis said the word with as much scorn and malice as humanly possible, "had something to do with this supernova! They caused it. They are using the star to wipe us out! That's what they were doing under Haak-ah-tar."

Felar could see the madness returning to the commander's demeanor and it set her even more on edge than Lothis' screams had. He strode back and forth across the deck, gesticulating frantically. "We will hunt down the vile, filthy creatures who did this and convert them back to the polluted atoms they came from." All those on the deck responded with loud curses directed at the Enthos. The escort guards lost interest in Lothis and joined the mob, their profanity even worse than the Hammer's crew.

Felar knew it was ludicrous to believe the Enthos could have caused the supernova. Ashamine scientists had warned the Haak-ah-tar binary stars were bound to do just such a thing at some unknown time. Talnavis had seized upon the situation to justify pursuing his own goals and his troops were just as bloodthirsty as he was. Insanity.

Lothis started becoming more responsive to Felar's calming attempts, and now the boy's eyes actually saw his surroundings. "I felt it," she heard Lothis say, but the boy's lips didn't move. "I felt the supernova. It hurt me." This time she was looking directly at his face when she heard it, and yes, the boy's lips did not move even a fraction of a millimeter. Lothis must have seen the look of frightened amazement on her face because he spoke again, only this time with his voice. "We need to go some place safe. Something bad is about to happen. We have to go some place safe," the boy repeated.

She lifted Lothis in her arms and headed for the hatch exiting the command deck. Thankfully all the escort guards were still caught up in the frenzy of hatred and didn't notice her leave. Felar had to push past several crew members obstructing her way, but they were far too focused on the pursuit to notice.

"They're opening up a wormhole," she heard as she exited the deck.

"Follow them through! If we don't, they'll get away," Talnavis ordered. Then the hatch slid shut and the sounds of the command deck cut off.

"Is there a way to get off the ship?" the boy asked, a look of concern on his small face.

"Well, if we captured a shuttle—which is doubtful—we wouldn't get far, plus the shock wave would wipe us out anyway. I think we're stuck on this ship, at least for the time being. I know you don't like these people, and neither do I, but—"

"You don't understand," he said. "The Hammer is going to be destroyed. We don't have much time."

"I'm almost certain we are going to escape the shock wave, and it's impossible for the Entho ship to take us out." She was trying to reason with the boy, trying to show him that even though their present company was unpleasant, at least they were safe. That was more than could be said for their time under the surface of Haak-ah-tar. She knew she had to get him out of the Ashamine's grasp, but now wasn't the right time. "This ship was built using the latest and best Ashamine technology. The Enthos don't even have real weapons."

"Don't they?" His voice had gone cold. She'd never heard him speak like that and it chilled her. "If we don't get off this ship, soon, we are going to die." He said the words with a finality that jolted Felar. She didn't understand how it would happen, but the conviction in Lothis' eyes told her this high tech battleship would shortly be converted into space junk.

Felar let out several nervous laughs before she could pull herself together. It was unlike her to lose composure so drastically. When Lothis heard her, the cold focus left his eyes. In an instant, he looked like the frightened little boy she'd rescued from the facility. The stony faced avatar of power she'd been looking at moments before was gone.

Escape pods. That had been one of the plans Felar had considered. If this ship is going to be destroyed, it's the perfect place to go. She had no idea where the Hammer was heading, but she held hope there would be someone to retrieve them before the pod ran out of atmosphere.

Continuing to carry Lothis, she hurried towards the nearest pod array. There was one close by because of the command deck, making the trip short. They didn't encounter many crew members, but those they did gave odd looks. Never seen a Founder's Commando running through the corridors carrying a small child? Felar didn't stop or even slow. She knew now there wasn't much time. Every second counts.

When they reached the pods, they encountered their first real obstacle. A guard was stationed in front of the large security doors leading to the pod chamber. He was a brawny man, tall and fierce. The time for deception and trickery is long past.

Felar set Lothis down onto his feet and strode directly up to the guard. "How may I hel—" he was saying as she slammed her fist into his solar plexus. He was unprepared for her strike and Felar's shot was devastating. The man crumpled on the floor, a sickly wheeze escaping his lips as he tried to recover the wind she'd knocked out of him.

"Lothis, get this door open," she meant to say, but only got as far as the boy's name as she turned from the guard. She saw Lothis was doing just that, diligently working the small terminal next to the door. After a few moments, the guard began adding moans to his wheezing gasps. In the next instant, the large doors slid open and the boy cried out in triumph.

"Good job!" she praised as they ran through the doorway. He said nothing, but looked up at her and smiled. She noted he took much joy from her approval. The thought made her glad.

When they got to the first bank of pods, they stopped. The pod hatch they stood in front of slid up smoothly, and Felar looked inside the craft. The vessel was designed to hold six, so they would have plenty of space, but she disliked the thought of floating in the void, powerless to do anything about their fate. There isn't enough time to devise a better plan.

Once inside, Felar initiated launch protocols. Normally, all pods were locked down until the commander gave the abandon ship signal, but Lothis quickly bypassed this requirement. The boy's skill with electronics seemed limitless. Felar strapped him into his seat, securing his harness. Then she performed the same for herself.

Just before she tapped the "Initiate" command on her terminal screen, Lothis shook his small head. "Not yet." A focused look wrinkled his brow.

She waited a full minute, growing increasingly nervous as seconds passed. The guard could be calling reinforcements. Even now they might be tracking Lothis' hashes and disabling them, rendering the pod inoperative.

"I really think we should—"

"Wait." The word was final, and the look of coldness reasserted itself on his face.

In for a finger, in for the arm, she remembered her mother saying. She had gone this far, why not a little farther? Another full minute crawled by. And then another. And then a fourth. Now Felar began to panic, cool resolve eroded by the acid of uncertainty. Just as she was about to speak again, Lothis said, "Go." She stabbed her finger down on terminal screen so hard it bent back and jolted with pain. She wondered fleetingly if she had sprained it.

The pod accelerated, inertial forces shoving them back into their seats. Then they were free of the Hammer, streaming off into the void of space.

##  33 - Lothis

As they drifted, Lothis reflected on the events of the past few days. Since he'd been freed from his prison, he'd discovered many things about the world. One of the most important was that those who control me rely on terminals and the data they provide. Changing them to suit his desires was amazingly easy. Even their "secure" systems are effortless.

He remembered back to when he'd discovered they were taking Felar from him. At first, he thought she was abandoning him and this made him despondent. Seeking more information, he hashed the terminal in his temporary housing. Gaining access to the high security systems of the Ashamine Forces took a couple minutes, but eventually he was reading orders showing they were sending Felar to track down Entho-la-ah-mines.

I can't lose her, Lothis thought, manipulating the orders. Immediately, the terminal flashed to encryption. I made it lockdown! Then, Lothis blinked and the display changed. That wasn't quite right though, because the characters stayed the same, but now he could read it. He'd shifted something in his mind—that was all he could determine—but how or why it happened was beyond understanding. He made a few quick edits, assigning Felar to his escort and making sure everything was properly authenticated.

The ability to read encryption was just one of many things Lothis didn't understand. His connection to the supernova baffled him. The pain had been intense, far greater than anything he'd imagined possible. Lothis had somehow tapped the energy of the dying star, had allowed it to flow into him. He'd fought against the flood, had tried to escape it, but couldn't. When he'd opened his eyes, Felar had been there, comforting and caring for him. Her tender kindness helped him close the gateway. Without her, I wouldn't have survived. The energy would have filled me until nothing was left...

And how did I know they were going to destroy the Founder's Hammer? When Lothis reached out to the Entho-la-ah-mines and their queen, he could sense their strike preparations. Thankfully, Felar finally listened to my warning.

Time passed as they continued drifting away from the Hammer, the pod's separation motor having cut out just before exiting the ship. Each passing second found them further and further from their captors.

"Look at that," Felar said, voice low in the manner Lothis had learned to mean she was talking to herself. He looked anyway.

His viewing angle was optimum, Felar having rotated the pod so the large front window faced the Ashamine vessel and its Entho-la-ah-mine counterpart. She had also decreased forward thrust, wanting to get away from the Hammer while still conserving as much fuel as possible.

Lothis determined Felar's exclamation was due to the large quantity of glowing ions streaking from the Hammer towards the bi-pyramid. He felt momentarily puzzled, then realized what they were. He had seen a diagram for a rail weapon before and this situation fit its use quite well.

As the slugs approached the huge Entho-la-ah-mine craft, Lothis felt another stirring in his mind. This one was different from the supernova, but akin somehow. It was outside him. And while the feeling wasn't painful, it made him uneasy. The Entho-la-ah-mines are going to strike, but I don't understand how.

The feeling's intensity grew as the slugs streaked towards their target. Soon, the stirring grew to a humming vibration, rising towards a crescendo. Lothis knew somehow that if he still had the gateway open when it reached its highest pitch, it would kill him. The signal rose exponentially. Lothis' eyes widened and he held his breath.

Felar looked over at him. "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer, couldn't answer. He was using all his mental strength to shut the gateway between himself and the Entho-la-ah-mines. He strained, using everything within him to cut the link. It wouldn't budge and Lothis sensed the pitch was almost at its highest. Must. Push. Harder! he thought, redoubling his efforts. And then it closed, snapping shut with a violence that dazed Lothis. He sat back, feeling exhausted, drained, empty.

