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# DRIFTA'S QUEST

Gary Weston

DRIFTA'S QUEST © 2018 Gary Weston

smashwords edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### Chapter 1

Approaching Mars

"Last trip here for the time being, Drifta. This being your one and only trip means no full cut of the profits for you my friend. No hard feelings over that?"

Driftaxol, called Drifta by anyone he became acquainted with, liked the straight-talking mining ship's Captain Lorsilkor. The wise old man was coming to the end of his space travelling time with enough creds to have a long and comfortable retirement.

"Captain. I'm just pleased to get a ride on your ship. I'll help out in anyway I can to pay my way."

Perhaps it was seeing a younger version of himself in the young man that had the captain taking the lad at face value, even if that face was different from his own. Nothing too unusual in that, as most humans on the seven Alliance planets developed features and physical characteristics forged by their own planets and environments but Drifta was unique. He was taller than almost anyone Lorsilkor had ever met; blond hair to the shoulders, piercing blue eyes and uniquely, no cheek grooves. They were still all humans, though.

Nozrendo at the controls, swivelled around in her pilots chair to look at them. "Coming out of plasma drive in three minutes. Best strap yourselves in." They could rely on the ship's momentum in the vacuum of space to carry them to their destination and the smaller thrusters to land them.

"I was hoping to have a quick look at Earth," said Drifta, securing the restraining straps around him. "I hear things about the place and I just wondered what it looked like, you know, not some recorded official version."

Captain Lorsilkor said, "Is that why you wanted a ride on this particular ship?"

"I was just curious."

"There won't be much to see from here," said Nozrendo, working the controls. "Just a glimpse of a speck as we go on the far side of Mars from Earth."

Lorsilkor explained, "We all use the name given by the people of Earth for this little red planet, seeing as how it's their solar system. All the same, we stay out of possible sight to them as much as possible. Their technology still isn't up to much but some of their crude telescopes will be trained on Mars."

The engines changed tone as they dropped further below the speed of light so that the surrounding planets and stars became clearly visible. They were approaching what at that time was the dark side of Mars.

"That bright star there," said Lorsilkor. "Earth. And if I just...there."

The magnified image of the blue planet could be seen on the forward viewing screen for just a few seconds before Mars blocked the ship from Earthly prying eyes.

"Such an intriguing planet," said Drifta.

"Hmm. Shame about the people," said Nozrendo. The ship skimmed the surface of the red planet and created a small sandstorm as it was lined up. "Approaching lava tunnel entrance. Opening outer tunnel airlock now." Entering one end of the lava tunnel, the ship was expertly navigated inside the airlock before settling the ship down. "Sealing entrance. Pressurising and oxygenating airlock."

"May as well begin complete tunnel pressurisation and air production remotely," said Lorsilkor, tapping a sensor on the console. "Should be ready by the time we get off the ship. Come on, lad."

"We can go outside without suits?" asked Drifta.

Lorsilkor said, "Into the airlock, yes. We need basic neck oxigenators for emergencies as we do in the main lava tunnel and the mines running off it. Hardly ever required. They work if the pressure suddenly drops from a leak in the tunnel. Otherwise, we are good to go. The crew will already be getting the gear off the ship. Go see the mine gaffer and she'll supply the oxigenator and instruct you. Do all she asks and you'll do fine."

Drifta said, "Time to be useful. See you both later."

As Drifta left the flight-deck, Nozrendo grinned at her captain. "Gotta love his enthusiasm."

"He's a good lad. If the gaffer gives a good report of him, I'll give him a few creds."

"You always were an old softie. You think he was drawn to this solar system for a reason?"

Lorsilkor shrugged and said, "You know the legends. Alliance explorers definitely have landed on Earth centuries ago, which is why their most common language became similar to ours. But no human from there got further than their satellite moon so far, or so _they_ say."

The _they_ referred to Alliance elected leaders, often under considered suspicion like all politicians. All and any information regarding Earth had been published by them and very little new had surfaced for nearly fifty years.

"Well, Drifta does look suspiciously like the Earth humans. He's different to anyone I ever met from any other Alliance planet, and like you, I've been around."

The captain slapped his pilot on the shoulder. "And I've no intention of adding Earth to the places I've been. We have work to do. You do the systems checks and I'm off to monitor the crew."

They were all soon off the ship apart from Nozrendo completing the shut-down procedures. This only took minutes and she was soon climbing down to join the twenty-three men and women waiting for her.

Several seconds passed and Lorsilkor checked the indicators on the inner door. "Done. Safe to leave the airlock."

### Chapter 2

Drifta had allowed the mining gaffer, Dalonajar, to fit the life-saving oxigenator to his neck, the sensors located either side of the cheeks, just under his ears.

"And they work automatically?".

"With a little luck. Otherwise you'll be dead in seconds," she had informed him with typical gaffer bluntness. "Never used one before?"

"Full suits when required, but not one of these."

"Relax," she replied, adjusting his head protector. "We've been here many times. This is a natural volcanic tube created many millions of years ago. We are well below the surface of this dust-bowl and our tunnel has been sealed and filled with breathable air from equipment we leave here for that purpose. We have a permit for four days to mine the marsillion and make us some money."

"Good to know. Just boss me about and I'll do whatever you ask."

Dalonajar laughed and said, "I like that. I should marry you. I like a man who knows his place. Right. On the hova."

The crew was already on the hova, a floating platform with seats that hovered above the single rail which snaked along the full length of the tunnel. Drifta found a seat and with Dalonajar at the front, the hova with the equipment carriages shackled behind it, sped along the winding tunnel until it reached the marsillion mines. When it stopped they all jumped off, Drifta waiting for instructions. Dalonajar assigned Drifta to an experienced miner called Grofinglaz who instructed the rookie in ore slicing with a plasma laser. The mine, one of several, dropped at a steady angle from the lava tube, following the rich vein of marsillion ore, the dull yellow sediment embedded in the rock.

With the plasma lasers, the miners sliced the marsillion from the lava rock, this being removed by another team who extracted the crude marsillion for final processing at a specialist plant on another planet for the pure valuable mineral it became. Once refined in the processing plants, it became a coating for all Alliance ships that protected them from the ravages of space travel. Lorsilkor and his crew held the exclusive licence to extract the ore on Mars and a good living was made by all involved although they could only work for short limited periods to minimise detection from Earth. Alongside Grofinglaz, Drifta applied himself well and was matching his supervisor in the amount mined. This earned Drifta respect amongst the crew. Back on the ship he sat with the others in the mess, eating a hearty meal and drinking the weak beer.

Another day, another cred and it was back to work. Drifta was impressed by the way miners had carved out the tunnels such as the one they were skimming along. Long before the core of Mars stopped spinning and the volcanos ceased spewing out the lava, the long tube had been formed. Human ingenuity had maximised the natural lava tunnel to make a safe environment to exploit the valuable ore beneath it. They reached the mine entrance where they followed the rich seam, pairing up to maximise their efforts.

Grofinglaz made a habit of studying the roof of the mine before firing up his plasma laser. "Had a loose lump hit my head once." He pointed to the scar. "I'd taken my helmet off for just a minute when it happened. Keep one eye on the seam, the other on the roof. Remember that, lad."

"Sound advice."

They set about their work, slicing up the ore and making neat piles for the extraction team. Just minutes away from ending their shift, they hit a rare and unexpected gas pocket which exploded, hurling Grofinglaz backwards off his feet, slamming him heavily into the far wall. Drifta had missed the worst of the blast, but still landed awkwardly on his back. His head cleared and he pushed himself up on his feet.

"Grofinglaz. Grof. Hey."

The burley miner looked at him with eyes rolling in every direction. There was a gash, ironically just above the old scar.

"We have to go, Grof. Up you get."

Grofinglaz was a dead weight but Drifta heaved him over his shoulders and staggered with him to the hova, gently laying the dazed miner across the seats. Drifta activated the alarm and the others were appearing for the ride home and at top speed they made it to the ship where Grofinglaz was rushed to the medical bay.

The gaffer, Dalonajar said, "He'd have been killed outright if not for his helmet. You did good, Drifta. The blood of a miner runs through you. You should consider it."

"I'll pass. I'm not a career sort of guy."

"You say that now, but one day you'll want to find that special someone to settle down with and a regular income would be good."

"When I meet that special someone, I'll consider it."

As Grofinglaz recovered in the sickbay, the crew laboured on, Drifta teaming up with a pair of miners and worked harder than ever to earn creds not for himself, but the injured Grofinglaz. This didn't go unnoticed amongst the crew. By the end of the fourth hard day of relentless toil, the amiable and hard-working Drifta was one of their own. When it was time to leave Mars, Drifta had gained the captain's permission to once more sit with him and the pilot on the flight-deck to take a last look at Earth.

Nozrendo said, "I've preprogrammed the viewer to get a magnified view of Earth. We'll risk a five second window before using the plasma drive. Make the most of it Drifta."

As the ship left the shadows of Mars, the image filled the entire screen. So magnified was the viewer that they could see individual humans going about their business in a city street. A further tweak by the pilot had them looking at an individual face, a middle-aged man wearing a baseball cap. Completely oblivious to the fact he was being observed from millions of miles away but there was something unnerving in the way he suddenly turned his head to look directly back at them.

"That was spooky," said Lorsilkor. "Time to go home."

Nozrendo had recorded it all, then the ship was flashing through space close to the speed of the sunlight from that solar-systems star. But even that was slow compared to the majority of their journey inside the natural phenomenon known simply as the split. These splits made space travel across vast distances possible and they were heading for the one to take them home.

### Chapter 3

Grofinglaz was already sitting upright in the sickbay when Drifta visited.

"Come in young man."

Drifta sat by the bed. "Looking better already."

"Thanks to you. Thanks to you I got help fast and that saved my life."

Drifta shrugged and replied, "I was just in the right place at the right time. We're on our way to get the ore processed."

"I heard you did my share of work. Not many would have done that."

"Like I said. Glad to help."

The astute old miner said, "Something wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just..."

"Out with it, lad."

Drifta told him what they had seen on the flight-deck. "All my life I've had people tell me I look like somebody from Earth. But that's impossible, right? The Alliance...no unauthorised contact with that planet for centuries. Last unmanned surveillance mission, was what? A hundred and fifty years ago at least."

"Hmm. Allegedly."

Drifta said, "Maybe. But for sure, none from that planet made it further than their moon. No way have I come from there."

"So have your D N A tested to eliminate the Alliance planets. Not too hard to get done. Oh. Scared to find out the truth?"

"Scared? Hell no. It's just...look. Since a little kid I've travelled from one planet to the next, living mostly on ships and scratching a living, not knowing where I came from or who my family are. Tell me. Even if I somehow found out I was from Earth, what's the point if I can never go there to find my family?"

This made sense of sorts to Grofinglaz. "So do you intend planet hopping the rest of your life? Actually, I've done much the same. A good life in a way, especially for the young. But I don't think it's the life for you. Maybe find that special someone and have a family of your own?"

The medical officer entered. She checked her patient then looked at Drifta. "Grofinglaz needs to rest."

Drifta took the hint and left to rest on his bunk and reflect on recent events.

### Chapter 4

Round and round in his mind went the same old questions. Who was he really and where did he come from? His first memories as a child were on a ship. He was the only child on the freighter, sharing it with thirty three adults. It was just a cargo ship trading amongst the Alliance planets. A few of the crew barely gave him the time of day, growling at him should he be under their feet. Most however, were kind to him, looking out for him, even looking after him. Kargondov had been the medical officer and as most medical officers had other duties. She spared him what time she could, perhaps her own unsatisfied maternal instincts seeing the child as a substitute for her motherless state.

She was the one who named him Driftaxol, her own father's name. This soon became Drifta with the crew. Several years passed and the only home he knew was the ship, staying in Kargondov's care on the planets they visited on their constant travelling. As the awareness of his situation grew, his curiosity begged for answers, taking some time to form those questions into words.

"Kargondov," he ventured as he stirred his food with the spoon. "You are not my mother?"

She had waited a long time for that question, letting it come from the boy first. The crew had some kind of agreement not to initiate anything but to wait for the moment to naturally arise.

"Am I not?"

"I have seen my reflection. I am not like you. Or the others. Who am I?"

Kargondov smiled at Drifta, leaving her spoon in the bowl. "You are growing up fast, Drifta. I have always wondered how I would answer that question when you asked it." She studied his blue eyes, the smoothness of his face, the pale skin. The crew were like her. All human, just with the usual differences life on the various planets created. Once from a common genetic pool, they were changed by their environments over the centuries. Nobody made anything of this; it simply was. That said, Driftaxol was one of a kind. All the signs were that he would be bigger than most of them when fully grown. His facial features had little similarity to the others. He had more hair which was unusually fair and his skin wasn't quite the same. Lighter in complexion with none of the facial grooves most had to some degree. He was human, but not completely like the other humans he ever met on his travels. "Does it matter? I'm not your birth mother, but I have always looked after you as a mother would."

Although just a child, he understood that Kargondov had given up much to care for him, sharing her life with him rather than any social-life with her peers.

"I know," he replied. "But why?"

"The truth is, we don't know the truth about you. We were on Poraslon, one of our regular stops."

Drifta had been there twice to his knowledge. Kargondov spending her down-time not with her friends, but with him. "I remember Poraslon."

"We had unloaded the ship and all the goods for the return trip were stacked up, ready to load the next day. You know how it goes. We started early the next morning. As a stack was brought into one of the holds, the precise weight was verified and a significant error from the inventory log appeared."

"Me?"

She smiled. "I wasn't inferring you were a significant error. But there was a discrepancy. Sometime in the night, someone had breached port security and placed a bio-crib amongst the packages. The trouble was, we were already for taking off at that time. You know how tightly regulated things are for taking off and landing. Miss your spot and you could be grounded for days. Anyway, I agreed to look after you so we could get under way and we would sort things out later."

"So, why didn't you?"

Kargondov gathered the bowls and placed them in the zapper which cleaned them in a second then she secured them away before sitting again.

"Oh, we tried. The authorities on Poraslon drew a blank. A lot of speculation but no hard evidence. You were less of a priority and you just became a part of the crew."

"I heard some say I'm from a place called Earth. Where is Earth?"

"Much further than this ship has ever flown. Earth isn't in the Alliance. Probably never will be. They don't have ships like this one."

This was too confusing. "But how..."

She took his hand in hers. "Drifta. We just don't have the answers. In a few years you will leave me and..."

"No. I don't want to leave you."

She kissed his hand. "You will. You will. That will break my heart, but one day you will want more than this old ship or I can give you. Perhaps then you will find the answers you seek."

And she was right. Once old enough to take his place in the world, he gained his ship's licence and secured tickets for crew-work on another ship. Kargondov tried to hide her tears and they kept their parting brief for both their sakes. He hadn't seen Kargondov since that day and he earned his way around the stars and planets, in search of... something.

### Chapter 5

Dalrion: Alliance planet

The old mining ship docked on Dalrion, the crew wasting no time to have the semi-processed, rich marsillion ore weighed and stacked on the freight-hova to take it to the processing plant. As the driverless hova sped away, Captain Lorsilkor approached Drifta.

"We have a month of leave before heading back to Mars. You are welcome to join the crew if you want another trip. Full pay."

Drifta had only gone on the trip for a first look at Mars and hopefully a glimpse of that mysterious planet Earth. That achieved, it was now time to move on.

"I hear they are looking for fishing crews here. I thought I'd try that."

"Have you been here before?"

"Years ago. I worked on an icebreaker."

Lorsilkor grinned and slapped Drifta's shoulder. "Then you'll be fine. A ship's a ship. Here. Take this."

It was a loaded cred disc. "I thought..."

"Listen, lad. I'll not have you leaving my ship with nothing to show for it. This will take the pressure off you for the time being. Good luck to you. Oh. They've had a swarm of quakes here, so take care. Bye, lad."

They shook hands and with his bag slung over his shoulder, Drifta had his identification verified by the security officers and he ventured out into the nearby city. From his experience of planet hopping, he recognised the signs of where the city straddled the line of rough neighbourhoods and the more affluent areas, with the reasonable, affordable rooms to rent somewhere in the middle. Along one side street off the commercial sector, he found what he was looking for, had his eye scanned for identification and paid for a week in advance for his two rooms.

"Looking for work?" the middle aged woman with Crolmahla on her tunic badge asked as she logged him onto the system.

"In a day or so," replied Drifta. "I'll take a break first. Look the city over."

Looking her new guest up and down, then opening a three dimensional plan of the city on her counter she said, "This area in red can get interesting at the weekends. Just the usual revelry of folk unwinding after work. This yellow area has good affordable entertainment and food. This blue area...well, probably a little pricey for you. Stick to the yellow would be my advice."

"I appreciate your advice, Crol. I hear the fishing business is good right now?"

Crol nodded and said, "Always busy at this time of year. Done it before?"

"Not for some time. As long as it pays a good cred I don't mind what I do."

"Register with the port office and you'll be pointed in the direction of anyone needing deckhands. Good luck."

Drifta carried his bag to his room, just the basic one bed, one bathroom variety. It was clean and had a view of the street below with the auto hovas ferrying folk all over the city. He showered and changed into what he thought of as his casual city outfit.

"You really need a new look, boy," he informed his reflection. "No girl is going to give you a second glance looking like that."

With a wave to Crol on his way out, he stepped out onto the streets, checked the sky for the weather outlook, then strolled into the yellow sector. The people here were like Crol, smaller than he was, ears a little smaller and even the darkest skins almost as fair as his. Noses were wider and eyes mostly brown. One or two glanced at him as they passed, but he was used to this. The cafe he chose was used to humans from all the Alliance planets, so being different got little reaction. A young man showed him to a table and helped select the meal.

"I heard you were getting a few quakes lately," Drifta said.

"A few. Mostly in the south. Damage to a few old buildings causing a couple of deaths and injuries otherwise very little damage. Most of the buildings in the city can take a high-end shake but some of the older buildings are at risk. If you hear the alarms, take cover."

"Thanks."

The man returned minutes later with the meal and said, "This isn't too bad, though I say so myself. Enjoy."

As Drifta enjoyed his meal, he noticed a girl-child with her parents at a nearby table was staring at him. Before her mother could stop her she skipped over to him.

"You look funny."

Pretending indignation, Drifta said, "Funny, indeed. Funny good or funny bad?"

"Trill! Don't be rude," said her embarrassed mother. "Sorry about that."

"Back to your seat," ordered Trill's father. "Sorry, friend."

"Kids, hey?" said Drifta, grinning. "I know I look a little odd. No harm done."

"Funny good," said Trill.

"Then that makes two of us. Well. I might as well get off to the port and sign up."

The man said, "My brother is on the Waybird. A fair vessel with a fair crew. Try there."

"Thanks for the tip. Bye."

Drifta waved at Trill who smiled and waved back, then he was on his way to the port in a hova.

### Chapter 6

Drifta had a queue of people ahead of him in the port office. Some were fresh-faced kids hoping to score their first job on a fishing vessel, knowing the rewards after years of hard toil could reap financial blessings later. Others were weather-beaten old sea-dogs renewing their tickets for another season of hard slog because they knew nothing different. The old ones glanced at the young hopefuls and wondered where their own lives had gone. The young ones didn't even want to think that they would go the same way as the sea-dogs. Drifta smiled inwardly at the irony. He wanted one season and one season only. Into his second hour of boredom, it was Drifta's turn.

"Next."

She was one of those 'seen it all, don't try to impress me' types. Drifta wasn't bothered; he just wanted a job. "Hi. I'm just after a deckhand job. Anything that pays a wage."

The officer sighed and replied, "You and everyone else. Experience on ships?"

"Practically raised on one. Just come in from Mars."

She sighed again, leaning back in her seat. "Anything on water?"

Drifta tried charm. "One trip on an icebreaker. Other than that, just the oceans of space. Same principles apply. Fall overboard, it never ends well."

"True. Mars you say? In the Earth solar system?"

"I did get a glimpse of Earth. The people there didn't seem _too_ different from us."

"Hmm. When they're not killing each other. Have you completed the documentation?"

"An hour of my life I'll never get back. I hear Waybird is hiring."

"Did you now. Captain Vosdorpoz was after a couple of experienced hands. I suppose the same health and safety rules apply on ships in space as they do on water. Let me ask the question." She called the captain. "Vos. Any luck recruiting? Right. I thought you were still one down. I've a young man keen to sign up. I'll send him over, you judge. Yes. Provo ticket for one trip if you take him. He's on his way."

Drifta took the provisional disc from the officer, returned to his rooms to grab his kit then followed her directions along the docks to the Waybird, a well-maintained sea-skimmer designed for one thing only, catching fish. Captain Vosdorpoz was engaged in conversation with one of the old buzzards Drifta had seen earlier in the office. He waited patiently until the old-timer went below with his kit then introduced himself.

"Not much fishing in space, lad," Vosdorpoz snorted.

"True. Just hard work and the desire to get home in one piece."

Vosdorpoz laughed and said, "A sound outlook on life. My gaffer will test you. Even I don't argue with her. Whatever she says, just say yes sir and do it. Go below and find a bunk. We sail in the morning."

"Yes, captain." He cursed himself for already paying upfront for rooms he wouldn't be using but he would be earning top creds and the cheap accommodation would be waiting for his return.

### Chapter 7

The suspended bunk with a few dubious stains at least was the one at the end of the row so he would only have to endure snoring and farting from one side. It was the most cramped of all the bunks which was why it had not been claimed by anyone else. Organising his few possessions, he tested the bunk and hoped he would be so exhausted from work that he wouldn't mind the discomfort.

"I've known worse," a voice said.

Drifta hadn't noticed the old timer who had signed on at the same time. "No money ever wasted for comfort on trawlers I guess. I'm Drifta."

"I'm called Fish. Nothing to do with my name, just that I've worked the oceans for so long I've started to look and smell like fish. Even I can't tell these days."

Drifta wrinkled his nose and said, "Maybe some truth in it. Have you worked this vessel?"

"No. But they're all the same. Mind you, the difference with this trip will be the dragonfish. Evil little monsters. See one with more teeth than body, it'll be that fish. If you get the chance, dig your fingers deep into the eyes and gut it. Don't think, just do it."

"They're a predator fish, right?"

"Anything they can get their teeth into, including you. Fall overboard near a shoal, then wave goodbye before they chew your arm off."

As Drifta took on the wise old words of experience, the unmistakable hum of the twin engines had the trawler skimming away from the docks. Fish jumped off his bunk as nimbly as a man half his age. He was small but tough and wiry, a survivor of decades of a hard life at sea.

"The others are old hands knowing their place on this bucket. You and me need to be told our chores. It makes the gaffers feel good about themselves to boss us about. Come on."

Fish hurried up the steps and Drifta followed him to the command deck. It was obvious the vessel had been recently updated with the latest technology under the control of the female gaffer. Only a fool would call her the number two. In rank to the captains they _were_ number two, but not even a captain would dare refer to their gaffers that way. Drifta had never seen a female with as much muscle as this one. Her unsmiling expression told him he would follow the captain's advice to the letter. Call her sir and do anything she told him to do. He stood and waited. She turned to Fish first.

"You not retired yet, Fish?"

"One day, sir. Duties?"

"Galley hand then gutter when we haul the nets. Make sure Bork doesn't ruin every meal. Go."

"Yes, sir," and he was gone.

"Name?"

"Driftaxol, sir. But you can call me Drifta."

"Hmm. I am Kajpolora but you call me sir. You will be deck scrubber then gutter. Work in with Fish on the gutting. He can do it with his eyes closed. Keep yours open or you'll lose fingers. Scrubbing gear below aft deck. Go scrub."

"Yes, sir."

The gaffer's number two was the navigator. To him the instrumentation was like an orchestra to be conducted. "Ten creds he'll lose two fingers."

"You're on. He's a good head on his shoulders, even if he does look odd. He'll keep his fingers."

"Spending it already."

"Just get us heading north and not south."

The navigator merely grinned and worked the ship.

### Chapter 8

Drifta soon figured the basic controls of the scrubber which had a platform just wide enough to stand on from which brushes and water-jets spun to clean the decks. The seas on this planet were particularly salty and decks and rigging could soon become salt-encrusted if ignored. He filled the large tank with desalinated water and added a few drops of the cleaning additive then he was good to go. The sun was shining and there were few clouds threatening rain, so it was quite pleasurable to ride the machine. A blue flash in the sea made him look and he saw a serpent, twice the length of a man, dive out of the water to snatch a scaly-skin bird skimming the surface. With a splash the serpent was gone with its meal.

He had heard of the serpents and knew it was rare for one to attack a human, but it was best to avoid them if possible. It was an unwritten rule across all the planets; if in doubt, don't mess with it. As he did his job, he could see the crew who were professionals knowing exactly what they were doing in several specialist positions.

As deckhand, Drifta was clinging onto the bottom rung of the ladder of importance. That was fine with him as he had no intention of making this his lifelong career. Depending on the weather, which at times could be too stormy for anyone to be deck-side, he helped anyone who needed help. He got on well with the crew and a few days later he was helping to ready the nets as they approached the sustainable fishing zones to trawl their quota.

"You'll be paired up with me," said Fish. "You'll be gutting like a pro in no time but don't rush to keep up with me."

"I'll just do what you tell me," said Drifta.

The Wayward skimmed along at the cruising speed of fifty kilometres per hour, several other trawlers on the horizon. When it came to a halt and the bells rang out, Drifta took a place in the line with the netters, feeding the net over the rear boom rollers. Then it was the laying out of the ice trays ready for the gutted catch. It was as basic then as it had been for centuries, only the trawlers advancing much. If things worked, why change them, was a common mantra Alliance wide. Drifta stayed close to Fish who instructed him.

"Time for a feed, lad. We have an hour before the nets are hauled in. There'll be no stopping once we start, so do everything you need to do before then."

The meal of a rich vegetable stew with bread and fruit to follow was eaten in the mess with clatter then chatter. The full-time galley hand cleared away and the crew relaxed for the short time they had before the work-bell had them off to their stations. Drifta stuck to Fish and there were two women and another man also ready to start.

"Here's your knives," said Fish. "Sharpen them when I sharpen mine. Put these hand guards on. Don't rely on them completely. Care and skill."

Drifta noticed for the first time that Fish had one finger missing and an ugly scar on one arm. This was quickly covered up by the hand guards.

The hatch opened and the catch poured in down a chute and the experienced gutters went to work. As they got into their rhythm, they sang sea shanties. Drifta was amazed at the speed they processed the catch. Fish patiently went through the methods, showing Drifta how to hold the flapping fish near the tail, slicing off the head below the gills with one clean cut, then along the belly to remove the guts. Heads and guts were dropped through grills for squeezing into large blocks which would then be frozen. That part was done by automation. Undersize fish were dropped through another chute, back into the sea to be caught again another day. Nothing was wasted.

It came to Drifta's first fish and he grabbed one of the large redfins which made up the bulk of the catch. This one was as long as his arm and wasn't about to make Drifta's job too easy for him. The fish wriggled frantically and smacked Drifta in his face with its tail before being whacked onto the gutting table. This had the others laughing at the new boy's efforts and a cheer when the badly gutted fish went along to be packed in ice.

Fish slapped Drifta on his shoulder. "Stick with it, lad. You'll get the hang of it."

And he did, only dropping three redfins for the rest of the shift. It took seven non-stop gruelling hours to process the catch and Drifta ached in every part of his body. Fish and the others were also tired but they were used to this work so had less aches and pains. They hosed down and hung up their gear and went off for a few hours rest and food. Drifta saw the gaffer talking to Fish and was sure it was about his progress.

Kajpolora glanced briefly at him and nodded once before leaving the mess. This he took as a good sign. Six hours sleep and the bells were calling them to work again.

### Chapter 9

Three more body testing days later and Drifta was working on autopilot, the pain just something to endure. The Waybird was state-of-the-art and as much as possible was done by machinery but the actual handling of the catch depended on the dexterity of the crew. The end of the latest catch was finally becoming a hill not a mountain, but nobody had told the crew that. This last catch was the end of their quota and with the netters already cleaning off and repairing the nets ready for stowing away, the Waybird was already heading home.

Dead on his feet, Drifta grabbed the tail of a very large redfin, and hadn't noticed the dragonfish latched onto the larger fish. As the knife struck the redfin, the dragonfish flicked itself around and with its jaws open wide, it chanced one final opportunity to take revenge on its captors. Although the predator fish was on the small size, it ambitiously attacked Drifta and found his neck. Drifta dropped his knife and grabbed the fish with both hands and the countless needles of ripping teeth pierced the flesh of his right arm. The more he pulled the more tenacious was the hold. Fish jumped in to help him, grabbing the body of the creature but it wriggled free of him.

"The eyes, lad. The eyes."

Through the searing pain, Drifta remembered Fish's words when they had first met. Drifta held onto the fish's tail and fighting the agony, he took hold of the wicked head in both hands. The huge murderous eyes stared right back at him, the intention to kill him the last thing on its mind as with Fish's help, Drifta rammed his thumbs into the evil eyes. There came a crunching sound as the eye lens caved in to be pierced and the softer eyeballs were penetrated by the thumbs, deeper still into the brain. Pure instinct had the dragonfish thrashing in Fish's work-hardened hands, still intent on blindly inflicting mortal pain. Though now dead, it twitched one last time, Fish still having to force the jaws open before it gave up its grip on human flesh. Fish flung the dead creature back to the seas to feed other living creatures.

"That's gotta hurt, lad."

"No shit."

The next few days had Drifta in and out of sickbay, his scars to be a permanent reminder of this adventure. A badge of honour. But that, as far as Drifta was concerned, was his last trip on the Wayward. With his neck beginning to heal and throbbing slightly less, he bid farewell to the crew, gave Fish a manly hug, then with his pay creds in his pocket and with much relief he returned to the city.

### Chapter 10

Drifta's two rooms would be a place to sleep for his duration on the planet. After cleaning his gear, some of which was tossed in the re-cycling after his stint gutting fish, it was time to explore the city and spend a little of his pay and at the same time decide on new plans. With nothing to bind him, the galaxy was his to roam, at least as far as the seven Alliance planets. Wearing his one last half-decent outfit, he touched a sensor on a wall and checked his three-dimensional projected appearance, considered wrapping something around his neck to hide the bites the dragonfish had dealt him but decided it was something he'd just have to live with.

"It's a tough life but somebody has to live it," he told himself.

The rooms manager was at her workstation as he headed for the exit.

"Off somewhere nice?" she asked, admiring the handsome young man who looked so different to anyone else she'd let rooms to.

"Just a feed and maybe new clothes. Anywhere you'd recommend?"

"Avoid the Eastside and the docks. The fishers can drink as hard as they work and let off steam in interesting ways. The Northside has more affordable shopping and reasonable taverns."

"Thanks."

Leaving the woman with her inner yearnings that went unnoticed by Drifta, he stepped out and from habit checked the sky. On this planet, a purple tinge for much of the day was normal, and heavy dark clouds were carried over the city from the ocean and were spontaneous and unpredictable at the best of times. For now the sky was clear and the day promised to be pleasant and warm with just a slight salty breeze off the ocean.

The automatic public transport passed by the exit and he pressed a sensor by one of the many terminals. The twenty-seat vehicle hovered silently towards him and stopped, the door opening for him. Like all city transport on the Alliance planets, it was free to use. Several citizens were on the hova and were like him, heading for the Northside on their business. He sat and the hova silently skimmed the road and within twenty minutes he was at the central terminus.

Stepping off the hova he immediately got the typical city buzz of thousands of people doing people things. It didn't matter which planet you were on, there was a similarity that was comfortable but an individuality unique to that world. The common language Standard Alliance made communication simple and although one or two glanced at him with the usual curiosity, he felt safe and full of anticipation to explore the city.

Into the commercial zone, he saw several clothing retailers and settled for one mid-ranged reasonably priced shop. Several people were selecting clothes of their choice, and Drifta noticed a reduced price range of men's outfits. Typically, because of his height and size, clothes for him were limited.

"Not much to choose from in this line," said a young woman helper. "Not for one so tall."

"Something of a curse when it comes to clothes," admitted Drifta.

She looked him up and down, liking what she saw. "If you don't mind last year's fashion, we have some outsized leather two-piece outfits you would look really good in. Although you look pretty good to me anyway."

Taking the compliment, Drifta followed her to a storeroom at the rear of the store. Pulling back the curtains, she pointed to the items she had in mind for him. Selecting one, she held it in front of him.

"Hmm. I don't think so," she decided. "Now this one. This was the last in a quality range too large for most of our regulars. Yes. This is the one. Like it?"

"This is good quality leather. I like the colour. But is this the price?"

"That's already discounted and you did say quality, which it is. How about a further ten percent off to seal the deal?"

Drifta thought about this and decided it was a good deal. "I'll try it on and if it fits I'll have it."

"Excellent." Then with a cheeky grin she said, "Need any help?"

"I think I can manage," he replied, matching her smile.

"Pity."

She stepped out and closed the curtain. A few minutes later Drifta came out wearing an outfit which looked like it had been made just for him.

"Now that is classy," said the woman. "Clothes aren't bad either."

"Thanks. Now if you would just wrap up my old things I'll pay and be on my way."

Handing over his cred disc the transaction was done, and the woman said, "I finish here in a couple of hours if you're still in town."

Drifta thought the woman to be pretty enough, but he wanted to keep his options open. "Tempting. I want to look around for now, but if I'm passing by I'll be sure to call in and say hello."

"Well, I'll..."