"I-I don't really know," he stammered, hugging his slender legs to his chest. "Buh-buh-but it's gone now." Felar stroked his hair, brows furrowed.

"Maybe we can get you to a doctor and he can figure out what is causing these—" she stopped for a moment, biting her lip. "These episodes. Maybe we can cure them."

Lothis looked up at her and smiled, but inwardly her words scared him. What if they take the signals away? The thought terrified him to the core. Yes, the signals frightened him too, but they were so sweet, turning the mundane blandness of the world into something beautiful. No, I will never let the signals go, but I have to learn to control their effects. And perhaps he could fine-tune which signals he tapped in to. Why didn't I have these experiences while down in my room? he wondered. Did they have me shielded somehow?

All other thoughts left his mind as Lothis saw the Founder's Hammer torn in two. Felar turned from him, seeing the look of wonder on his face. The Hammer was splitting into several sections, some pieces fragmenting even further.

"Founder bless them," Felar said, awe and astonishment in her lovely voice. Lothis didn't comprehend how it happened, but the destruction had to be connected to the signal he'd tuned in to earlier. How did the Entho-la-ah-mines do it? What he saw in the unfolding chaos sent his mind on a different track.

Pods were ejecting from the human craft, but they were not faring as well as Lothis and Felar. Some were damaged before they even left the Hammer, atmosphere and propellant leaking from compromised hulls. More flew straight into the wreckage of the ship, battered to junk before they could even maneuver. It looked like few, if any, would survive birth into the destruction engulfing the Hammer.

Lothis' attention was drawn to the Entho-la-ah-mine ship as it performed evasive maneuvers to escape both the slugs and the oncoming debris. It seemed as if the alien craft was starting to move out of danger, but it maneuvered too slowly. Slugs perforated its hull and the ship shuddered as atmosphere escaped through the rents. Lothis was captivated by the sight, stunned by the continuing destruction. He saw no escape pods, nor did he see any of the fire or explosions that were engulfing portions of the Hammer. The slugs had done their work and the Entho ship was crippled. Lothis could see that several hull pieces bearing down on the bi-pyramid were going to change that state from disabled to destroyed.

"We don't need to watch this," Felar told him, voice quavery.

Lothis turned away from the destruction and noticed a tear sliding down her cheek. He decided to say nothing, knowing he couldn't console her.

"We need to find a way to get the bugger out of here. We're running on limited air and fuel." Somehow he knew what she wasn't saying, "Now that both ships are destroyed, we have no one to rescue us." The thought scared him, but he had learned how to deal with fear under Haak-ah-tar. Felar was still with him and she would protect him. Of that he had no doubt.

They began working the terminals next to their seats, scanning the surrounding area for other ships. They found none. They looked for escape pod beacons with the same result. It was not an encouraging picture.

"In the rush to pursue that Entho vessel, I doubt the Hammer signaled its location back to Ashamine High Command." Felar paused, biting her lip and grimacing. "When HC doesn't hear anything from the Hammer, they'll assume the ship was destroyed by the supernova. In other words, no one will come to look for us."

Felar sounded bleak, but Lothis was still sure she would find a way to save them. She did it before and will do it again, no matter the odds.

Once they had done everything possible on the terminals, they turned to look at the battlefield again. It was a desolate sight, huge pieces of both hulls floating amongst smaller debris. It looked like annihilation. It felt like death.

Lothis continued staring, feeling like he was missing something. Finally, he caught hold of it. There was life out amongst the destruction. The signal was faint, but now he had found it, he knew for sure. It felt familiar, like the signal he'd experienced before the Ashamine ship broke up. Different somehow. Calmer. It was Entho-la-ah-mine. He didn't understand how to do anything with it, so he let go of the signal for the moment.

Time passed as they waited, and Lothis grew bored. There wasn't anything to do in the pod, so he continued exploring the surrounding signals. He reached out to them, caressing their energy and trying to find their source.

Soon, Lothis discovered a characteristic allowing him to distinguish two types of signals. Most originated from unintelligent sources, such as stars, planets, terminals, and mechanical objects. These he ignored for the moment. Far more interesting were those coming from intelligent, aware creatures.

Quickly, he determined this was how he had felt such a strong connection to Felar before they'd met. He could sense the goodness of her energy even now. He wanted to probe deeper, but was worried about what might happen. Instead, he focused his thoughts on the space outside the pod. The Entho-la-ah-mine energy was still nearby, as vibrant and alive as before. He pushed his mind further, past the wreckage, past the planet, as far as his newfound ability allowed. And then Lothis felt something... Different.

It was a fleeting glimpse, a tug at the edge of his perception. Someone or something is watching me. Not understanding how, Lothis pursued the signal. It almost vanished before he could latch onto it, but once he did, there was a source connection unlike any he'd felt before.

Lothis saw a group gathered around a cube, bright beings of shining light. The signal hurt his head, but he held onto it tightly. Curiosity forced him onward.

"This is the boy from the prophecy, yes?" Lothis couldn't tell who was speaking, couldn't distinguish any of the forms' characteristics.

"Indeed, and he grows much quicker than we imagined," a new voice said, lighter, more airy than the previous speaker. The scene flickered, the lights surging and dimming rapidly. Everything had a strange, foreign feel to it.

"If he has traced us back here, he's grown exponentially," a third, deep voice said.

"Did we give the rest of them enough guidance?" the first voice asked. Everything surged and flickered again, like electricity coursing through wire.

"The soldier saved the boy, the girl rescued the convict, and the engineer will soon find the protector. They all seem to be converging quite well." The last was spoken by a new voice, one rich and full of authority. "But we shouldn't be talking about these matters with him watching." Lothis felt the group's attention shift towards him, and the surrounding energy surged. The flicker oscillated more rapidly, reaching a driving crescendo that overwhelmed him.

Full consciousness rushed back into Lothis' body, and he tried not to gasp from the sensation. The pod was as quiet and boring as before. Felar sat aimlessly looking out the large view window. He had so many questions about what he'd just overheard. It seemed he would have plenty of time to think while they waited for rescue.

##  34 - Maxar

What a day, Maxar thought, wondering what would happen next. Their worm generator was permanently blighthearted. Jaydon had told them the "damned piece of equipment is terminally buggered." The drive had nearly cost them their lives, but they were surviving despite the handicap.

It had been Tremmilly's idea to slip through the Entho wormhole after the Ashamine ship. The maneuver was risky, but the odds were better than the alternative. We barely made it, Maxar thought, shaking his head. He was surprised the decrepit old craft had held together. And now they still had to make it to Eishon-2 before all their atmosphere slipped out the compromised hull. We don't have much surplus.

Their fun little escape had been further complicated when they saw the battle between the Ashamine ship and the Entho bi-pyramid. Maxar felt no remorse for the Ashamine dead. They deserve no pity. The Enthos on the other hand...

Creepily, the Revenge had ended up in the very system they'd sought in the first place, Eishon. Maxar watched Tremmilly go pale when they realized where they were, adding to his own feeling of unease. He'd tried to talk to her, but she just mumbled, "Leading or intuition?" in reply.

She is one strange girl, Maxar decided. Not that he didn't thank both her and the drunk for getting him off Bloodsport, but he firmly believed they both had issues. Somehow, the two were growing on him though. Maxar didn't know how to feel about that.

Tremmilly's home planet was small, out of the way, and lightly populated. He'd never heard of it, so chances were no one would know who he was or that he'd been sentenced to Bloodsport. Since the Enthos destroyed an Ashamine vessel in system, investigators will come and poke around, but they have no reason to go to the planet. It would be a great place to lie low for a while.

They were flying as fast as they could towards Tremmilly's home on Eishon-2 when Jaydon let out an exclamation. "I fund shomthing." Maxar had Tremmilly engaged in a game of Castle, but they both rose to see what the drunk had found.

When they arrived, Maxar saw nothing interesting, at least initially. After closely examining the terminal screen, he realized why Jaydon had called them. The terminal showed a stationary blinking dot in proximity to them. It was located along the vector the Ashamine and Entho ships had followed after leaving the worm. Maxar thought he knew what it meant, but Tremmilly didn't.

"What is it?" she questioned.

"It's han scape boat," Jaydon returned, words slurred.

"You mean someone actually survived that... that..." Maxar said, uncharacteristically at a loss for the word to sum up the battle.

"Well, ushually those sings honly blip lihike that when there is shomething shtill kicking insidesit." The owner and captain of the A'Tal's Revenge was fairly inebriated and his words came out in a rush. Maxar had spent little time with the man, but he'd already realized the captain had a major thirst for booze, of any kind, at any time of the day or night. "Do ya whanna gho pickit up?"

The question hung in the air, neither Maxar nor Tremmilly answering. Maxar was ready to tell the drunk to keep flying towards Eishon-2, but before he had the chance, Tremmilly answered. "Yes. If we can help someone, we should do it."

"The margin of safety for making it to the planet before we suffocate is precariously thin." Maxar didn't want to tell her straight out that she was wrong, but they were risking enough already. "Adding more people will slice the supply further. Is it worth the risk to rescue unknown, possibly hostile Ashamine personnel?"

"Maxar, we can't just leave someone to die," Tremmilly replied, a disapproving look on her face.

Jaydon, not seeming to care either way, began piloting towards the pod. Maxar turned to the girl and spoke, making sure he was loud enough Jaydon was included in the conversation. "If we take Ashamine soldiers back to your planet, they'll bring blightheart down on us. Anyone who's watched Bloodsport will recognize me, and if one of those solders is a fan, another Ashamine battle cruiser will be breathing down our necks in no time. Even if none of them recognize me, at the very least we'll all be questioned about the destruction of the Ashamine ship. We will be required to testify. I, for one, don't want anything to do with that, especially since I so recently escaped incarceration."

Maxar thought he'd never seen someone look at him with so much incredulity. "You, of all people, should be able to empathize with someone in need of rescue. I still don't understand why I came to get you, but I can see a clear reason for helping whoever is in that escape craft." Maxar wasn't one to allow someone to correct him, but Tremmilly's words cut deep. He didn't let it show, a trait he'd learned while pitted against the most vicious criminals in the Akked Galaxy.

Jaydon dutifully brought the ship closer to the Ashamine escape pod, navigating surprisingly well considering his condition. The time to cover the intervening distance passed in silence. Maxar didn't feel like finishing the game of Castles, and Tremmilly didn't seem interested either. Jaydon continued drinking, something he apparently did as a hobby.

The pod's hull was intact, with no visible damage or atmospheric leakage. Maxar still thought taking on survivors was a bad idea, but he held his tongue, not wanting to provoke Tremmilly any more than he had already. Why does this girl have power over me? Jaydon tried hailing the small craft, but received no reply.

"I whonder if heir chomms got damaged or shomething," he remarked, the seriousness of his tone almost lost in drunken slurring.

Before he really considered what he was doing, Maxar bent over a terminal and initiated a transmission. "Listen," he said, voice cold and commanding, "if you don't talk, we aren't going to pick you up. If we don't pick you up, you are going to float for a very, very long time."

When he'd finished, a young boy's voice responded, "We are running from the Ashamine. Will you help us?" The directness of his statement took Maxar aback.

While he was still contemplating his answer, an older voice came on, one of a woman. "I'm sorry, my son is somewhat distraught and doesn't realize what he's saying. We were running from the supernova, not the Ashamine. May I ask who we are speaking to?"

Maxar had no idea how to answer that one, so he shut his mouth. This time, Tremmilly answered, "We are friends. We'll get you and your son out of there and to safety." Her voice sounded wispy and odd. While she spoke, Tremmilly reached her hand up to her head as if she were experiencing a headache. Maxar shook his head in amazement. He had never been around someone like this. Such an odd one... That was OK he supposed, at least it had caused her to come to Bloodsport to save him.

"Thank you very much," the woman replied.

Maxar could hear something familiar in her voice, but couldn't quite place what it was. Do I know her? That sounded impossible, but he guessed it wasn't out of the question. Then, after a moment's consideration, he understood. Clipped tone, not quite emotionless, but close. It was the speech patterns of someone used to getting respect. Perhaps she was a Bloodsporter? But why would she have been on the Ashamine ship? Most likely some type of officer. Regardless, her tone spoke of someone used to being in control. Best stay on guard.

Amazingly enough, Jaydon didn't smash either the Revenge or the small escape vehicle in the tricky docking procedure. Maxar didn't care what happened, so he relaxed, but Tremmilly uttered nervous noises every time Jaydon narrowly avoided slamming the two crafts together.

The docking complete, Jaydon rose to usher in his new guests. After several long blinks, he fell back into his seat. "Will yhou both khindly welcome the new ar-ar-arrivals?" he asked. Maxar could barely understand the sot, but he made out the request. He didn't want to do it, but he supposed he couldn't expect Tremmilly to go alone or with only Beowulf for support. It was possible those on the escape vehicle would attempt to capture the ship, but Maxar thought it unlikely.

Tremmilly led the way to the docking port, Beowulf and Maxar trailing behind. She pressurized the short section connecting the two vessels and then opened the ship's end. The escape vehicle was still closed, the fresh door paint making the disrepair of the Revenge more apparent.

Maxar, standing behind Tremmilly, saw her touch her head in much the same way as she'd done on the command deck. "You got a headache or something?" he asked, trying not to sound exasperated because of their guests' delay.

"No, not really," she said absentmindedly. Maxar waited for her to continue, but when it didn't seem likely, he spoke again.

"You just keep putting your hand up on your head, like it hurts or something. You're sure you're alright?"

Still taking little note of what Maxar was saying, Tremmilly did manage to answer. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little distracted. It's a strange feeling. I can sense something on the other side of this door." Beowulf emitted a high-pitched whine as Tremmilly finished speaking, making Maxar start.

What does she mean? He decided, yet again, that the girl was definitely not mentally right. Sure, Tremmilly was attractive, but by the Founder, she had a strange personality. Can't let myself get too attached, Maxar thought, and then felt surprised when he realized he needed to warn himself at all.

The sound of an opening hatch broke into Maxar's thoughts. The woman stepping through immediately impressed him as hard-headed, stiff-necked, and by-the-regulations. Dislike immediately rose within Maxar. He couldn't tell why exactly, but he still felt his instinct to leave the escape vehicle had been the correct choice. Then, he noticed her fatigues and his first impressions were confirmed. Military. Great, he thought sardonically. Things hadn't gone perfectly escaping Bloodsport, but they had proceeded well enough. Now, he feared all that had been for naught.

Maxar carefully schooled his face to look neutral and betray none of his inner turmoil. When the kid stepped through the hatch though, it became exponentially harder.

The youth was small and scrawny, black hair messy and unkempt. His clothes were mostly clean, but they hung on him, making him look even smaller. These qualities weren't what disconcerted Maxar so much, however. His eyes. Orange. Just like the Founder's. Maxar had never seen such eyes anywhere but in the vids of the Founder. And this kid takes the leader's direct and penetrating gaze to a whole new level. The kid peered into him, digging down to his soul. Maxar gazed back, unable to pull himself out. Deeper... Deeper...

Then the woman spoke and broke him out of his trance. "I'm 3rd Class Enlightened Felar Haltro. This," she said, pointing to the twig Founder, "is my son Jon." Everyone stood motionless in the following silence. Tremmilly, waking from her strange behavior, broke it.

"My name is Tremmilly. This is Maxar," she noted, pointing to him. "This large dog here is my friend, Beowulf. Don't worry, he's big, but his kindness is as massive."

Sure it is, Maxar thought, good story. Ignore the fact you saw him tear out throats back on the orbital dock.

Felar and Jon noticed the big wolf-dog then for the first time, and they reacted as if they'd heard Maxar's thought. Twig boy let out a high-pitched yelp and clutched the woman, who, reacting with a fighter's reflexes, reached for a weapon that was not holstered at her belt. Maxar noted the movement, filing the slice of data away for analysis later.

"Don't worry, he won't hurt you. I promise. See?" Tremmilly stroked Beowulf, his long, lustrous coat flowing through her fingers. The wolf-dog normally looked quite intimidating, but with the gorgeous girl petting him, he lost some of his ferocity. He even had the good sense to roll onto his back to further the illusion of harmlessness.

Twig boy poked his head out from his mother, and after watching a few moments, cautiously walked to the dog and began petting him. Beowulf's right rear leg kicked the air in pleasure, but the boy, not understanding the movement, jumped away. "No, no, he just does that when he likes what you're doing," Tremmilly said. The boy resumed petting the dog, which was quite brave considering the previous scares.

"This isn't my ship," Tremmilly said, standing up and looking at Felar, "but make yourself at home. If you would like to meet the captain, he's on the command deck."

Felar scrutinized her surroundings and decided nothing was an imminent threat. The look on her face made it evident she thought as much of the ship as Maxar did. "Alright," Felar replied curtly. She seemed to note the near hostility in her voice, because when she spoke again it had vanished. "We are both grateful you picked us up." Felar gave Maxar an appraising look and then asked, "Are you military?"

The directness of her question caught Maxar off guard, and he didn't immediately know how to respond. "No. Why do you ask?" She looked at him suspiciously, but the look disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

"You have the bearing of a soldier," she said dismissively. Maxar stole a look at Tremmilly and said a silent thanks the girl wasn't giving anything away. Given she was so transparent most of the time, it was a minor miracle. "What caused the holes in the hull?" Felar continued, catching Maxar off guard yet again.

"In our haste to escape Haak-ah-tar, we accidentally flew through some space junk. I think an Ashamine ship had just jettisoned it. Must have torn us up pretty good because we're venting atmosphere. Should have enough to make it to Eishon-2 though." Maxar tried to say the last bit as nonchalantly as possible, hoping she would drop the subject.

"Really," was all Felar said in reply, sounding less than convinced.

"Well, let's go see if the great Captain Jaydon is still conscious," Tremmilly said cheerily, smoothly transitioning them from the awkward silence following Felar's last statement. Maxar let out a single bark of laughter at the girl's pronouncement.

They all followed Tremmilly through the litter-strewn ship to the command deck. Maxar brought up the rear, not wanting the soldier woman or the twig-boy behind him. Beowulf amicably trotted at his side, happy with Maxar's companionship.

When they reached the deck, they found Jaydon unconscious, his bottle lying on the floor. Some of its contents had spilled on the grimy deck. Beowulf trotted over and began licking at it. When Tremmilly realized what he was doing, she scolded him. He trotted back, head low.