Before she could finish, there came a low rumbling sound and the building gave an unsettling wobble. It only lasted a few seconds as they decided either to stay inside or go out but it was over before they made a move.

"Getting them a lot lately," she said.

"So I heard. I'm not keen on quakes."

The episode had ruined the woman's flirting and with his old clothes wrapped up, Drifta went out into the street. A few people were checking the surrounding buildings to make sure nothing was about to fall on them. The majority of the buildings could withstand all but the most severe tremors but a few of the older buildings were less robust. Two security drones flew over the city assessing the situation and ensuring nobody was injured. Gradually things returned to normal and people got on with their lives.

Drifta found a place to eat and decide what to do next. As he drank a weak beer after his meal, he noticed a sign on the wall promoting an art exhibition. Several paintings covering five hundred years of the planets culture were displayed on the sign. As the exhibition was nearby and he had a passing interest in art, he decided this would be good use of an hour of his time. The building itself was of architectural significance with ornate features not seen on newer buildings.

Paying the two creds, he entered and took his time viewing the paintings and artefacts on display, impressed with the earlier creations from the hardy settlers who expressed their battles with nature to make a city that worked with the planet. Several families were also appreciating their heritage and he understood the items better from hearing their comments. Drifta found he could learn much from visiting such places. Coming to the end of the displays he was giving some thought to the young woman who had helped him find clothes to fit. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to meet up with her and see where the evening would take them.

This decided, he was about to make his way to the exit when another quake struck, this more severe than the previous one. Above them the roof began to break up and without too much panic, they made their way quickly to the exits, faster as larger pieces fell around them. The open exit was in sight and several had made it out, but Drifta and a few others including children, became trapped and a large beam blocked the main exit, more fallen masonry preventing them going back to the rear exit. A young girl became separated from her parents and was becoming distressed.

"I'll get us out," Drifta assured her, wondering how he could keep that promise. Her mother, covered with dust and debris, pushed a large toppled painting aside and grabbed her daughter.

"My husband..." said the woman, pointing behind her.

Drifta could see a huge section of the roof had collapsed and several people were trapped under it. He could hear the cries for help which turned to screams as another quake struck. A chunk narrowly missed Drifta, a smaller piece giving a glancing blow to the back of his head. This dazed him and he dropped to his knees and for a few seconds his mind went blank then he came to, to darkness, choking dust and bone-chilling screams. The sections of roof had formed a canopy over him and he could hear rubble smashing into it, threatening to have the cover collapse onto all of them.

A tiny chink of light gave Drifta hope and as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom and stinging dust, he could make out the waving arm of the little girl, trapped just an arms length away. Yet another quake, a smaller aftershock, and it was get out or die.

He could clearly see the girl's face, bloody and dust covered. He guessed she was about eleven. Her leg was trapped in the rubble and he had to scramble to her on his belly as the broken roof beams threatened to give way. He'd used his shoulders to push the rubble off her as he pulled her screaming in pain towards him. Behind her, her mother, father and others were in a pocket of fallen masonry, injured but alive. By pulling the girl free, this cleared enough space for the others to wriggle through and soon they were out of danger.

A chink of bright sunlight guided his way outside and he let go of the girl's hand long enough to push debris out of his way. He knew that if the opening was large enough for him to squeeze through then the smaller people behind him could follow. Free to move about, he turned and helped the girl out, her mother shoving her from the other side. She squealed with the pain and the hairs on the back of Drifta's arms stood on end. He had no choice but to keep pulling her outside. She had passed out with the pain and Drifta lay the girl down and let her mother tend her as he helped the others, her father with blood on his hands and face scrambling over the rubble to be united with his family. A dozen more were helped by Drifta and as the last one became free, there came an ominous rumble and large pieces collapsed inside, sending a plume of thick dust into Drifta's face.

"Did we get them all out?" he asked the man who was last.

The man spat out dust, coughed and replied, "Nobody behind me that I could see."

As Drifta got his breath back, he could see that it was the city centre and the older historic buildings that had been damaged the most. People were doing all they could for each other and the wailing of emergency sirens hurt their ears. Rescue hovas were above the buildings and robots programmed to enter dangerously damaged buildings searching for trapped people were being controlled by people on the ground and in the air. It was time to leave the situation to the professionals.

"Thank you for helping us," said the girl's father.

"How is she?"

The girl was cradled in her mother's arms, her battered body looking frail and weak, her right leg having suffered much damage, crushed by falling masonry. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was very shallow.

"We'll take it from here," said a woman in an emergency team uniform. She called for a hova which landed as close to the injured as possible and two robots gently collected the girl and the worse of the injured and helped them inside the vehicle. The mother waved as the door slid shut and the hova was away.

Leaving the badly injured girl in the care of her parents and the medics, he decided with the colder climate and now quakes, it was a good time to leave Dalrion and worked his passage on a ship to Consolon. His experience as a deckhand on previous space ships secured a job on a transporter and ten days and a few billion faster than light speed miles through a split later, he was ready for a new job.

### Chapter 11

Consolon

Drifta stood on the dock, staring out to a sea tinged purple with the morning sun, the light breeze moving his blond locks as it rippled the waves. Before him the fishing vessel Moonstruck was having her hydrofoils tested, prior to launch. The hydrofoils and twin jets would have her skimming the water to the fishing spots at a cruising speed of seventy knots on a good day.

Heaving his kitbag over his shoulder he walked up to the gangplank.

"Who you be?" called a voice from the deck in the strong accent of the region. It would take him awhile to get used to the way they spoke here. They called it Old Alliance and insisted it was everyone else not speaking correctly.

"Drifta. I just signed up in the licensing office."

"Have the tickets you?"

"I do."

A pause then, "Come aboard, you."

Drifta walked up the plank and extended a hand to slap which was naturally ignored. He took no offence at this, still trying to get to grips with the customs and ways of the people of the small planet. Not unlike the humans on the majority of advanced Alliance planets, they had evolved to suit life on Consolon. He was head and shoulders taller than average height for a male here but they were much stockier and seemed to be made from solid muscle.

"Captain Gazillia be I. Weak, look you."

"I'll work hard. I once worked an icebreaker and I just had a job on a trawler on Dalrion. Pretty gruelling."

Gazillia nodded. "Rewarding still." The shorter man knew working an icebreaker for the fishing trawlers was as tough a job anyone could get. More than a few didn't survive the experience. A bell sounded. "Stow gear below then gaffer you see when underway. Be boss of you, she."

Gaffers were the crews number two on Consolon, and Drifta wasn't surprised a woman had that prime rank. At least as tough as their men, they had nothing to prove. Over thousands of years, the rugged people had tamed the planet, building their towns and cities around the coastline of the one continent. Although still deliberately lightly populated for the size of the planet, it was from here they reached out into space to explore and colonise new worlds.

Gazillia had already moved on to speak to two of his crew and had them cast off. Drifta found the steps to the living quarters and tossed his kitbag on a spare bunk. He heard the captain's whistle and the gaffer rang the bell twice and the jets took them at quarter speed out of the harbour, then were opened up to two thirds power to skim the open sea. Once on a steady course when the gaffer would be less preoccupied, Drifta made his way to the control cabin. A gnarled looking man stood by the seated female gaffer.

"Gaffer," Drifta said to the woman, with a slight nod of his head to both people.

She turned to look Drifta up and down. She had long scars to one side of her face, a mishap from her hard life at sea. "Good you respect me. Easier. Gaffer Orlador be I, this be lead deckhand Krilvos. Tell you what to do, will he."

"Captain said done icebreaker work, have you," said Orlador.

"Yes, sir. But I have also been on a trawler on Dalrion recently."

"Dragonfish?"

Drifta pulled up his sleeve to show a ring of teeth mark scars, the ones on his neck clearly visible. "Some. Like the little one that did this when it got free of the net. Mostly icefish though. If the bone-freezing cold on Dalrion seas didn't get you, vicious dragonfish would try to. Good eating I'm told if they don't eat you first."

These people didn't smile much but Drifta sensed they accepted him and knowing he had experience earned him a place on their trawler. With only minimal instruction, Drifta threw himself willingly into the hard work, doing more than was asked of him. The fifteen native fishers soon accepted him as one of their own. He even tried to join in the shanties traditionally sung around the table after the evening meal, taking their good-natured laughter at his poor efforts as par for the course.

"Good man for an outworlder you," said Gazillia. "Heard of incident on Dalrion did I."

"Quakes," added Krilvos. "Fair-haired man pull people to safety. Saved a girl and her family from being crushed."

"She's alive?" gasped Drifta.

"Lost leg but alive is she," said Gazillia. "Save her, did you?"

Drifta shrugged, staring at the empty plate. "We were buried together. Digging myself out meant others could escape. I didn't hang around and came here after that for somewhere warmer. Glad she's okay."

That night as he lay on his bunk listening to the snores of the crew, feeling the hum of the jets as they powered the trawler along and with the good news about the girl, he fell into a peaceful sleep.

### Chapter 12

After ten days of nothing but working, sleeping and eating, they were at the edge of the fishing zones. They were not alone, but with strict quotas to adhere to, there was little concern for competition, just to be done with the business on hand and return to the processing factory. At first light they had their area mapped out and the jets shut down, the hydrofoils raised and the nets deployed. Gazillia had an unerring instinct and with the technology in the capable hands of his gaffer, they soon located a sizeable shoal. Along with the crew, Drifta sang the merry shanties as they emptied the nets and packed the fish in ice. A week of this had them with the gear being repaired and stowed away as they headed for home. At least they were until the jets broke down. Gaffer Orlador and her captain had a heated exchange, deckhand Krilvos organising the maintenance team to fix the engine.

"Anything I can do to help?" asked Drifta.

"A wizard be you? Magic up a new injector pump?"

"No spare, I take it?"The scowl he got as a reply told him no. "Can't another trawler tow us in?"

"Ugh! Too far away for home they are. Need to fix, do we."

Orlador told Drifta he knew they wouldn't be left stranded and rescue would eventually arrive, but without the engines, the boat would have no power for the vast freezing chambers, the catch would thaw and decay and they would not get the premium price. A rescue vessel would take too long and would have to be paid for from the profits so it was imperative the engines were fixed. Calling the rescue ship was a last resort.

The engineers stripped the engine enough to remove the injector pump. Of all the components, this was the most expensive and as such had been patched up several times. Krilvos hoped that with his own basic engineering skills, he and his ships technical expert Pomlanvor, they could work a little magic on it in the workshop at least enough to limp home. Even if that worked it would take him a couple of days to do and they would still have to nurse the vessel home. Gazillia and Orlador conferred and agreed this was their best option.

There was little to do on the stranded trawler whilst the pump was being fixed, and they were reduced to using oil lamps once the purple sun had dipped below the horizon. The evening meal was a subdued affair and there was no mood for singing. Krilvos and Pomlanvor gave an account of the poor state of the pump and expressed doubt as to being able to fashion a repair robust enough to get them home unassisted. Nobody dared to put the blame for the incident on Krilvos's shoulders and it would have been fighting talk had they done so.

Krilvos and Pomlanvor were about to return to the workshop when Orlador entered. "Large vessel off port side see we. Collide with it, could we."

"Tow us home?" asked Drifta.

"Old wreck it be. On screen for Krilvos to see."

Krilvos followed the gaffer to the control-deck where Gazillia and the two technicians debated the mostly submerged vessel. The captain poked the screen with his stubby finger and said, "Not sea ship. Space ship."

"Out here?" said Krilvos. "How this not known? Have to bring it in, we. Salvage be..."

One of the technicians interrupted. "Somebody inside alive."

"Crud! _Still_ salvage be," said Krilvos thinking of the handsome reward. Even with the poor fish earnings they would be on serious creds for the wreck.

The technician said, "Must save lives on that ship, we."

Gazillia said, "Need to attach line to bring it alongside do we."

Orlador agreed and said, "Use dinghy for line then winch in by hand will we."

There came the call for volunteers to row the dinghy to the stricken vessel to secure a line then the net winch could be hand cranked to bring the wreck in so they could free the one trapped inside. They had no verbal communication on the radio but a steady tapping of the interplanetary distress signal meant they were legally obliged to respond and help in any way they could. Drifta was one of the six volunteers to crew the dinghy and help bring it in.

### Chapter 13

The dinghy skipper sat at the rear of the vessel, eyes forward, fixed on the strange wreck, her hands expertly steering them to target. Only the tip of the ship poked defiantly above the waves, damage evident from a poor atmospheric entry and also impact marks.

Drifta had grown up with space ships and had learned much about them and how they functioned. "This ship has no marsillion coating which explains the scorched surface. No wonder it crashed. It wasn't designed for deep space flight planet hopping. I can't imagine what stopped it sinking."

"Willpower and luck," offered one. "Not sure of life now," he added, tapping the screen. "Too late, maybe."

It made a difference to the salvage rights, survivors onboard. None wished harm to anyone, but no survivors meant no complications to the rewards. They circled the vessel, instruments scanning for signs of life.

"Something. Maybe," said the man monitoring the scanners.

"We need a line on it," said the skipper.

Drifta secured a line to the prow of the dinghy and tied the free end around his waist. "Get me close and steady me."

"Longteeth," said one, pointing to the three fish approaching. They were a sub-species of snake fish, vicious opportunist hunters with hooked teeth that could rip most things to shreds in seconds.

"Perfect," moaned Drifta, the memories of the dragonfish still fresh in his mind. "Could have done without that."

A shot from the skipper wounded one large fish, the other two immediately ripping chunks off it, the wounded fish still fighting for life. The distraction was all Drifta had to jump from the dinghy to the ship and he leapt the gap and grabbed a damaged section. His boots slipped on the smooth surface and he was knee deep in the sea, the two longteeth fish skimming the waves to get at him. He dragged himself up as one fish leapt from the water and he heard the snapping jaws as they caught his leggings, taking the cloth with it back to the sea. Waves caused the ship to bob like a cork and it was all he could do to hang on. Hauling himself to the uppermost part of the ship, Drifta straddled what he could and then looped the line about it.

"I'll stay here. Go."

As the skipper took up the slack with the dinghy, the jolt almost dislodging Drifta for the snake fish, but he held on. The blood from the longteeth had drawn other predator fish, some of the smaller ones leaping out of the water to get at the human meal hanging on for dear life. Even laser shots from the crew did little to discourage them. Drifta knew that one slip would be his last. In the distance the Moonstruck seemed impossibly far away, but in truth less than a couple of miles. The tiny dinghy was forced beyond its limits to drag the much larger space ship, the twin engines screaming with the effort. The skipper cursed the dinghy with the task of dragging the dead ship to the Moonstruck, and the last of the power faded away as they came alongside. Gazillia and Orlador were barking orders at the Moonstruck crew to deploy the winching gear and nets to tether the wreck. Drifta clambered along the line then dropped to the deck.

"Survivors?" asked Gazillia.

Drifta shrugged. "Maybe one."

Orlador said, "Something on there perhaps can use for repair, we?"

"We need to make contact first," said Drifta. "You have a radio amplifier?"

Orlador had anticipated that and passed it to Drifta. Drifta tucked it inside his vest then swung himself down the lines and stood on the wreck, securing himself to the netting. With both hands free he could attach the amplifier to the battered shell.

"Anyone getting this?" he asked through the mouthpiece. "Can you hear me?"

"Anything?" called Gazillia from the Moonstruck rails.

"Shush," said Drifta, with a wave of his hand at the impatient captain. "I need to concentrate."

Drifta heard sounds, but they could have been just the wreck as it bounced into the Moonstruck or just the spaceship in her death-throes. Then he heard a female voice, weak as if from someone wounded or very sick, the sounds too indistinct to make out. He played with the controls of the amplifier for a better signal, hoping the equipment could receive the replies through the shell of the ship.

"I...I...help...me." The voice was faint as if spoken by someone on their deathbed.

"We'll get you out."

"NO!" The voice was forced by somebody determined to be heard at all costs. "What is killing me could kill you all."

Drifta took a deep breath. "Thanks for that." He looked up at the faces above him, all awaiting answers. "This could take awhile."

Settling down as best as he could he adjusted the earphones. "Tell me what I need to know. The short version."

### Chapter 14

Drifta closed his eyes and listened as he clung to the nets draped about the wreck. A being in the dead ship struggled to tell her sorry tale, pausing often to gather the strength to continue. Then she faded.

"Right. I got that. Just...hang on. I'll sort something out. Hey. Hey. Are you hearing me?"

A gasp, then, "You can't...nobody must enter. Contagious."

"I'll not let you die. Give me a little time."

Drifta clambered up the lines and dropped on the deck, the crew staring at him as they waited for news. "You want the bad news or really bad news?"

"All of it," said Gazillia, folding his arms and glaring at Drifta with growing impatience.

"Right. Only one survivor barely clinging to life. Fifteen others dead. Anyone exposed to what killed them will die and not in a nice way."

Orlador swapped glances with Gazillia then asked, "Anything on there can we use?" It may have sounded mercenary but without repairs to the Moonstruck, neither ship was going anywhere.

"Ah. The one bit of good news. Yes. Maybe. I think so. Not exactly a plug in and go, but with a couple of modifications it might get us home."

"So open it up and get the parts," said Gazillia.

"Have you forgotten the _we all die if we go inside_ part already?" asked Drifta.

"Not if wearing a diving suit you," said Orlador.

"Me? _I_ don't recall volunteering."

"I order, so you do," snapped Orlador.

Already one of the crew was running back with a diving suit and he offered it to Drifta.

Unhappy at having the responsibility foisted on his shoulders, Drifta growled, "Wrong size and not my colour."

Ignoring that excuse, Gazillia said, "Can't help up here, you. Go inside must you."

"Inside must I, hey?" With a sigh and thinking of the dying woman he had made a promise too, Drifta pulled on the suit and checked the air through the helmet gauge before locking it in place. "I'll need cutting gear and a safety line."

They were swiftly brought and he was back climbing over the wreck. He used the radio amplifier to convey his intention to the woman of cutting his way into the wreck.

"But...you will spread the disease."

"I'll only catch it if I take the helmet off and that's not happening. I'm cutting the hole in the ship. Stand back."

Drifta arced the plasma cutting tip on the hull and sliced through the alloy shell. Thirteen minutes later he had an opening large enough to climb through which he did, taking care not to rip the suit on the edges. Only one half-dead human was in that cramped space, slumped back in a heap. She was in a bad way and close to death.

"I have water and food," said Drifta, sitting by her side. She took the water and drank it down. "The others?"

"Down below. You do not want to see them."

'Fair enough. I'm Drifta."

"I'm Voloxdra Nur'jostal."

"Isn't that a Jorgonian name?"

"Yes. Call me Volox."

"Pleased to meet you, Volox. You can tell me what happened later. I need spare parts or nobody is going anywhere." He explained what he needed and she told him where to find them. "Seriously?" he moaned. "Right at the bottom of this thing?"

A laugh, more or less. "I never said it would...be...easy." With hardly the strength to raise her hand, she pointed at a bank of emergency sensors. Drifta touched the only one still dimly glowing and the schematics of the whole ship lit up. Volox thumped the floor beneath her. "Through the hatch, then along the passage then through another hatch then..."

Drifta knew she was fading fast. "Basically, through the dead bodies until the end and I win a prize."

"Have fun with that. There's a toolkit down there."

Drifta pressed a green sensor light and the hatch hissed open. His stomach was already churning before he had even entered the main body of the ship full of dead people. He paused on the lip of the hatch before dropping through and looked at Volox, so sickly and pale with repulsive growths on her face, wondering if she'd be alive when he returned. Her downcast eyes were dull and empty, vomit dried on her tunic, hands limp at her side. Steeling himself, he dropped down and something crunched and gave way beneath sinking into something spongy and soft. Daring to look at what he'd stood on, the body could have been either male or female. He had landed on the ribcage and it had collapsed under his weight.

"Sorry, friend."

This was the flight-deck and it looked like they had gathered here to die together, only Volox having the strength to extricate herself from the others. Drifta could only imagine what the stench would be like had he been suicidal enough to remove his helmet. He had a job to do.

Along a passage, down a ramp and through another hatch. Only his helmet light dimly lit the way, and he was grateful for that as he brushed past another corpse. From the schematics he'd seen he knew where he had to go and using his helmet light he pulled off two covers to see his goal. Not an easy job on his own but he didn't have the luxury of a helping hand. He found the tools in a storage locker and with his natural practical ability he took the units apart to salvage what he needed. Twenty minutes later he was done. Making his way through the ship of corpses he dragged himself through the hatch, kicking it shut as if shutting out the revolting images now etched on his mind.

"Did you get the parts?" Volox gasped.

"Yes. Our engineer will make it work."

"Then take them and cut this coffin free to sink out of harms way."

Drifta knew that made sense on some basic level. "I'll take the parts, but I'll be right back." In his gloved hand he grasped her hand, small and without grip of any strength. He almost said he would not let her die alone, but stopped himself. "We need to find out what happened here. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Drifta climbed outside and pulled himself over the nets to the deck of the Moonstruck where he was hosed down as a precaution. "I got what I could. I hope it's enough."

"Yes, with some modifications," said Gazillia, grabbing the parts. His engineer scurried off with them to perform mechanical magic.

Gazillia looked up at the much taller Drifta, who had removed his helmet to drink water. "In there?" he asked with a nod at the wreck.

"Dead bodies all over the place. Only one female called Volox alive. She'll be dead soon."

"This salvage need we. Get rid of the dead. Let the fish eat them."

" _Volox_ isn't dead. Captain. We must find out what the crud happened. Get this ship repaired and I'll go back in there to get to the bottom of this. I'll take food for her."

Gazillia shrugged then walked away. Fighting every instinct not to return, Drifta left the deck of the Moonstruck and with a heavy heart dropped back through the hole he had cut.

### Chapter 15

"You came back?"

"Told you I would. I've food for you. Here."

Volox was to weak to feed herself so he fed her with small amounts. She started to wretch but kept the food down. She took a sip of water then a little more food.

"Thank you. You are not from this planet."

"Neither are you."

"We are from Jorgon."

Drifta shuddered at the very mention of the name. "I picked up on that. Are you...were you slaves?"

Volox nodded. "Jorgon is excluded from the Alliance. Supported by trade with pirates and scoundrels. Whatever you've heard of Jorgon I assure you it is much worse."

"Your orange skin. That will be from the donderite mines. Marsillion miners have a red tinge about them."

"Marsillion miners are not forced to work the mines as we are. Two years and they have enough creds for the rest of their lives. We work until death and if we are lucky we get fed."

Having spent time on a Marsillion mining ship he knew this to be true. The marsillion miners and ore smelters had to be licensed and subjected to regular medical checks. After two years they had to retire and the effects of the marsillion gradually dissipated and they lived normal, comfortable lives in retirement or pursued other careers if they chose to.

"This virus. Tell me about it."

"Artificially created to control rebels."

"And those in control are immune?"

'Yes. They have ensured that. And the free citizens never come near the mines. Slaves like us are kept apart from the ruling population and we are controlled by slave masters, vicious thugs. Worked to death, our bodies disposed of like garbage. Any escaping the mining settlements or other camps are shot and their bodies burned." She looked up into his eyes, only seeing the horrors she had witnessed. "Some burned when not quite dead."

"Barbaric. And the virus?"

"The worst punishment for any slaves rebelling against the slave masters. Once administered, what you see here is the result from a long and painful death as an example to other rebels."

The images made Drifta sick to his stomach. "The alliance should do more to stop it."

A sickly smile from Volox. "A few in high places do very well from the trade with the pirates. Greed and power is a powerful combination."

Drifta found it hard to believe those he thought of as benign, caring leaders, elected to guide rather than dictate, would have any dealings with such evil despots. "There must be more to it than that. How did you escape?"

"We had nothing to lose. From our slave camp a hundred decided to break away. All you see on this ship were those not shot. We hid, then stole this ship. Two crew were forced to take off but the port security guards damaged the ship as we took off. They assumed we would die in space, so didn't chase us. The further we got from Jorgon, the crew warmed to the possibilities of a free life on an Alliance planet. This was the nearest life sustaining planet and the crew put the coordinates into the guidance systems but the ship was too damaged to land safely."

"A perfect atmospheric entrance would be needed without a marsillion coating."

"The crew did all they could but died in the crash."

Drifta took her hand in his gloved hand and said, "I'm sorry you didn't make it."

From her tunic pouch, Volox removed a vial of green liquid. "This was never about ourselves escaping. This is an antidote we stole. If this can be produced in sufficient quantity and returned to my people, they can fight back. This could end the slavery and tyranny on Jorgon."

"You could have saved yourselves with this."

"We didn't have enough. By the time we realised one of us was infected, it was too late. This was never about us. This is for the thousands we left behind."

Drifta took the tiny vial of hope, humbled by the incredible sacrifice and courage of Volox and the others. "I swear I'll do all I can."

"Thank..."

That was the last word Volox spoke.

### Chapter 16

The diving suit was hosed down with sea water before Drifta removed it. "From what Volox told me, it can only be contracted by injection or from physical contact. Still. Best to be sure."

Gazillia pointed to the wreck still attached to his ship. "Dead?"

"All of them," said Drifta, trying to come to terms with the situation. "The one who told me what had happened just died."

"That is sad. But better salvage without bodies."

Drifta nudged the diving suit with his bare foot. "If you want to go in there, be my guest." He kicked the suit away. "Here. Feel free to do that job."

Gazillia considered this but not for long. "Done enough, you. I'll send two deckhands in."

Changing the subject away from the horrors he had witnessed, Drifta focussed on another issue. "How are the repairs going?"

"Good. Another hour or so, then go can we."

"Those were brave people on that ship. I'll tell you all I know later when I can face it. But it would be good as captain to say a few words."

There was no structured religion around the Alliance planets but some gesture of words at burials were still thought appropriate. Gazillia called all the crew together.

"Drifta informs me dead now all." This started a murmuring amongst the crew until Gazillia called for silence. "As captain, commend their souls to the deep do I. In the sea become a part of the whole will they. Wish them a safe journey to a better place do we. Be it so. You and you. Suit up and feed the fishes will you."

The two deckhands looked at each other and hesitated as if about to protest.

"A bonus from the salvage get you," added their captain.

That did the trick and the two hands donned suits, then deftly went over the side to disappear into the ship of death.

"Captain," said Drifta, softly. "May I speak privately with you?"

"Yes. With me come."

In Gazillia's cramped cabin, Drifta sat on the one chair, the captain on his bed.

"Do you trust all of your crew?"

"Yes."

"Many lives could depend on that." Drifta told the captain what Volox had told him, Gazillia grim faced at the harrowing tale.

"Not a place for decent people, Jorgon. Good planet, once was."

"I agree. Volox gave me this just before she died."

"Which is?"

"The antidote for the artificial virus. If we can produce enough of this and I can get it to the slaves on Jorgon, the people can take back their planet."

"Hmm. Impossible that will be."

"I swore I would try. Help me, please? Don't let them have died for nothing."

"Impossible, think I. But try will I. Contacts to help know I."

As if a positive sign, the hum of the engines throbbed like a healthy beating heart throughout the ship.

The captain stood. "That vial safe keep you. Nobody tell." At the doorway, he said, "Go eat, rest you."

"Not very hungry but I'll try."

They went topside, the crew already preparing to head for home. They heard the final splash as the last body was dropped into the sea, longteeth immediately circling, thrashing the water. The deckhands hurried back onto the ship and they were underway even before Gazillia reached the control room. They sailed at half speed to drag the wreck safely behind them. Drifta pocketed the precious vial then went to the galley where he ate a meal bigger than expected, then he lay on his bunk and as he closed his eyes, the sickly faces of the dead slaves haunted his mind as he drifted into a fitful sleep.

### Chapter 17

The rest of the trip back to the port and the fish processing plants was uneventful, most waking hours about work. Drifta knew Gazillia had discussed the situation with his gaffer, Orlador, although nothing had been mentioned to him about that. The look on Gazillia's face when he had told him how the stolen ship had crashed on this planet had expressed the disgust he felt for the slave masters of Jorgon. The priority was to reach the port with the cobbled engine as they dragged the wreck behind them, but he had a gut feeling that the captain and gaffer were putting a plan together. When they finally docked and the catch unloaded, doubt was put on that notion.

"Time to go now for you."

"Captain?"

Gazillia passed Drifta a blue disc. "Loaded with wages, bonuses too for you."

"Thanks," said Drifta, dropping the disk in his belt pouch. From the same place he took the vial. "And this?" He held the captain's eyes daring him to dismiss the vial.

Gazillia held out his hand and Drifta gave him the vial. "Trust me, you?"

"I guess I'll have to. But this isn't about me."

"Go. Enjoy your money, you. Trust me."

Drifta had no choice but to leave the captain. He couldn't pass on his address as he had to find a new one but promised to call Gazillia when he could. However, if the worldly captain had ideas and contacts, he had to trust the man to understand the bigger picture. Leaving the docks he crossed the busy city to the bank he used, he sat in a booth, one of a dozen that had interplanetary connection. His retinal scan accessed his account and he pressed deposit. He placed the disc on the sensor. A number came on the screen.

"More than I expected. Thank you, captain. Much appreciated."

Dropping the emptied disc into the recycling slot, he left the bank and found basic rooms for the week, his plans more than fluid. After working on a planet to earn his way he would usually be giving due consideration to moving on to another, but he was committed to waiting to see what, if anything, Gazillia would come up with. Apart from the quest to discover his own origins, this Jorgon situation was a new priority in which he was now a pivotal player.

Finding new rooms and changing into clean clothes, he went out on the city streets, this city having a lively, friendly buzz to it. All the usual businesses flourished here and he was propositioned twice, once by a woman, then by a man. He smiled and declined, more interested in food, at least for the moment. Avoiding the glitzier places he found one with a homely feel to it, warm and inviting. Music played, the popular singers with little instrumental accompaniment. Two separate parties of diners tried to out-sing each other to the music and Drifta chose a table away from the cacophony. A robot wheeled its way towards him, but spoke to an empty seat at the next table. A human waitress saw it and went to the confused robot, slapping it on the back of its head.

"More trouble than worth they be swear I."

"I much prefer a human, especially a pretty one like you," replied Drifta wondering if the dialect would rub off on him if he stayed too long. He knew he was flirting but he needed a distraction from recent events.

"Heard it all before," she replied. "On your own, be you?"

"Yes. Just got off a trawler. I need a decent feed. Anything but fish."

"Make sure of it will I." She pressed the screen inbuilt into the table top. "Ignore those. Go for that. Fresh woowoo bird from the mountains. All maggots removed and used in the stock."

"Maggot stock. Sounds...great. Woowoo bird it is. And to wash it down?"

"Has to be this. Beer from the valleys. Find it hits the spot do I."

Drifta grinned. "Bring it on. My name is Drifta."

"Maglissa."

The two parties were winding up to move on to another nightspot, ready for somewhere livelier. One hugged Maglissa and kissed her cheek.

"That is not on the menu," said Maglissa.

"Let me take you away from all this," the man replied. "Shower you with diamonds and gold will I."

"Shower with soap do I. Go, you."

The man clutched his chest and looked at Drifta. "Every time she breaks my heart. Be warned, you."

"I'll take that under advisement. Goodnight."

They sang their way through the exit, the place becoming thankfully quiet and Maglissa put the closed sign on the door. "All good fun, but drive me nuts do they. Get your order will I."

The food and beer were good, the woowoo bird smothered in a rich berry sauce enhanced with the maggots and topped with red vegetables. The beer was spicy with something that gave the drink an edge. Once Maglissa had cleared away, more hindered than assisted by the robot, she had fixed her make-up and hair, dabbed perfume on her neck, and sat with her only customer.

"Cleared the plate, you."

"An excellent meal. Compliments to the chef."

"She's gone. A long day had she. Another drink get you?"

"Only if you join me. I should pay."

Maglissa tapped the order onto the screen and Drifta paid. The sensor confirmed payment. With her shoes off, Maglissa sat opposite Drifta.

"The best part of the day." She studied his face, liking what she saw. "Where from you?"

Drifta waved casually at the ceiling. "All over the place." It was his stock answer and generally true.

"Talk funny, you."

Drifta grinned, knowing he spoke more like people on other Alliance planets; only on this planet were there such marked differences. "Yeah. I say all the right words, just not in the right order. No cure for it."

Maglissa studied his face for signs of sarcasm but found none. He was human like her people but also different. "People from Earth some would say do look like you."

"So I'm told. No way am I from Earth, though. As far as I know, those on Earth are barely off the ground."

"Closer to doing that now must be they."

Drifta leaned back and sipped his beer. "I doubt it. We found remains of a couple of primitive old robots on Mars that they sent from Earth years ago. Nothing recent. They had another war so they got no further into space. We mined marsillion and took the stuff away. We didn't see anything of recent space activity from the Earth humans."

"One day. What about the old legends of some of our early explorers reaching Earth? Not believe that, you?"

The centuries old legends she spoke of were based partly on known facts but mostly embellished conjecture. "Not totally. They reached Mars, discovered marsillion deposits and studied Earth from there is true, but to actually go there?" He shrugged. "Maybe they did. If it happened, the Council had reasons to cover it up."

Even centuries later, speculation and debate flared up occasionally.

Maglissa turned the conversation back to Drifta. "Moving on soon, you?" There was more than just casual banter behind the question.