"Is your captain always this way or is this how he welcomes guests?" Felar's tone was hard to interpret. He couldn't tell if she was joking or if she was being sarcastically cutting. She continued, and it quickly resolved his indecision. "I thought the maneuvering of the ship was erratic. It was highly irresponsible for you to allow this man to pilot a ship while intoxicated, let alone attempt a rescue. Jon and I could have been killed."

Ingrate, Maxar thought.

"He is usually like this," Tremmilly said timidly, answering Felar's original question, "although I haven't known him for long." Whatever Felar made of this answer, she gave no outward sign. Instead, she started a new topic.

"What is your destination? Can you fly the ship or must we wait for the captain to sober up?" Maxar could see the woman was trying to plan several steps in advance, always a desirable trait in a soldier. He'd never thought her inept, but a small amount of respect arose in him.

"Well, we are headed for Eishon-2. There aren't a lot of flights off that world, so I don't know how long you'll be stuck there, but it's better there than floating in space, right?" There was a note of conciliation in Tremmilly's voice, apparently wishing the older woman would forgive her for Jaydon's drunkenness.

"That's fine," Felar responded, too quickly. She tried to stay emotionless, but Maxar picked up the momentary flash of eagerness that crossed her face. This too was filed back in his mind for later review. Then something clicked.

Why is someone who is active military traveling with her son? It was obvious the woman was on duty due to the fact she was in uniform. Something about Felar and the twig-boy didn't add up. Maxar didn't want to figure it out though, he just wanted to get away from them. Anyone connected to the Ashamine would have a duty to subdue him, and barring that, at least report his escape.

"Either myself or Maxar can fly this craft though, so don't worry about having to wait for Jaydon to come back to the land of the living." Tremmilly was still trying to lighten the situation and her latest effort had a positive effect.

"That's great, real great," Felar said, a smile finally appearing. Maxar noted how beautiful it made her look, but that did little to change his desire to put as much distance between himself and the woman as possible.

Maxar turned to look at the boy, only to see him staring directly at him. His gaze was disconcerting in the extreme and Maxar wished the kid would quit using it on him. The fact the boy had said nothing the whole time he'd been on the ship was stranger still. Plus, other than his initial fright of Beowulf, he was unnaturally calm. A normal kid would be flapping from all the drama of escaping a ship that was smashed to pieces. Not natural, not natural at all.

After carrying Jaydon to the cargo hold, Maxar took a crate back to the command deck. He sat in the corner, watching Tremmilly switch the system over to auto-nav. Beowulf lay down next to him, and Maxar began petting the shaggy wolf-dog. Soon, Tremmilly and Felar got over some of their initial awkwardness and were talking more naturally, discussing their pasts and the current situation. The twig-boy Jon kept staring at Maxar, orange eyes piecing.

This is going to be a long thirty minutes, Maxar thought, trying to ignore him.

##  35 - Tremmilly

An alarm blared and Tremmilly turned her attention to the console. Fear surged through her. "We just hit critical level for atmosphere." She reached forward and silenced the alarm.

Maxar stood from the crate he'd been sitting on in the corner and checked the display. He looked thoughtful for a moment and then announced, "It's gonna be close, but I think we'll make it."

Silence descended over the command deck. Tremmilly still felt nervous. The image of being trapped in a space with no air kept running through her mind. I have to focus on something else, she thought. There is nothing I can do about that now.

"Where were you stationed before the Founder's Hammer?" Tremmilly finally asked Felar, resuming the conversation they'd been having before the alert.

"Ashamine-4," she replied, looking up from Jon, a concerned expression lingering on her face. "It's the AF training world. I was an instructor for a while."

Tremmilly was also worried about Jon. He'd looked withdrawn the entire time he'd been on the ship.

"Is she the girl? And which one is the convict?" he said quietly, alternating looks between Tremmilly, the cargo hold doorway, and Maxar.

How does he know there's a convict on board? Tremmilly wondered, heart jumping. His orange eyes reminded her of something she couldn't quite grasp.

"Ashamine-4 sounds like an interesting place," Tremmilly replied distractedly. "I've never been anywhere but Eishon-2 and Noor-5. That's why I'm excited to go back. It'll be great to see Psidonnis after so long." Maxar returned to his seat in the corner, seeming content to be silent. He hadn't said much since Felar and Jon had come aboard. I bet he's still worried Felar will turn him in. Tremmilly had no such concern. The woman had dropped her stern exterior, and Tremmilly felt a kinship with the Ashamine soldier.

The ship's terminal beeped loudly, signaling their proximity to Eishon-2. Tremmilly looked out the window, tearing up with happiness. "Those oceans are pristine," she said, pointing out the view window, "clean blue water stretching as far as you can see. I've never sailed them, not many do, but I have been to the beach. If you follow the line of those snowy mountains south, you'll see a vast plain bordered by forests on three sides. We are headed to the western edge of the plains. That's where my home is."

"I'm excited," Felar said. Maxar nodded and smiled.

"There are a few things I should tell you about my village." Tremmilly said, her anxiety shifting to a new cause as they approached the grass landing area outside the village. "It is made up of mostly Dygars. Their customs are strange. I'm not sure what they will say to you. I just wanted to warn you not to be offended."

"Do they sacrifice humans?" Maxar asked with mock horror.

"No," Tremmilly said, laughing, "nothing like that. The priests can just be an odd bunch, that's all."

"I'm sure we can handle it," Felar said. "And maybe Jaydon can get counseling from Psidonnis or another priest. He obviously needs it."

After a few more minutes of conversation, the ship set down gently and went to standby. Tremmilly walked back into the cargo hold, hoping Jaydon would be awake. He was still passed out, clutching his bottle.

"Well, guess you'll have to catch up later," she told him. Tremmilly hoped Jaydon would decide to stay on Eishon-2 for a while. The peacefulness of the place would help him heal, even if he decided against counseling. "You still owe me the story about who I remind you of. I'm holding you to that," she said with a sad smile, hitting the hatch release.

Felar, Jon, and Maxar followed her outside and Tremmilly was surprised to see a priest standing a short distance from the ship. Her heart soared as she walked towards her old friend. A moment later, she realized the man was elderly and bald like him, but it wasn't Psidonnis. In fact, it wasn't anyone she knew.

"Terra bless you children," he said in a beatific tone. "I am Brother Torvold. Father Psidonnis sent me to fetch you. He foresaw your coming." Tremmilly noticed Felar and Maxar exchanging looks, but was thankful neither said anything. The boy took it all in, his penetrating orange eyes absorbing everything around him.

"Terra bless you too, Brother Torvold," Tremmilly said, bowing her head slightly. "Thank you for coming to escort us." The priest bowed in return and began walking towards the settlement, gesturing them to follow.

"While you were off planet, Brother Psidonnis was raised to Father," Brother Torvold said. "His prophecy accorded him great honor and prestige. Terra manifested through him, showing us her favor." Brother Torvold fell silent, looking like he had something he needed to say. Tremmilly kept quiet, a sinking feeling building in her stomach. "Shortly after the ceremony, Father Psidonnis suffered a stroke. The Healing Father looked at him, but said there was nothing to be done. He has been resting in his cottage ever since."

Tremmilly broke into a run towards the settlement, tears streaming from her eyes. Beowulf loped easily at her heels. Her desire to see Psidonnis narrowed her vision, and she failed to notice any of the familiar sights greeting her homecoming. When she entered his cottage, Tremmilly gasped.

Psidonnis was withered and atrophied, his body a ghost of its previous state. The Dygars were obviously taking good care of him, but he looked on the verge of death. Tremmilly rushed to his side, all the fears conjured by Brother Torvold's words now manifest before her. When she sank beside his cot, a choked sob escaped her lips. Psidonnis opened his eyes and smiled. A jagged sliver of pain drove into Tremmilly as she saw one lid didn't open as far as the other, that half of the formerly radiant smile didn't exist.

"Hello Trem," he said, voice slurring the mellifluous tones she had heard her entire life. This, more than anything, drove home the realization he was damaged. She wanted him to get up, to quit giving her that inadvertent sneer of a smile, but it wasn't going to happen. She felt helplessness and despair engulf her.

"Hail Psidonnis," she replied, returning the greeting they had performed so many times. "I wish I had never gone. This wouldn't have happened if I had stayed," she said, tears flooding her eyes. How could he have changed so much in just six weeks?

"You had no control over this," Psidonnis said reassuringly. "There was nothing you could have done." He raised his left arm and used it to gesture her closer, embracing her as best he could. "I sent you away. Great Terra has shown me much of your journey. I know you brought someone back, a few someones in fact." Tremmilly didn't know how to respond, so she sat in silence.

"You did a great job, Trem," Psidonnis continued. "I knew you would. It's scary going off world, but you did it. I'm afraid, however, there is more for you to do."

At this, Tremmilly stiffened, ready to fight his judgment. "I'm not leaving you again, especially not when you are like this. I won't let you die." Her words tasted bitter.

"Tremmilly, I'm going to pass on," he said, the slur of his voice reducing the severity of his tone.

"I'll take you off world so real doctors can help you. They'll fix your brain, reverse the damage. They can do amazing things with nano-tech." This idea revitalized her, gave her hope. Before she'd finished speaking, he shook his head.

"That's a great idea Tremmilly, and we could go right now if it weren't for the fact that time is precious and growing short. There is no time for you to waste on me."