It was the same way with interplanetary travellers. People a little different were regarded as exotic, making romantic adventures more enticing. As they chatted they had naturally wondered if their physical differences made them more attractive to each other. Drifta was much taller than local men and his facial contours were smoother, with no deep lines of cheek ridges, just dimples when he smiled. From his perspective, Maglissa had a precociousness to her smile, inviting lips stirring him. She was slim, thanks to her busy job, but not without curves.

"Do you get a day off?" Drifta asked. He knew all she would want to do was rest after her day running the restaurant.

"Own this place, so have a day off when choose do I. Going to a throwers game tomorrow, am I."

Throwers was an interplanetary game, top players acquiring hero status on most planets. Drifta had a casual interest in the sport, but having no specific planet to call home, didn't follow any particular team.

"Maybe I could go with you?"

Another wide smile from Maglissa. "Be here at noon. See you then will I. Yes?"

This was too good to pass up. "It's a date."

"Tomorrow, you."

"And tomorrow, you. Goodnight, Maglissa."

He left her watching him walk away, both wondering if the other felt that same deep, primeval attraction.

### Chapter 18

In his simple rented room, Drifta stretched out on the bed. Perhaps with encouragement, Maglissa could have been persuaded to share it with him. The attraction between them, even though there were obvious physical differences, was tangible. He had known women from several planets, his gentle easy ways and charm a magnet for them. Love, however had eluded him. It was time, he was sure, to find that special someone. He had heard Consolon was a welcoming, friendly planet where anyone with ambition and a good work ethic could carve a future for themselves. Perhaps here would be the place to finally settle down, a new start for himself on a fishing boat.

But fate had conspired yet again to toss him casually into another adventure. In a way, that hadn't surprised him; just an acceptance of here we go again about it. And wasn't that the problem with his life? All his life, not shackled by a family, he had crossed the depths of space, fleeting dalliances along the way. But that was his chosen lifestyle, going along for the ride. Now he was tiring of all that. Maglissa may or may not be the life partner he yearned for, but she symbolised his dilemma. Whether or not she was, how could he allow himself the luxury of falling in love and how cruel would it be to let Maglissa or any woman fall for him?

Had things been different he would have enjoyed getting to know Maglissa, a young woman he was sure had more about her than serving customers in her small restaurant. He closed his eyes and could see Volox in his mind's eye, dying as he held her hand. He had vowed to do all he could to help her enslaved people and he was never one to renege on his word. Gazillia had asked to be trusted and had taken the vial with him. Drifta knew that what happened next was not only down to him but depended on the intentions of others.

He wondered if he would even see Gazillia again and that the hopes of desperate people on a faraway planet would be dashed forever. His head whirled with these thoughts and he welcomed the distraction of a date with a lovely woman to look forward to. Eventually he slept.

### Chapter 19

"Not sure turn up, you."

"I've been looking forward to it," said Drifta. "I almost didn't recognise you. You look great."

"Don't judge me from my day job, you."

"I would never judge you."

They had that awkward moment when Drifta wondered if he should dare kiss her. As he thought about it, Maglissa took the initiative, grabbed his jacket and pulled him to her, the kiss one of promise.

"That was unexpected and also delightful," gasped Drifta.

"Life is too short to waste a second of it, think I."

They looked into one another's eyes, liking what they saw, relishing their physical differences. "Hmm. Right. How do we get to the game?"

"This way," said Maglissa, wondering if her spontaneous actions were too rushed and premature.

With their lips still tingling, it seemed natural for them to link arms, and they walked along the busy city streets with only electric hover-trams on auto paths transporting people about. Private vehicles were only allowed in the less densely populated places. They had plenty of time to walk to the monorail that ringed the city, the sports arena being a main destination for the throwers matches. Some crammed into the carriages wore red hats, some blue, others black, like Maglissa. In typical Consolon fashion, a good-natured singing competition with the three teams chants at full volume had Drifta's ears throbbing. Maglissa was joining in and she was as loud as anyone. They were still singing as they got their passes verified at the arena's entrance and Maglissa led him to the black hat seats.

"This must be an important match by the amount of spectators here," observed Drifta.

"Consolon championship. Winners to interplanetary championship games go."

On the pitch, supporters groups with banners in their colours were marching and singing, rousing the other supporters to sing for their team of choice.

"I can't remember the last time I saw a live throwers match," said Drifta. "Just a school game, I think."

"Teams coming on."

The three teams in their red, black or blue padded outfits came on to the roar of the crowd, their helmets held high. If the singing was anything to go by, it would be a close match. The teams took their places in the corners of the triangular pitch, helmets on, players ready to charge. The crowd fell silent, the bell rang out and the two head-size white balls were dropped from a suspended platform. Drifta didn't know all the rules but that was much the same for everyone. Rules were open to interpretation, even by the two referees, who would often become embroiled in heated exchanges. It wasn't unusual for matches to be paused as they occasionally came to blows. The players would put aside their differences and cheer on the brawling referees from the sidelines. Creds were often bet on fights between referees as much as the result of the game. In principle, any two teams could assist against the third and would switch allegiance if it suited them. Other than both balls had to be dropped into large bowls at the corners of the pitch, one ball alone having points deducted, two balls points added, that was pretty much it. Apart from kicking or using fists, anything else was allowed. It was a crunching game with three players being stretchered off in the first third of the game to roars of approval. In the intervals, vendors plied their wares, and Drifta paid for refreshments. After a controversial game, the reds won by three points.

They made their way through to the exit, Maglissa trying to explain how the reds won the game even though four of the team had been disqualified. Drifta was totally confused so she gave up in the end. When they stepped off the monorail to walk the rest of the way, they were both wondering what to do next.

"We could go to a bar?" suggested Drifta as if trying to read her mind.

"Or...get beer and to your place go?"

Drifta tried to read her eyes, not wanting to take anything for granted. "I'd like that."

With a good supply of drinks and snacks they made their way to Drifta's rooms, but when he went to open the door he found it already unlocked.

Touching Maglissa's lips to keep her quiet, he gently eased her to one side and gave her the container of beer to hold. Then he kicked the door which he was sure he had previously locked and charged in to fight. A man stood there.

"Krilvos!" gasped Drifta, relieved.

"Know him, you?" asked Maglissa, standing behind Drifta.

"He's lead deckhand off the fishing ship I was on. Kril. How...?"

"Not important. Must come with me, you."

"Have other plans, we," said Maglissa, dropping the beer on a table. She stood and glared at the intruder, annoyed at this interruption to her plans.

"This could be important," said Drifta. "I have to talk with him."

"Hmm. Fix my hair, must I," said Maglissa, going into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

"What, Kril?" demanded Drifta.

"Come with me must you," said Krilvos.

"Where?"

Krilvos glanced at the bathroom door. "Not here. Come. Gazillia waits."

"Will I be able to come back here?"

Krilvos shrugged. That was all the explanation Drifta was getting. Maglissa came in and glared at both men, looking beautiful with her hair and make-up fixed.

"Well?"

"I have to go. Maglissa..."

"To Crud go you!" and she was gone, the slamming of the door hurting Drifta's ears.

"This couldn't have waited until the morning?" Drifta said, glaring at the messenger.

"No. Just doing what told, am I."

Drifta was about to follow, then grabbed the beer and locked the door after them. Krilvos said little else for the half-hour journey to the docks, by which time the sun was setting. The Moonstruck looked deserted as they boarded her, then he noticed a faint glow of yellow light in the control room. He turned to ask Krilvos something but the man had vanished. Drifta climbed the steps and found the door ajar. Inside were Gazillia, Orlador and the technical engineer, Pomlanvor.

Without exchanging pleasantries, Drifta passed beer around then sat in a spare seat.

"Pomlanvor," said Gazillia.

The little engineering technician tapped an ugly addition to the top of the console, bare connections everywhere and the guts of it exposed.

"Computer off wreck this is. Data interesting it is."

Drifta asked, "And the rest of the ship?"

"Being stripped for scrap it is," said Gazillia between sips of his beer. "Good salvage reward coming."

"I'm guessing getting it cleared for salvage raised a few comments."

Orlador said, "Some suspicion. Which is now why here are we. More secure here be."

Drifta understood the need for secrecy and didn't ask how Krilvos had found him or had entered his rooms. "What about the antidote?"

"In hand it all is," Gazillia assured him. "Much to do and much done. Ship stolen from Jorgon was old interplanetary scouting ship. Used for short flights around Jorgon and the slave colony on its moon. And yet not listed missing on any interplanetary register."

Drifta belched, the local beer a little gassy for his liking. "Maybe not so odd, coming from that twisted bunch on Jorgon."

"Or deeper something," said Orlador.

There was something in the way Orlador had said that, that made Drifta wonder if he was actually aware of something more specific than mere suspicions.

Pomlanvor said, "Residual data only, found I." He pressed a sensor on the salvaged computer and the fragmented display made for interesting and disturbing viewing.

### Chapter 20

The woman on the screen said, "Right, Mag. Troubling you something is."

"Mum. Why say that just because...Oh. Maybe right are you."

"Call me at this hour do you, something wrong."

Maglissa sighed. "Needed to talk, is all."

"Who is he?" Darluvla, Maglissa's mother, could be annoyingly perceptive.

"Drifta."

"That's a name?"

"What called is he."

"Local?" She was talking to her daughter, but her eyes were elsewhere.

"Not exactly. Mother. Is there somebody there?"

This was answered by Darluvla chuckling and saying to somebody, "Behave and put that away, you. Sorry, Mag. Saying were you?"

"Never mind. I'll call back later."

"Talk now. But..." another glance at her mysterious lover. "But not too long. So. Local is he?''

"No. Not local."

"Oh, Mag. Not one of those forest people? All muscle, no brain."

"He's...Drifta off worlder is he." She winced, waiting for the gasp and _that_ look. Both came.

"Off worlder! Honestly. A young woman with brains, just a skivvy in a snack-bar, _of course_ best there is will be for _you_ a...a...an off worlder."

"Not again. This is a fine little business and _own_ it do I. _And_ it has accommodation thrown in."

"Two tiny rooms? My clothes closet is bigger. All I'm saying, if you'd applied yourself, married well could be you."

"No wonder not call her often, I," muttered Maglissa to herself. "Like him, would you. He's a little different. Taller, no cheek grooves and blond hair."

"Hmm! Ugly?"

"No. Just...interesting."

"Sounds like trouble, does he."

"No. He's..."

"Off worlder you don't know you don't even know real name of. To your mother listen. Trouble is he."

Maglissa was wondering why she had called her mum. Her responses had been what she'd expected. "But like him, I. Just don't know..."

"Have to go. Listen to mother, you. Trouble is he. Now going am I."

"Mum!"

Too late. The screen went blank. "Another lover have you and tell _me_ about trouble do _you?_ "

The annoying thing was, she knew her mother was probably right.

### Chapter 21

"Didn't think again to see you."

It was the end of the day's business and Drifta helped Maglissa clear up the tables, the dysfunctional robot standing forlornly in a corner. "I wanted to apologise for yesterday."

Maglissa got beer for two, kicked off her shoes and shared a booth with Drifta.

"Didn't look as if that man was taking no for an answer was he."

"He wasn't expecting you to turn up. But yes, it was important."

It had taken all day for Maglissa to stop being angry at the way her plans had been dashed. There was just something about those blue eyes and untidy blond hair giving him that irresistible boyish look that had her forgiving him.

"Explain, will you?"

Drifta had been wondering what, if anything, he should divulge. As much as he was attracted to Maglissa, he knew nothing about this woman. As she sat staring at him sipping beer, he realised he wanted to spend much more time getting to know all about her.

"I could be going away soon. I wanted to be open with you about that."

"A job somewhere have you?"

"Well...sort of. I made a promise to somebody as she was dying. A few things to sort out with the help of my friends then I'll be gone to keep that promise."

This was not the answer she'd expected. "And not return, you?"

"Believe me. If there's any way I can come back, I will."

"Come back because of me?

Drifta grinned and took her hand in his. "This planet is ok, but there's only one thing special enough about it for me to return for."

Maglissa's hand squeezed his. "Perhaps have a connection do we."

Through her busy day running her little business, she had messed up two orders thinking about Drifta. Her previous men friends had been of her own people, not off worlders. She had only been in love once before and she had promised herself that she would take her time if a new man entered her life, not go crashing into a relationship in a hurry.

"You have no idea how much I want that," said Drifta. "The thing is, I have this job I have to do so I can't commit to anything right now."

Maglissa scowled at him, her cheek grooves twitching with frustration. "A man who can't commit? Oh _, so_ rare are _you_."

Following the meeting on the fishing vessel, Drifta had doubts about anything of his mission materialising. "I'm going to trust you and tell you all I know."

Feeling this could be important, Maglissa said, "Not here."

Drifta followed Maglissa to a side door and up steps to the living rooms.

"Shower me, talk you."

In a corner just out of sight, working clothes were discarded and he heard the water running.

"Can you hear me?" he asked.

"Yes. Talk."

"Heard of a shit-hole called Jorgon?"

Everyone knew of Jorgon. "Nothing good."

"A slave planet. A few days ago, some slaves escaped in a stolen ship and crashed in the sea here."

The water stopped and Maglissa entered fastening a floor-length silvery robe about her. The smell of the restaurant had gone and the scent of wild flowers wafted to assail Drifta's senses. He closed his eyes and breathed the feminine aroma in deeply. Her dark skin glowed with the washing and her slim but shapely body was hugged by the thin material of the robe.

"It must be all that running around in your job keeps you so beautiful."

Maglissa flicked her towel at him. "Jorgon?"

"Oh, yes. Slaves. Bad stuff."

"Rubbish, talk you. Heard of no crash have I. Hello? Ship crashes?"

Drifta had no explanation for that. "You wouldn't say that had you walked over a pile of dead bodies inside the wreck as I did. I almost puked in my helmet."

The ashen look on his face told her this was no lie. She sat by his side and kissed his cheek. "Sorry. I...sorry. But how help you can I?"

Drifta just wanted to believe the past was a bad dream and take this woman in his arms to forget it. Then he remembered on some hell-hole planet, people depended on him.

"Just listen for now. This is where it gets complicated. There's a virus manufactured by the leaders of Jorgon to keep the slaves in-line. It causes a slow and agonising death and it is used to keep order and to dispose of rebels. The woman who died in my arms gave me a vial of antidote. If we can replicate that and somehow get it produced in quantity, I can take it back to their planet."

Maglissa heard the words and they spun around in her head. Was this Drifta just a madman spinning her lies? After all, she hardly knew him. She explored his face and eyes for the truth and found it.

"Not alone in all this, are you?"

Drifta shook his head. "A few people feel the same way as I do and want to help these people."

"Then to the authorities go."

"Ideally, yes. But I have seen evidence on the stolen ship's computer that there are some in high places benefiting from the slavery on Jorgon, but we don't know who."

Maglissa was genuinely shocked. "Our leaders? On Alliance worlds, no need for greed. Why would they do this?"

"Good question. The data on the computer was incomplete. Erased in part by the crew of the ship. Enough remained to warn us we must take care, but detail was patchy. That's where the problem lies."

"Meaning?'

"We need to get the antidote manufactured then steal a ship to get it to Jorgon. My friends tell me they are doing the former but I wonder how much of that is just good intentions. If indeed there really _are_ corrupt officials in the Alliance, a few in such high places might object to what we intend to do."

"Kill you?"

"That would be the easy solution for them, to have me quietly disappear. At the moment they may not know about me and my friends and our plans. As soon as we try to do something, they'll be on to us. The ship was taken for salvage and one loose word about that from one of the salvage crew and they'd be alerted."

Maglissa said, "Then don't..." She stopped, knowing telling him to forget about this would be a waste of time. "Risk life for these people not known to you?"

"I told you, I gave my word to a dying woman. This evil must be stopped."

That this man was good to the core was no longer in doubt. That he would risk his life trying to help slaves on a planet so far away told Maglissa that this off-worlder was special. Everyone else she had ever met came a poor second to him. She slipped off her robe and took his hand.

### Chapter 22

"Mother says trouble are you," said Maglissa, dressing.

Drifta just wanted to grab her arm and pull her back to bed, but she dodged him. "Some would say always listen to your mother. You told her about me?"

She shrugged. "Dress. But first shower you."

Drifta showered quickly, Maglissa obviously keen to get going. "What now?" he asked as he dressed.

"Someone to see. Let me do talking."

Using the public hovacars then a monotrain inland to a land-port by a mountain settlement, they waited, nobody in sight.

"We're meeting someone?" Drifta asked.

Maglissa stared at the entrance to the land-port where a transporter paused briefly before continuing on to the seaport, loaded with goods.

"Not always reliable is he. Maybe turn up."

"Are you going to tell me...Hey. Is this him?"

A jet-powered trike roared towards them and stopped, jets idling. The man in black, face hidden by the visor of his helmet, cocked a gloved thumb at the double seat behind him. They sat side by side behind the rider and put helmets on. The safety bar swung into place and they were off. At a speed that had both passengers anxiously gripping the safety bar, they travelled inland along an arterial road, the terrain becoming increasingly wilder. On either side only forests, valleys and mountains, interspersed with pockets of agricultural land.

With only minimal slowing down, the rider veered off the main road and eventually pulled up at a trio of single story buildings made from the local timber. A large feline animal almost the size of a man, dropped from a nearby tree and approached the trike making Drifta think twice about getting off the vehicle. The cat stared at Drifta, teeth bared and a look in its eyes that warned she could easily kill a human should she choose.

"Somax!" said Maglissa, jumping down. She hugged the huge cat who licked her face.

"Missed you, she," said the rider in black, stepping down. He looked suspiciously at Drifta.

Drifta stood by Maglissa and held his breath as Somax sniffed all around him. He was about to stroke her thick mane but the man said, "Not unless want to lose fingers, you."

With the helmet off, Drifta could take a good look at this man. Almost as tall as Drifta, he had the same cheek ridges and dark skin as Maglissa and piercing deep set brown eyes that chilled Drifta's blood. Those eyes seemed less interested in the outside appearance than the soul of the visitor.

"Off worlder."

"You have a problem with that?"

"Dad, behave you," said Maglissa, hugging her father. "This is Drifta."

The men slapped hands in traditional greeting. "Mag likes you. For me, good enough. Grakosdrak am I. Grakos."

A woman appeared in the doorway of the largest building. "Come in, you."

Grakos whispered in his daughter's ear. "Play nice, you."

Maglissa nodded and they entered the home, Somax following, her long claws making scratching sounds on the wooden floor. The woman handed a raw bird carcass to the cat.

"Out."

The cat took off back up her tree with the prize as the door was closed.

Grakos did the introductions. "Salashar is she. Drifta is he."

"Drifta," said Salashar, slapping his hands. She stared at Maglissa. "No trouble in my home, you."

There came a breath holding moment then Maglissa said, "Trouble long gone. Here as friend and daughter am I." She held out her hand and Salashar slapped it.

Grakos roared with delight. "Celebrate, must we. Our finest wines."

For all his apparent roughness, the home's interior was surprisingly elegant. Fine, sturdy furniture from local craftspeople; ornaments and art from several planets covering the log walls. They sat at the table and the hosts covered it with fine food and wine. As custom, Grakos served.

"A local wine?" asked Drifta, sipping a strong, robust red.

"From Lamstar, third moon of Zaflon. I do a little business there."

Drifta had heard of Zaflon, the outermost Alliance planet. Clearly there was more to this man than his appearance suggested.

"Father be a pirate, he."

"Oh, Mag. A simple trader, I."

"Not always legally," said Maglissa. "Mother hated it." She glanced at Salashar, "And not just that."

"Was not responsible, I," snapped Salashar, standing and thumping the table hard enough to rattle cutlery.

Grakos said, "Let it go, Mag. Happy now are we. Accept this relationship, Mag. Please?"

Another tense moment, then Maglissa said, "Happy here both you, see I." She remembered her mother had another lover, probably one of several. Life travelled on. Reaching out she grasped her father's hand and smiled at Salashar. "Sorry. All good, it is."

"More wine," bellowed Grakos, banging the table so hard the plates bounced. Soon they were full to the brim with food and more than a little mellow from wine from several planets. They all helped clear up then relaxed on padded half-hammocks suspended from the ceiling, sipping beakers of a strong, pungent hot drink made from nuts and herbs. Soft music played from hidden speakers, helping push away the last of any tension.

"As welcome as you are, Mag," said Salashar, "More than just a reunion, is this. Your...friend needs help?"

Drifta told Grakos and Salashar all he knew and what he hoped to achieve.

"Contacts for Jorgon have we," said Salashar.

"You trade there?" asked Drifta, suspiciously.

" _Never_ with that slave planet," said Salashar. "Not allow it would I."

"But others sometimes do," admitted Grakos. "Old...associates of ours. Get you to Jorgon, maybe."

Drifta squeezed Maglissa's arm. "I need this help. But that's only part of the problem. We need to reproduce the antidote in large quantities so the slaves can overturn the tyrants. It is possible to do that because we salvaged the ship that brought the sample here. I think we will be under suspicion."

Grakos said, "Some leaders on other planets could perhaps do more to stop the slavery on Jorgon, including leaders here. Never convinced by politicians, am I."

Salashar said, "Power and ambition often go hand in hand, this planet also. Call your father a pirate, you? The real pirates are maybe some of the leaders."

"Widespread?" asked Drifta, still unable to imagine Alliance leaders condoning slavery.

Grakos shrugged but didn't elucidate. Instead he asked, "This antidote have you?"

"It's in a safe place. Can you help us with producing the antidote?"said Drifta, hopefully.

"No. But Darluvla can," said Salashar.

Drifta took a deep intake of breath. "Mag. Your mother? She can help?"

"Sadly, yes."

Grakos belched then said, "Good luck with that, you."

Another hour discussing the many issues to be resolved, not least Maglissa's mother, then it was time for bed. With a subtle gesture missed by the men, Salashar asked Maglissa to follow her.

"This room suitable for you be?"

"My old room. When used to stay here, I."

"Before here came, I. You have not been hostile now to me. Appreciate that."

"Younger then was I."

"And now a woman be you. You are like the daughter wished I. Not so blessed Grakos and I."

A rigid quota system was used to maintain populations of the Alliance planets and Grakos already being a father with Maglissa had made having another child with his second wife, Salashar, unlikely with their names towards the back of the list with priority going to couples wanting a first child. New children could only replace a deceased person. The system may have been harsh, causing disappointment to some, but the five hundred year old principle was ingrained into the culture and the benefits of a manageable population on easily sustainable populations resulted in a general acceptance. For Grakos and Salashar, as they got older they had let that dream go.

"But happy with my father you?" Maglissa asked.

Salashar laughed. "When took away rough edges I. Fights less now, thinks more he. Your young man seems nice. Looks at you with feeling does he."

"Unsure how feel about him do I."

Salashar smiled. "Not from where sat I. Excites you does he."

"Also scares me. An adventurer chasing one adventure after another." Maglissa stared vacantly at the floor. "Maybe Drifta not return from Jorgon."

"A dangerous place. My advice?"

"Please."

"Seize the moment. If this short time with him be all have you, then use it well. Don't look back on life wishing you had done something when the chance had you."

"Don't mind my sharing bed with Drifta my, father and you?"

"Only if you don't mind your father sharing bed with I."

"Fair words. Can't say looking forward to asking mum for help am I."

"Has an eye for a young handsome man has she. Let your young man charm her. Can't fail."

Maglissa agreed. "Will have to watch her with him."

"Indeed. Oh. Tomorrow new clothes will need he. Arrange it will I."

Salashar turned to leave when Maglissa said, "Thank you."

With a warm smile, Salashar was gone.

### Chapter 23

"Love the stars do I," said Grakos, relaxed with the wine. "Love them more being out there among them."

It was man to man time, outside admiring the stars on a crisp clear night. Drifta expected a barrage of questions and waited quietly for them. He was getting used to the odd way these people spoke, realising this was just their individuality from the rest of the Alliance. Grakos seemed in no hurry to ask his questions, perhaps putting them together in his head before speaking out loud.

Drifta decided to move the conversation along, asking, "Have your own ship?" Not a stupid question but loaded with implications. It was big business to own and hire out ships and many ships travelled from one Alliance planet to another because of the splits.

"Two ships have I. One in need of restoration. A minor tussle with some persistent authority figures had we."

"The Enforcers damaged your ship?"

Grakos laughed, sending to flight a flock of nearby small but vicious nocturnal creatures that could strip a wild mountain monsterdon to the bone in minutes.

"A minor skirmish. See the other guy should you. Ah, but these be quieter times."

"You sound like you miss those adventures."

Grakos, his face in the moonlight turning dark and serious, looked at the young man.

"Salashar was with me on that trip. Her blood saved my life. Gave me a choice did she. Stop fighting or lose her." A poke in the ribs with a finger came with, "Have a good woman in Maglissa do you. Hang on to her, you."

"She is special, your daughter."

"But no longer a girl. A woman with her own life and should have a good man in her life."

Drifta confessed, "The moment I saw her I knew that I wanted to be a part of her life. Are you telling me not to go to Jorgon?"

Grakos shook his head and said, "No man tells _me_ what to do so tell no man what to do will I." He pointed at the stars. "Out there on Jorgon are people like us, only dying as slaves. A man worthy of my daughter would stop that."

"Even if I get there I might not make it back alive."

Grakos shrugged and replied, "So. Come back alive, then nothing to worry about."

"And if I don't get back alive?"

With another raucous laugh and a slap to Drifta's shoulder, Grakos said, "Then still nothing to worry about. Come. Our women wait for us."

Inside, they cleaned up before going to the bedrooms. Maglissa was soon settled into the bedding, a floating scented light casting shadows as it hovered slowly around the room.

"Father likes you."

"What's not to like?'

"Give you his, _hurt my daughter in any way, your heart will eat I_ , speech?"

Drifta wriggled under the covers beside her. "What a horrible idea. We got along just fine as it happens."

Maglissa wrapped her arms about him. "Disturbing, that."

"He just accepts his little girl is a woman now. He wants to make sure I'm not just after your money."

"Don't have any."

"No? Damn. Well, in that case it was nice knowing you."

She slapped his bare chest and said, "And charm my mother must you? Not a chance."

"Maybe I'll practice on Salashar first. I bring out the mothering instinct in older women."

"Careful with her, you, or dad _will_ eat your heart."

Drifta held her close and kissed her and said, "Then I'll save all my affection for you."

"Light," said Maglissa and the light settled on its base and went out.

### Chapter 24

"Set off early, did they," said Salashar. "Mag let you sleep on. Away to see her mother is she. Grakos away to see Gazillia."

"He knows Gazillia?" said Drifta.

"Grakos knows everyone useful. Take you shopping for clothes, will I."

Drifta sniffed his armpit, wrinkled his nose and said, "I didn't have time to get my stuff from my rooms, not that I have much. Something new would be good."

"First eat."

Salashar had already prepared food, an assortment of baked goods and juices to wash it down. She sat opposite him but just sipped juice. The door swung open and the huge beast Somax strode in as if she owned the place. A kitten followed her, still finding her feet.

"Somax,' said Salashar. "Brought your baby to see us, you."

Somax sniffed Drifta who was frozen to the chair, hardly breathing.

"Not hurt you, she," Salashar assured him. "But not stroke her, you."

Huge yellow eyes stared at Drifta, her black lips curled back from the deadly fangs.

"I'll try to resist the temptation."

Then Somax gently picked up her kitten and dropped it on Drifta's lap.

"Showing off her baby is she," said Salashar. "Must like you."

"That's good to know."

The kitten licked his hand, her fur soft to his touch. "Only one kitten?"

"One died. It happens. This one seems healthy. Put kitten down now."

Drifta slowly placed the kitten on the floor, then with a growl and a swish of her tail, Somax led her baby outside.

"That was intense," said Drifta, his heartbeat returning to normal at last.

"Right. Clothes. With me come."

Outside, Drifta followed Salashar to an outbuilding, where two broxen beasts ate hay. They looked up, still chomping, snorting as they ate. As tall as a man, they were shaggy and were packed with muscle. Salashar led the pair out and fitted them to a buggy where they waited patiently.

"Your husband has a spaceship but you travel by cart?"

"Here forest people live simple lives. Hold on."

The broxen, pleased to be free from the barn, pulled the cart to the main road and with the slightest of tugs to the reins they plodded leisurely, the hairy, muscular beasts hardly noticing the cart behind them. A driverless hovacart transporting forest and farm produce to the city, cruised past from the opposite direction, the stoic broxen snorting at it as it sped by. Another mile and they turned off along a tree-lined valley track where various multi-coloured birds called to each other and small forest creatures scurried away into the undergrowth. Around a bend they came to a mix of buildings, all solar-powered and constructed from sustainable timber. Salashar steered the cart off the track to a paddock where a stream supplying the water for the settlement trickled along. The broxen grazed as Salashar led Drifta towards one of the small houses. A small, middle-aged woman opened the door and hugged Salashar then looked Drifta up and down.

"Handsome one is he. From Earth, you?"

People knew of Earth and the warlike humans there, but it was generally accepted that as far as deep space travel, it would take another hundred years for that to happen for them. It was also even odds that they would blow themselves up before that became a reality.

"I have no idea where I was born," said Drifta. "My earliest memories are of a spaceship and I've been travelling around ever since."

Salashar said, "Drifta, meet my cousin Rafroson. A fine maker of clothes is she."

"Enter," said Rafroson.

In her warm cottage, Rafroson served refreshments, all the time assessing Drifta who in turn was admiring the dwelling which was furnished with just enough basic furniture for comfort. An old, unlit, black communicator on a table in the corner, seemed oddly out of place in the log cottage. Walls were adorned with locally intricately carved art work, depicting scenes of nature. He knew them to be popular with city dwellers, some pieces commanding high prices. Through an open doorway he could see a cluttered but clean kitchen, large pots of things simmering on a large oven.

Brushing crumbs off her tunic, Rafroson told Drifta to stand and she measured him.

"I do have some clothes back in my rooms in the city,' said Drifta. "Not many as I travel light, and to be honest, most of my stuff is like what I have on, worn out."

"My clothes are made to last," said Rafroson. "Wild broxen hide and spun shega wool. Naturally weatherproof."

Salashar said, "Has some arduous adventures ahead does he. Needs a suit padded for fighting in."

Rafroson waited for more guidance than that but none was forthcoming. "Working with Grakos then he? Then a suit fit for a pirate?"

Salashar just smiled and shook her head at the pirate jibe as Rafroson selected the thick but supple black leather and rich red wool to line it with. It took three hours at her machines to cut and sew the materials together, lining the leather with the wool in her own unique way. As she toiled away, they talked about things in general, Salashar revealing nothing about Drifta's mission. The women spoke of Maglissa and how good it was to have their differences ended.

"Maglissa will no doubt find her young man even more handsome in this suit," said Rafroson, proud of her work. "But new boots needs he."

"We shall see Dasvoron," said Salashar, already planning ahead. "Grakos will pay for everything."

"I pay my own way," said Drifta.

"Not good to offend Grakos or the ways of our people," said Rafroson. "If Grakos says he'll pay, let Grakos pay."

Drifta was about to argue but the determined look and the wagging finger from Salashar silenced him. With his old clothes bundled up, Drifta thanked Rafroson and they crossed a foot-bridge over the stream to another cottage. Rafroson had called Dasvoron the boot maker and he was expecting them. A small, frail looking old man, Dasvoron had little to say other than, "Boots."

Salashar said, "Boots for a warrior."

Dasvoron stood with his hands on his hips, waiting for more, got nothing then got on with the business on hand. The shelves covering every wall had pairs of boots, mostly brown, some still the natural red of the broxen hide. Assessing Drifta's boot size, the old man selected a red pair, festooned with straps about the legging ends. He handed them to Drifta who pulled them on. They ended just below his knees. The foot part above the sole had metal studs, there for more than decoration and a kick from one of these wouldn't go unnoticed. They were surprisingly comfortable with the wool lining.

"An outfit for a hero, this," said Salashar. "Grakos to pay."

Drifta knew better than to argue and they thanked Dasvoron, who watched and sighed as his workmanship was immediately splattered with mud as his customers crossed the yard to the paddock and they were soon out of sight.

### Chapter 25

Darluvla never seemed to walk. She glided gracefully, often with long flowing gowns of expensive materials trailing weightlessly behind her. As Maglissa entered, Darluvla 'floated' over to her favourite chair, all deep padding and covered with the softest off-white leather. A bejewelled manicured hand waved Maglissa to another chair. Gentle, unobtrusive music played in the background from somewhere.

"A fine wine there if pour you."

Maglissa had been in the hospitality business long enough to appreciate from the flagon's seal that this was a wine of rare vintage from one of the outer worlds of the alliance. She poured two crystal goblets of the purple wine, passing one to her mother. A sip had Maglissa's taste-buds singing and dancing, the aftertaste a sweet memory on her palette.

"Still living in fine style, see I."

"The wine was a gift from an admirer. Such an auspicious occasion as a visit from my favourite daughter deserved it thought I."

"Your _only_ daughter am I."

"And still my favourite." Darluvla held the goblet a little higher and swirled the expensive contents so the diffused light was casting rainbows across the ceiling and walls which amused her. "However, to your father....Such a disappointment to your father a girl you. A boy to train up in his pirate ways had been his dream. How is that old...your father, anyway?"

"The glint of another adventure in his eyes has he. But all comes to nothing if one small thing don't do you."

Darluvla finally sipped her wine, remembering that month of passion with a man half her age, that accounted for the case of the priceless bottles in her cellar. "Always a cost to everything there is. Some more pleasurable than others to pay for. This small thing is for you or for he?"