"Waste?! Waste?!" she shouted, voice becoming shrill. "What is more important than saving the life of my most beloved friend? Tell me!"

"If you had the choice between saving me and saving everyone in the universe with all its generations to come, what would you do?" he asked, most of the slur replaced with a commanding tone. Tremmilly calmed, responding to his authority.

"That question makes no sense and has no answer," she replied, refusing to give in. "I'm not the Founder, able to influence the galaxy. I can merely love and help those closest to me."

"Even the smallest pebble may change the course of a mighty river if it is close enough to the source. I know you want to take care of me, but you must not. You don't have the time. I'm telling you that great and terrible events are ahead of us, and you are but a small stone. You must get as close to the river's source as possible, must divert it so we are not all swept away." The vitality was draining from his eyes and Tremmilly could see he was growing more exhausted.

"You need to rest. You look tired," she implored, feeling drained herself.

"Yes, yes," he replied distractedly, his eyes, both the open and the veiled, taking on a far off look that didn't ease her fears. "Just remember that I will always love you." She rose from beside his cot and walked to the door.

"We can talk more when I get back," she said, fighting hard not to begin sobbing. "I'm going to go get some blankets or a cot so I can sleep near you, that way if you need anything, I can get it." He didn't seem to notice her leaving.

When she returned to the cottage, Psidonnis was dead.

***

The memorial for her greatest human friend was held two days later, during a sunny afternoon. The wind blew gently, whispering through the full green leaves of the trees. Tremmilly thought it a fitting day to remember a kind, gentle man. When they laid him to rest in mother Terra, his flesh bare and ready to receive her embrace, Tremmilly quit resisting her emotions. She cried and cried, great sobs wracking her small frame. Her parents had passed before she understood what death meant. That loss had dulled with time, but this—this was fresh, deep, and raw.

As she left the memorial, a hand snaked around her own, squeezing tightly. When she was able to blink away enough tears, she saw Felar standing next to her, her son Jon following close behind. She squeezed back, grateful she had a new friend to be with as she said goodbye to an old one. Maxar and Jaydon soon joined the group, bringing more light to Tremmilly's darkness. Jaydon's movements were graceful. He didn't have his bottle.

They all walked in silence for a while, taking in the bright sunshine and fresh air. "We're sorry for your loss," Maxar said, as Tremmilly stopped near the stream bank. The water coursed through well-worn rocks, the sound soothing her raw emotions.

"Thank you," was all Tremmilly could think of as a response.

"I hate to talk about it right now," Maxar said awkwardly, "but we all need to discuss what happens next." He paused for several moments, and when no one responded, he pushed on. "Felar, what do you think the Ashamine's response will be?"

Felar thought for a moment, then answered, "I doubt anyone on the Hammer had time to transmit their location to Ashamine Forces Command, so they'll have to send out ships to look for it. That will take time, but Eishon-2 is a known worm location, so they will be here before too long. Once they find the debris, they'll send an investigative team." She paused for a moment, looking unsure.

"What is it?" Tremmilly asked, the discussion drawing her out of her grief.

"Well," Felar said, hesitatingly, "the Hammer was carrying some pretty important cargo. I'm guessing the Ashamine will send out more than just a team. They'll probably dispatch a whole battle group to recover it."

"Great," Maxar grumbled, shaking his head.

"What kind of cargo?" Jaydon asked, his coherent question surprising Tremmilly.

"It's classified above my level," Felar answered.

Maxar had a resigned, disappointed look in his eyes. "Whatever it is, they'll be crawling all over Eishon-2 asking questions, looking for it. I'd hoped to be able to stay here for at least a little while, but now it's important Tremmilly, Jaydon, and I to head somewhere outside the Eishon system."

"You did nothing wrong," Felar said, looking puzzled, "why not wait? Tremmilly is in the midst of her grief and the ship is in dire need of repair."

Tremmilly looked at Jaydon and Maxar, hoping one of them would explain. Neither did. OK, if they aren't going to fabricate a good lie, I'll tell the truth.

"Before I left Eishon-2, Psidonnis spoke a prophecy. It's the whole reason I left in the first place. I only understand parts of it, and I'm not sure I even have those right. Though I loved Psidonnis, I have mixed feelings about the prophecy. It's complicated. Initially, I only followed it because it was exciting. In the end, I got more than I wanted, but I also met all of you. I don't believe in gods, but it seems like something is leading me. Maybe it's just my intuition, or chance." She felt like she wasn't making sense, but Felar nodded, so she continued.

"Anyway, following the leading took me to the A'Tal's Revenge and Jaydon." Tremmilly paused. She could see Maxar tensing, knowing what she was about to say. "Jaydon helped me get to Bloodsport, where we rescued Maxar."

Felar looked over at Maxar. "I figured as much. Your story about being a merchant on Haak-ah-tar was pretty flimsy. You're a warrior and it shows. If it makes you feel any better, you don't have to worry about me reporting you. I don't owe the Ashamine anything."

"You're an Enlightened. That's not exactly a conscript," Maxar replied.

Tremmilly could tell he was angry with her for revealing his secret, but Felar had responded how Tremmilly knew she would. It will be easier now that we don't have to keep secrets from each other. Tremmilly hoped she hadn't damaged her growing friendship with Maxar.

"You're right," Felar answered, voice level, "but lately some things have made me question my allegiance. Those events have also put me in a position where I need to stay away from the Ashamine investigation as well. The truth is, I kidnapped Jon from his father. He was an abusive man, but highly ranked in the Ashamine. If they find Jon, they'll take him back to his father and put me in the Clothing of the Iconoclast."

This revelation surprised Tremmilly, but made sense when she thought about it. The woman's tough exterior, the boy's quietness: everything fell into place. "I'm so sorry," Tremmilly said, putting her arm around Jon. The boy reluctantly accepted her affection, eyes focused elsewhere.

"So," Felar said, a wan smile on her face, "it looks like Maxar and I at least have need to stay away from the blighthearted Ashamine. Tremmilly, you could remain here though. All record of you and Jaydon's presence on Bloodsport was likely destroyed in the supernova."

"I have no reason to stay here," Tremmilly replied, trying not to start crying again. "Besides, there is the prophecy. Captain Jaydon, is your ship still for hire?"

"Ain't nobody paid me yet, and it's busted," he said, "but yes, I'll continue to let you fly my ship around the buggered Akked. Drunk in a dock or drunk in space, doesn't matter one bit to me."

"The hull of the Revenge needs a day or two of repair," Maxar said, "and we'll need to find someone to fix the worm drive, if that's possible."

Jaydon thought for a moment. "If I stay sober, we can get the hull done in a couple hours."

Tremmilly doubted that would happen. I'll do my best to help him stick to it.

"And what about this prophecy?" Felar asked. "Am I in it?" Her words sounded like a joke, but Tremmilly could see the underlying seriousness.

"I'm not sure." Tremmilly's embarrassment crept back into the pit of her stomach. They're friends, they'll understand. "The best way for you to know is to listen and see for yourself."

Tremmilly began a recitation of the prophecy, exactly as Psidonnis had told her originally:

"When the Breakers rise, there shall be six on whose choices the worlds do lie. The choice of virtue or corruption will bring an ancient existence to many, death to more still. Persevere and strive, the Acclivity will bless those who survive.

"Six shall have great influence, many choices when the Breakers rise. Woe to six, that Breakers have experience when they have none. Six shall have need of all their will.

"The first be of a light most bright, spirit most pure. Her life touched by death before cognition, her desire only for peace. She shall start the fire that kindles the worlds to the Acclivity. Woe to the Breakers.

"The next shall have hands that shed blood, his blood in motion with machines. He does not know his heart, yet through course of life he shall learn what to see. He shall be the strong hands that guide the Acclivity, albeit he is not gentle. Woe to the Breakers.

"She of battle will fight beside the hands, her heart ferocious, yet kind. Her path has been strange, her child not of her blood. She shall be a strong pillar, the Acclivity magnified through her strength. Woe to the Breakers.

"Next is a man of character, the dead that is found, wearing that which is ancient, the icon of legends long past. His heart is good and powerful, a mighty man to lead the Acclivity. Woe to the Breakers.

"He that is green has strength of mind, his people are his weapon. He is dissimilar, but his heart is good; send him not away. He shall unite a people unspoiled, he shall be the salvation of those of his kind. He shall bring his kind to the Acclivity, and the worlds will tremble at their might. Woe to the Breakers.

"Last is he smallest of all, but a boy in the eyes of the world. He is descended from power, full of power, wielding power. His mind is a weapon, though his hands be frail. His heart is strong, though his body may fail. He has the power of life, the gift of death. The Acclivity rests on his shoulders. Woe to the Breakers.

"All six shall have friends and foes alike, some from within and some from out. Many more shall sway the Acclivity, many more essential. Some will live and many more will die. Come forth you adventurers, you seekers of battle. The Acclivity calls, though the Breakers may yet decide the fate of the worlds.

"But to you who would stay in comfort and safety, not yielding to the call: Blightheart shall establish itself on you and the worlds will be sundered by the Breakers."

##  36 - Cazz-ak-tak

Cazz-ak-tak knew that he, Elth-eo-lan, and the Queen were the only ones left. He was surprised they'd survived the ship's destruction. His last minute effort of creating a survival sphere was now the only thing standing between the Queen and annihilation. He could feel gratitude emanating from them.

In a way, Cazz-ak was sorry he'd made the effort. He had spared them from a quick death in favor of a slow and agonizing one. The harder he fought, the worse the outcome became. He shielded all his inner turmoil from Elth-eo-lan and the Queen, not wanting to demoralize them.

Early on, he'd been able to draw on the Great Thought to move their small orb through space. Now, with the death of his crew on the main ship, he'd lost the focused connection. The three of them alone could barely move the small craft, its interior cramped, dark, and devoid of gravity.

"Come stand next to the hull," Cazz-ak had directed back on the bi-pyramid, before the collision with the Ashamine debris. Elth-eo-lan and the Queen had done so, trusting him. Focusing the Great Thought, Cazz-ak molded a portion of the hull to surround them, creating a small escape vessel. This will save us, he thought hopefully. Now, it seemed he'd only prolonged the inevitable. And created a version of the human burial ritual. When they ran out of breathable atmosphere—which, considering the small space, would not take long—death would come for them again.

"My name is Na-ah-co," the new Queen said mind to mind, breaking into Cazz-ak's thoughts. At first, he didn't know what to make of her declaration. It was outside custom and disconnected from the situation. In the past, a queen was always named by a council of elders, the choice symbolic of the times she lived in.

"It means, 'She who mocks adversity'," Elth-eo-lan sent, breaking into the silence that had developed after the Queen's declaration. Her voice sounded happy and Cazz-ak had no idea why.

"It is for the elders to decide," Cazz-ak sent, a note of disapproval in his tone. "Please do not be hasty, my Queen."

"It is not for you to rebuke me," she replied, voice stern and developed, surprising in one so young. "I am your Queen, I am Na-ah-co, I mock adversity. I see no elders here to name me."

"As you say, my Queen," Cazz-ak replied, bowing his head. He supposed it was unimportant what her name was or who picked it. What mattered was that she was strong and growing stronger by the minute. She is healthy and has the makings of a powerful leader.

"You fear you have brought us here to die. You believe it would have been better to experience a quick death in a flash of light as opposed to dying in the dark of this orb." She had conveyed his thoughts exactly, feelings he'd tried to keep from her.

Is she that strong or did my shield slip? "As you say, Queen Na-ah-co. I only fear for your safety."

"Be calm. Even now, as you despair, there come those who will take us to safety. They try to contact us with electro-magnetic signals." Cazz-ak wondered how she knew this, but he remained silent. The hull of their small orb was thick and opaque, impossible to see out of. She must have sensed them with her mind, but that was a feat Cazz-ak had never heard of. The detection of life other than Entho-la-ah-mine had never been demonstrated, the sensing of frequencies outside visible light thought impossible. This young queen had somehow done one, the other, or both.

She might be imagining it, perhaps in desperation or hope.

"No. Do not doubt me. They draw near."

Am I transparent to her?

Just as he was about to apologize, Cazz-ak felt the orb drop slightly and crash against something. Everyone fell into a pile at the bottom of the sphere. Cazz-ak realized, dazedly, that there was now gravity. He guessed they were inside a ship, its artificial gravity affecting them.

This knowledge made Cazz-ak wonder who had picked them up. It was most certainly humans, and from Cazz-ak's experience, most were menacing, angry beings. He wondered briefly if death in space would be better than what these humans had in mind. "No," the Queen once again sent, "they are friends, at least for the moment."

How can she know this?

A light tapping on the hull announced someone was outside. "Join your minds to mine," Queen Na-ah-co sent. She took up the threads of thought and strengthened them, focusing the result into a thin knife. As both Cazz-ak and Elth-eo-lan watched, the Queen cut an opening large enough for an Entho-la-ah-mine.

Once the hull section fell outward, the Queen stepped boldly through, not waiting to see if her caretakers were following. Cazz-ak beat Elth-eo-lan to the new hatch, immediately catching sight of their hosts.

They were tall, at least from Cazz-ak's perspective, but all humans seemed that way, except their immature form. There were two, one somewhat taller than the other. The larger had dark brown hair that came down to his odd human ears. Cazz-ak thought his eyes were a strange, penetrating gray. It made him think of the frozen worlds he'd been to, of dark ice. The shorter man was slightly smaller than average for a human. His hair looked like fire.

"I'm Wake Darmekus, Brotherhood of Azak-so," the taller one said audibly, bowing slightly towards the group of Entho-la-ah-mines. "This is Ralen Call, also of the Brotherhood of Azak-so. You are on board the Ashamine's Bane." Once the man had introduced himself and his comrade, the room fell silent. No one spoke, either audibly or mentally. Cazz-ak knew the Queen reserved the right of first contact, but then he realized perhaps she wanted him to handle negotiations.

"My name is Cazz-ak-tak," he finally replied via mental link. Both men jumped. They looked at each other, trying to confirm it was not a hallucination. "This is Elth-eo-lan and Na-ah-co," Cazz-ak sent, motioning to each when he said their name. He deliberately omitted the title of queen, suspecting that was wise until the humans showed their intentions.

"Not meaning to be rude, but is this the manner in which you communicate? I have never been near Enthos and am unclear on customs or procedures that we should follow." The man named Wake was formal in his speech, talking with respect, other than the use of "Entho", which was a derogatory term. This was not Cazz-ak's first time dealing with humans, but it was starting better than any meeting he'd ever been part of.

"We have no ability to speak via sound waves," Cazz-ak explained. "Having our mental capabilities, the function never evolved."

"Ah, I see," Wake said, brow furrowing. Cazz-ak had studied humans as much as was possible for someone in his position. Knowing their mentality and reactions was important in dealing with this species. Learning their language had helped tremendously. Much of what they thought and felt was displayed clearly on their face, but language, with all its tones and inflections, added an even greater advantage during negotiation. "At any rate, we wish there were more of you for us to pick up, but our sensors say you are the only living beings out there. Another vessel came in behind the big Ashamine ship. They picked up one of its escape vehicles and sped off to Eishon-2." Wake seemed to realize he was rambling and stopped, looking over to Ralen.

"We'd be real happy if you'd follow us up to the command deck," Ralen added. The Captain would like to speak with you. He wants to know your story and what you'd have us do now that you're on board." Cazz-ak could see Ralen's small frame relax as he spoke.

Cazz-ak gave his assent, Elth-eo-lan and Na-ah-co remaining silent. They followed Ralen and Wake through narrow passages and onto the command deck. It was a small space, and there wasn't enough room for all of them to go in at the same time. Cazz-ak, not receiving any instructions from the Queen, continued to lead. He walked into the command area, stopping in front of a well muscled human with short white hair and blue eyes.

"Captain Malesis here," he said, a smile on his face. Cazz-ak thought the smile looked friendly as opposed to menacing, something rare in his experience.

"Cazz-ak-tak, Elth-eo-lan, and Na-ah-co," Cazz-ak said by way of introduction. Malesis didn't seem surprised by the mental communication and Cazz-ak guessed this was not the man's first encounter with Entho-la-ah-mines.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," Malesis replied, still sounding genuine. "We brought you in because it looked like you needed help."

"Indeed," Cazz-ak said. "We thank you for your kindness and for inconveniencing yourself to help those scorned by your kind." He said the last part so he could judge Malesis' reaction. The man took no offense. Instead, he agreed.

"There is much humanity has done to wrong your species, and for that I'm truly sorry. I, and the whole Brotherhood for that matter, do all we can to make up for the injustice and harm caused by humankind." Captain Malesis seemed honest, but Cazz-ak had one more thing to say in order to satisfy himself this man could be trusted.

"Xenocide, you mean." Most humans would deny any such thing, that they were merely defending their interests on planets "Enthos" occupied. What they always failed to mention was that the Entho-la-ah-mines were there first, the human colonists came without permission, caused problems with their "Entho" neighbors, and then sat back in satisfaction when the human ships came to wipe out the "dirty buggers".

"Yes, that is truth," Malesis said matter-of-factly, looking directly into Cazz-ak's eyes.

Cazz-ak decided Malesis, and possibly the Brotherhood, could be trusted. Just a little to begin with, maybe more if they earn it. Telling them Na-ah-co was the last queen was still unwise, but Cazz-ak felt confident they weren't going to kill them all outright.

"Our question now is what to do," Malesis said, breaking the silence that had descended after his statement. "We have the feeling since you destroyed that huge Ashamine ship, they'll be out here soon to investigate. We have our own reasons for wanting to avoid them," his eyes flicked a quick glance at Wake, almost too fast to notice, "so we'd prefer to stay as far away from the Ashamine as possible."

"Agreed."

"We could drop you off at an Entho-la-ah-mine world, but those are becoming few and far between and we need to stop on Eishon-2 for business. You could come along and we could decide what to do once the situation clarifies."

Considering he had no other option and his fate was firmly in their five fingered hands, Cazz-ak decided this was as good a plan as any. He needed time to think and confer with both Na-ah-co and Elth-eo-lan about their next move. At least now they were safer than when they'd been drifting in the escape orb. Our life expectancy has increased, Cazz-ak thought hopefully.

"That sounds good. Thank you," Cazz-ak sent, trying to make the thought a happy one since he had no physical way to express emotion to the humans.