"Both."

Indeed her father had expressed his desire and intentions to do all he could for Drifta and his quest.

Darluvla drained her goblet and refilled both. "Interesting. And by chance is your young man Drifta involved?"

Maglissa knew from old that any discourse with her mother would take a searching and circuitous route. "I know well how your mind works do I. So, tell you what I know will I then hope inside you lies some spark of good. Jorgon mean anything to you?"

Darluvla placed the goblet on the marble table. "The very name sours the wine." She leaned forwards, eyes narrowing. "Well connected am I. Know things, do I. Any adventures this Drifta and your father wish to drag you into, stay well away, you."

Maglissa held her mother's gaze. "Your connections can help free a world from slavery. A defiant people subdued by a sickening virus created by the brutal slave masters can be freed with your help."

Darluvla leaned back in her chair, cheek grooves pulsating, forehead creased and her lips pursed angrily in the way that had haunted Maglissa all her life. Some found Darluvla's unpredictability alluring and others disconcerting. This had been a part of her parents tempestuous life together but for their only child was often unsettling.

"But more than you know do I. We must not be drawn into..."

Maglissa had heard enough and stood to leave. "Should have known I. Do this without you will we. More dangerous, but if die at least have tried will will we."

"We?" Darluvla got up and went to her daughter, holding her shoulders and feeling a hint of motherly love for her daughter. Perhaps it was always there but locked deep within a selfish vault. "Don't get involved. Go back to your father, idiot father, and tell him to grow up and keep his baby girl safe for once. Trust I."

"Not tell him will I. At my place tomorrow. Noon. Tell him why condemn that planet to slavery do you."

"Oh, no. I..."

Maglissa pointed at her mother and said, "All look forward to it do we. Noon. My place."

She stormed out, disappointed but not surprised by her mother, doubting she would have the fortitude to face them and explain her reluctance to help.

### Chapter 26

It was officially rest day in the city, most businesses closed, the only vehicles allowed to run being the driverless and emergency ones. Maglissa's restaurant had ample room for all involved to meet in comfort. Maglissa was still getting used to Drifta' new look, finding something sexy in the snug fitting leather outfit designed by Salashar and created by a talented crafts-person. They kept their desires for each other in check in front of Salashar and Grakos. Noon had come and gone and Darluvla was conspicuous by her absence. All other planning was pointless without her cooperation. Almost an hour late, the door opened and in flounced Darluvla.

"Sorry a little late am I."

Grakos scowled, growling his response. "A _little_ late?"

"Grakos. As repulsive as ever," said Darluvla, glaring at Salashar as she sat. "But then so obviously well matched, you."

"Hmm. A compliment that from you," said Salashar, her old warrior spirit inflamed as she stared at a woman she thought of as being spoilt and who spent her life socialising with the well-heeled and powerful, desperate to be a part of their world but somehow only able to cling onto the fringes of it.

Darluvla turned her attention to Drifta, her baser instincts urging her to devour him.

"The infamous Drifta. Understandable my daughter is attracted to you. But perhaps such a well-travelled adventurer needs the experience of a real woman."

"Two minutes," said Salashar. "Unbelievable."

Drifta squeezed Maglissa's hand, partly to reassure her, partly in self-defence. Darluvla pretended not to notice, instead drinking in the austere surroundings. She resisted the inclination for derogatory comment. "As delightful as this little gathering is, my time as an events coordinator is precious to me and clients to meet have I. Shall we please get to the point?"

Grakos nodded to Drifta to continue.

"Well. Knowing Mag has already told you some of it, I'll just tell you how I became involved. On a fishing trip we found a crashed Jorgon spaceship, stolen by slaves. All but one were dead from a manufactured virus for which the lone survivor gave me a vial of stolen antidote. The Jorgonian leaders use the virus to control and, where necessary, wipe out any rebellion."

"I'm in no danger of catching anything am I?"

"That lucky should be we," said Salashar. "Of course not."

On the cusp of an all out catfight, Darluvla sat and fumed.

Drifta continued. "We have the antidote, not the virus, so we are not at risk from it." A terrifying idea came to him. "Not unless the Jorgonians decided to attack the Alliance with the virus. Darluvla. We need help in reproducing a substantial amount of the antidote and find a way to get it to the slaves on Jorgon."

Darluvla held her hands up in exasperation. " _That_ all? Thought something difficult wanted you."

Maglissa pointed at her mother and said, "For once do something for others, you."

"One of the most generous people am I. So many charity functions have..."

Grakos said, "Darl. A lover of yours was head of a chemical business. Influence with him have you."

It had been years since her former husband had called her Darl. "Perhaps such an acquaintance once had I. This antidote?"

"I can get it," Drifta said. "You will help?"

"Oh, Drifta. Never resist such handsome face and blue eyes could I. Help will I." She stood to leave. "So delightful, this." She pouted at Drifta. "Call when ready, you."

A final icy look at Grakos and Salashar followed by a smouldering pout at Drifta then rolling her eyes at Maglissa, she pirouetted gracefully and flounced out leaving a hint of expensive perfume behind her.

"Your mother," said Drifta.

"Yeah," sighed Maglissa.

Grakos took his telmo from his tunic pouch and read a message on it. "Gazillia. He has the antidote and to meet him now must I."

"I'll go with you," said Drifta.

Grakos stood to leave. "Just I. Less obvious."

This made sense and Drifta could spend precious time with Maglissa.

### Chapter 27

Pirate was a term Grakos had mixed feelings about and he didn't see himself that way. But occasionally his hard-man persona gave him useful respect. All his adult life he had traded, starting on his home planet with a third-hand ship converted for space bending split technology which allowed for economical and fast long distance travel between planets in the Alliance and beyond. Most of his deals were completely legal as deemed by the Alliance Council. All goods declared and taxes paid. Grakos had no issues with that; taxes essential for the infrastructure on the planets and the servicing of the space ports. Occasionally however, an opportunity arose for a little 'under the counter' business which helped hard-working entrepreneurs like him put a cherry on the cake. If the enforcers got wind of this activity, their armed ships could intercept trade ships engaged in suspect dealings, using plasma cannon as a last resort to apprehend the suspect.

As Grakos made his way to the sea-port to meet Gazillia, he reflected on his life and the adventures with his small crew. The final engagement with the enforcers had damaged both ships, not fatally, but enough so that Grakos could still flee leaving the other ship limping home. Grakos had engaged illegal tracking blockers to reach a small moon he used for a storage base for his nefarious activities. When arrested at the main port, all evidence of illegal trading had gone and during the trial he only just convinced the judiciary that he thought he was under attack from some unknown aggressor and only acted in self defence. He got away with it.

Unfortunately, he found that the enforcers high-command were not so forgiving and every detail of his on-going business was scrutinised in minute detail, to the point when even making a modest legal living became almost impossible. Darluvla saw her lavish life-style restricted and her constant rows with Grakos had their relationship tested to the limit, shattered completely when Grakos found solace and understanding with his number two, Salashar. Darluvla divorced Grakos taking much of his money with her.

Maglissa was a young woman by then but sided with her mother and blamed Salashar for her parent's split. The scenario was not uncommon and all parties settled down with their lives, Grakos and Salashar returning to their roots in the forest settlements. With one ship damaged and no funds to repair it, his smaller second ship was all they had to make creds, supplemented with living off the forest and what they could grow.

Times were changing in unexpected ways. He didn't only see the mission Drifta had pledged himself to as a noble cause and a chance to do some good, but on a deeper level, it was a new lease of life to a man seeing only a existence of monotony ahead. He knew Salashar was also feeling a growing fire in her belly; the spark in her eyes for adventure burning brighter than ever. As he entered the deck of the fishing ship where Gazillia and his gaffer Orlador waited for him, he realised some things were just meant to be.

### Chapter 28

"Got the antidote back have you?" Grakos saw no need for small-talk.

"Nothing had been done with it," said Gazillia, with a sigh. "My connections were too nervous in the end. Know more, better placed people, you." He nodded to Orlador who handed over the vial.

Grakos turned the innocuous looking glass container in his fingers, the light glinting off it. "Hard to imagine the potential to change so much in this."

Orlador, pragmatic as ever, said, "Replication only part of the puzzle. Getting it to the right people on Jorgon tough will be."

Grakos nodded, noting Orlador hadn't used words like impossible. "If it were easy, anyone could do it." He got up to leave. "Drifta. Special, is he."

"Yes," agreed Gazillia. "Go. If more help needed, be here will we."

There were few Grakos knew of he would completely trust or involve in this endeavour, but he knew his old friends were two he'd trust with his life. He left the trawler and made his way to pass the vital antidote to his ex-wife, a woman who hated him.

Here too, Grakos was surprised. He had not stepped foot into Darluvla's home since the divorce. He stood in the doorway, this beautiful woman before him. Beautiful but cold. And yet she wasn't looking at him as if he had stepped in something unpleasant which might spoil her thick carpets.

"Come in."

He took a step forward, feeling unusually nervous. The door hissed shut behind him and Darluvla beckoned him to sit.

Grakos said, "Always exemplary taste had you."

"And not all with your money," she reminded him, pointedly. "Do well with my business do I."

"Only complimenting was I. And...how beautiful are you."

"But not the woman for you."

That was expected. "Loved you till the bitter end did I. Maybe still do."

"But your life is with Salashar. And happy she makes you. Loves you."

Grakos shrugged. "All moved on have we. Darluvla. Darl. What we are asking is serious. Peoples lives depending on this."

She held her hand out. "The antidote?"

He placed it in her hand. "Please be very careful. And discreet." The vial was a symbol of so many things.

Darluvla said, "Drifta and our daughter. Falling in love with him is she."

"If ever I had had a son, be proud if like Drifta was he. Gazillia and Orlador both regard him highly."

Darluvla served the wine and they clinked goblets together. "To Drifta's safe return."

"To his safe return."

Grakos didn't stay long and he didn't ask what Darluvla's plans for the antidote were. He knew beneath her beautiful exterior was a strong and determined woman. He returned to his forest home, a stark contrast from the tasteful city home of his ex-wife. But the moment he entered, he appreciated the rustic warmth of the home he and Salashar had made, built with their own hands.

"Just in time for dinner," said Drifta. "Just dishing up am I."

"Cook, you?"

"A man of many talents. Some of the best cooks are on the space ships and I've worked in many a kitchen. Those cooks were clever at making something from nothing."

Grakos joined Salashar and Maglissa at the table and poured himself a goblet of wine from the flagon, sharply acidic by comparison to what Darluvla drank. "Not just a pretty face, Drifta. Best keep him Mag."

"That's what I keep telling her," said Drifta, passing the bowls around. "This is called mad Sals stew. Salsabek was an interesting individual. I only knew him sober once but he was a real good cook."

Maglissa looked suspiciously at the bowl of stew with odd bits floating in it. "Mad? Sals or his victims."

"Tastes...interesting," said Grakos. "Not really bad."

"Appreciate the effort do I," said Salashar. "Perhaps Grakos learn to cook, you."

Grakos almost choked on a chunk of bread and changed the subject. "Think Darluvla will do as promised, do I."

"She took the vial?" asked Drifta.

"Yes. As she does that, prepare the ship must we."

"Hmm," snorted Salashar. "The ship is impounded until fees paid."

"Am I missing something here?" Drifta asked. "You do have a ship, right? One we can actually use?"

He had been around spaceships long enough to know every planet in the Alliance had ports where anyone who could pay the storage fees could leave their ship, have it serviced and repaired but although the fees were only enough to pay for its time in dock, not trading and making profits, the debt could still mount up if left too long. Without the payments from his illegal goods on a far off moon, Grakos had no way to have his ship released to retrieve his stash and pay the fees...a vicious circle. These details Salashar was aware of, but nobody else. Until now.

"Fees must be paid to release the ship."

"Is that all?" said Drifta. "You need creds?"

"A lot of creds, Drifta," admitted Grakos. "Perhaps sell her for spares, thought I. Retire. Then something happened."

"What?"

"You did, Drifta."

"I have about nine thousand creds," said Drifta. "If it means getting to Jorgon with the antidote, use it to release your ship."

"And about three thousand have I," said Maglissa.

"And we have four thousand," said Salashar. "Enough?"

Grakos did the maths in his head. "Maybe enough. We have a few...saleable items that would bring in triple that."

Salashar said, "If evade the enforcers can we."

Drifta said, "These goods are not on this planet, I'm guessing?"

"No, Drifta,' said Grakos. "But there are ways around all these issues."

His forehead creased and his cheek grooves twitched as his mind went into overdrive. Salashar knew this look of old and smiled inwardly, knowing the dark side of her husband was analysing the situation, replacing each obstacle with at least one solution.

" Make some calls must I," said Grakos, standing. "Please continue this...excellent meal."

Salashar smiled knowingly at Drifta, who was now accepting he was working with professionals he could rely on.

### Chapter 29

Over his thirty year professional career, Grakos had met and found life-long people he could call real friends, like Gazillia and Orlador. They mutually called on each other for help when required, knowing that request was unlikely to be turned down. With Salashar by his side Grakos had been involved in dozens of adventures, some relatively minor, a few where making it out in one piece had been considered a result. Anything involving that rogue planet Jorgon was destined to fall into the latter group and until then, he had avoided all dealings with the Jorgonians, regardless of how potentially lucrative it might have been.

Judlasktik knew his day was about to get more interesting when Grakos entered his workshop office.

"My lucky day this must be," moaned Jud, his voice rich with irony.

They slapped hands. "Just passing, so thought drop in would I. Alwagengor around?" Alwagengor was the superintendent of the port who didn't like pirates.

"No, thankfully," said Jud. "That good for you."

"Disappointing, because have this for him do I."

"A certified cred?"

"Ten big ones."

Jud turned to work his com-centre. "Love an optimist do I. According to your record, at least fifteen thousand could make a dent in the creds owed. Looking to take that ship of yours out, do you?"

Grakos shrugged, a non-committal half smile on his face. "Perhaps."

"Thought retired were you. Snuggled up with Sal. Still putting up with you, is she?"

"Inseparable, are we." Grakos checked nobody was around. "Jud. Can raise more creds, but need them for a mission."

"A stash somewhere?"

"A little investment put by. One little trip makes everything all good again."

Alwagengor was the superintendent but everyone knew it was Judlasktik made the place tick. Even so, he still had to be careful. He understood Grakos wanted to pay off the bulk of his debt, recover and sell his stash then pay what he owed. This was not the way things were done and sanctioning this could land Jud in trouble.

"This cred is for how much?"

"Ten..."

"How much?"

"It's for ten..."

"How much?"

"Fifteen thousand," replied Grakos, finally understanding.

"Perfect. Plus cash for plasma?"

Cash meant creds from his own account, not the certified cred guaranteeing the discs face value. Jud was using a delaying tactic of entering the wrong cert-cred value, delaying correction until Grakos came good with the balance. Plasma fuel for the trip couldn't be cheated though, and now Grakos could do what he had to do and put things right later. Hopefully. Grakos knew Jud was putting his job on the line with a man like Alwagengor on everyone's backs.

"Three thousand creds worth?"

"So. A short trip," said Jud. "Three days to have the ship ready."

"Thanks, my friend. One day tell you all about it will I."

"Not sure want to know. Go. Get out of here."

They slapped hands and Grakos made his way through the huge hangar housing at least thirty ships in various states of repair and storage. Teams of technicians were too busy to even notice him as he walked by, pausing for a moment to pat his old ship.

"Soon, girl. Soon."

### Chapter 30

A call from home to Darluvla, in a deliberately vaguely worded way, told Grakos the antidote was in safe hands and analysis and replication was already underway. Because of the clandestine way the whole operation was to proceed with caution, they would only involve the least number of their trustworthy contacts to get the job done.

"Eleven to thirteen days, Darluvla thinks," said Grakos, ending the call.

Drifta knew this was no easy task, so resigned himself for the wait. "In the meantime?"

"We test out the ship. In three days take off can we. You and Sal will come with me to get our stash that will finance the mission."

"Like to come along would I," said Maglissa.

Salashar had no objections. "Need to have you registered to go would we. Just a formality."

"Not without risk, this trip," warned Grakos. "All be in trouble if caught."

"Go along will I," insisted Maglissa, holding Drifta's hand.

Salashar said, "Logging the flight will alert the authorities. A possibility that tracked will be we."

Grakos agreed, but he was of the opinion it was only a slim possibility. Any inspection of the ship would be on it's return to an Alliance port, not an enforcers interception in space. There were ways around this for an experienced pirate.

The home Grakos and Salashar shared was a large slab of a place built mostly from sustainable materials from the surrounding forest, and may have been deceptively simple, but it had more than the basic extras for a comfortable life. Behind a false wall, hidden from anything but the most stringent inspections, was a small, yet sophisticated operations centre. Grakos activated the surveillance detection systems before leading the others into the hidden room, the disguised, impenetrable door sliding into place behind them. A hefty power switch lit the room up and jumped the equipment into life.

"Impressive," said Drifta. "Better than some ships decks I've seen."

Grakos was about to operate some of the equipment but Salashar slapped his hand.

"Back off, you. My domain is this."

Grakos rolled his eyes at Drifta and his daughter and sighed, but he knew his place in the scheme of things. He stood back and let Salashar take the command seat. She flexed her fingers and took a deep breath, like the conductor of a great orchestra about to bring a new symphony to life. As her fingers expertly controlled the banks of equipment, Maglissa jabbed her father in the ribs with a " _Good is she_ " expression on her face. She had new respect for her step-mother and was genuinely warming to the woman.

"The enforcers will certainly track us after take-off," said Salashar. "Blocking it will cause suspicion."

The three-dimensional images filling the air around them, showed the Alliance planets at the centre of the display, with several billions of miles beyond that. "Our moon is...here."

"The splits?" asked Grakos.

Salashar brought hundreds of known spacial-splits into the picture then refined it for just eleven splits as highlighted bright red lines traversing their part of the galaxy. The countless number of splits were always a part of the infrastructure of the universe, in the simplest definition, rivers of compressed dark matter snaking towards the black holes. The discovery of dark matter and dark energy almost six centuries ago, followed by the development of the subsequent science for using the strands of dark matter, took another century to find how to make practical use of this knowledge. The old technology prior to this had ships only capable of speeds close to light-speed using what was at the time the state of the art plasma drives. These were still required for space travel outside the splits and before the advancements, this severely limited the space and planets they could explore.

The first two experimental ships using dark energy compression to power along the strands of dark matter resulted in building two ugly monsters as large as today's freighters to accommodate the crude equipment. It would have taken a decade less if not for the continuous evolvement of the science which meant the hardware also continuously had to be modified.

In its simplest definition, dark energy was collected using collectors on a ship's surface, which was stored in vast condensers which was fed into a reactor whenever they entered the splits. The resulting reaction between the dark energy and dark matter that caused a localised distortion around the ship and produced a propulsion force. If a boat in a fast flowing river just went with the flow, it would travel at the surface speed of that river. But if a powerful engine was used on the boat, speeds exceeding the river speed would be reached. Spaceships easily exceeded the speed of light.

"Here our split is," said Salashar. The split was millions of miles wide and crossed the galaxy for many light-years, ending in a black hole. They did vary in spatial positions as a silk ribbon would move in a gentle breeze but could be easily located with the right expertise and equipment. Most paid a fee to the ports technical offices but Salashar and Grakos had built their own equipment, tapping into a local satellite.

"Who else is out there?" Grakos asked.

Another rainbow of colours representing the ships hopping between the Alliance planets, some using the splits, others using standard plasma drive on the shorter distances. Four ships in the splits, three on plasma crossing from one split to another.

"Vilasokrid," said Salashar. "Nearest to the split on the path to our moon are they."

Grakos groaned. "Anybody else?"

Salashar said, "Not in the right place at the right time. Don't be a baby, you."

"Problem?" Drifta asked.

"Vila is always a problem," said Grakos.

"And also my twin sister is she," said Salashar, with a huge grin. "Grakos afraid of her is he."

"Afraid? Me? Am not afraid of...Maybe a little."

"Vila shoots from the lip, does she," said Salashar. "And does not like my husband."

Grakos said, "Built like a battlecruiser and twice as ugly."

Maglissa laughed. "She scares you?"

"No!" insisted Grakos.

"Yes," insisted Salashar. "And your father will have to be very nice to her."

"Grovel to...her? Me?" Grakos's face screwed up with the very idea of that.

"Just be nice to her, you. Can do nice, you."

"Sal...Won't you...?""

"No. Protocol. Captain to captain. _You_."

Drifta asked, "I don't follow."

Salashar explained, "Must pick up our stash and transfer to a willing ship not under suspicion by enforcers. If we can find a willing captain, demand a cut will they."

"A cut to my heart from Vila," said Grakos, solemnly.

"Can't we ask her now?" Drifta asked.

" _Possible_ from here, yes," said Salashar. "But enforcers could intercept our transmission."

Grakos said, "Better done at the time we have collected from our moon."

"Help us will she," said Salashar, adamantly.

"Hmm. At a price. Sal. Plan our flight in three days from now. Need a drink do I."

Grakos stormed out, the secret door closing behind him. Salashar ignored his petulance and got on with the serious part of her job, planning both the plasma drive flight and the coordinates for using the splits for faster than light travel to the barren rock used for years as a hideaway for some of their under-the-counter operations, but also factored in the likely flight of the freighter which her sister Vilasokrid captained.

Drifta watched Salashar's mastery of all that surrounded her. "We need the finance from this stash, Sal. What if your sister doesn't cooperate?"

"Of course cooperate will she. But torture Grakos before she does, just for fun. Just don't tell Grakos, hey?"

"Let you get on, will we," said Maglissa.

They left Salashar to her work which she was totally absorbed in. The front door was open and after helping themselves to drinks, joined him outside. He was sitting in his three-wheeled bike, drinking straight from a bottle.

"Dad?"

"Vila. Total bitch is she."

Maglissa hugged her father, feeling his inner turmoil. "Be alright it will, and do this will we."

Grakos stared out at the first of the stars appearing in the darkening sky. "Yeah."

### Chapter 31

Judlasktik was standing by the ship on the pad as Grakos and his crew passed through the barrier.

"Everything is ready," said Judlasktik as they slapped hands. "Your smudge on my recpad need I."

Grakos pressed his thumb on the recpad and Judlasktik confirmed it with his own thumb print.

"Alwagengor causing any trouble?" asked Grakos.

"Permanently suspicious is he," said Judlasktik softly. "Need to make up the _clerical error_ for the funds as soon as possible."

Grakos knew his old friend had put his job on the line for him by 'accidentally' entering the incorrect fees paid in by Grakos. The officious Alwagengor who was always trying to impress his superiors would eventually find the error and be on Judlasktik's case because of it.

"Just a few days and be straight shall we," Grakos promised him. "Thank you,"

"Hmm. So. Logged in a flight plan?"

"Of course. Fresh food rations for our test run have we," said Grakos pointing at the containers on the hovacart Drifta and Maglissa was pulling behind them.

"Then on board go you. Take-off one hour. Oh. Is your tracker working?"

"Funny should say that you. Can be temperamental at times."

Salashar said, "Intend to make repairs on the test flight do I. _Must_ comply with all the rules and regulations, yes?"

"Strictly speaking..." said Judlasktik.

Salashar quoted the rules. "Trackers must be maintained in good order and turned on for the duration of any flight. Yeah, got that."

"Indeed," said Judlasktik. "Good luck."

Judlasktik walked away towards his office in the main hangar and the four entered the ship, stowing the supplies before sealing the ship. Salashar was soon in her familiar place on the flight-deck, charming the console into life. Things lit up, flashed, hummed and generally came to dazzling life as if the ship had been waiting patiently to be put through her paces again. They would use the main plasma drives for the take off for the first few million miles of flight through space until they could enter the dark matter split that would carry them close to the moon of an uninhabited planet, where they could retrieve the stash. The hour passed quickly and they secured themselves in their seats as the main thrusters lifted the ship off the pad. Salashar angled the thrusters for one orbit of the planet as they flew higher, finally leaving the atmosphere.

"So good does this feel," said Grakos.

Salashar reached across and squeezed his hand. "Very good."

### Chapter 32

Timing was key. Two days of the slower plasma drive flight, testing the ship after her period of inactivity. Salashar, the technical genius, made computer and mechanical modifications to the ship, ably assisted by Drifta with his experience.

"Not too stupid for a man, you."

"Thanks, I think. I've learned a lot from you."

"Normally a larger crew with specialists have we. As ship's gaffer it is important to understand how it all works. Enter the split soon."

They put the diagnostic equipment away and made their way back to the flight-deck. Grakos was at the helm and Maglissa had prepared a light meal.

"All good," Salashar declared. She took the helm and studied their progress. "Two hours and seventeen minutes until enter the split do we."

"Have to use the tracker shield when in the split," said Grakos, unnecessarily. Salashar needed no reminder they were about to break one of the principle laws of using the space lanes. If the authorities became suspicious this was more than just a technical malfunction, it would be the end of their space trading, legal or otherwise.

It seemed an interminable wait for the moment they would slip into the split which was just one of millions of natural rivers of dark matter which were still not fully understood. It was the same way most people could use computers without really understanding how it all worked, so it was with dark energy and dark matter. That didn't stop the humans from the Alliance planets making use of the splits as long as the trackers were used. They could extract the dark energy from the surrounding space and hold it in the condensers to use to propel the ship beyond the speed of light in the dark matter rivers.

They were ready. Strapping themselves into the seats on the flight-deck, Grakos and Salashar gelled like a single unit to control the ship.

"Ten minutes to enter split," said Grakos.

It was now or never. Salashar took a deep breath, shared a look with Grakos, then swiped a sensor. "Tracker shield on."

"No going back now."

"Condenser at full capacity. Three minutes."

Drifta, more experienced at space travel than Maglissa, reached out and held her hand, smiling confidently. If Maglissa was indeed nervous she wasn't showing it.

Salashar advised them, "Entering split in ten seconds."

The seconds passed and they were entering the split, the dark energy drives taking over from the standard plasma drives. There came a tone change as the dark energy thrusters engaged with the dark matter stream.

"Successful split engagement," Salashar confirmed. "All readouts within normal parameters."

"Don't feel anything different," said Maglissa.

Salashar turned and smiled at her. "We are going at a speed hardly imagine could you. A little over fifteen hours before leave split."

"Then all work like machines must we," said Grakos. "Two hours on that old moon then away again are we."

It was possible to leave their seats and move around comfortably in the half gravity but Grakos and Salashar remained seated. Maglissa crossed over to her father and hugged him.

"Admit it, you," said Grakos. "Enjoying this experience."

"Dad. It was never the flying around space that troubled me. Problem for us was not knowing if returning would you. Enforcers catching maybe you."

"That also troubled me," admitted Grakos.

"And Salashar. To fly this ship, so clever are you."

Salashar pointed at Maglissa and said, "A seriously good career for women. Rubbish at it are men."

"True," sighed Grakos, knowing better than to argue.

Maglissa asked, "Salashar. This dark energy propulsion. It works how?"

"Ah!..well, very interesting. What happens is..."

Grakos groaned, freeing himself of the seat. "Had to ask, you. Drifta. Rubbish men will go for a drink."

"Good idea," agreed Drifta.

With the men out of the way, the women bonded with a detailed explanation of how the collecting antennae covering the surface of the ship attracted and collected the surrounding dark energy which was then stored in the condenser chambers in the belly of the ship. Only during flight in the dark matter splits could the ionised energy be expelled from the ship to react with the surrounding dark matter. This repelled the ship away from the reaction this caused, the intensity expanding into a continuous 'explosion' that inside the dark matter strands had the ship accelerating beyond the speed of light. All this was only possible inside the split, useless and potentially disastrous if used in normal space.

"That is the basic non-technical version," said Salashar. "Many advanced level learning institutions run doctorate courses on this and still only understand the basic principles do we."

"But still understand it do you," said Maglissa.

"How to make it work, yes. Why it all works...?" She just shrugged. "Still mostly theory."

Maglissa was sure Salashar understood more than she let on, but was just as impressed with the way the woman controlled the ship. She had hid her nervousness well, but with the ship in such safe hands, Maglissa relaxed into her first trip into space since she was a little girl who had sat on her father's lap at the controls. That had been a birthday treat and the shortest of flights lasting no more than one hour in normal space before returning to her anxious mother who had been far from happy with Grakos 'blasting out into the wildest space and risking her precious daughter's life'. Maglissa could still recall the acidic words Darluvla used as she hurried her daughter away from the 'irresponsible idiot'. Little Maglissa had turned quickly to wave at her father who was grinning proudly.

"The best birthday ever," Maglissa whispered.

"What?"

"Nothing. Thinking aloud."

### Chapter 33

As the ship flashed through space at phenomenal speed, it was all about mundane routine. Grakos shared flight-deck duties, Drifta and Maglissa making themselves useful with domestic duties. Although much of how the science actually worked in practice was left to conjecture, there were proven absolutes. With the important splits in the part of the galaxy around the Alliance planets mapped out, finding and entering these rivers of dark matter and using them for distance shredding travel, leaving the split at a place where a relatively short hop with conventional plasma drives finished the journey, came down to timing the exit zone. This usually placed a ship within a couple of million miles of the destination. It was down to Salashar to monitor that.

"Forty minutes."

Leaving the splits were slightly anxious times for those about to do so. In the transition between the splits and the rest of space, came a couple of minutes of reorientation where the navigator was flying blind. The main danger was the infinitesimal but significant risk of colliding with a sizeable chunk of space rock drifting aimlessly around the galaxy. In the five hundred years of commercially using this technology, with several near-misses, only one disaster had occurred. Three hundred and ninety two years ago, a relatively inexperienced pilot in a prototype ship had been too slow to react and had smashed into a rock the size of a small moon. Eleven had paid the price with their lives. The technology was quickly improved to alert crews of danger and there were no further tragedies but numerous close-calls. It was still a tense moment. The three more experienced space-travellers spared Maglissa of that tension by not mentioning the possibility.

It was time to buckle up. Both Grakos and Salashar were busy, the air in the ship becoming charged with anticipation. Being Gaffer, Salashar counted them down and began the cut off of the dark energy drives and steady start up sequence of the plasma drives.

"And...now!"

There came a a change in engine drone and a slight wobble of the ship before it settled down. Their target was a bright moon off an ice planet.

"Three hours," said Salashar. "Tracking shield remains on."

"That planet," said Drifta. "You ever go there?"

"No," said Grakos. "Completely covered in miles of thick toxic ice. Don't like the cold."

"Fair enough."

Before landing on the barren moon, they suited up for protection against the airless conditions outside. Time was precious as they needed to load the goods and travel back through the split to their prearranged rendezvous with Vilasokrid, Salashar's sister. Salashar was to remain on the ship ready for a swift take off and Grakos, Drifta and Maglissa were to retrieve the stash and load the ship. From the belly of the ship they left the cargo bay with a hovasled each, using them as transport, following Grakos' lead to the hiding place. It wasn't far to the cave, the bright ice-planet lighting their way over a rough terrain covered with a sickly yellow-grey dust. There were deep pockets of this soft dust and in places it was easy to sink into it and disappear for ever.

Grakos settled the hova sled on solid rock at the mouth of the small cave and dismounted. They only had to walk a few yards into the cave to see the white sealed boxes stacked neatly against one wall. Grakos needed to give no instructions for the work to begin, the three of them loading their vehicles to the limit. Once all three hovasleds were loaded to maximum capacity, there were enough boxes remaining for one more trip for one sled. They returned to the ship at a slower space because the loaded sleds reduced stability, then entered the ship's hold. They unloaded Grakos' sled first and he was quickly away again for the rest of the boxes as Drifta and Maglissa stacked and secured the cargo.

They had just finished this and awaited for Grakos when Salashar's voice came through a speaker.

"Grakos has struck a dust mound and has tipped over. Trapped is he."

"On my way," said Drifta. "Stay here, Mag."

Drifta mounted the hovasled and was out of the hold to help Grakos. As Drifta pulled up alongside Grakos, he could see it had been only a slight error in judgement that had caused the accident. The sled was on its side, most of the boxes sinking in the dust. Grakos was clinging to the side of the sled, the surface area of the flat side of the vehicle, slowing down its sinking. With only seconds to spare, Drifta had to act fast. He had to stay on the sled to reach Grakos or risk joining him being buried alive. He lay as flat as he could on the sled as it hovered inches from the surface, and he reached out to Grakos. Grakos twisted around and grabbed Drifta's hand, but try as they might, the sand held Grakos in a death grip.

"Hold onto the sled," said Drifta. "I'll pull you out with it."

Grakos only had one free hand and he released Drifta and grasped at the one of the sled's two thin landing rails, missing it. He tried again and got the tips of his fingers on the rail. Slowly, Drifta manoeuvred the sled, taking Grakos with him. Grakos was being pulled free of the dust but lost his tenuous grip and started sinking again. Before he could sink lower, Drifta had more room now to get closer to Grakos and was almost completely over the man. Grakos made one last determined effort and his strong hand got a vice-like hold on the rail and he was pulled free of the dust. Exhausted, he heaved himself on the sled behind Drifta. As Drifta was about to head back to the ship Grakos said, "Wait."

Drifta held their position and Grakos reached over the side of the sled and grabbed two of the boxes before they could disappear forever. Having tossed the boxes on the back of the sled, Grakos was about to attempt to salvage one more box, only visible at one corner. There was nothing for Grakos to get a grip on but it didn't stop him trying, Drifta making the decision for him, heading back to the ship without the container, grinning as Grakos' displeasure filled his ears.

They settled in the cargo bay and the bay doors lifted up into place behind them, Salashar already firing up the take-off thrusters to lift them off the moon. As the air returned to normal, they removed their breathing helmets and suits.

"Could have saved more boxes," Grakos said, glaring at Drifta.

"You're welcome," said Drifta.

Grakos' face cracked into a huge grin and he laughed. "Thank you."

As the ship left the thin atmosphere of the moon, they joined Salashar on the flight-deck.

"Idiot," said Salashar, working the controls.

"That's Captain Idiot, you."

They now had to re-enter the split and hopefully arrive within a reasonable distance from Salashar's sister, Vilasokrid.

### Chapter 34

"A fortune gone," moaned Grakos as he weighed up the cost of the lost containers.

"No more complaining, you." Salashar was an inch away from throttling the disgruntled Grakos with her bare hands. "Let me concentrate, you."

They had entered the split and the dark energy drives were reacting perfectly with the river of dark matter. The end point destination had been calibrated and factored into the computers and all they could do was let the ship take them along. Grakos nodded to Drifta to follow him to the cargo bay.

"What is in these things anyway?" Drifta asked.

"Nothing illegal. Alliance demand a disproportionate duty on goods the rest of us break our backs for. Sometimes it is better for the ways of commerce to..."

"Avoid the taxes?"

Grakos shrugged. "If more creds have I, more can I buy from you. More creds have you, more..."

"I get it. You only do this on selected goods?"

Grakos slapped a box. "All this see? Almost three million tax creds take they."

To Drifta that sounded like a ridiculous amount and he could only imagine the boxes contents which made it so valuable. He decided he really didn't want to know. It explained, however, why Grakos felt the loss of even a fraction his stuff.

Grakos counted the boxes yet again and made the worrying calculations. "Profit now, maybe. That bitch Vilasokrid will sting me for nearly all will she."

This concerned Drifta. "Enough left over to pay for the mission to Jorgon?"

Grakos grasped Drifta by his shoulders and looked up into the younger man's eyes. "Get you to Jorgon will we. Come. Eat now."

Maglissa was already in the food preparation area and Grakos and Drifta could hardly join her in that cramped space.

"Edible this should be," Maglissa assured them, passing a bowl each to them. She had another bowl for Salashar and they joined her on the flight-deck. Salashar had some stripped down hardware on a small work platform and was applying an electric probe to a red and blue component.

Drifta said, "I know you are a skilled technician, but you are damaging that unit."

"Faulty unit."

"It is now," said Drifta.

"Replaced this tracker booster, have I. This is for any enforcers to see."

"Ah! To explain the tracker downtime to the law."

Salashar placed the _faulty_ parts in a container and sealed that away, ready for the possibility some over zealous officer investigated. Then she joined the others in a feed.

### Chapter 35

It was time to leave the split and return to normal space and sub-light-speed. They strapped themselves into their seats, Drifta and Maglissa staying silent so Salashar and Grakos could concentrate on their work. Although the experienced pair knew exactly what they were doing, any travel through space was always with a degree of risk. Leaving the split increased those risks. The atmosphere in the flight-deck was charged with tension although nobody showed it.

"Fifteen seconds," said Salashar.

Drifta held Maglissa's hand as they were counted down. They left the split and the plasma drives engaged to take over from the dark energy drive.

"Not bad," said Grakos. "Only four million miles to Vilasokrid's coordinates."

With the momentum of the ship still close to half-light-speed in the vacuum of space, four million miles was practically next door.

"Still have it, do I," said Salashar, pleased with where they had ended up. "Any sign of Vilas?"

"No," said Grakos. "Should look for small cold spots."

"Behave, you. Be nice to my sister."

Grakos clenched the arms of his chair trying to keep his frustration in check at having to deal with Vilasokrid. "Do nice can I," he insisted.

Behind him, Maglissa looked at Drifta and rolled her eyes but said nothing.

On the screen they could all see more familiar space as they remained on the prearranged course for their rendezvous.

"I have her," said Grakos. "There."

Salashar made a slight course change and within minutes, they had the rendezvous ship in view. Vilasokrid undoubtedly had them on her own magnified screen, but knew better than to make radio contact. With deft tweaks of the thrusters, Salashar had the two ships side by side.

"Grakos," hailed Vilasokrid. "Over to my ship now."

Grakos shared a puzzled look with Salashar. "Just I?"

"Yes."

"Vilas?" said Salashar.

"Grakos only."

Grakos released his straps and began suiting up for the space jump to the other ship. "Bitch wants me to grovel, does she."

"Grakos," warned Salashar.

"Yeah. Be nice." He dropped down a hatch to the outside airlock. This was designed to allow such a transfer without losing all the air in the main ship. "Opening airlock now. Leaving ship."

Grakos leapt out of the small airlock which Salashar closed after him. They could see Grakos cross space using his suit jets and enter the airlock in Vilasokrid's ship which closed after him. All they could do was wait.

Grakos removed his helmet. Vilasokrid only had her own gaffer with her on her flight-deck.

"Such a pleasure for me to see you," lied Grakos through gritted teeth.

Vilasokrid just sighed then a door hissed open and three armed officers in the dreaded blue uniforms of the Alliance Enforcers entered.

Grakos was furious. "Vilasokrid!"

The dark visor of the enforcer captain slid away to reveal the officer's face. "Captain Vilasokrid had no choice, Grakosdrak."

Grakos knew it was game over. This officer was non-other than Chief Marshal Zaxtormon. With a nod of his head to his female lieutenant, she secured Grakos' wrists.

To Vilasokrid, Zax snapped, "You know what to do."

Vilasokrid hailed her sister. "You must follow us," then, "Sorry." She did not speak in the Old Alliance manner of her sister, not being a resident of her planet, instead speaking the Standard Alliance way.

Fully aware a hidden enforcer fighter would be training it's plasma cannons on them, Salashar had no choice but to engage her drives and follow her sister.

"Evil, even for you," cursed Grakos, his eyes narrowed and glaring at Vilasokrid.

"Grakos. This is not my doing."

"Secure Grakos in a bunk room," said Zax, not intending to suffer the arguments for the rest of their journey. The two officers led Grakos away, their weapons only inches from his back. He noticed the ship had a minimum crew, suggesting his capture had been planned in some detail, and for all his dislike of Vila, that was not her style. She was an unwilling participant. He was locked up in a small bunk room with three bunks, which would be shared by Vila's lower ranked crew, officers like her gaffer and herself having bunk rooms of their own. As he sat dejectedly on one of the bunks, he assumed the three crew members would have been transferred to the hidden enforcers ship leaving only Vila and her number two to fly the ship.

He also reflected that his own ship had a cargo hold full of goods once destined to be sold without the taxes due. Laying down on the bunk he made up his mind he would do all he could to plea for his daughter and Drifta as unwilling accomplices who were unaware of what they were getting involved with. Salashar would of course be considered as guilty as he was. On the plus side, this would be his one real chargeable offence, having been lucky or clever enough to avoid conviction until now, so they could end up with a reduced sentence. That meant things were only terrible, not completely disastrous.

Three tedious days later he heard the drives tone change meaning they were approaching a planet and they would soon be landing. The familiar click of the four landing legs engaging followed by the hiss of the drives being shut down told him the fun was about to start.

### Chapter 36

After being escorted from the ships, Grakos, Salashar, Maglissa and Drifta were together in a holding cell.

Salashar hugged Grakos and said, "On Zelphon are we."

"Zelphon? Not understanding am I," said Maglissa. Like all citizens of the Alliance, she had a reasonable understanding of all the seven planets and where they were. She knew Zelphon was the capitol planet of the Alliance and administration hub, sparsely populated, and the headquarters of the Council and the Enforcers.

Grakos knew that Maglissa's confusion was that they could have been tried on any planet and it was customary to be tried on the home planet of the arrested. It was most unusual to be taken to Zelphon for something like this.

"Something big going on," concluded Grakos.

The door hissed open and a small man bearing food and water entered, flanked by two armed officers. He said nothing, and unsmiling he placed the meal on a small table, then without even a sideways glance at the prisoners, they turned around and left. The food was bland but sustaining. They ate in a subdued mood, no longer rhetorically speculating on their fate.

After chewing through half of his tasteless meal, Drifta pushed it away and opened a door opposite the main door. "Basic facilities for ablutions."

With no outside view and their communication devices confiscated, time was guessed at by mealtimes. Many boring hours later, they roughly estimated they were into their third claustrophobic day of incarceration.

Grakos who only felt fully alive in space or in the forests became particularly agitated. Nothing the others could say helped to calm him.

"Slow torture is this. What is happening?"

Salashar said, "Soon find out, will we."

They had finally given up on such debate when the doors slid open and Chief Marshal Zaxtormon filled the space with his muscular form and his undisguised dislike of Grakos, the man who had wrecked his ship and evaded arrest those years ago.

"Time to go."

They followed him along a corridor to a wall of three air-driven elevators, entering one, and stood in silence as the transparent door shut. "Eleven," Zax told the elevator and they were whisked up to the top floor in a second, the door opening out into a vast room. A solitary man, small, long fine white hair, stood with his back to them, staring out at the city vista. Zax pointed to where he expected the four to stand and wait until addressed.

"You may go, Chief Marshal Zaxtormon. Remain available but monitor progress."

With a respectful nod, Zax went to a side door where he would wait in an annex to be summoned when needed.

The white haired man turned. "Grakosdrak."

The four knew who this elderly man was. He was none other than Principal Domtavora. He had served on the council all his adult life, elected for a record five, seven year terms, the last two as Principal. Revered for his calm wisdom and his ability to balance debates from the fieriest of adversaries, he was held in the highest esteem throughout the seven planets. Even Grakos felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up.

"Sir."

Domtavora swiped a sensor on his desk with a frail, pale hand and the view he had stared at disappeared. He walked up to the four, looking them up and down in turn until he reached Grakos.

"It seems you have a problem paying taxes on traded goods, Grakosdrak."

"Ah, not so, do I. Not...always. Sir."

Domtavora sighed. "Why do people from your planet insist on talking that way and with that overbearing dialect? I am convinced it is a deliberate intention to annoy the rest of us. All other Alliance planets find it so much easier to...Oh, never mind. Do you object to paying taxes in principle?"

"Not at all, sir. Just in some instances the taxes are detrimental to making business worthwhile, think I."

"I agree."

"Sir!" gasped Grakos.

"I have argued for years to reduce the tax burden but we have a free vote on such issues and despite my best efforts, a slim majority refuse to be moved on this. Frustrating."

Encouraged, Grakos said, "Pleased we think alike, do we."

Domtavora's face remained impassive as he stared into Grakos' face. "But the law stands, Grakosdrak. This you have violated."

This was undeniable and Grakos didn't try to deny it. But this wasn't a court of his peers to determine and pronounce on his guilt or innocence, rather the office of the leader of the Alliance Council. This was _not_ the way of things.

Domtavora inspected the line-up again, finally stopping at Salashar. "You are a brilliant Gaffer. Equal to any on the Enforcers ships."

"Thank you, Principal."

"But you fly with a pirate," said Domtavora with a slight wave at Grakos.

"Not a pirate am I," moaned Grakos.

Domtavora ignored that and turned to Maglissa. "Maglissa. The backbone of our society. The hard working citizens keeping this whole thing flourishing. And _you_ pay your taxes. More responsible than your father."

Maglissa was too embarrassed to reply other than look at her boots and whisper a thank you.

Domtavora went next to Drifta. "Driftaxol. An interesting young man. Quite the hero when you saved people in that quake."

"We were all lucky to get out in one piece, sir."

"Modest. A list of similar incidents have been the story of your life. A miner on Mars being another life you've saved."

"Oh, I wouldn't say..."

"I have seen the records. I have recently read of your adventurous life with some interest."

Drifta was too shocked to reply, but stood there with his mouth gaping in surprise.

"Grakos," continued Domtavora. "You knew the risks in retrieving your goods. You could have just lived your idyllic life with Salashar in your forest home, yet you risk it all to make more creds?"

"Sir. Had our reasons, did we."

"Hmm. To finance a mission to help the slaves of Jorgon." The straightforward way Domtavora said that left no room to deny it. "Come with me."

The adjoining meeting room was less formidable than the austere main office and they all sat on seats of opulence and comfort. Drifta loved art and the superlative works on display took his breath.

"A Forginakrok," he said, recognising the large piece that typically crossed sculpture with painting and music. It was alive with the images of space, the life of waterfalls, moving sunshine and life.

Domtavora waved his hand over a sensor and the soft, heart-warming music filled the room and they were all lost momentarily into the total art-form.

"Well recognised, young man," said Domtavora. "Forg was a dear friend of mine. I spoke the eulogy at his funeral. He did this for me as his friend and I loan it to the council here. Please sit, everyone. Wine?"

They were ready to be served by the most important and revered citizen. They sipped a sublime wine that only a man of means and culture could acquire.

"Sir," ventured Grakos. "Here for what reason are we?"

"Perceptive for a pirate."

"Not a pirate am...!"

"Borderline at best. And not pertinent to this meeting. You have violated the law." He waved a hand to stop Grakos objecting. "But on balance, there may be a way to prevent this becoming a legal issue." He touched a sensor cube on the table. "Marshal Zaxtormon. Now, please."

A moment later and the door hissed open. Obviously uncomfortable in his subservient role and still incensed in the presence of Grakos, Zax entered carrying a large tray of equipment which was to Grakos and even the technical wizard Salashar, completely new. Zax placed it on the table, then waited for his commands.

"Marshal Zaxtormon. The evidence against Grakos and his crew is irrefutable?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"And the probable penalties?"

"Incarceration for all. Grakosdrak and Salashar four years, Maglissa and Driftaxol two."

"Sir," pleaded Grakos. "Innocent participants are these young ones. Beg your compassion do I."

Domtavora waved that aside. "Marshal. Can there be any circumstances where leniency could be considered, even waving the probability of a prolonged legal situation?"

Zax gave his most evil look to Grakos and said, "Perhaps if they were successful in their intended mission on Jorgon it may be possible to dismiss all charges, sir."

"Indeed? How interesting. Thank you for your valuable input, Marshal Zaxtormon. It seems there maybe some interesting alternatives to explore after all. You may go, Marshal."

"Yes, sir."

Zax spun smartly on the heels of his boots and left the room.

"He really doesn't like you, Grakos. Fortunately for you, he is not Principal. A question. Generally speaking, the Alliance works in a well ordered way, giving the most amount of freedom to all citizens who work hard and prosper. Do you ever wonder why life for everyone in the Alliance is on the whole a pleasurable and worthwhile experience?"

To the four, this suddenly sounded like it was really part of some controlled plan.

"Because of you and the Council?" Drifta asked.

"No. Because of you. All we can do on the Council is to do everything we can to ensure you can go about your business in the most unrestricted way, providing of course that everyone respects that everyone else can prosper also. All the council does is to ensure that all trade is fair and does no harm to anyone." He pointed at Grakos. "And that for infrastructure purposes, taxes are paid."

Grakos had no meaningful response so offered none. Domtavora leaned over and tapped the equipment on the table.

"Our very latest technology. The Council is not aware of this. Drifta. You want a large quantity of antidote for controlling the virus used on Jorgon." He touched one of the cases on one specific corner and it opened. Inside was layer upon layer of ready to use hypodermic multi-syringes. "We intervened an unauthorised laboratory activity. Your mother apparently, Maglissa."

"Only because..."

"Yes, yes. To save the poor slaves of Jorgon. Highly commendable, I'm sure. And the very reason you all plan to risk your freedoms to fund a dangerous mission to deliver this antidote to Jorgon."

"You are against such a mission?" asked Drifta.

"Hmm. The Council probably would be, given the choice. When it comes to Jorgon and other planets, it is generally accepted that the Alliance does not interfere. Me personally, I consider the self-appointed upper-class on Jorgon totally abhorrent and if we can, unofficially of course, bring it down so all its citizens may live as we all do in the Alliance, I will support it with all I have."

Grakos asked, "Difficult for us to help anyone, being under arrest..."

"Well, clearly," said Domtavora, "Your cargo will be confiscated."

"Naturally," replied Grakos with a sigh and shrug of resignation.

"But not your ship. And of course you are not cleared for keeping your ship on this planet. You must remove your ship or face legal infringement penalties."

Salashar said, "Not here by choice are we. Unfair to penalise us for something not of our..."

Drifta smiled and put his finger to his lips to silence Salashar. "Sir. You are ordering us take the ship off your planet."

"I insist on it."

Salashar now understood. "And if we headed to Jorgon on our way home and that case of antidote somehow ended up in the hands of the slaves..."

Principal Domtavora studied the ceiling as he said, "As private citizens, you are free to travel through space as you wish. It would be an extraordinarily long detour to Jorgon on route to your home planet and all Alliance citizens are prohibited from landing there. But Salashar. That ship of yours is something of an antique. It is not inconceivable that some technical problems could throw you off course so you ended up going to Jorgon. My understanding is that your tracker has already experienced breakdowns."

Grakos said, "Antiquated model."

"Indeed."

Salashar said, "Sir. Tell us to leave do you, but insufficient plasma fuel have we."

"You will find your ship has been refuelled with hydrogen three."

Drifta took hold of the case of precious antidote. "Then, sir, we have a mission to do."

Domtavora stood to end the meeting. "Mission? I know of no mission. What mission?"

"No idea, sir. It has been a privilege to meet you, sir."

"Time for you to go. Look after that case and ensure its contents are delivered where it can do most good."

Inside the main office, Domtavora called for Marshal Zaxtormon. "Their ship is ready to go, sir," the marshal said.

" _Fully_ prepared?"

"Fully prepared, sir."

Nothing more was needed to be said and Zaxtormon escorted the four to their ship. As they were about to board, Zax said, "Don't let me catch you breaking the law again, Grakos."

"Try my best not to let you catch me, will I."

From an observation platform, Zax watched the ship take off, then in seconds all he could see were the twin drives exhausts as it left atmosphere and then it was gone.

"Good luck."

On the flight-deck, Salashar quickly located the split that would take them closest to Jorgon. It would be a two day flight in plasma drive before they could use the split.

"Something...the ship has a different feel to it think I."

Grakos had been thinking the same thing. "These controls not as before. Zax has let loose his technicians in here."

As Salashar and Grakos figured out the modifications, Drifta and Maglissa opened the case containing the antidote. Maglissa picked up one injector, examining it carefully. "Very advanced applicator. Graduated. This one alone can administer five-hundred doses. There are ten of these."

"On this layer," said Drifta. "Perhaps under this is another layer." Lifting off the top layer he found an identical layer. "This has been planned for some time."

Maglissa lifted out the second layer, but there were no more applicators. Instead, in the remaining space was a sophisticated bank of electronics. "To track us?"

Drifta said, "I'm guessing the ship has had a couple of extra trackers fitted. This is for something else. Time to find out."

He touched a sensor and the equipment came to life, the holographic image of Principal Domtavora's head appeared above the open case and started to speak.

### Chapter 37

"Should see this, father," said Maglissa.

Salashar had everything under control so Grakos left the flight-deck.

Drifta was standing by the case, the trays of syringes stacked by the side of it. "They were busy while we were off the ship."

"On the console, too. Found something?"

"I've only seen a little of this, but you'll find it interesting," said Drifta. The three stood around the table and Drifta touched the sensor to release the holographic projection.

"In anticipation," said Domtavora, "Some useful additions have been added to your ship. We had all this ready before you even landed on Zelphon. That should tell you how seriously I see this mission. Sadly, the policy of not interfering in non-Alliance planets affairs meant I worked without the backing of, or indeed, the knowledge of the Council. And Grakos. You have Chief Marshal Zaxtormon to thank for organising the additions to the ship. Driftaxol. Lately, I have made a study of your interesting life thus far. My point is, you seem destined to be a pivotal player in some major events. The least I could do to help you facilitate the dangerous mission you are about to undertake is supply you with some practical tools and devices. Make no mistake. No amount of gimmicks or gadgets will ensure success beyond your obvious resourcefulness and tenacity. That's down to you alone. Grakos and Salashar. You have the undoubted experience to use the splits to reach Jorgon. You are not allowed to land the ship on that planet to deliver the syringes." The image smiled and chuckled. "Even now I can see your scowls. The Jorgonian elite are developing a fleet of warships with, lets just say, dubious intentions. More of that later. But should you land on Jorgon carrying those syringes, threatening the elites stranglehold of their planet, you will not be received warmly. This presents the dilemma of how to deliver Drifta. The answer to that is in the hold. We called it the arrow. Drifta. Investigate that further once this communication has ended. Oh. One last thing. If you think helping the slaves on Jorgon is the end of your adventures, you couldn't be more wrong. Just survive this one first. Good luck." The image vanished.

Drifta spoke to thin air, "Thanks for clarifying...not a lot."

Grakos slapped Drifta's shoulder. "To the hold go we."

It was three hours later that they joined Salashar on the flight-deck.

"Oh. Not alone after all am I. And why looking so pleased are all of you?"

"Just that we are all fired up," said Drifta. "This little ship is now rather special."

"Like the latest navigation systems in here," said Salashar, tapping the replacement equipment slotted into the console. "Later your news tell me. Entering the split to Jorgon soon will we." She pointed at the captain's chair. "Perhaps some assistance from Grakos?"

They would have time later once inside the split to fully investigate the changes to the ship. Grakos took his seat to help his gaffer, for the first time believing they now had the slimmest of chances to survive this mission. He hadn't admitted it, but he had been certain they were simply going to throw away their lives for a noble cause. This was still probably true, but now they had a glimmer of hope.

"Entering split in one minute," Salashar announced.

"Could be fun, this," said Grakos.

### Chapter 38

With the drives switched over to harness and use dark matter and dark energy, and with all data entered into the computer, Salashar could leave Grakos to mind the ship. Anything previously stored in the hold considered surplus to the mission had been stripped out; new equipment taking its place. It was the dull grey craft that made Salashar freeze in amazement.

"And this is?"

Drifta patted the hull of the craft. "The Arrow. A work of art and technological wizardry. We can't land the ship, so a means to get me on the planet is right here. The Alliance have a reasonably good idea of where the Jorgonians are at with their technology. With only rare illegal trade taking a chance with the leaders there, and nobody stupid enough to share our dark matter energy secrets, the Jorgonian spies have found it difficult to catch up with the rest of us."

"But closing in are they," said Salashar. "Perhaps only a few years behind us now."

"They have developed working prototypes," said Drifta, "According to Alliance intelligence."

This was news to Salashar, but she wasn't entirely surprised. "No access to marsillion have they. Vital for far space travel."

All ships capable of travelling between the Alliance planets and beyond, were coated in marsillion.

Maglissa had seen the evidence in the holographic message to contradict that. "Discovered a small asteroid made of marsillion in their solar system, about to become a near-miss to Jorgon. They managed to safely put it in orbit around Jorgon. Slaves are used in mining it from slave-ships."

Drifta said "And it was just such a ship that the slaves took over and crashed on an Alliance planet."

"Even so it is not good for the rest of us the Jorgonians advancing their technology," groaned Salashar.

"Nothing we can do about that," said Drifta, knowing Salashar would love to try to destroy the prototypes.

Maglissa said, "Releasing the slaves from the virus control will help if they revolt. Hope for nothing more can we."

Salashar knew in her heart that was true, so she turned her attention to the strange dull craft. "One seat only?"

"This craft is a one-off," said Drifta. "Developed by the enforcers technicians. With luck it will get me on the planet unobserved and with a lot more luck, back to the ship."

"Fully tested?" Salashar asked.

"Only in the test hangars," said Drifta. "Never in space."

The look on Salashar's face told Drifta and Maglissa what she was thinking. One man was about to fly a completely untried craft through Jorgon's atmosphere undetected, land safely, get the antidote to the slaves, evade the military and fly the craft back to the ship. Suicide.

"Fine will be you. Go back to the flight-deck must I."

Salashar took her place next to Grakos who quickly picked up on her mood. "Chances slightly better than zero with that craft," Salashar informed him.

Grakos said, "Take that better than no chance will I."

"Can't the craft be dropped in a slave zone with the antidote but not Drifta?"

"Too unlikely to be successful."

Salashar said, "And Drifta successful will be?" It was a rhetorical question casting doubt on Drifta surviving the mission.

They agreed to keep those doubts to themselves and when they finally got together with Maglissa for a quick break and a meal, they were as upbeat as they could be. Later with Salashar and Grakos on the flight-deck and with only one full day left to prepare for the dangerous mission, Drifta and Maglissa intended to spend what little time they had left together, just the two of them. Neither were fooling themselves about what lay ahead. Squashed up together in a bunk-room designed for one, they lay entwined in each others arms.

"Come back to me, you."

"You are my incentive. I'll be sure to keep my head down."

A selfish part of Maglissa wished she could beg him not to go, but that would just sour what time they had left. She wondered why Drifta hadn't found a way to help the slaves on Jorgon before meeting her, to save breaking her heart. But she realised as much as Salashar and her father were a vital part of the mission, this was destiny and she also had to play her part.

They held each other even tighter, becoming one, their love now undeniable.

### Chapter 39

The craft had been a long time in production, intended for a scouting mission by one of Chief Marshal Zaxtormon's top agents. Everything had changed when Driftaxol turned up. It was an opportunity too good not to exploit.

Principal Domtavora felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. "Sending a brave young man probably to his death does not sit well with me, Zax."

"Sir. You didn't force him to go. Driftaxol would have found a way to get on Jorgon anyway. At least we have helped him in some small way to have a fighting chance."

Domtavora had seen the potential when Zaxtormon reported the crashed ship being taken into the salvage yard. It had been identified as heading for Consolon from Jorgon but had slipped through the planet's radar when it had crashed with one lone survivor and had been assumed sunk to the bottom of the ocean. The ship was obviously a Jorgonian slave-ship. Zaxtormon's dedicated team of intelligence officers had put together the trail including Drifta and the antidote.

The Alliance Council did indeed have a policy of non-involvement in non-alliance planets. Domtavora's warnings about the Jorgonian empire had been repeatedly ignored to the point where he knew whatever could be done would have to be without the blessing of the majority needed from the Council. Domtavora shared Zaxtormon's frustration at not dealing with the obviously growing threat the Jorgonians posed and between them had managed to bring in Grakos, his ship to be modified for the mission.

Domtavora said, "In the event of Drifta returning alive, this will be just the start of the adventure. That's if Driftaxol would even consider it."

"With his adventurous background, I'd be surprised if he didn't,"replied Zaxtormon. "But one step at a time. In the meantime, I'll continue with the preparations on the hopeful assumption we see Drifta again."

One of Domtavora's eyebrows raised up. "Drifta not Driftaxol? Are you warming to the young man?"

"I just wish he were one of my agents or at least an officer. He is an exceptional man."

Domtavora nodded thoughtfully and replied, "Who knows. Perhaps one day there will be a place for him at some level within the enforcers. For now though, return to the preparations. Whatever you need I'll find a way to authorize it."

"Yes, sir."

With the Marshal gone, Domtavora's thoughts turned to the events unfolding an almost incalculable distance away. "Good luck, Drifta." He didn't have the luxury to reflect for long when another visitor entered his office. "Councillor Covestrom. A pleasure as always." The opposition councillor was and never would be a friend.

"I expect you to deny it, Domtavora, but what are you up to?"

To Domtavora, that was no surprise, only that it had taken this long for the belligerent, portly councillor to start with his desk thumping accusations.

"Up to? Are you referring to anything in particular?"

The pointed finger was more like a weapon aimed at Domtavora. "A secret pet project of yours has disappeared. That new craft. Ridiculously expensive for something that would never be used and now it has gone."

"Gone?" replied Domtavora, his expression feigning surprise. "Dear me. How could that have possibly happened?"

"Well, I'm here to tell you that..."

"One moment, please." He pressed a sensor and the face of Marshal Zaxtormon appeared as a three-dimensional image on the wall-screen. "Chief Marshal Zaxtormon. I have Councillor Covestrom with me. He is rather concerned your technical department has mislaid some new craft or other. Is this so?"

"Lost? As we speak it is undergoing secret trials to fully test its capabilities. I do hope the councillor hasn't been voicing his usual fact-less statements undermining our Enforcers efforts to maintain our peaceful democracy?"

Covestrom exploded with, "You two are plotting something. I demand to be told what is going on here."

Zaxtormon shared Domtavora's dislike of Covestrom. "Perhaps the councillor is demanding to be consulted on each and every activity the Enforcers engage in?"

Covestrom bellowed at the screen, "I'll get to the bottom of this, you two wait and see." He stormed to the door. "You have gone too far this time." And then he charged out.

"Ignore him, sir."

"He is like a speck of dirt in the eye. Insignificant but extremely irritating. Just watch out for him."

"Naturally. Have a good evening, sir."

"One can but try."

### Chapter 40

The hours were all about detail and as much as possible, planning. The added technology was fully explored, Drifta concentrating on the craft in the hold, designed to drop from a mother ship into an ocean or lake. This meant it was unnecessary to have bulky landing gear, making it smaller and lighter. It had a propulsion system for propelling the craft underwater to a place where the pilot could leave it submerged and swim to shore. All that had been tested in vast tanks where it had been built.

Its other function was as a short flight shuttle so the craft could leave the planet's atmosphere and re-join the mother ship. All that functioned in the laboratory but there had been no time for a proper trial. It was the great unknown. Drifta was now as familiar with the controls that a static learning curve could provide. The rest of the time was spent with the others on the flight-deck, learning the new software Marshal Zaxtormon had had installed.

"Impressive is this," said Salashar. They were looking at a highly detailed view of Jorgon, taken by an enforcers spy ship several years before. "Excellent graphics and cutting edge programs. For brief times this ship can be made completely undetectable by Jorgonian technology, effectively invisible. But very energy draining is this so has very limited use."

Grakos said, "This ship will drop into atmosphere, release your craft into this ocean here and back into space go we. The craft already has coordinates programmed in to bring you back here. This is one of three more densely populated regions and the controlling elite's centre and home to Regal Melnovlor Lum'mitwox. The surrounding region is where the slaves are used in agriculture and mining. All the dangerous and unpleasant work do they. Slave settlements here, here and here and brutally controlled by the slave masters are they. Here is a main river, wide and deep enough for the craft to be navigated along and control the vessel must you. Beyond the fringes of the city and between this slave colony is a vast forest. It is unknown what creatures live there. Leave craft at this river-bend and head this way on foot through narrowest part of the forest, think I. Possibly heavily patrolled by slave masters."

"Great," said Drifta. "If the forest creatures don't get me, the slave masters might."

"Try not to let that happen, you," said Maglissa, poking her finger into Drifta's ribs to emphasise her point.

"I'll try my best," Drifta promised, adding a kiss on her grooved cheek.

Salashar said, "There is a typical slave tunic stowed in the craft. Not much of a disguise on you suspect I. From a mile away maybe."

Grakos added, "A belt of basic weapons and also a tracker with the antidote case for you."

"Everything a young man needs for a short trip on a mean planet," said Drifta. "And when I'm back on the craft?"

Salashar said, "Waste no time taking off. Track you here shall we."

In such simple terms it all seemed straightforward but they all knew the harsh reality. So many things could and probably would go wrong, they were under no illusions about the risks and the danger.

### Chapter 41

They had left the split and were eating up the last few million miles towards Jorgon.

Drifta and Maglissa checked then double-checked everything required, crammed into the tiny cockpit of the craft. Maglissa was fighting back the tears, trying to hold in her emotions. She had known the risks of falling in love with Drifta, but there had been a certain inevitability about it. She also knew he felt the same way about her. He would never do anything to hurt her but in a few minutes he would break her heart. Drifta wriggled into the most uncomfortable seat he had ever sat in, and strapped himself in. It was time for those last kisses before he pulled the helmet on. Nothing left to say or do, but to drop onto Jorgon like a stone and do all he could to undertake this perilous mission and, hopefully, return safely.

A final wave and the blowing of kisses and Maglissa had to retreat to the flight-deck to allow the cargo bay floor to open up to release the craft. She hugged her father as he sat next to Salashar at the controls then she took her seat behind them, the empty seat next to her an abomination.

"Tracking working," said Salashar. "Approaching drop zone."

"Cloaking on," said Grakos. "Minutes only have we."

Timing was critical to release the craft and Salashar didn't call out a countdown, but her fingers hovered over the cargo door release sensor. "And...go!"

The craft became a blip on the screen as it plummeted to the ocean below.

"Leaving Jorgon atmosphere are we," said Salashar.

"Tracking not working," said Grakos, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Just temporary it is," said Salashar. "There."

Communication between the ship and Drifta was possible, but that risked the possibility of being picked up by the Jorgonians. It was up to Drifta to determine if and when it was safe to call the ship. The progress of the ship could still be tracked.

"Craft moving well, it is," said Salashar, with a reassuring smile to Maglissa.

The first danger, the craft becoming stranded too far from land could be crossed off. They followed its underwater progress heading to the estuary of the wide river which would be the passage beyond the edges of the sprawling city and the vast forest through which Drifta was to pick his way through to sneak into the slave colony with the antidote. Then just for good measure, he had to reverse the whole trip.

Movement in the cockpit was restricted to arms and hands, feet and legs having nowhere to go. The crash into the ocean was jarring and Drifta had the breath knocked out of his lungs with the impact. The little craft had been over-engineered and it all functioned perfectly. The coordinates to the estuary were pre-programmed in the on-board computer and the single jet from the rear propelled him along just below the surface. Small hand-movements over the controls took care of the slight corrections and the small screen gave him an all round view. He estimated a little more than a half-hour to the point where saltwater met fresh.