"It's agreed then," the Captain said, a broad grin splitting his face. "We are going to the Brotherhood installation on Eishon-2. It's in the foothills near the southern pole. Eishon-2 is a warm place and very hospitable, but there aren't many inhabitants. The planet is mainly composed of the galaxy's misfits, the Brotherhood included." This he said with a fond look in his eyes. "The Ashamine leaves this neighborhood of the galaxy alone for the most part, so it's a good place for those who don't care for them. In other words, perfect for some Entho-la-ah-mines who want to hide from the Ashamine until they can arrange something better." He smiled at Cazz-ak and his companions before turning back to his terminal and entering commands.

The human vessel resumed its course towards the planet, and as time went on, Eishon-2's features began to grow larger. As they entered the atmosphere, Cazz-ak sent a message to his fellow Entho-la-ah-mines through the Great Thought, noting their location and the status of the Queen. A flurry of good will and happiness came back through the connection, along with ample amounts of hope and fear.

##  37 - The Founder

The Founder, erupting with rage, threw the heavy prismatic cube. It ricocheted off the wall, narrowly missing the aide's head. "Get me someone competent before I kill you!" he roared. Spittle flew from his mouth and his vivid orange eyes felt like they were bursting from his head. The female assistant ran, tears streaming down her cheeks as she fled the Founder's office.

He stared at the report the woman had just briefed him on. The terminal screen listed "complete planetary destruction" and "loss of at least 90% of personnel and space borne assets". The ships that had escaped the supernova were now scattered all over the Akked. Pandemonium reigned. The Founder's Hammer had not reported anything since a brief message about pursuing an Entho bi-pyramid ship in Haak-ah-tar space. The supernova and disappearance of the Hammer and its precious cargo pushed everything else from the Founder's mind, including the communications black hole the Noor system had become.

"Why can't we find the Hammer?!" he yelled. The ship itself is expendable, especially since mining operations on formerly Entho worlds are up to full production. The Hammer's cargo, however, was not so easily replaceable. I need my heir! The Founder had thought he'd lost the boy once before, and his options then looked grim. I thought the Hammer a safe place to keep Lothis, but now my namesake is failing me. Some reports said Ascended Talnavis, the commander of the ASN Founder's Hammer, was overly ambitious and sometimes lacked the necessary cautiousness. The bastard better not have done anything to endanger the boy.

If he could have sent Crasor, the Founder would feel confident he would keep the boy safe and escort him back. Crasor wouldn't take Lothis on an unnecessary chase after some blighthearted Enthos! The Founder had given up expecting Crasor to return however. Crasor is dead, he decided. That was disappointing, but it certainly didn't grieve him. The Founder still couldn't find anyone capable of taking the role of Facilitator. I cannot settle for a mediocre candidate.

The fact Bloodsport had been destroyed also irked the Founder. The Ashamine had lost a great source of income. All Ashamine Forces on Haak-ah-tar itself were also annihilated. At least now I won't have to dispose of Felar Haltro, he thought. That's one positive to come out of this catastrophe.

The longer the Founder thought about it, the more he realized events were going wrong now more than ever before in his lengthy tenure. Is this coincidence or is someone conspiring against the Ashamine? The Founder dismissed this as paranoia. The thought of individuals instigating a supernova was ludicrous.

The Divisionists were another matter entirely. Their ranks still continued growing, and Crasor's mission seemed aborted due to the Noor-5 earthquakes. The Founder hadn't heard of any "acts of retribution" carried out against "enemies of the Ashamine" by "loyal zealots" on any other planets either. That was the mission, a task Crasor had obviously failed to carry out. Not only that, but the whole Noor system had undergone a comms blackout shortly after the quakes. No transmissions or ships had come from the once busy system. It's located on a major trade and shipping route. What happened?

The curious archaeological discovery on Traynos-6 was also on the Founder's mind. Apparently, the man Crasor set up to take the fall for the bridge had miraculously escaped execution, but that mattered little. Wake Darmekus didn't know anything about the discovery deep in the mine, and all the people with dangerous information were dead. This is one situation that is, at least for the moment, under control. Once the Ashamine returned to stability, he would be able to allocate more resources to exploiting the mysterious technology his researchers had discovered.

An aide, this time male, timidly stepped into the Founder's office. "Sir, we just received info on the Hammer," he quavered.

"Yes, yes, yes," the Founder said, repressing his fury. "Get on with it."

"Well, it appears to have been destroyed, sir," the aide replied, cringing.

"WHAT?!?" the Founder screamed. The aide took a hurried step back, almost falling in the process.

"One of the other Haak-ah-tar ships saw it go through a wormhole after an Entho bi-pyramid, just before it closed. Our analysts compiled a list of probable places and sent recon drones to track the Hammer down." The man's face was pale, his slender frame shaking. "One of the scout ships went to the Eishon system. It wasn't high on the list," the aide explained, "but they found the remnants of a massive battle. Apparently—" He paused for a moment to gulp and try to regain composure. "Apparently, both ships annihilated each other. Completely."

"How is that even possible?" the Founder shot back, one decibel shy of screaming. "The Enthos have no weaponry, and as I remember, there is nothing in the Eishon system other than a bunch of religious wacks."

"Ye-ye-yes sir," the aide stammered. "As you say." He looked down at the report he carried on his portable terminal.

The Founder felt himself grow even more impatient as moments passed. Continuing to shout at this young man will accomplish nothing. He's done an adequate job so far. Calm yourself.

After the aide found what he was looking for, he began speaking. "We don't know what happened, but the scout drone recovered the Hammer's secure records unit and is currently transmitting the information." The Founder waited, taking deep breaths and focusing on slowing his heart rate.

"Ninety percent transferred," the aide said. After another moment, "Transfer complete. Decrypting." A minute passed, the Founder continuing to calm himself and regain control over his wildly flailing emotions. "Decryption complete. Would you like me to read the report, sir?"

"No, I have my own terminal, in case you hadn't noticed," he snapped. Even as the Founder spoke, he brought up the data at his desk terminal. Reviewing the information, he realized the secure records didn't hold any more insight than what the aide had already said. Everything was normal up until a minute or two before the records unit lost connection to the Hammer. At this point, the device recorded an extremely large object striking the ship, but it listed the Entho bi-pyramid as too far away to be the cause. It also reported many escape vehicle launches. Perhaps the boy is safe!

Digging deeper, the Founder discovered a discrepancy. Somehow, an escape vehicle was launched before the ship had been struck. The file showed Lothis and a soldier, 3rd Class Enlightened Felar Haltro, had boarded an escape vehicle near the command deck several minutes before the collision. How did they know to get away? And why was she with him? I ordered her to remain on Haak-ah-tar. It was clear they left at a precise moment. They'd waited in the vehicle so the timing was close to the destruction of the ship. Had they left sooner it would have alerted Talnavis, and had they departed later their chances for survival would have decreased. Where are they now?

"This is the same Enlightened Felar Haltro that extracted the boy from the facility," his voice was a flat statement, not a question.

"Yes sir," the aide stated eagerly, looking up from his portable terminal. The Founder rolled his eyes, something the other man failed to notice.

"Why don't you do something useful and answer a real question," the Founder asked, brimming with mock and scorn. "Why did they leave before the ship was damaged?" The aide looked puzzled and thought for a moment.

"Perhaps they left early because they saw the danger of whatever struck the ship?" he replied, voice halting.

"Possible, but then why would they have waited so long to launch?" This time the Founder gave the young aide no time to answer. "Obviously, you idiot, the woman was kidnapping the boy and timed her escape with external collaborators. Or perhaps they are AF. Either way, they configured it so she might escape in the chaos, taking the child with her. She must have discovered his true identity." The Founder thought for a moment, grateful the aide had the intelligence to keep his mouth shut. "Perhaps it was those religious lack wits? But how would they destroy a Tarton Class ship? I suppose it's worth investigating, given there are no other leads. And while we are at it, we can take care of that dirty little corner of the Ashamine. The woman couldn't have gotten far in the escape vehicle, so unless they found transport on a worm-capable ship, they are on Eishon-2." That logic felt quite sound. More of his anger subsided.

The Founder began sending commands through his terminal, creating formations of ships and issuing orders. He assembled troops, armored vehicles, and atmospheric fighters for transport. "Please, if you can find it within your less than adequate brain to perform a task successfully, request that my Ascended commanders attend me. Inform them it is urgent, security level five." The Founder turned back to his screen, continuing to analyze his military forces and issue further orders. "Oh," he added just as the aide was about to leave, feeling cheerful, "remember that if you even think of breathing a word of this to anyone, your life will be the first thing you'll wish I had taken from you. You've done an adequate job so far, but don't think that will save you if you breach security." The aide blanched and left the room. The Founder smiled tightly, a small bit of pleasure added to his day.

Soon enough, he thought, these rebels and conspirators on Eishon-2 will see what happens when they try to capture the Ashamine heir. They should have kept their heads down. Maybe we would have left them alone for another fifteen years. This time, a plague will be the least of their worries.

##  38 - Crasor

Crasor Tah Ahn was drunk on power, high on it, captivated by it. The Breakers, though not yet fulfilling his wildest fantasies, had provided him with the tools to achieve them. His army was not as big as the Ashamine's, but it was far more loyal, absolutely in fact. True, I only control one planet, but I've dominated its land, sea, air, and people. The only thing remaining were the ships in Noor space.