A swirling rip had the craft being pushed around, the engine fighting it to stay on course.

"Come on you little sweetie. Just awhile longer. And what the crud is that?"

It was a torpedo shaped object heading straight for him. Slightly larger than his craft, there was no doubt it was chasing him. A hundred possibilities crashed through his mind at once, including it being a similar submersible to his own but one used by the Jorgonian military. If so, perhaps it was armed and some kind of missile was about to destroy his craft, which had only two speeds underwater, slow and slower.

### Chapter 42

"What that thing is?" Maglissa asked, staring at the screen over Grakos' shoulder.

"Organic, not metal," said Salashar. "Sea serpent it is."

They were on the edge of their seats as they could see the sea beast circle the craft. Drifta's vital signs were clear on the tracking screen, his heart-beat elevated. The serpent was one huge head with a short body and a long, tapering tail. The mouth was a cavernous hole full of rows of serrated teeth. The monster was ambitious enough to consider the stranger a possible snack. Those teeth were about to clamp on the craft, the front end of which would fit in its mouth.

As the whole cockpit was covered by the mouth, only the dashboard instruments shed light inside. Drifter tapped a sensor. As the mass of teeth gripped the hull, a powerful electrical charge had the serpent writhing in agony but its tiny brain still making it hang on. The pain hit the brain again and it got the message and let go.

"Bye. And tell all your friends," said Drifta, patting the little sensor labelled sea-serpents.

Grakos said, "Unexpected, that was."

"Ok the craft is?" Maglissa.

"Moving again it is," said Salashar.

Before he reached the estuary, three more smaller serpents approached but none fancied their chances and swam away. "Nice friendly locals."

The river had its fair share of creatures, but they were small and soon scattered as the craft passed through them. Now Drifta had to pick his way through the silty, cloudy river water, half-submerged rocks and tree trunks threatening to carve through the hull or entangle the direction fins. With low visibility Drifta relied on the sonar. His ability with the controls was improving but the bottom of the craft still scraped along the natural detritus on the bed. The estuary necked down as he entered the river, things becoming even more hazardous. It was still another mile to the bend in the river where he was to leave the craft. Inching his way forward, the vessel stopped, snared in the branches of a large sunken tree. The engine groaned as it tried to force the craft through it and there came a jolt as it broke free.

It seemed to take forever to weave his way to the river-bend and it was with great relief Drifta got out and secured the craft to the side of the bank, hidden just below the surface. He wriggled his arms through the shoulder straps of the carrier with his equipment and the precious drugs; the weapons belt he clipped in place around his waist.

Down on one knee behind a fallen log, he got his bearings, the forest ahead of him. It was already getting dark and he intended to get through the narrow southern neck of the forest before he lost all the light. Only then would he rest. At a steady pace he crashed through undergrowth into the tightly packed trees. The forest was something they had little knowledge of and what creatures were on the prowl for food were largely unknown and he had no wish to be on the menu of any of it.

Drifta's direction finder had him dodging trees in a north westerly route treading on ground no human had set foot on. As the last of the sunlight battled the canopy, he was wondering if this untamed wilderness had been the best way to the slave-camps. Strange, disconcerting sounds from all about him of creatures great and small confused his senses. Something close behind him roared with menacing intent but he couldn't dare stop to see. The roaring faded; the animal perhaps finding a more convenient kill. Something dashed across his path, charging through the dense vegetation, thankfully away from him.

His nerves reached jangling point as the light became almost too weak to see much at all, when he reached a clearing. Standing in the middle of it, the illuminated direction finder had him facing a gap between two giant trees where a path snaked ahead of him. He ploughed on, thankful at least that the forest was no longer trying to shred his skin with its lower branches. All along the path were signs of human activity as timber and plants had been foraged. All he wanted to do was to get past the edge of the forest and find a safe place to hide and rest. Jorgon was a slightly bigger planet than he was used to and the increase in gravity made movement hard work. His mouth and lungs burned with dehydration and his legs became a battle of willpower to move him forward.

Running on the dregs of his reserves, he pulled up sharply as two powerful beams of light headed towards him.

"There," yelled a man with a torch.

"I'm guessing me," whispered Drifta.

A panting human without a torch stumbled over him and she wasn't a man. She was wearing the filthy rags of a slave and she was about to scream. Drifta muffled her mouth with his hand.

"If you're a slave, I'm on your side. Trust me."

He let her go and she was about to yell but they heard a scream of pain a few yards away.

"Another slave?"

"They'll kill him."

"Not if I have anything to do with it. I'll help him if you take this back with you." He passed her the case of antidotes.

"Can't go back."

Another scream.

"Please," said Drifta, softly. "Wait here. This will help free your people. Keep it safe."

"But..."

Drifta was pulling things from his weapons belt and raced towards the screams. Before him was one poor slave, bloody and battered, two much stronger slave masters revelling in causing as much pain as possible with their power whips.

"Oh, hi," said Drifta. "Can anyone play?"

The startled faces of the bullies paused the torture, but they could see they faced just one man. They aimed their whips at the intruder and discharged them, one bolt of energy catching Drifta's arm before it destroyed a small tree directly behind him. Drifta tossed the stun grenade at the slave masters then dived behind the smouldering tree trunk, covering his ears. He still suffered excruciating pain but remained conscious. The slave masters and their quarry did not stay conscious, however. Heaving himself to his feet, his head still pounding, Drifta made his way unsteadily to the fallen men.

In the light from the torches on the ground, Drifta could see that the slave was smaller due to the poor diet and brutal existence, his scarred body telling the story of a life of hardship and abuse.

"Come on, friend. We need to go."

He pulled the small man to his feet and turned to find the woman who went to help Drifta.

"He's alive?"

"Only just. I'm too exhausted. Will others be following these two?"

"Maybe not."

"Then we'll rest here for awhile."

The woman turned her attention to the wounded slave. "He's dying."

"In my bag there's a medical kit."

Grabbing the kit she opened it, most of the contents a mystery to her. Drifta explained what to do and she used one device to seal the worse of the wounds, then a hypodermic full of powerful fluids and antibiotics injected into the unconscious slave's arm. A painkiller sufficient to dull the pain without causing loss of consciousness came next. As the colour returned to the man's face, things seemed more promising.

The two slave masters were trying to stand, holding their heads in pain.

"I'll kill them both," said the woman about to dive at them. Drifta grabbed her arm.

"No need." From his weapons belt he pulled out a small tube. He pointed it at the slave masters and fired a stream of yellow powder at them and they dropped clutching their throats before passing out. "Listen to that." The wild beasts of the forests roared and screeched. "They sound hungry so let them do the job." Getting to his feet he picked up one of the torches. "Time to go. That case I gave you?"

"Here."

It took the two of them to half carry, half drag the wounded man along, It was tough going but they made it out of the forest where they were staring out across a valley to the campfires of the slave camps.

"Can't go back there," said the woman.

Although the man was alive he was as a dead-weight between them. Drifta had hoped to leave the pair to get the case of antidotes back to the slaves, leaving him free to return to the craft to escape the planet. He realised that was not going to happen. She couldn't carry her fellow slave by herself.

They sat to rest and think.

"My name is Gotloskad Kor'olors. This is my brother, Parzandor Kor'olors."

"I'm called Drifta. I came a long way to deliver that case to you slaves. It will help you overthrow the slave masters."

He spent a few minutes explaining how he had come to be on that planet. When he mentioned the name Volox, the dying woman he had found in the stolen ship, Gotloskad said she knew of her. Voloxtut Pir'rufal was a legend amongst the slaves. "She's alive?"

"Sadly, no. But I promised I would get the antidote made in quantity and delivered here. This can keep thousands of slaves immune from the controlling virus and they can rise up and defeat the slave masters. Do you think that is possible?"

"Worth dying to find out."

"Worth living to find out." Behind him he could hear screams as two slave masters discovered what a slow and painful death was like to suffer rather than inflict on others. "Music to my ears. Will other slave masters know you had tried to escape?"

"We were making a run for it when they saw us and gave chase. They see runaways as sport to hunt down."

"That'll teach them. Can we sneak back in the camp with the antidote?"

"You are dressed as a slave but you look too different. We shall be caught."

"Then we will find a good hiding place for the case and take our chances."

"You must go back to your own kind."

Drifta smiled and said, "Only when you two and the antidote are safe. Come on."

### Chapter 43

Maglissa was close to panic after seeing the tell-tale signs of Drifta firing a weapon. Then nothing. "Tell me found him, you."

"No," admitted Salashar. "Wait. A signal. But not alone is he. Two with him, think I."

"The military have him do they," said Grakos, despondent. "Heading to the slave-camps are they."

Salashar cast him an angry look. "Not know that for sure do you."

"Must be so, Sal," said Maglissa, solemnly. "What else could be it?"

"Nothing we can do to help," said Salashar before the other two suggested it. It had been agreed that whatever happened with Drifta on the planet, no rescue mission would be undertaken. The risk of all out war was too great a risk to take. They agreed to take turns watching and hoping for a signal from Drifta that he was safe. Maglissa's turn was first. Grakos and Salashar went off to eat and talk.

"Don't think about it, you," warned Salashar, preparing food as Grakos made a drinks.

"Hurting is my little girl. Know how much she loves him, do you."

She pointed at him and said, "Stay right here do we. Yes?"

"Well..."

"Grakos?"

"Stay as long as it takes do we."

They tried to eat but their spirits were too low to take more than a few mouthfuls. Picking up the weak signal from Drifta's tracker was always going to be erratic. They could only hope things were not as dire as things looked and that some way Drifta could come back to them.

As Drifta and the Kor'olors' staggered exhaustedly to the slave-camp, knowing they were likely to be apprehended at any moment, Drifta could imagine the discussion back on the ship. The Alliance would not and could not risk war to save him. Principal Domtavora was a wise old politician, knowing that war now with Jorgon would be a backward step and it would take a calm and strategic long-term plan that would help free the slaves and make Jorgon into the wonderful world it could be, where all its people could live and prosper in peace. Like the backpack strapped to Drifta's back, the future of millions rested on his shoulders, a burden that for now he would have to bear alone. With still miles to go, they reached the bottom of the valley where they drank their fill. The stream soaked their legs as they crossed it.

"Slave masters finding us is one thing," said Drifta, "But there must be a place to put the case for safe retrieval later."

Gotloskad, who had become Gotlo to him now, had been thinking the same thing and told him, "A dried up ancient well is nearby. Never looked at."

"Good. Take us there."

With Jorgon's small moon playing hide and seek with the clouds, they made their way undetected to a broken stone well, parts of the circular wall in ruins. Using a fine but strong line from his pack, Drifta secured the case and lowered it out of sight into the dried up well. Then he decided to do the same with the weapons belt.

Gotlo said, "But we will need that."

Drifta explained, "We stand a good chance of being outnumbered and arrested even before we reach the camps. That will mean death for the three of us for certain if we are caught with those weapons. Once I have you both safe, I'll try to retrieve them and escape. If I can't, you will have useful weapons to use whatever happens to me. You must find a way to tell the others of the antidote. Right?"

Before she could answer, the search-beams from a dozen small military aircraft warned them the two men back in the forest had been able to send a warning message to their camp headquarters before being ripped apart by the beasts.

"Hide over there," said Drifta, pointing to some bushes. "I'll run that way so they don't find the case."

"But..."

"Go. Good luck."

Drifta ran in a zigzag pattern so as not to draw attention to the Kor'olors' and the things in the well. The beams of light soon picked him out and a stream of energy fire traced a warning line around him. He dropped to his knees and placed his hands on his head. Three aircraft landed close by him, the others off to the forest to find their fallen comrades. He heard heavy steps of men charging towards him but not for long as something hard struck the back of his head.

Back on the flight-deck, Grakos asked, "Maglissa?"

"Not sure, father. Tracker working and his heart and breathing steady but little movement."

"At least alive is he. Never give up hope, you."

"Signs of aircraft around him saw I. More flying to where earlier was he." She looked up into her father's old face which was trying to smile and exude confidence and failing badly. "Sure they have captured him am I."

Grakos had no words of comfort that didn't sound like false promises.

### Chapter 44

"You have the audacity to insist I come into this disgusting pit of humanity?"

Commander Gos'krikun said, "Your excellency. Forgive me but as your military commander, I decided my first duty was to inform you of this development. The slave-camps commandant called me less than one hour ago and I agreed with her that we had a very unusual situation here."

Regal Melnovlor Lum'mitwox was the highest of the highest family of the elite and everyone knew they had to behave as such in his presence. Commander Gos'krikun was from a respectable third level noble family. There were five levels of free citizens, the fifth being soldiers in the military, trades people and slave masters. The commandant of the largest slave camp was from the fifth level. At the Regal's discretion, lower level people could become slaves. It was a system that worked, keeping everyone in their places and society in harmony.

The Regal never spoke to anyone below level three and certainly never usually ventured near the slave cells. Not bothering to hide his disgust or revulsion, he waved a foppish hand at the commander to take him to see this strange man in a cell. Down another flight of stone steps to rows upon rows of cells where the stench had the Regal holding a scent pad to his nose. Filthy wretches lay in rags and excrement, some wailing pitifully, two at least lay dead. Not working hard enough or not jumping to attention when a master approached, or just looking at a master disrespectfully could have a slave tossed in a cell indefinitely. The Regal turned away from them as he was led to the interrogation room. At least apart from some dubious, indelible stains, this cell was fairly clean, the stench almost tolerable. A man was strapped to a chair in the middle of the room, a bright light directly above his head. At an order from the commander, this light was turned off and the main lights turned on. A woman and two men stood by the chair, all bowing their heads as the Regal entered.

"This slave..." said the Regal.

"Not a slave, excellency," said the interrogation commandant. "Not even from this planet."

"What crud are you speaking? Not human? I can see he is human."

"Perhaps take a closer look, excellency," she replied.

The Regal approached the bound man. "Perhaps if you wipe some of the blood off his face away I might actually see what the crud he looks like."

"Of course, excellency. There."

The Regal moved in closer and looked carefully at the battered face of the unconscious man. "That...is not from this planet."

"Agreed, excellency. And also..."

"Yes?"

"Not from an Alliance planet, either."

Another close look. Jorgonians knew what the humans on the seven Alliance planets looked like. "Some inbreeding freak of nature?"

Commander Gos'krikun took it from there. "We have tested his D N A. There is only one conclusion. If he is not from the Alliance, he's from Earth.

"Crud! We ourselves have only just developed the technology to use dark energy and dark matter to travel such distances through the splits. We know those Earth primitives have barely gotten off the ground."

"And yet, excellency, he surely _is_ from Earth and he _is_ most definitely here."

"How?"

"That, excellency, we were trying to establish. Hence all the blood."

"You pathetic fools. This enigma is on my planet and you beat him half to death? Idiots."

The commandant said, "We could try electrical current instead?"

"Everyone out," bellowed the Regal. Get a doctor here and have him seen to. If he dies, you will all be wearing the tunic of the slaves. Go!"

Drifta was left alone in the cell and he managed to open one swollen eye. "So you do have our splits technology, do you?" he whispered to himself. "Thanks for the update." Then his head slumped.

### Chapter 45

The Regal sat in the commandants office in her chair, his boots on her desk. Behind him stood the commandant and two of her goons, all fully armed.

"Please help yourself to any food or refreshments," said the Regal. "An excellent wine the green one."

Drifta's jaw still ached from the blows although the painkiller helped. The doctor had done all he could to clean up his injuries. Drifta chose what looked like soft protein soup and sipped it carefully through his swollen lips.

"Please sit down."

Drifta sat, still eating but saying nothing.

"So. You are from Earth?"

"Your doctor confirmed the DNA results, so I must be."

"Your people are most interesting. You call yourselves human, as do we. Our most common language is very similar to your own. Perhaps in our distant past, humans from an Alliance planet interacted, even visited your home planet. There has always been speculation and theories. We are sure the Alliance keeps secrets from us."

"The Alliance? Is your planet a part of this Alliance?" asked Drifta, acting dumb.

"Originally. We had some...cultural differences and were expelled. But your brand of humanity is much more like our own here on Jorgon. Once we have our technology refined sufficiently it is my intention to approach your leaders and invite them to a coalition of like-minded people and combine our forces. Do you think they will be agreeable?"

Drifta shrugged. "That's why I'm here. Such a coalition was anticipated and as the emissary of my Earth's leaders, I am here to offer a hand in friendship."

"To what aim?"

"I presume the same as yours."

"To join forces and take over the Alliance under our mutual control?"

"Between us we should have what it takes. We are a warlike race of billions. Fighting is in our blood. In our D N A. Your technology and our warriors could do this. Yes?"

"Why should we trust you? How did you get here, to this planet?"

"As you said. The Alliance keeps its secrets. Forty years ago, a ship of theirs landed on Earth. Naturally, our suspicious natures got the better of us and we shot the ship down."

The Regal slammed the desk with his fist. "I would know of this."

"Apparently not."

"You could be an Alliance spy."

"I could be."

"And how do we resolve that one?"

"That's your problem, not mine."

The Regal went to Drifta and barely containing his anger said, "I could just make you a slave and work you to death in one of our mines for speaking to me in that tone of voice."

Calmly, Drifta replied, "Then you would be wasting an opportunity to fulfil your greatest ambition. Control of the Alliance."

The Regal was stunned for words. Then he roared with laughter. "What is your name?"

"Drifta."

"I like you, Drifta. But enlighten me. Where is your ship? None landed on this planet, we do know that."

"Up there. You would never find it. From what we learned from the Alliance ship they have technology more advanced than anything you have but you probably aren't that far behind them. We accept we still need your help to advance further."

"Certainly something to consider. Your ship didn't land here, so you must have a much smaller craft that came from it. Is the rest of your crew still on your mother ship?"

"I am the entire crew. It is programmed to return to Earth without me if I am late back. If it is approached by anyone but me it will self-destruct. But hey. Trust me or don't. Your choice."

The Regal paced the floor as he considered his options. Finally he declared, "I consider myself to be a shrewd judge of character. If you are a typical example of your kind, I am impressed."

The door opened and the Commander Gos'krikun entered. "Excellency. This was discovered hidden in a nearby well."

"What is it?"

"My weapons belt," said Drifta. "For self-defence. Two of your inefficient goons discovered its effectiveness when they tried to attack me."

"Is this true, commander?"

"The remains of two men were found in the forest. Eaten up by animals, killed by weapons. Signs of a fight all around them."

"Told you so," said Drifta, wondering if they had the case of antidote.

"Anything else with that belt, commander?"

"No, excellency. Only this."

Only a faint smile crossed Drifta's face. The antidote was in good hands. He fastened the belt around his waist.

"And just where do you think you are going?" asked the Regal.

"Home. Now I shall ask you only one time. I need your official and definitive answer. Does Jorgon and Earth join forces with our army of billions?"

The idea of being Regal over such an army made his heart beat faster. "My answer is yes."

"Then I will tell my leaders that. One last thing. Purely ceremonial but symbolically it seals the deal."

"And that is?"

"We hold each others arms like so," said Drifta, reaching out with his arms.

"You need to...touch me?" asked the Regal, horrified.

"Deal or no deal."

The Regal rolled his eyes and shuddered. "Deal," he said, reaching out his arms towards Drifta.

Drifta grasped his shoulders with both hands and held them for a few seconds feeling pleasure in the Regal's squirming at being touched.

"Now we are new best friends it's time for me to go. You wouldn't test our friendship by having me followed would you? I would rather my ship didn't self-destruct on me."

"You have my word. Commander. Escort him out of here and...let him go."

"Excellency, is that really such a good...?"

"Commander!"

"Yes sir, Excellency. Right. You. Drifta. Follow me."

Drifta paused at the door and looked the Regal in the eyes. "I hope we meet again very soon."

The Regal couldn't bring himself to reply as he watched the man from Earth being escorted away.

It was bright sunshine outside. Drifta took his bearings and set off alone back the way he had come, using the cover of the forest. Would he be followed? He was relying on the greedy ambitions of a despotic egocentric megalomaniac. Time would tell.

### Chapter 46

"A signal have we," yelped Salashar with delight. The others gathered round her. "There, strong and clear is it."

"Heading for the forest," said Maglissa hugging her father.

"Wait," said Salashar. "Another signal."

Drifta found himself glancing back, convinced he would be followed. No aircraft had taken off and no ground vehicles were in pursuit. Had he really convinced the Regal he was the emissary from Earth? He had laid it on thick, appealing to the despotic leader's hatred of the Alliance and the possibility of a willing army of unimaginable size. It was just conceivable the warnings of the ship self-destructing if approached thus losing the possibility of realising his ambitions of total dominance of the Alliance had worked. Would distrust and suspicion outweigh greed and ambition?

Whatever else happened, at least he had kept his promise to Volox to deliver the antidote. He imagined the slaves were already vaccinating each other with the antidote. They would select the strongest first, those capable of putting up a fight against the armed and brutal slave masters. This helped him ignore the battering his body had taken as he ran through the stream and on up the side of the valley into the forest. With good sunlight and a path to follow, he intended to pace himself and get back to the submerged craft in the river before nightfall.

Something flew just over his head, making him flinch, but the winged creature flew on into the trees. It had reminded him the forest teemed with many creatures, some capable of killing him. He paused to see what useful weapon in his belt that he could carry in his hands for ready protection. That's when he saw something interesting.

"Well done, commander. A neat little tracker."

It was a black disc, the size of his thumbnail.

There came a shuffling sound behind him. They had wasted no time in tracking him into the forest where he would be vulnerable and easy to dispose of. He brought out a stun grenade and turned to face the enemy, ready to hurl the weapon. The undergrowth parted and out came a creature, a smallish omnivorous mammal. The animal had a coat of spiky brown fur with a narrow black stripe from the long snout to its long bushy tail. The thin muzzle ended in a white tipped nose. Short legs carried the fat body through the undergrowth, sniffing its way along the forest floor. It had poor eyesight so depended on smell to locate little creatures crawling about the ground. It stopped, scratched away at the soft earth finding a long insect which it grabbed with a claw and chewed it up. About to move on, it stopped, its nose twitching at something new in its little world. Drifta pounced and pinned it down, avoiding the sharp claws.

"I'll not harm you. I just want to give you a little present." He stuck the tracker disk on the back of the creature. "There. Looks good on you. Bye, little friend."

The animal scurried away to the safety of the undergrowth, the tracker about to confuse anyone following its progress as long as it stayed in place. Pleased with that, Drifta continued on his way to the river.

With less than a mile to go, progress had been a steady battle with all things green. Used as a natural barrier to keep the slaves near the camps, many an escapee had taken their chances only to come to grief with an encounter with one of the beasts. They hadn't been as fit and healthy as Drifta and hadn't been blessed with weapons to slay the wildest creatures. He had heard the animals all around and above him but apart from a multitude of insects dive-bombing him to sting and bite him, nothing too dangerous had crossed his path. Until then.

Two of them dropped from a tree, bipeds with short clawed arms but wicked teeth at the business end. Slightly smaller than Drifta, he had no doubt these animals were top of the local food-chain. They didn't attack him at first, but parted slightly, dividing Drifta's attention. Their bellies were like an armour plating of scales, the rest a thick fur to protect against the elements. Their tails were long, thick and obviously used when moving through the canopy but being the thickness of a man's arm could be swung as a deadly weapon. Fighting one of these beasts would be challenging, weapons or not. Two were a living nightmare. Drifta stepped back a couple of paces, the beasts stepped closer. He was sure those saliva drooling jaws had ripped many fleeing slaves to pieces.

As they studied their prey, he was taking a mental stocktake of his belt. It was unlikely the stun grenades would do more than annoy them and their close proximity meant he would suffer more than these tough animals. The gas powder might make them sneeze. It was down to the incendiary pistol. Back on the ship when studying the contents of the belt, he decided this pistol was the most lethal weapon in his arsenal. Not making any sudden movements, he eased the pistol from the belt. It was a single shot weapon which required loading with the finger sized cartridges. The issue with this selection of weapon meant he had to hope the beasts didn't pounce until he'd had the chance to load but also he could only take down one of them. Would the other one flee in panic or charge him? He needed a back-up weapon. The blade shooter against that tough scaled belly would be of little use and it would come down to close combat fighting and a lucky strike at the throat or eyes.

Drifta slipped the cartridge into the chamber, snapping the chamber in place. With his left hand free and by feel only, he fumbled for the blade shooter. His fingertips had found the handle of the weapon when one beast charged him. Just a few feet away from him, Drifta fired and there came a flash from the chamber and the projectile hit the animal in the chest. The impact did nothing until the incendiary charge exploded inside the creature. The blood-curdling scream as the beast flew through the air at him was ear-splitting. Drifta had to dive to one side as the fatally wounded animal crashed to the ground by his side. As it lay dying, it was still lashing out with flesh-ripping claws and one wild swipe caught Drifta's thigh then the internal combustion finished it off.

Beast two had stepped backwards for only a second before charging at the injured human. Drifta was pinned against a tree preventing him hitting the ground. The claws raked Drifta's shoulder and the gaping mouth of pointed teeth aimed for his neck. He felt the vile hot breath on his face and the tiny dark eyes were inches from his own. He brought the blade shooter up to the creatures neck and pressed the trigger handle. The six inch blade blasted into the neck sending thick red blood gushing over Drifta's face. The animal dropped to the ground, rolling in agony as it desperately tried to pull the blade from its neck but the serrated blades embedded itself in such a way that yanking it out would sever more muscle and sinew. This was Drifta's one chance. He jumped over the writhing beast and crashed his way on towards the river.

The injured animal wasn't yet done for, staggering after Drifta who was also slowed down with his injured leg. Drifta was only just ahead of the animal and the slightest stumble would be his last. Behind him he heard the primal screams and roars as the animal smashed through everything in its path. The blood streamed down Drifta's shoulder and leg leaving a trail. From a tree a small, winged lizard creature jumped onto the bloody shoulder to drink the blood, Drifta batting it away without stopping.

Then he was in a clearing but upriver of his craft. It was a thirty foot drop off a ledge into the water which was churning up around huge rocks. Land badly and it would be the end. He tried to guess the deepest part of the river between the rocks and was about to leap when the beast caught him and they both went over the cliff. The rock would have broken most of his bones had not the animal's body become a cushion for him. The roar of pain filled his head but he was free to roll off into the river.

Still the beast wasn't dead and it too rolled into the river, the current taking them in the same direction. They came to the bend and Drifta knew his shuttle was near. He dived below the surface and there it was, his ride home. The way in was at the top just under the water. He worked the exterior controls to open the craft and it swung up with a hiss. Hauling himself up to climb inside something wrapped around his leg. The monstrous head of teeth of the wounded animal wasn't about to quit yet. Drifta kicked out at the animal but it was clinging on like grim death. Suddenly came a wild thrashing of the surrounding river as it broiled with a shoal of flesh-eating fish attracted by the blood from Drifta's wounds. But blood was also gushing from the neck of the animal and the creature had to let Drifta go to fight off the fish.

Drifta caught his breath and as he used up the last of his strength, he could see the animal being attacked by the shoal as it floated to the estuary. He heaved himself inside and secured the hatch.

"Time to go."

### Chapter 47

"Have a signal do we," said Salashar. "From the craft."

"Taking off is he,"said Grakos. "Be ready for him must we."

Behind them, Maglissa closed her eyes and relieved that Drifta was coming back to her.

This was going to take all the skills of Salashar and Grakos to retrieve the craft, especially to remain undetected to the Jorgonians as they did so. They prepared the ship to rendezvous with Drifta outside of the atmosphere and waited, concentrating on their instruments.

Drifta was out of the estuary and into the open waters of the ocean. He had been unable to fully suit up in the confines of the craft, his wounds making any movement difficult. The craft would protect him but if it lost air-pressure, he would die. With extreme difficulty he eventually had the helmet on and this would at least provide some air in an emergency.

The coordinates to return him approximately to where he had dropped into the ocean was programmed in and the craft was steadily taking him there. One of the sea serpents that had attacked him before began circling the craft and Drifta was ready to press the sensor to shock the creature away should it try to bite into the vessel. For now it seemed content to just swim alongside, Drifta keeping one eye on it.

"This will either be ok or I'm about to go out with a bang. Here goes."

One sensor ran the complete launch sequence of the craft. First, the tail end would detach and the underwater propulsion system would sink to the ocean floor. He was about to press the sensor when the craft began behaving erratically. The screen gave a three-sixty view around the ship and he could see the sea-serpent with its jaws locked around the tail of the craft, thrashing from side to side. Warning lights and noises were telling him what he already knew: the serpent was damaging the craft. Drifta jabbed the shock button but that failed.

"Right. Only one thing left to do."

The propulsion system still functioned and it tried to force the craft along through the water with the serpent still firmly attached. More warning lights and a propulsion system about to explode. Then the tail-end detached and it and the serpent were left behind. The one-shot rear thruster set to take the craft into space kicked in and the sudden acceleration forced him back in the seat. The side direction jets took him to the surface and the craft blasted into the air. Most of the warning lights went off but not all. Three miles high, the main thruster spluttered. He was not out of atmosphere and was about to crash-dive back to the ocean.

"Come on!"

Just as the craft began on a curved trajectory to be pulled down through gravity, the thruster kicked in again.

"Yes!"

He was now off-course but at least he was again heading to the edge of atmosphere. Once in the vacuum of space, the complete drives detached to orbit Jorgon forever. Drifta was now floating helplessly in space inside the bubble of the cockpit. All he could do was to wait and hope the ship was coming for him. He looked around in the empty space, Jorgon shining brightly below him.

"There is he," said Salashar. "Moving in. Activating invisibility device."

This gave them less than one minute of undetectability and they had to get Drifta on the ship in that time. Below them, Drifta was eclipsed by the ship as it hovered just above him. The cargo bay opened and the ship was deftly manoeuvred to take the craft. That's when smoke poured into the bubble from damage sustained by the serpent.

"Wait!" warned Drifta. "This thing's about to blow-up."

Salashar looked over her shoulder to Maglissa. "Can't bring it on the ship."

Maglissa called to Drifta. "Get out of there, you. Come for you will I."

"Mag..." said Grakos. "Too dangerous."

"Suit up and drop from the cargo bay will I."

Salashar said, "Drifta. Breathe outside can you?"

"My helmet's on but not the suit. I can hardly see in here."

"Then get out," bellowed Grakos.

They had the bubble on their main screen and could see the top being opened. Flames shot out after Drifta, the vacuum of space killing them instantly but the flashes from the electrical explosions flared then died. Drifta could breathe but each second out in an unpressurised environment would be killing him.

Maglissa tethered to a safety line, kicked herself away from the belly of the ship towards him. Already they could see he was in distress. They were experienced enough to know his skin and tissue underneath was swelling as the water in his body was starting to vaporise in the absence of atmospheric pressure. This would return to normal if they got him on the ship fast.

Due to exposure to the unfiltered cosmic radiation, his skin would quickly suffer severe sunburn. Despite the extremely cold temperatures, he wouldn't freeze right away but they had to work fast. Maglissa wrapped the line around the unconscious Drifta and they were yanked towards the ship by Grakos. The second they were all in the cargo-bay the door closed up, Grakos wrapping the wildly shivering Drifta in a blanket. The instant the bay was pressurised he pulled the helmet off the near unconscious man. Maglissa hugged Drifta tightly as he came around.

"OW! That hurts," cried Drifta.

"Injured are you."

"I'm alive and that's the main thing."

"To the medical room, you."

### Chapter 48

"Well?" said the Regal, impatiently.

"As you ordered, excellency," said the commander. "My men followed the tracking signal. Here is the tracker."

The Regal stared at the disc the commander was holding. "Explain."

"Excellency. It was found in the forest, stuck to a snorthog's back. This Drifta probably discovered the disc and put it on the animal to fool us."

The Regal smiled. "A resourceful man. And?"

"He was attacked by at least two teragores. One dead from some kind of incendiary device. Tracks of another teragore and the man led to the river. Neither body found."

"Was the man wounded?"

"The signs suggest yes, Excellency. Marks at the edge of the river indicates both man and beast fell in."

"Hmm. The deathfish will have disposed of them. A pity."

"Excellency. We could try to locate his ship?"

The Regal considered this. "If he told the truth, the ship will return to Earth without him or self-destruct if we approach. Assuming he is dead, we continue with our plans. Our surveillance technology is not as advanced as that of the Alliance but we have been studying this Earth for many years. Drifta was correct when he described his people as warriors. They are endlessly fighting each other and producing more and more deadly weapons. Although barbaric by nature, we could indeed use that to take over the Alliance by combining our forces. For the last two years we have been preparing three ships to visit Earth and attempt a meeting with their leaders. If Drifta was indeed an emissary from Earth, this means they are already thinking as we are. What is our status with this mission?"

"Excellency. The ships are almost ready for space trials and to use the splits. We are behind the Alliance in this technology but are quickly catching them up. If the trials are successful, we could be on our way to Earth in less than one month."

"Very good. Commander. I want you in charge of that mission."

"Me? I am honoured, Excellency."

"Success would guarantee your families elevation to level two. I will personally endorse that."

This was joyous news to the commander, giving his entire family the privileges and advantages of the level two had been his dream since he was a child.

A messenger rushed in. "Excellency. We have detected a projectile taking off from the ocean, about fifty miles off shore."