"Prepare yourselves. Remember, the highest priority is securing the command deck and its comms," Crasor told his small, hand-picked squad of Breakers. They were on a supply ship, preparing to dock with the Ashamine Forces vessel that had just arrived in Noor space. Once we capture this ship, we'll be able to secure the rest of the vessels in system. And with the jamming abilities on board, we can disable all comms. This is vital.

Crasor stood in front of the airlock, ready to enthrall the soldiers on the other side as soon as the door opened. It would be a short, but intense struggle. The Ashamine ship wasn't large, but the danger it posed and the opportunities it presented were worth the risk. We need as many worm capable ships as possible. Plus, this one is armed and armored. Crasor was surprised this was the first AF vessel dispatched to the Noor system. The Founder must be preoccupied to ignore the comms blackout for this long. All the better for us.

The airlock hissed as it opened, the slight pressure differential between ships equalizing. Crasor shoved shards of thought at each of the soldiers, overloading their minds with ecstasy. He quickly caressed them and sorted the seed from the blackness. His squad rushed in and dealt with those bound for death as Crasor continued on towards the command deck. He would give the seed later.

Before he got to the command deck, Crasor wrapped space-time around himself, causing light to pass by instead of reflect off him. He became invisible to anyone who was not a Breaker.

"What's going on with the supply transfer?" the captain asked as Crasor entered the command area. This started him, thinking the man had seen him and asked the question.

"No word back. They're taking a long time to report," his XO responded.

Crasor calmed himself, understanding the situation. Moving carefully because his shielding only worked in the visible spectrum, he crept up behind the captain. As he did, Crasor scanned the room, probing the crews' psyches. Oh captain, he thought, drawing a long knife out of a sheath at his waist, you are far too pure for us. Crasor sunk the blade into the man's back, aiming for his heart.

The captain gurgled, his body releasing its last bit of life. Everyone turned to see what was making the strange sound. Crasor knew the sight would be quite strange, a blade protruding out the captain's chest, glimmering red in the bright light, origins unknown. It simply appeared.

The XO, although bound for the seed, was still loyal to his captain. He acted quickly. "Comms, send word to AFC that we are under attack." Crasor flung out shards of thought, attempting to dazzle everyone on deck. As he did so, he looked for the comms officer, knowing if he got the message off, the entire Breaker species might be destroyed by the Ashamine.

Something is wrong. He could feel someone resisting his persuasion, and he had the sickening suspicion it was the comms officer. This could ruin everything! Crasor panicked, frantically searching the personnel seated before the terminals.

He finally found the man, hurriedly trying to send the alert. Just as he was about to press "Transmit", Crasor drove his knife into the man's brain stem. The officer fell onto the console, his blood spattering across it. Crasor quickly reached down and hit "Cancel". He let out a sigh of relief and summoned his squad to come dispose of those bound for blackness. How did the comms officer resist my compulsion? It was the first time anything like that had happened.

After he and his squad had finished taking the Ashamine ship, they used it to capture the rest of the vessels in Noor space. It was easy to disguise themselves as AF and board each vessel in turn. A few civilian ships had small weapons on board, but none were a match for Crasor's mental domination.

With the seizure of Noor-5 and its surrounding system complete, it was time to begin the next phase of his plan. Crasor knew instinctively he needed to search the converted Breaker population to find those developed enough to learn to seed. He spent days searching out his chosen underlings, carefully selecting those best suited for the exalted position. Once he'd found three, he began cultivating and training them. Their psyches had to be altered so their bodies would mutate the seed producing ability. It was difficult working with the selected candidates as they had yet to fully evolve out of what he thought of as the "dumb" phase. They were slow and had a hard time understanding tactics or higher thought. Teaching them was proving to be nearly impossible. Crasor stayed patient though, waiting for them to develop the mental capacity they needed to progress. He trained them thoroughly, eager to be off on his own goals, but making sure they were equipped to do the work he needed. He would be able to communicate with his lieutenants, but they would need to make quick decisions on their own while they conquered new planets.

Finally, after a week, their training was complete and Crasor felt good about putting so much responsibility on the shoulders of his three Descended—his mocking term for the similar Ashamine rank. He watched as they summoned forces to the orbital dock, loading them on ships. The shuttles were packed, crammed full of partially developed Breakers. Their minds were still imperfect and slow, their bodies halting and clumsy. They will do well enough, though. He had directed the Descended to go to weak, backwater planets early on. Using this tactic, they would build their forces from the populations of conquered planets, without suffering too many casualties. The first three on the list were Taggardt-6, Eishon-2, and Qi-3, all planets that lacked a military presence. He hadn't been to any of them except Eishon-2, but he trusted his secure Ashamine reports. They still haven't restricted my access, he thought, a sneer transforming his handsome face.

"All forces loaded," came to his mind from the Descended leading the Qi-3 detachment. "We're ready to depart." Thankfully, the Descended could communicate using their minds, because their voices were still quite harsh and guttural. Using one's mind is so much easier.

"Break the Dawn," Crasor replied by way of permission to depart.

"May the Dawn be broken," the Descended responded, the engines on his ship coming to life.

Very good, Crasor celebrated. His dream of power was finally bearing fruit, and not because of the Founder or the Ashamine—What have they ever done for me?—but because he'd won it by the might of his own hand. He knew the condition of the government and to him it looked like an eager whore ready for buggering. All the meetings he'd attended with the Founder, confidential information he knew, all that would be crucial now. Bringing down the Ashamine—and let's not forget the decrepit human species in general—was his prime goal. A new order is descending on the universe. My order.

The other two Descended finished loading their ships and left as well. There was still a huge population of Breakers on Noor-5, reserves if anything went wrong on these expansionist missions. He hoped everything would proceed as well as it had on Noor, but you never knew until the work was done.

Crasor boarded his own ship, a small, speedy vessel once owned by an Ashamine courier. While his mission was one of expansionism and conquest just like the others, he had to go alone. First, I will settle business with the Founder. That would fulfill a desire nagging him since he'd become a Breaker. With him out of the way, I can move on to corrupting and exploiting the Entho group mind. Both objectives were tantalizing.

Removing the Founder will be complicated and dangerous, but the reward will be immense. Without the strong leadership it was dependent on, the Ashamine would crumble and the Breakers would sweep through the Akked, devouring the resources they needed to continue growing.

Subjugating the Enthos will require a totally new skill set. Crasor's Breaker mind had no recollection of how to deal with these creatures, but his covert viewing of their group mind made him crave its energy. Soon I will be strong enough to break through their mental barriers, and then we shall see, he thought. He didn't know if they could be converted, but they either had to be made one with the Breakers or completely destroyed. They were certainly much too powerful, intelligent, and evolved to be left alone. He needed to gather more intel. Perhaps some "hands on" experience will enlighten me. He looked forward to the task.

As the small craft moved away from the orbital dock far above Noor-5, Crasor reveled in his newfound power, worshiping the entities that had bestowed it on him. I never would have ascended this far with the Ashamine and the Founder. The leader of all humanity had never truly seen Crasor's value, had never given him a position with real power. Now, my time has come. I will break, and the worlds will quake to their foundations. Crasor clenched his fists, feeling the power coursing through him.

Noor is a small fire that will grow and consume the universe, a spark that will ignite the cosmos. All that do not burn will be refined, purified, exulted. He smirked. I have come to break the Dawn.

###

##  Letter to the Reader

Hello Reader!

Thank you for spending time in my imaginary world. If you enjoyed this book, you should continue the series with Harbingers of the Dawn: Book 2 of the Dawn Saga, available from your favorite online retailer.

"The Breakers continue flooding across the Akked Galaxy, stealthy and unstoppable. Their next target: the Founder of the Ashamine. Crasor knows if he can kill the supreme human leader, the Ashamine government will plunge into pandemonium.

Bound together by a vague prophecy and mysterious powers, Tremmilly and her friends are confronted with an Ashamine invasion. Caught off guard, with only a derelict transport ship to face the vast armada, the odds look grim. Will the Ashamine capture them or will the Breakers obliterate everyone first?

Harbingers of the Dawn continues the Dawn Saga, blending multiple viewpoints and a diverse cast of characters into a galaxy spanning tale of epic science fiction."

If you sign up for my mailing list, I'll send you a subscribers-exclusive short story titled Jaydon. It's a prequel to the Dawn Saga novels, and can be read before, during, or after the series. I'll also send you some Dawn Saga digital art!

Find more of my writing or get in contact with me at my website: zachariahwahrer.com. If you are more of a social media person, I'm on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. You can also follow me on Bookbub.

May the fires of the black star be quenched in your life,

Zachariah Wahrer

##  About the Author

Zachariah Wahrer spent the first twelve years of his adult life doing various jobs around the United States, such as eBay salesman, punk rock musician, horse halter craftsman, and rock climbing gym route-setter.

Near the end of 2014, Zachariah moved into a Honda Odyssey with his wife, Sarah, and began traveling the United States and Canada, seeking inspiration and adventure while writing and rock climbing full-time. His first novel, Breakers of the Dawn: Book 1 of the Dawn Saga, was electronically published in December of 2014.

When not deeply immersed in imaginary worlds, Zachariah loves to experience the outdoors as well as read about science, futurology, and trans-humanism. He also enjoys home-brewing and creating digital art to accompany his writing.

While writing this novel, Zachariah lived in: Bellefontaine, OH; Dublin, TX; Colorado Springs, CO; the Honda Odyssey; and Benton, KS.