The Regal looked at his commander. "So he wasn't killed after all. Interesting."

"Taken off to what?" said the commander to the messenger. "Did you see his ship?"

"No, sir. The projectile left atmosphere then...vanished. It simply vanished."

The Regal dismissed the messenger. "Commander. What this Drifta told us seems to be true. The Earth humans have indeed captured an Alliance ship and have developed its technology. Can you imagine the power we would have combining our races? Make this happen, commander."

The soon to be level two commander puffed out his chest. "Yes, Excellency."

### Chapter 49

The hovachair floated out of the elevator and up the five steps to Principal Domtavora's office. Marshal Zaxtormon stood by his side, beaming as Salashar, Grakos, Maglissa and Drifta entered. Drifta's leg was elevated from an extension on the chair. The doctors had worked around the clock for three days, not even letting the Principal or Chief Marshal near him. Only when Drifta was considered out of danger had Maglissa been allowed to visit. It was her love and bravery that had minimised the damage to his body and she and Grakos had worked almost non-stop in the ship's medical room.

"We are delighted to see you again," said Domtavora. "Especially you, Drifta considering what you've been through."

"Delighted to be here, sir."

Zaxtormon said, "And that was a stroke of genius putting that surveillance disc on the Regal as you were leaving."

"At first I missed the one they planted on me but I saw our tracker in the weapons belt and it was too good an opportunity not to try. Besides. It was fun watching him cringe as we held each other."

Salashar added, "We didn't understand the significance of that unexpected signal at first, but when we realised we were actually listening to the Regal, we made sure we recorded every word."

"And invaluable it is, too," said Zaxtormon.

"Indeed," said Domtavora. "We now have proof of what they've been planning for some time, ever since they got their hands on our technology."

Drifta said, "I experienced the brutality of the Jorgonians first hand. We have to do all we can to stop them combining forces with the Earth humans."

Maglissa was having none of this. "Not you. Done enough have you. Now you stay with me."

Grakos agreed. "Principal. Nearly lost him out there did we. Have all the information to send others, have you."

Drifta said, "If I am from Earth, maybe they will listen to me. If there's a way to get me there and back, I should go."

Domtavora and Zaxtormon shared a conspiratorial look at each other. They had clearly been considering all these things as Drifta lay in the hospital.

Domtavora said, "We have no intention of asking any of you to go to Earth. This must be done willingly and voluntarily. Possibly we could be successful sending another crew to Earth, but we both feel our best chances are with the crew in this room."

All the crew started talking at once until Domtavora asked for silence. "Drifta. All your life you have been seeking answers on who you are and where you came from. A D-N-A test would have given you an answer at any time but you never had yourself tested. Why is that?"

"I guess...fear. Fear of the truth. I wanted to know, but something held me back and I never got it done. According to the Regal's doctors, I am definitely from Earth after eliminating any other possibility. I'll have to settle for that."

"Not necessarily, Drifta," said Domtavora. "Do you want to know more?"

Drifta squeezed Maglissa's hand and looked into her eyes. Then he looked back at the Principal. "You know something?"

"Do you want to know or not?" asked Zaxtormon. "Yes or no?"

"Yes."

"Do you wish to see this alone?" Domtavora asked.

A pause, then, "No."

"Then make yourselves comfortable," said Domtavora. "After searching our archives, Marshal Zaxtormon made an interesting discovery. We have seen this but now you can see it, too."

On a command from Domtavora, the room dimmed and a rough recording played on the wall screen. A woman was doing the talking.

### Chapter 50

To my son. I am Abigail Jones. I am so sorry to have abandoned you the way I did, but this was for a reason. I was dying. I am from Earth, a very long way from here. I'm from a small but advanced country called Britain. It was the year nineteen ninety-six in Earth time. Life on Earth was already in a precarious state. A population out of control, misuse of...everything. Pollution. War. War and more war. Don't ask me what it was all about. Greed. Intolerance. Religion. So called ideologies. For what it's worth, I just don't think we were ready to be caretakers of what should have been a wonderful planet. (a pause) It saddens me so much even to think about it.

Anyway. A secret mission to Mars was conceived and developed. Using the dark side of our moon, we put the mission together. Much had been done to determine what the effects of living on Mars would have on an adult colony, but little was known beyond theory of how a new born baby would survive. We, your father and I, that's him, by the way. (she showed an image in a silver locket) Darwin Jones. Handsome, right? Well, I thought so. We both served in the air-force but had become disillusioned with everything. I had just found out I was expecting you. The mission unknown to us was reaching its first milestone, a ship ready to launch from the moon. It lacked one vital element. A trained couple expecting a baby. So, we volunteered. It was imperative to determine the fetus was healthy and had the best chance to survive being born on Mars. That's where you came into it.

(she chuckled). Sorry you didn't get to have a say in it. We took off from the moon. The authorities knew at this point it was going to be impossible to keep things secret from then on. The important thing was not to get the mission bogged down in international crap. It didn't matter after take-off. The journey to Mars was to take one hundred and thirty eight days. I would still be able to work with Darwin to establish the base. On day one hundred and nine...(a pause as she looked away) an accident. (she faced the recorder again, ignoring a stray tear) A tiny piece of space debris hit the ship. The ship was built to take the small stuff, but this one hit a vital part of the communications external system. Minimal damage but it could only be repaired by going outside. Darwin suited up and with the tools and parts he went outside to do the job. Of course I was a little nervous for him, but kept that to myself. It was to be one little gizmo out and a new one put in. Five minute job. Darwin was chatting away just to reassure me. Telling corny jokes. Let me tell you. Your father told the worst jokes. Hard not to love a man who told bad jokes. (smiles, wipes away a tear). Such a wonderful and kind man. He made me jump out of my skin when he banged on the window. He was pulling silly faces at me. Get the coffee ready, he said. Coming in now. Test the communication systems before I do. I did that but there was still a problem. Ok, he said. I'll take another look. Probably needs a little tweak.

He blew me a kiss. It seems that first little rock wasn't the only one heading our way at the time. The one that struck Darwin's helmet was travelling at the speed of a bullet. He died before my eyes. It was very quick and I don't think he suffered.

Perhaps you can understand what I was going through at that time. I was stunned. Incapable of rational thought. Now and then I heard Darwin's body still tethered to the line, hitting the hull. I gave serious thought to taking my own life. Please, don't blame me...The ship needed two of us to land. I had no communication with Earth. My dead husband's body was still attached to the ship making it impossible to land even if I tried. A quick death made sense to me right then. I almost did it but one thing stopped me. You. I had to try for you.

Eventually, I started to get my thinking straight. I had to suit up, go outside, let Darwin's body drift off into space, finish the repair job and talk to Earth. Maybe they could find a way to help me land on Mars. I went outside. Before I released the safety line to your father, I held him for a moment. I considered letting both of us free from the ship, wrapping the lines around us and just...drifting away together. Then I remembered you were the growing bump between us.

What should I do, I asked him. I could see his eyes in the shattered helmet, his blood floating around his head. But I know what he would have said. Do what I could so both of us could survive. He was no quitter and neither was I. I hugged him one last time and set him free. The truth is, I was always a better technician than he was, and if not carrying you, I'd have been the one repairing the ship. But then again, I suppose that might mean the rock would have killed me and you.

I found the repair but he had done everything right. It must have been something else. I got back in the ship and ran more tests. But nothing was helping. Then other things started to malfunction. No communication and other shit going wrong. Things were looking desperate. Not a chance in hell of a rescue mission. On the plus side, the ship was the intended main part of the base on Mars. Plenty of supplies.

I...you and I could survive for up to two years on the ship. Assuming I survived delivering you on my own. Assuming...anyway, I did everything I could to fix the ship but was only partially successful. I tried to figure out a way to land the ship. If we died trying, well, at least we'd have tried.  
I was still on course. It was day one hundred and thirty six. Mars loomed large and beautiful and the hours dragged by. Mostly, I talked to you. When it came time to land, I knew I had done all that was possible for one pilot to land the ship but it was still going to be tough. The approach was textbook until one of the thrusters misfired and threw us off course. We missed the planet. I did all I could to turn us around including swearing and kicking the bloody thing. Nothing helped.  
We drifted through space, you and I, clinging to life, such as it was.  
The Mars base became my home in space and you kept on growing inside me. Weeks turned into months and then labour began. You were impatient. In a hurry. You were doing all you could to tell me it was time to be born and you refused to wait. I got myself ready as best I could for your birth and it is not something any woman willingly does alone.  
The labour was long and intense. I do not know how long it was because any rational thought failed, until there was nothing. I remember opening my eyes, feeling little pain and realising I was on a ship, but it wasn't our ship.  
We had been rescued.  
My son, you were born on a marsillion mining ship.  
The ship's medic did all he could but the birth had been complicated, I had haemorrhaged and I needed a blood transfusion and much more advanced medical attention. My basic human DNA and blood typing meant I was an alien to these people and nobody knew what to do for my blood type. They tried to get me to the nearest Alliance planet as fast as they could, but I was in a bad way, barely hanging on.  
I heard the medic telling the captain I probably wasn't going to make it and it was likely you, my baby, would be of great scientific interest. My son? A lab experiment? I looked down at you, sleeping peacefully in my arms and made a promise to you. I would get you to safety, somehow, somewhere, even if it killed me.  
When we landed, I hid and whilst they were busy unloading the ship's cargo, I used the last of my strength to flee. I had no idea what I was going to do. I stumbled into a small, unoccupied commercial business place, where I hid to plan my next move. I was in a bad way physically but because I looked so obviously different to everyone else on this planet, I couldn't risk going to a hospital. I couldn't risk your life.  
So I returned to the unloading bays and I put you with some cargo about to be loaded on a ship. I kissed you one last time and from a dark corner, hidden in shadows, I saw you put onboard the ship and I stayed until take off. It was the best I could do. It was all I could do.  
I struggled back to that office to sleep, where I found a recording device and made this message for you.  
I can only hope that I gave you a chance at life, for here with me, there is none. And where we came from, Earth, also, there is none.  
Do not go there. I beg you. Leave well alone.  
They'll soon destroy themselves and the beautiful planet where you were conceived in love. Goodbye my son. Please understand and forgive me. I...love you, Arion. This name I gave you means brave one.  
The recording ended.

### Chapter 51

Leaving the crew to digest and discuss what they had seen, Principal Domtavora and Marshal Zaxtormon eventually rejoined them. The four were obviously emotionally shaken, especially Drifta.

"Why didn't you show me this ages ago?" Drifta asked, his still bruised face streaked with tears.

Principal Domtavora said, "I wasn't aware of it. The recorder was found many years ago as your mother hoped and was handed in to the authorities who in turn passed it on to the enforcers."

Zaxtormon said, "Something in the back of my mind remembered some rumours back when I was just a captain. While you were away on Jorgon I went digging through some old records in our archives. I found it five days ago."

"Okay. And my mother?"

Domtavora shook his head and said, "Disappeared without trace, presumed dead. With her appearance I am sure she would have been recognised had she lived."

Maglissa said, "So afraid of going to the authorities was she. Don't understand, I."

Domtavora said, "True we would have studied you both but not indefinitely. We would never have harmed her or you. We assume her natural paranoia and mistrust of Earth's officials made her fearful of our own. A pity. She might still be alive today if she had gone for help. You heard your mother's warning about Earth. Do you still want to go?"

"My mother was a good person. My father, too. Others on Earth must be like them. If they are, we need to persuade them not to go with the Jorgonians."

"Only one way to find out, suppose I," said Maglissa. "Go shall we."

"We?" said Drifta.

"Don't dare try to stop me, you."

Drifta sat deep in thought then said, "My mother risked her life to go outside her ship to try to save my father. You did the same for me. That kind of love is special. My Father would never have gone anywhere without my mother. If you want to come with me, so be it."

With that established, they all looked to Grakos and Salashar.

"Well, Principal Domtavora," said Grakos. "It looks as if going to Earth are _we_. Principal. Assume a plan to get us to Earth, have you?"

Domtavora smiled. "Oh, yes. Marshal?"

"Your ship is already being prepared."

### Chapter 52

Darluvla paced the floor of her luxury home. "Your father's doing is this. Hear anything of that foolhardy mission to Jorgon did I? Until this minute, no."

They had returned for a short visit to Consolon until the ship was ready for take-off. Maglissa went to see her mother before leaving on the mission. "Had to keep taking the antidote to Jorgon secret did we. Now those slaves can take back their planet."

Darluvla waved that detail away. "This Drifta is a reckless adventurer who would not involve you in his suicidal antics if really cared for you."

This was all expected and mostly to be ignored. "As brave as my father is he. The decision has been made and go to Earth shall we. Mother. I can't tell you the details but..."

"Hmm. Of course not. Only your mother am I."

"Mother. Do this must we. The Jorgonians have to be stopped. Please don't let me leave with bad feelings."

Darluvla sat beside her daughter. "This is why your father and I separated. Not because I no longer love him but because love him too much do I. Waiting alone for his safe return, always expecting never to see him again. That life is not for you."

"True. Which is why go with him must I."

Darluvla tried to smile as she wiped away a tear. "Believe me. Understand do I. Just being a mother am I."

Maglissa had to go, although her emotions were now in turmoil. "Leave soon do we."

They embraced, not knowing if this was the last time they would be together, then a kiss from Darluvla, her heart and head all over the place, as she watched her only child walk out the door.

The official driverless hova sensed Maglissa's approach and opened the door for her. Her mind had little awareness of the ride to the forest home where Drifta was waiting. The few days as the ship was being upgraded for the mission had given his body a chance to heal and most of the marks on his face from being beaten up had gone.

"I bet that was tough with your mother."

"Could have been worse. Progress on the mission?"

"Let's find out."

The joined Salashar and Grakos in their hidden communications room and they were watching the progress on their screens. They could see the ship in the huge hangar where it was being upgraded by a small army of engineers and technicians. Grakos and Salashar were trying to keep up with the many modifications as old parts of the ship were replaced with new.

"No idea what all this stuff is do we," admitted Grakos in a whisper.

Drifta said, "I'm sure Salashar will kick it into submission." Two technicians wheeled a huge unit towards the open cargo-hold. "I hope that's an instant beer maker."

Grakos' expression switched between one of confident confusion to a faraway look as he contemplated the incalculable value being added to his ship. In the slim chance of getting back in one piece, selling the ship would ensure a very comfortable retirement.

"Late tomorrow ready to go to back to Zelphon will we," said Salashar. "Time to eat proper food then rest should we."

Even using the splits this promised to be a long mission and none relished the prospect of endless ship's rations so it was their time to enjoy a relaxed but subdued evening in comfortable surroundings.

"Your mother give you grief did she?" asked Grakos, carving the mudvole roast.

"Quite understanding was she," said Maglissa, pouring the purple wine. "Her life with you caused her concern for me."

Salashar sliced the seedloaf for gravy mopping and distributed it. "Love for your father is one thing. Living with him another."

"I see a pattern here," said Drifta with a wry grin. He raised a goblet. "May we all live long and peaceful lives after all this."

They all joined in until the mood went quiet again.

"A shock for you, learning of your parents," said Grakos. "Okay are you?"

"Not sure what I expected," said Drifta. "I always wondered how come I ended up alone, thinking I had just been dumped. Now I understand she, Abigail, only thought of me as she was dying."

Maglissa asked, "Arion. Take that name will you?"

Drifta had considered that briefly, perhaps to honour his mother's memory, but had decided against it. "I thought about it, but I'll keep the name I've always known. Less complicated that way."

"Do something else in her honour should we," suggested Salashar. "A memory star?"

Memory stars were star-shaped monuments with the name of the remembered one carved in the centre and family and friends names engraved on the protruding spikes. Typically, there was no formal or religious ceremony for its unveiling but a simple gathering of loved ones to reflect on someone lost.

"She deserves that much," said Drifta. "When we come back."

"Of course," said Maglissa. The mission was more than enough for a crew to process, the unspecified unknown future was a step too far, but a hidden part of her wondered if she and Drifta indeed had a future. And was he thinking the same? Surely a couple sharing danger and living on such a knife edge would grow stronger together? But then this was one mission where survival was anything but assured.

### Chapter 53

They were once weak, beaten and without hope. Now at least they had hope. The slaves had their own coded language kept from the slave masters and they used this to pass along their plans. Over half a million wretched souls now had the chance of taking back their planet. None were old enough to know of a time without slaves and the history of how this had come to be was lost in time. All alive in the camps had been born into slavery, often bred like animals to supply a never ending demand for free labour to enrich the lives of those who set themselves up as the privileged society. Gotloskad Kor'olors and her brother, Parzandor Kor'olors, had known no other life but slavery, only daring to dream of freedom. In their camp was a core of leaders for separate cells of slaves. Of course having no official status or recognition amongst the slave masters, they made their own channels of communication. Five leaders met with the Kor'olors'.

Jalmortlov Mil'ferid had surprised everyone by surviving to be fifty-four years of age. The average life-expectancy of a slave was thirty-eight. Mil'ferid's body had few areas free from scars or marks from the dangerous work or the brutality of the slave masters. One act of defiance when he protected a child with his body from the electric lash had meant he had to be made an example of.

Suspended on four poles in the centre of the camp, a limb tethered at each pole his naked body had been smeared with the blood of the butchered child so that all through the night, insects and creatures were attracted to him.

This was considered the worst of all the tortures because it was the slowest death. Legend had it that

Mil'ferid hadn't screamed or cried out once, denying the satisfaction of the masters. Custom dictated that should the slave be alive in the morning, they would be released but this was not the intention for this defiant slave. Few ever survived even one night but Mil'ferid endured three nights. Small bites covered almost every inch of him, the pus-filled boils caused by stingers venom had the masters wondering how a body could live with so much toxin in its system. A frequent poking on his back with a masters electric lash from underneath to confirm if he was alive or not had the body twitching from the shocks.

It was with grudging respect that the slave masters cut him down and left his blood-covered body lying in the dirt so that the slaves could carry him away to care for him. He would die, the masters supposed, and soon be forgotten. A week later, he had walked unaided past the slave masters, saying nothing, his cold staring eyes warning them that one day, their day would come.

Mil'ferid's fingers held the syringe to catch the shaft of moonlight creeping through the hole in the roof. "Volox gave her life so we might have a chance with this. We have enough?"  
"The rest is well hidden," Parzandor Kor'olors assured him. Like his sister, he felt as if he was in the presence of someone who was more than a man. Not a big man with rippling muscles, but a small man aged by a life of constant physical depravation and pain. Small, crippled and older than any other slave, there was a light behind his brown eyes that inspired confidence, belief and hope.

"Then a path opens up for us. We select carefully so each injection counts. Then we goad the masters into putting as many of us as possible in the quarry as they have in the past. There they might give us all the virus, thinking it will kill us so viciously that the others will bow to their will. Then, instead of dying, we rise up and fight."

They all knew that simple slaughter of a few slaves as an example to the others would inevitably be ordered, but then hopefully, they would be herded into the old quarry to be infected and contained to die together, or at least the slave masters would assume. Then, the many slaves in other camps would make up their numbers in the mines.

"Death is a release," said Gotloskad Kor'olors softly. "Some will die that the rest of us will go on to live." She took her brother's hand. "We live to fight or die trying."

The scar-covered hand of Mil'ferid was placed on theirs. "We fight or die trying," said Mil'ferid. "There is more you need to know. Listen carefully."

And plans were made.

### Chapter 54

It was very low key for a mission of such importance. The ship was ready and on the pad to take off. Principal Domtavora slapped hands with all the crew as did Marshal Zaxtormon.

"I should say impressive words at this time," said Domtavora. "I have none. Just to say the future probably rests with you and what happens next. Good luck."

Marshal Zaxtormon, as pragmatic as ever, said, "Partly to keep this mission out of the hands of certain people, the details of this plan are confined to your ship's computer and you have time enough to study those on your journey to Mars. Feel free to adapt and modify as circumstances dictate. Good luck."

"Ready to go now are we," said Captain Grakosdrak.

"Thanks for everything," said Drifta.

"No. Thank you," said Domtavora. "On behalf of all of us."

"Not on my behalf," said a breathless voice of a portly middle-aged man followed by three cohorts.

"Councillor Covestrom," said Domtavora.

"Oh, now you remember there are others making important policy decisions in the Alliance Council. How dare you take such autonomous actions unilaterally. Stop this mission immediately!"

Grakos wasn't having any of that. "A private ship is this. My ship. Taking off are we."

"The ship may be yours but the mission has been sanctioned by Principal Domtavora and backed illegally by Marshal Zaxtormon. I demand..."

"You demand nothing," said Zaxtormon. "Leave now or I will have you arrested for being on a launch-pad without authorisation."

"How...how dare you. Do I have to remind you who I am?"

"Sadly, no."

"Again I demand this mission is halted until the Council has a full and informed debate."

Zaxtormon signalled for a squad of his officers to come over. "These Councillors require safe escort to the exits."

Stun weapons were drawn and the three Councillors turned and hurried away, but not before Councillor Covestrom repeated his unveiled threats at the principal.

"Zax," said Domtavora, watching Covestrom being escorted away. "I'm ready to retire anyway. No need to destroy your career for this."

"That ship has sailed. And this ship should also be sailing space."

"Go, you four," said the Principal. "Leave the politics to me."

Final hand slaps all round and the crew boarded the ship. They had to take off before Councillor Covestrom returned with forces of his own. The ship was counted down and was soon heading out into deep space.

* * *

Domtavora had hardly settled in his office chair when the message come through for him to attend an emergency council meeting. This was expected. Covestrom had waited for years for a way to unseat Domtavora and this was an opportunity too good to miss. Domtavora took the elevator down to level two, the debating chambers. As Principal, Domtavora had the seat at the centre platform, slightly elevated and capable of turning to face any councillor.

There came a dark silence as he strode solemnly to the platform, forgoing his customary wave of acknowledgement to all those around him except to the Chambers Chief Tolpwaslo who sat apart in her gallery position, neutral and unbiased. As per custom, she gracefully invited the Principal to take his place. Domtavora sat, his eyes and full attention on Councillor Covestrom who had surrounded himself, as always, with like-minded Councillors who were trying to rise to greater prominence by riding on the tail of the outspoken and well-connected Covestrom.

Domtavora said, "You have urgent matters to debate with this chamber, Councillor Covestrom?"

Covestrom left his chair and circled the platform, nodding smugly at the hastily convened meeting. Half the seats were empty, impossible to arrange for the Councillors on the furthest Alliance planets to make it on time and who were there by video link on the ring of screens above the seated Councillors. Communication through compressed signals were faster than light but there were till time lags. They had already made token support for either Covestrom or Domtavora.

"Councillors," boomed Covestrom. "Rumours have been rife for weeks regarding some clandestine mission. Unbelievably..." He paused for maximum impact then repeated it. "Unbelievably, it is none other than our celebrated Principal who is responsible for and the instigator of this mission."

The expected rumblings reverberated through the chamber, the Chief calling for and getting order.

"Principal. Continue."

"Chief. First, my sincere and humble apologies to the Chamber. I fully understand the annoyance and concern of my fellow Councillors. However, the mission, which I shall explain in detail here and now, had to be initiated in absolute secrecy for very good reasons."

"Then please share those reasons now, Principal."

"Of course. However, before I do so, there is something of vital importance to be revealed beforehand." He held a comdisc towards the Chief who sent a drone down to collect it.

The Chief held the disc for all to see. "And this is?"

"Evidence, Chief."

"Very well."

The Chief passed it to her aid who placed the comdisc onto a reader. The voice of Regal Melnovlor Lum'mitwox could be heard clearly. "Is that...the Regal of Jorgon?"

"Yes, Chief. Please auto verify."

The Chief did this and the electronic voice from the reader said, "Voice verified against archive records as Regal Melnovlor Lum'mitwox."

"What trickery is this?" bellowed Covestrom, standing and pointing at Domtavora.

The Chief said, "Further outbursts and you will be removed from the chamber."

Covestrom sat.

Domtavora's slight smile gave little away. "Feeling a little anxious, Councillor Covestrom? Chief. Please play the disc."

The recording was played in its entirety from the moment Drifta had placed the recorder onto the Regal's shoulder until it was discovered later. The Councillors sat in horror as they heard the various conversations the Regal had with Commander Gos'krikun and others. Each voice was verified by the auto reader. It was almost the very end of the recording that had every councillor on their feet, all except Domtavora who remained seated and silent. It took some time for the Chief to bring the Chamber to order. Once calm, the Chief played that final damning part again. It was an exchange between Commander Gos'krikun and the Regal, discussing how an Alliance Councillor had secretly helped the Jorgonians with access to Alliance technology with promises of becoming a member of the Regal's powerful inner circle, ruling the Alliance, Jorgon and, ultimately, Earth. Covestrom was named as that treacherous Councillor.

All eyes were on Covestrom who decided to flee the Chamber, but as he was about to do so, Marshal Zaxtormon who had been waiting for this moment, entered with a squad of twenty officers.

"Councillor Covestrom. I arrest you with the charge of high treason. You will be incarcerated until your trial by your peers."

Surrounded by the Enforcers, Covestrom was marched away by ten officers, Marshal Zaxtormon and ten officers remaining.

Zaxtormon faced the Chief. "Chief of Chambers. It is highly likely there are other Councillors present who have colluded with Covestrom. Our painless but effective interrogation techniques will quickly reveal those individuals. So that this Chamber can debate in confidence, I now call for anyone who has knowingly conspired with Covestrom to do the honourable thing and admit it now." Nobody moved. "Believe me. It will be far worse for anyone not coming now but is then subsequently found complicit later."

Two men and one woman with their heads bowed low offered themselves up for arrest. As they were marched away, two screens of faraway Councillors went blank as they gave themselves up to their own Enforcers. The Chief, obviously coming to terms with events, called for a one-hour recess and the Chamber emptied.

When the Alliance Council reconvened in the Chamber, the Chief handed the floor over to Domtavora.

"It is still entirely possible one or more Councillors allied to Covestrom and the Regal of Jorgon are still among us. I honestly have no idea. So, for the time being I will give you the background to the mission but omit a few key facts and details until we are sure we can all be trusted. First, allow me to tell you about a remarkable young man called Drifta and why he is so pivotal to the future of the Alliance."

With little interruption, Domtavora told them how he had met Drifta and of his exploits. There came an acceptance and understanding of why Domtavora along with Zaxtormon had acted the way they had.

"Principal," called a Councillor. "For absolute clarity, this Drifta and his crew are heading for Earth?"

"Hmm. Not exactly. But if things go according to plan, they will be meeting Earth humans. Sorry to be so vague, but with our security issues, I hope you understand." Although naturally uneasy with that answer, they respected and trusted Domtavora to have the best interest of the Alliance at heart. "Chief of Chambers. I can say no more at this time."

"Very well. I formally request a private meeting with you after this. To all other Councillors, please return to your normal duties and I am sure I do not need to remind you not to discuss or repeat anything you have heard here today with any of the general public. When it becomes safe to do so, the public will be fully informed and prepared for all eventualities. Chambers dismissed."

Domtavora waited patiently for the Chambers to empty and the screens to be turned off then he sat with the Chief. She raised a neatly groomed eyebrow and wagged a finger at him.

Chief Tolpwaslo said, "Not good, Dom. For goodness sake why did you not tell me of all this before now?"

"Sorry, Tol old friend. This was the only way."

"Very well. I do know you have suspected for some time some diabolic plan of the Regal. You even hinted to me that there may be someone we couldn't trust in the Chamber."

"Mostly suspicions without proof. Marshal Zaxtormon and I have done all we can to prepare the Alliance to deal with it."

Tolpwaslo nodded. "You have both done well under such constraints. Perhaps at least some informal progress reports between just you and I?"

"Agreed."

"This Drifta?"

"Driftaxol. He is Earth human. Ah, don't ask. Just take my word for that."

Tol smiled and squeezed his hand. "In the fifty years we have known each other, you have never lied to me. You have a lot of respect for this Drifta."

"He really is special. The son we never had, had we been so blessed."

In another lifetime they had been lovers. Although no longer together, they remained great friends.

"Really? High praise indeed. I look forward to meeting him."

"Tol. Drifta and his crew are extremely capable but surviving this mission I fear is highly improbable."

"If they aren't successful, the Alliance has no army or fleet of military ships. Just a few armed Enforcer ships. If the Jorgonians have been building battleships and they combine with the warlike Earth humans, we have little to fight them with."

Domtavora said, "The Alliance people are only human, but we are a peaceful people. We have never had the need to waste creds on pointless weapons or forces. That and the way we have ensured our people have the very best of lives could now be our weakness. Marshal Zaxtormon and our engineers have been upgrading the firepower of the Enforcers fleet. Unfortunately, I doubt that would be enough to fight off the Jorgonians if they succeed in persuading the Earth humans to join them."

Tolpwaslo said, "But now we all know, surely we can step up the arming of the Alliance?"

"We shall do that, of course, but I think it would be too little, too late. Perhaps we can repel the Jorgonians alone, but we know what the Earth humans are like. Our best hope is for Drifta to convince Earth to stay out of it."

### Chapter 55

Even during something as incredible as travelling through the splits at speeds far in excess of light, there were moments of tedium. The ship still had to be maintained, cleaned, food prepared, sleep, shifts to monitor the computers, and generally living, but there came a time when chores were done and the "boring bits" could be left to the computers.

"Three days to go," said Drifta.

Maglissa slapped his shoulder. "Ten times this hour already said that have you."

"Sorry. I just wish, oh, I don't know, I wish there was more we could be doing to prepare."

Salashar said, "Only wait can we. Domtavora should have told the Council of our plans by now. How _that_ went wonder I."

"Hmm. Politicians," grunted Grakos, contemplating the last slice of fruit pie on the table. "Forgotten about soon shall be we."

Drifta thought differently. "I like Domtavora. He'll do all he can for us."

Maglissa changed the subject. "Those on Jorgon. Tell us."

Drifta had been too preoccupied to tell of his experience on that awful planet but that hadn't stopped him thinking about his brief time there. "Around this table and around the Alliance, we are all the same. Some wealthier than others, but that's not a problem to us. In every other aspect we are all equal. On Jorgon that is far from so. They have five strict levels of society, most being born into their levels. Most of the slaves are born slaves, bred for work in the most brutal conditions. The two I met in the forest were my age, but the work and beatings made them look much older. They were being hunted like wild animals by slave masters who inflicted horrendous torture on one right in front of me. Those slave masters weren't interested in capturing the runaways, but to use their dominant position to inflict yet more pain on their victims. I have no doubt the Regal and his peers wish to inflict this barbarism on all the Alliance."

Grakos thumped the table. "Hate bullies do I. Alliance should wipe out the Regal and his slave masters."

"Perhaps," said Drifta. "I suspect Domtavora thinks the Alliance Enforcers are no match for the Jorgonians. Certainly the Jorgonians couldn't be matched with their brutality."

Salashar waved her hands at the inside of the ship and said, "Alliance technology for space travel is better than Jorgonians. But better Jorgonian weapons on the ground and even in fewer ships would wipe us out. Our role is to prevent Jorgonians recruiting Earth humans. At any costs."

Grakos pointed at Drifta and said, "Human, yes. Earth human you are not, think I."

"My D N A says otherwise."

"D N A," snorted Grakos. "Regardless, one of _us_ are you. Alliance. Always remember that, you."

Drifta replied, "I am Alliance, true. But also I am Earth human. I have to believe the Earth humans are better than their reputation."

Grakos stood to take a shift on his flight-deck. "What _I_ know of their reputation, do not turn your back on an Earth human you."

With that dire warning ringing in Drifta's ears, Grakos was out the door.

### Chapter 56

"Commander Gos'krikun. Progress?"

"Excellency. Progress is good in parts, less in others. We have three ships armed and capable of split travel. Nine more close to completion."

"Hmm. That sounds very much like the good. The less good?"

"Communication, Excellency. Councillor Covestrom failed to communicate with us as scheduled. This disturbs me."

"Failed? Failed as in broken systems or failed because something happened to him?"

Gos'krikun replied, "The systems checked out as working. I suspect Domtavora and his officer Marshal Zaxtormon thwarted our lines of communication. That disc Drifta put on your shoulder could have warned them."

"No question about it, Gos'krikun." The Regal shrugged with indifference. "Soon our fleet will be too strong for anything the Alliance have. Probably. But probably isn't good enough. We need to forge our own alliance with Earth. Take the three ships and destroy anything or anyone standing in our way. You must be our ambassador with these Earth humans and explain to them the benefits of joining us."

"And if they refuse?"

A cruel smile fanned the Regal's lips. "If not swayed by words then you must be a little more persuasive. Destroy a major city or two. They will listen to you then."

"That would certainly get their attention, Excellency. I will lead the three ships tomorrow." Gos'krikun turned to leave, but halted in his stride. "Ah! One more thing, Excellency. Probably nothing to concern us."

"Well?"

"The slaves, Excellency. They are planning something."

The Regal shook his head in despair. "Slaves are always planning something. You know of something specific?"

"Just rumblings, but louder than usual. Jalmortlov Mil'ferid has been seen to be more active than usual."

"Mil'ferid? He's still alive?"

"Some say he is indestructible. Beyond death. He still works the mines but now he has an attitude about him."

"Then interrogate him."

"Pointless, Excellency. He will die before revealing his plans."

The Regal paced the floor. "Mil'ferid is an old man who has forgotten how to die. But don't hesitate in reminding him should he become annoying. You just concentrate in Earth and what is at stake. And remember. I see _you_ as an important player in forging the Jorgonian empire. That is your incentive."

This was not just about him, Gos'krikun understood. His whole family for generations to come would be elevated beyond anything he previously thought possible. He saluted the Regal and marched confidently out of the room.

### Chapter 57

Jalmortlov Mil'ferid, despite his age and poor health, had worked from dawn till dusk in the mine, his skin caked with the sickly yellow dust that choked his lungs. It was his defiance that got him through each day, knowing the glint in his eyes as he stared at the slave masters guarding the mine entrance made their blood run cold. He hardly had the strength to walk, but he did walk with his bony chest puffed out and his head held high. They had done all they could to break his spirit and failed.

Outside the mine, the others straggling behind him, Mil'ferid was close to collapse but he was determined to reach the hut away from the eyes of the slave masters. Shuffling towards the mine to take their place were more slaves. They had the stench of death surrounding them, the hope gone from their hearts. Slower ones were encouraged by the power whips, the slave masters knowing where to cause most pain without impairing their ability to work.

Behind Mil'ferid came a commotion. Turning he saw a slave on the ground, unable to stand. A slave master whipped him to make him get to his feet, but all the broken slave could do was to try to crawl away, the master whipping him without mercy. Another slave pushed the master away and reached down to help the fallen man only to feel the whips on his own body, the stench of burning flesh filling the air. Other slaves looked about to rebel when three masters turned up the power on their whips to kill and rammed the tips onto both slaves. They screamed, twitched and died. The other slaves stood back with the fight in them quelled.

A master barked orders and six slaves picked up the dead men and carried them to a small pile of dead bodies. Only five bodies which was an average toll for a single day. They would be carted away to be burned later. To Mil'ferid this was just another day and he walked on to the hut he had lived in most of his life. Sixteen slaves shared the small hut, most lying on filthy bedding. Gotloskad Kor'olors and her brother Parzandor Kor'olors were also there, dishing up the poor rations into three bowls. Mil'ferid sat and broke the mould off stale bread and dipped the rest into the weak broth. The Kor'olors did the same.

"We have news," whispered Gotloskad. "Commander Gos'krikun is going into space. There are three ships, each with a crew of seven with some very senior officers. That weakens their command numbers here."

Parzandor added, "Now is our time, Jal."

"And the distribution of the antidote?" asked Mil'ferid, softly, trying to force the images of the brutality he'd just witnessed out of his head.

"Another two days to reach the outer camps in the east," said Gotloskad. "I just wish the hundreds of thousands of slaves in the far-off cities could join us."

Mil'ferid finished his meal, wiping the bowl with the last of the bread. "This city is the heart of our planet. If we can take this with the numbers we have available, the others will then be able to join us later to secure the freedom of all." The old man sighed, staring at the empty bowl as if it were some magic chalice about to reveal the outcome of the fight to come but he needed no chalice to predict some of it. "Many will suffer. Some will die."

Parzandor glanced at his sister and said, "So we die. That's a release from this life. If we die, we shall die fighting."

Mil'ferid said, "We wait two days so all the antidote is used. Then we begin our act of defiance. All this depends on us being corralled in the old quarry to be injected with the virus as they usually do when a rebellion has many slaves. They will leave us to die a slow death. That's when we strike."

It was time for the Kor'olors to go off to the machine workshops. "We shall spread the word," said Parzandor. He placed his hand on Mil'ferid's shoulder. "We shall taste freedom at last."

With them gone, Mil'ferid washed off as much of the yellow dust that he could, the tiny white mark of the antivirus injector visible on his arm. "Freedom at last. Hmm."

He collapsed on his bedding and dreamed of freedom.

### 

### Chapter 58

The cargo hold of the ship had tested the engineers and technicians to their absolute limits. The brief of the mission and the size of the hold resulted in bespoke one-off answers to challenging problems. The shuttle was a highly adapted from already available vehicles and equipment. Such a tight fit was it that there was hardly room for three to squeeze their way around it, Salashar staying on the flight-deck for the final manoeuvrers.

"Go to the mine in this, you," said Grakos. "Use anything in the mine but what is in here will sustain you."

Drifta had studied what he could, but once on Mars was where the added technology would mostly be revealed. Once out of the split, any radio transmissions could be picked up and listened to by anyone seeking them. Therefore no further communication would be attempted unless it was a life or death situation. The shuttle controls were as basic as possible and Drifta had sat in the cramped cockpit memorising each control position and function with his eyes closed. Maglissa had tested him on it until he was faultless.

At the rear of the two seat cockpit, was all they needed for a month's stay on Mars. Using the lava mine tunnel which Drifta was already familiar with for shelter, and the oxygen generators already permanently in place, they would want for nothing. The shuttle was packed with food rations and some technical equipment to enhance and upgrade what was already there.

It was time to go. The voice of Salashar counted them down, Maglissa hugged and kissed her father, who would be out in space with Mars between the ship and Earth to avoid detection. A tiny but powerful satellite would also be released from the ship which would link up with the computers in the tunnel.

After final farewells, Grakos returned to the flight-deck, sealing the cargo-hold prior to releasing the shuttle. Fully suited, Drifta and Maglissa were ready to go. Drifta concentrated on the controls and the countdown. Salashar opened the cargo-hold and the shuttle dropped from the ship.

### Chapter 59

Slave master commander Dosklusar Gar'jivtal was perfect for her job and loved doing it. It suited her cruel, domineering nature. To her, the slaves were useful animals, the slave masters not much better. The three slave masters in front of her were tolerated as long as they ran the various slave camps efficiently. The mines, agriculture, building divisions and other lesser divisions had their own hierarchy of slave masters. The three masters in front of her were under Gar'jivtal's direct command but only involved her in the most important issues. The fact three had descended on her office meant something heavy was going down.

Utu'frimsu was the most senior of the three and Gar'jivtal pointed at him. "So?"

"A complete down tools, Commander Gar'jivtal. Not one slave ready to work."

"So, kill a few. Painfully. The weakest of course."

The three slave masters glanced sheepishly at each other, then as two studied their own feet, Utu'frimsu was naturally the one to speak up for them. He said, "We butchered six. De-limbing."

It was one of the worst ways slaves met their demise. Each leg and arm was sliced off, cauterised enough to stem most but not all blood loss, the remainder of the body still alive but left to die slowly in full view of the others.

Gar'jivtal had been the inventor of this brutality, used to make an impression on slaves and slave masters alike, when she had been appointed commander of slave masters. As a particularly inventive touch, she had forced the two butchered slaves to race by crawling on the ground on their bellies using the stumps of their limbs. By wielding the power whips to make them move, the slaves crawled a hundred yards leaving trails of blood in the dirt, until the last of their strength faded and they had drifted into the blessed relief of death.

This gory spectacle had been witnessed by thousands of slaves. The very threat of this torture was enough to ensure total obedience. Six slaves killed in this way in one go was unheard of.

"Six?" Gar'jivtal tried to get her head around that. "And still the slaves won't work?"

"Not one of them, sir."

This is why they had come to see Gar'jivtal. Killing six slaves would usually just be extra paperwork and the physical loss would raise no comments or concerns. But this time the slaughter of six slaves hadn't achieved the desired result and the slave masters knew the reckless killing of more would have them in trouble.

"There must be a ringleader," said Gar'jivtal.

"Mil'ferid is the obvious choice. We have been hearing rumours for some time but we know of nothing specific. We could torture him if you so wish?"

"And make a martyr of him? This is why I've not had him killed before now. No. This needs something that sends a clear message to the slaves. Leave this with me. Utu'frimsu. Report back to me at noon."

With the three slave masters gone, Gar'jivtal paced the floor of her office, her mind a whirl with possible answers to the dilemma. Something drastic was required and after wrestling with the problem, she came to one conclusion. Hating having to do so, she called Regal Melnovlor Lum'mitwox who predictably was not pleased to be receive her call.

The Regal could really only blame his own obsession with control. His and the privileged society relied heavily on the free hard labour of the slaves for the lavish lifestyle they enjoyed and slavery was also an efficient means of controlling all who were a threat to him. He had insisted on being informed of any major issues but that didn't mean he wasn't annoyed having his morning disturbed.

"This is why _you_ are commander of slave masters. Deal with it."

"Excellency. What I propose is unprecedented. It will result in the loss of a good many slaves."

The Regal scoffed. "Seems to me with no slaves working we have lost them already. Very well. We have a half million slaves in various camps including on our moon. We can lose a couple of thousand here if it restores order, then replace them later. Leave the children and pregnant slaves out of this, from the rest take two thousand and use the virus on them. Keep them confined to one area and let the virus kill them. Make sure only immunised slave masters have limited access to the slaves infected, nobody else. Also, ensure the other slaves are aware of what we are doing. And this is literally on _your_ head. You had better make damn sure that there is no way of spreading the virus to the free people outside the area."

"All free citizens have been immunised, Excellency."

"The virus could still possibly mutate. Preventing it spreading to the rest of us is your priority."

"We shall use the old quarry as we have done before, Excellency."

"Very well. Update me at the end of today. Now go do your job."

"Yes, Excellency."

### Chapter 60

The short flight to the surface of Mars was smooth and uneventful. A fifty-mile-per hour storm bellowed up the sand but was of no danger to the shuttle's landing due to the negligible atmosphere on the small planet, negating any real weather punch. Less than a mile from their destination, the eight small inbuilt wheels lowered from their housings and lifted the shuttle off the soft Martian sand.

"To our right," said Maglissa, reading the screen on the dashboard.

Drifta weaved the vehicle around the rocks and dips to the entrance of the lava tunnel mine he knew so well. Maglissa touched the control sensor that opened the disguised entrance. It was so constructed that anyone from Earth would have to inspect it closely to discover what it really was and not just a part of the exterior surface. A smaller airlock door was built into the entrance but the intention was to drive the vehicle inside the mine. The entrance was large enough for an Alliance mining ship to enter. Once inside the airlock, the entrance sealed them inside. Drifta operated the inner door and they entered, sealing themselves in so they could soon remove their helmets. They took the shuttle another two hundred yards and parked next to the mine's operating and environment control centre. Drifta switched the centre from standby mode to complete operating mode and sensors lit up.

"These work lights and air. Everything is backed up and duplicated. It all seems to be working. We should have breathable air in about seven minutes."

"And worked here did you?"

"Along the natural lava tube are the actual entrances to the mines. The semi-processed marsillion was brought up here for transporting to Alliance planets for further refining."

Maglissa had a laypersons knowledge of marsillion and its uses, particularly its application as a surface coating on space ships which extended the life of the shell and protected it from small space debris and atmosphere on re-entry for landings. Mars wasn't the only planet with this mineral but it was the first one to be mined in any quantity and it gave its name to the mineral wherever it was extracted.

The control centre told them it was safe to remove their helmets.

Once the helmets were off, Drifta said, "It's customary to kiss when a couple goes to a planet for the first time together."

They hugged and kissed, then Maglissa said, "Like that custom do I. But now work."

"We need to get the shuttle emptied and technical stuff sorted out. We'll have rations over there and equipment here next to the control centre. Some of it connects up to the centre."

It took a little more than one hour to organise everything and they rested with light refreshments once it was done.

"Now we find out what Principal Domtavora has planned for us," said Drifta, bringing the powerful computer they had been issued with to life. The holographic image of Domtavora stood almost life-sized in front of them.

"Well done for getting this far. For security reasons all what you are about to learn could only be accessed here and now. By now a small satellite has been launched by Salashar who has landed on Demos, one of the two moons of Mars. The satellite will operate for just five hours then will shut down. You will be able to access computers on Earth and learn much about the people, far more than we already know."

"At the end of your study period, you must decide on the next stage. To take the ship to Earth and, somehow, persuade the Earth leaders not to join the Jorgonians in their evil plans. I have serious doubts this will happen. But if you think...if there is any possibility, you must try to make this happen. If it is a lost cause, simply return. One last thing. There is a final message at the end of this recording of something I know will be of particular interest. As tempting as it will be to see that first, don't. You need to do the preliminary research on Earth humans prior to that."

"Drifta. You naturally want to be amongst your own kind. If it were just you, I'd say try it regardless. But you are not on your own. You will need the ship to get to Earth which means the lives of Maglissa, Grakosdrak and Salashar depend on the decisions you will be making. Don't forget that. You two are the future and much rests on your young shoulders. I couldn't think of any people more suited or capable than you four. Good luck. Now, study."

Domtavora's image vanished.

"Heard the man, you. Study must we."

Drifta's finger hovered over the sensor that would teach them all they needed to know, the good and the bad. Was he about to face the biggest disappointment of his life?

Maglissa pushed his hand away and pressed the sensor.

### Chapter 61

Only one place was suitable to hold two thousand slaves for maximum publicity and impact. The quarry on the edge of Qwalaris, the capital city of Jorgon. There were many other smaller towns and cities, but Qwalaris was considered the power hub of the planet. The Regalis, or castle, was itself a small village within the city and most of the Regal's staff lived there in comfort, wanting for nothing, some having domestics of their own. No slaves were allowed inside the walls of Qwalaris, those lowest of the low merely bodies to give their lives to the most brutal work. Those with everything gave little thought to those with less than nothing. As long as they wore the finest clothes, ate the finest foods and drank the finest wines, they gave no consideration for the ruined lives given up to produce it all. That said, the word quickly spread about the event. For many hundreds of thousands who could get away from their own duties, the event was a unique experience that would surely become a part of Jorgonian folklore, not to be missed.

The quarry itself was off limits to all but the slave masters and a few carefully selected media folk. At a safe distance, the media recorded and transmitted the slaves being herded into the quarry, prodded by the slave masters through several temporary stations where armed masters injected each slave with the virus. No slave resisted, complacently offering up their arms then being kicked and pushed along where more masters randomly used the power whips to move the slaves over the lip of the vast quarry, many of them previously excavating from it over the years.

The slopes were long and steep, some slaves losing their footing as their bare feet slipped on the loose shale. There was a huge deep pool at the bottom where rainwater collected so the slaves at least wouldn't go thirsty. They had no clothing or food and could only lay down in the black sludge all around the pool. Jeering at them from above were the slave masters, all wearing breathing masks even though they had all been inoculated with the antidote. Slave master commander Gar'jivtal wanted to show the Regal she was taking all precautions. The media was similarly protected and had recorded the naked slaves waiting to die. They had been stripped of their filthy rags to further their humiliation.

One reporter had stepped away to a safe zone where she could remove her mask to give her report.

"...and the slaves offered no resistance as they were injected with the lethal virus which is designed to cause a slow and painful death. Internal organs will gradually shut down. Here is archive recordings of slaves facing similar deaths from the same virus. Note the blistering skin and the weeping sores. Hair usually falls out in the last hour before death. Soon the screams of excruciating pain from two thousand slaves will echo off the walls of this disused quarry and by tomorrow morning all are expected to be dead. The plan is to bury all of them, dead or alive, by collapsing the quarry walls onto the bodies. Will this be sufficient to end the rebellion? If not, are there plans to repeat this mass execution with hundreds more, perhaps thousands more? This is the question we all...."

Nightfall came and it was almost impossible to make out individuals covered in the sludge. The media had gone and because the slaves were supposed to be too weak to move, let alone clamber up the slopes, some masters had left for food and sleep, those still on duty were wrapped up in blankets by roaring fires, most fast asleep.

When the last of the silhouettes of the masters had gone, it was time to put the plan into action. Slowly, so slowly, using the cold black sludge to hide their bodies, the men and women forced their pain from their minds and rose up. Mil'ferid was not with them, knowing he would not be martyred. That hadn't prevented this brave, brilliant man from developing the plan. With the plan, fairly simple as most good plans essentially are, it still depended on a degree of luck. He had reasoned that they were long overdue a measure of good fortune. Using their secret code, they had communicated amongst themselves, passing the plan throughout all the slave camps.

Mil'ferid had reasoned that the masters would use the virus and the quarry. The Regal's faith in the virus being effective as it had been in the past was the best way to end the rebellion. No master knew the quarry as well as the slaves who had broken their backs excavating from it. Tunnels had been dug by hand that no master even suspected existed. The strongest slaves, with women included in their numbers, crept low to the ground to one such tunnel. The others started crying with the pain of the "virus" they were _supposed_ to have, their cries being sweet music to the masters above them.

Using bare hands, the shale between two solid clefts of rock was dug away, just enough for slaves to crawl through into the secret tunnel. The first hundred yards was hard going in total darkness but they crawled on until they reached the underground chamber. Suddenly, they could see. The walls of the chamber glowed with a natural luminescence and once their eyes became accustomed to it, it was as good as seeing by the light of a full moon. Not all of the six hundred and twenty seven of the strongest could stand in the chamber, the others having to wait back in the tunnel. The remainder of the two thousand stayed by the pool to fool the masters high above them.

"Mil'ferid was right, Parzandor, " said Gotloskad Kor'olors. "This is just as he told us, my brother."

"Then the old tools should be...here they are. Buried under this ledge." Parzandor picked up the heavy metal head from a broken pick. "Perfect for rearranging a master's head."

"Against the masters weapons?" said a man staring at the rusting tools.

"Oh, Koy'lisag," said Gotloskad, softly. "Not concerned about a little thing like being killed are you?"

Koy'lisag picked up a useful looking hammer. "Not if I can take a few masters with me," he replied laughing.

Parzandor said, "Mil'ferid told us that this had been hidden here for just this opportunity one day. Even most of the slaves who did this are long gone, but Mil'ferid remembered. The idea had been for as many as possible to hide in here, seal off the tunnel we came through then attack the masters."

Koy'lisag said, "I bet not even Mil'ferid imagined in his wildest dreams so many would one day be standing here."

They counted out seventy four crude weapons which were distributed to the strongest who could wield them.

"There is another tunnel that leads to the woods," said Gotloskad. "With luck it hasn't collapsed. There should be a pillar of rock over there. Yes, here it is."

"The entrance has given way," said Koy'lisag. "Stand aside."

It took them an hour of careful digging between them to clear the fallen rock and dirt but at last they came to the second tunnel.

Parzandor said, "No talking when we are in the forest but here we can. Only those with weapons attack the masters, and we take their weapons. Then the others must charge together. Are we prepared to die for our freedom?"

Koy'lisag shrugged and said, "Personally, I would rather live for my freedom but if I die, so be it."

"Then let us take back our planet," said Parzandor as he disappeared into the tunnel.

### Chapter 62

The tiny but powerful probing satellite just outside Mars' weak atmosphere yielded results about Earth that mesmerised Maglissa and Drifta.

"Such a beautiful planet," said Maglissa. "So much like home."

"Until you scratch below the surface. The oceans are dying from pollution."

"They're trying to repair them," said Maglissa. "Too late think I."

"And their air. Not sure I'd want to be breathing that."

Maglissa was confused by such a once pristine planet now in such terrible condition. "Natural disasters?"

Drifta called up the statistics. "This must be a mistake. A population of nine billion people?"

Maglissa was as capable as Drifta with computers, so she tried. "No mistake. That is...three times the entire population of the seven Alliance planets."

"We learned long ago that sustainable populations meant sustainable planets. Where is all this pollution coming from?"

Maglissa explored the Earth humans use of energy. "Most vehicles are as our own, powered by energy from suns. But for many years they used fossil fuel for much of their energy."

"Didn't they think about their climate?"

"Eventually but too late, think I."

Drifta said, "And their polluted ocean and sea levels rose. Even I know that was compounding the problems."

Maglissa grasped Drifta's hand. "Restore their planet's health can we."

Drifta considered this. "Perhaps. Our technology can certainly help with that. What I don't understand is that although they are a couple of centuries behind us, they are still intelligent and creative people and they can be doing so much more themselves to put things right."

"Cooperation that would need." She called up more stats. "This is..."

"Insane? They have enough weapons to destroy Earth many times over. That's if they decided to do it quickly instead of simply torturing the planet to death."

The Alliance used resources wisely, only enforcers having ships with weapons, more a token gesture to control the pirates using the space-lanes and for the unlikely attack from a race outside the Alliance, possibly including Jorgon. Most cargo ships had plasm cannons to blast away any threatening space rock. Unlike Jorgon, nobody alive could remember a time weapons were turned on their own people. Not making unnecessary investment in weapons meant that wealth was spent on infrastructure and the well-being of all people of the Alliance. Medical science and genetics reduced the possibility of people being born with disabilities. The tiny percentage who were or became disabled through accident, were looked after if they couldn't support themselves. Everything was done to ensure they were a full part of society and had every help they needed or wanted. As for Earth, it was obvious for the most part that life was still a struggle for anyone afflicted, especially in poorer countries.

Drifta said, "They just need to stop wasting time and energy on war and concentrate on fixing the planet."

"Fighting each other for what, do they?"

"Has it always been this way? We have to look at their history. Here's something interesting."

What they saw was a graphic and bloody battle scene.

"Happening now is that?"

"No. It's some kind of re-creation. People acting out the action as they think it actually happened."

Maglissa jerked back in horror as a man took another man's head off with an axe, blood gushing everywhere. "That just happened?"

Even Drifta felt queasy. "Just clever affects," he said hoping he was right. "I guess they made things like this for amusement."

"And amusement is this?"

"No, Mag. That is actual war. All Earth was involved in a global conflict. Two such wars in the previous century. Many millions died in those. And this is how they ended the second one."

They watched as two huge bombs were dropped on Japan. Two atomic bombs."

That stunned Maglissa into silence for a moment then she said, "So why did they fight? Why hate each other so much?"

Drifta tried to understand this, his research coming to one conclusion. "Racial superiority, I think. One race believing the other races or people were somehow inferior. Much like the Jorgonians. This is what they did on Earth to one race who were from a different religion." They saw the concentration camps and gas chambers. "This is earlier with slavery. Whites enslaving blacks."

Maglissa's skin wasn't black, but like most native to her planet, it was darker than most in the Alliance. Drifta had naturally pale skin and she was dark indeed compared to him. Like the two of them, those on the seven Alliance planets celebrated their differences knowing it was pointless to have conflict over skin colour.

Drifta found other Earth conflicts after the world wars. "This says it was about a god. Some superior being and creator."

Maglissa said, "They killed each other because they believed in different gods?"

"I think so. Oh. That can't be right. They worshipped the same god. They just had different ideas about it."

"Our history once had this think I."

"Some Alliance people still believe the universe is too wonderful to have just happened. Daynigh was widely thought of as our creator. By Alliance law we can believe whatever we want but we must believe in private, not use it as organised religion."

Maglissa had seen enough and turned away from the bloodshedding. She sat away from the computer, her head in her hands, so upset she was crying. Drifta turned off the computer and went over to her to comfort her, but she pushed him away.

"Don't touch me, you."

"Mag?"

She stood and pointed at the computer. "Earth human like...like those people are you. Keep away from me." She stormed off along the lava tunnel, needing time to think and clear her mind.

Drifta stood watching her walk away from him, hurting inside but having witnessed two hours of horror, he understood her confusion.

Maglissa had never felt such a mix of confusion. She saw Drifta's handsome face, all distorted with hate as he swung the axe to decapitate a fellow human. An Earth human like him. Like him? Really? She had never met anyone like him either in the way he looked or the way he was. So quiet in his way, calm and gentle. He made her smile, made her laugh. Then there were those sensual times when his kisses and his touch drove her over the edge into another world of physical pleasure when they became as one. How could she even think for an instant he was anything like those barbarians on Earth? He hadn't even been born amongst those insane people. But couldn't this insanity be in his blood, in his D N A, waiting to suddenly erupt?

She came to a shaft in the natural lava tunnel, leading down to the first mine dug by Alliance miners. She stood on the entrance to it, imagining the sweating miners working hard to excavate the marsillion ore. She saw the ghosts of miners as they worked, heard the machinery and their voices. Then she remembered that Drifta had been a miner down there and he had saved a fellow miner injured by a ruptured trapped gas pocket. He had told the story in a matter of fact way, just something that had happened. He never boasted of the the brave things he'd done. Stuff had happened and he had dealt with it. As simple as that. She had to go back and tell him how much she loved him. As she turned he was there, walking towards her. He paused, unsure what to do or say. His blue eyes now not smiling but trying to look deep into her dark brown eyes to read her emotional state.

"Mag..."

She went to him and took his hands, then she held him and kissed him.

Drifta said, "I was worried about you down here."

"Sorry am I."

A tear ran down her cheek folds and he kissed it away.

"Are we ok?" he dared ask.

"Yes. It was just all that...I couldn't..."

He took her hand and they walked back along the tunnel. "I found something you should see."

### Chapter 63

Almost impossible to see, caked in black dried on sludge at night in the forest, the slaves armed only with crude weapons with killing on their minds, made their way through the the last trees and bushes to the clear ground and the masters guarding the quarry. The only sound piercing the night air was the mournful wailing of more than a thousand slaves pretending to be dying. None of the masters cared, filling up on wine and beer as they sat half asleep around the fires.

One master staggered to the trees to empty his bladder of too much beer. He glanced up too late at the rustling sound, about to cry out as the strange black shape raised a broken pick. The master dropped like a stone to his knees and Gotloskad Kor'olors had to use both hands with her bare foot on the masters face to extract the pick out of his skull. There came a satisfying wet sucking sound as the head gave up the steel.

"First kill to a woman. Yes!"

Eleven of the slumbering masters knew little of the attack until another master raised the alarm, his plasma gun killing two slaves. The swarm of slaves was relentless, wounds and death of the fallen just the price to pay for freedom. Three slaves fell for each master, then as the guns were snatched from the dead hands, it was one for one. More and more slaves poured from the forest and finally, all the masters were dead.

Limping from a wounded leg, Parzandor Kor'olors stepped over a dead master, stopping at the edge of the quarry. The three blasts from the weapon traced lines of energy into the night sky, the signal for the slaves below to join the fight. Some scrambled up the slopes, others taking the tunnel under the forest. Some kicked or spat at the dozens of dead masters when they reached them.

Gotloskad Kor'olors hushed them to silence. "This...this is just the start. Tonight we take the city. Tonight we take the palace."

"Against hundreds of thousands?" a slave asked.

Koy'lisag beat his own chest. "Hundreds of thousands of fat, flabby, soft citizens who never did a hard days work in their lives. Even if some are armed they'll be too spineless to use their weapons."

Parzandor said, "There's the barracks inside the city walls. Most of the top military officers are away in space on a mission. Mil'ferid told us we must overrun the barracks and take their weapons. But not just us. We will have the rest of the slaves with us. They are ready waiting for us, hoping we got this far. Together we will be invincible. Together we will be free."

### Chapter 64

Three Jorgonian warships were in the split. The three captains had trial experience of the new technology but it still had been a nerve jangling moment when they changed from standard plasma drive to the dark energy matter drives. One ship had been damaged internally, injuring one technician, but they had managed to keep control of the ship and repairs were done as they followed the other two ships led by Commander Gos'krikun.

Gos'krikun had almost no deep space experience and relied heavily on his technicians and engineers to run the ship. Everyone knew the main responsibility was to get the Earth leaders to see that joining forces with the Jorgonians would be highly beneficial to both. The three warships would be faster and more heavily armed than anything the Earth had. This would only be used if the Earth humans became aggressive and unwelcoming.

Gos'krikun had a reputation as someone not to be crossed and his more experienced crews treated him with the utmost respect. He used this to good effect, his presence and demeanour ensuring his authority. The promise from the Regal to elevate his family to another level had given him stature and a superior bearing. He already assumed most of those around him were inferior. He intended to use this boost in confidence in his dealings with the Earth leaders. He was unaware of events on Jorgon, communication inside the split impossible as they exceeded the speed of light.

It was their intention to contact Jorgon as soon as they had established their position out of the split. The Regal had given him instructions to stay outside Earth's atmosphere and try to contact Ambassador Drifta who had arrived unharmed and alone on Jorgon to offer his help to form the united Earth Jorgon partnership in taking control of the Alliance. Gos'krikun had been surprised at the Regal's readiness to trust the Earth human, but the Regal had long held ambitions to rule the seven Alliance planets from Jorgon, considering them soft and ripe for take-over. As the three ships headed for Earth, others were close to completion, and when combined as one force, would dominate the alliance enforcers.

When Drifta had literally dropped from the skies into the Regal's world, all doubts had been swept aside for the sake of expediency and ambitious power. Gos'krikun had only heard words from Drifta; how much substance and truth there was behind those words he would have to be convinced. Had Drifta been lying for some reason, Gos'krikun felt it would be his duty to do something with the might of the three warships to teach the Earth humans a lesson if they had no intention of joining Jorgon. He thought perhaps wiping out an entire city or two would let them have no doubts that if they weren't with the Jorgonians, they were against them.

Then when he returned in triumph either way, he would accept the praise and prestige from the Regal.

### Chapter 65

It had been all too easy to find evidence of Earth humans brutality and apparent disregard for the well-being of their planet. Drifta had been just as confused and upset by the constant carnage. When Maglissa had walked away from him along the tunnel, he was desperately trying to discover the better side of these people. His parents, although he had never known them, had been brave, loving and caring of each other, his mother determined to give him the chance of life even though her on was ebbing away. There _had_ to be good in these people.

He stood by her side at the computer, about to show her what he had found, then her hand grasped his.

"Please. No more terrible things..."

"Sometimes terrible things bring out the best in people. Watch."

A light touch to a sensor revealed what he had found. There were some individuals performing extraordinary acts of selfless bravery to help others in crisis. Doctors and nurses performing miracles to save badly injured children of conflict, often with next to nothing to work with. Others with convoys of vehicles of donated food and clothing, battling their way to help starving victims of conflict, all the while having their vehicles bombarded with bullets and shells.

Not just people, but evidence of animals being cared for too. A sanctuary for huge wild creatures called elephants, so few in number they barely clung onto existence. An elderly couple devoting their time and all they had to help small wild creatures. By his side he could feel Maglissa wondering as he did, if this strange people did indeed have goodness in them.

She was about to comment that the convoys were only there because of the conflict and if the humans simply worked together, they wouldn't be needed. She was also about to point out that the elephants plight was due to man's greed and butchery, again the sanctuary only needed because of all Earth humans unable to see what a wonderful planet it could be. And yet...!

"So confused am I."

Drifta hugged and kissed her. "We both are, Mag. Maybe...perhaps if we helped them..."

It was seeing how amazing things could be that almost had her convinced. Before she could say more, Drifta said, "There is a message from Principal Domtavora we must see now before the satellite shuts down."

He pressed another sensor and the three-dimensional holographic image of Domtavora appeared.

"I have no doubt you two have been on quite a perplexing and emotional voyage of discovery. Due to my position of responsibility I have had updates on Earth and her humans and undoubtedly like you I was appalled, intrigued and confused by them. You may also have wondered why I had you set up in the lava tunnels of Mars when you could have easily stayed on the ship to learn what you have been learning." An image of a crude looking ship slowly flying through space appeared and hovered just in front of the Principal. "This ship is heading to Mars. Their probes and robots have already landed some time ago and discovered the natural lava tunnels and found samples of the Marsillion ore around the tunnels. They have not found our entrances to the tunnels and they are unaware miners from the Alliance have been extracting it for many years. Their mission seems to be to investigate the main lava tunnel as we once did centuries ago as a natural place to make a home and also safely mine the ore. Once they discover these things, it is our intention to let them exclusively have the planet for their own uses. There are other planets we mine so it is of little loss to us. Drifta. The four humans on that ship are your own kind, scientists and explorers trained to fly their ship. It takes a great deal of bravery to chance such a journey in such a fragile craft. They are indeed very much like your parents. They land in three more days, landing close to the end of the tunnel with the secret entrance. Do not contact them until they are safely inside the tunnel with you. This... This is you chance to enter dialogue with them and to explain the situation and our intentions to assist them improve their circumstances on Earth, providing they willingly become the eighth planet of the Alliance. Use all your diplomacy to this end. Gain their trust. The consequences of the Jorgonians and Earth combining against the Alliance...well. Like you I would rather not dare contemplate it. Captain Grakosdrak and Salashar have seen this recorded message so are aware of how things are. They are ready to help you and bring you home when required. Good luck."

### Chapter 66

Parzandor Kor'olors and his sister Gotloskad hadn't asked to become the leaders of the slave army, but because they had been instrumental in secretly distributing the antidote and also with their close bond to Mil'ferid, the others were happy to follow. Parzandor was the one to go with a well-chosen five hundred to free the other slaves in distant camps then march back together to take the city. Gotloskad was to work with the remainder in planning the details of the final assault of the city. Depending on the colour of the flare Parzandor fired into the air, the others were either to swarm across to help possibly catch the hated masters in a pincer movement or to learn the worst had happened and fight on to try to take the city without them or the seized weapons they needed from the barracks. That was an option nobody wanted but they were stoic enough to fight to the death regardless, the alternative no longer an option.

Parzandor hugged his sister for what they both knew could be the last time, then he pulled the ill fitting masters uniform together, fastened the leather straps across his chest, then led them in the cover of darkness across the planes to the first big slave camp. These were the agricultural workers, toiling in all weathers to grow food for the spoilt free people while they themselves were always hungry.

Koy'lisag climbed a small tree to gain better vantage of the slave-camps. Back on the ground he whispered, "Very few working. The usual fires keeping masters warms as they take shifts guarding slaves."

Parzandor asked, "Any possibility the masters we fought had time to call and warn the others? If so, the masters here could be waiting to ambush us."

The question was rhetorical for it was impossible for Koy'lisag to have seen much over the high fence around the distant camp.

"Only one way to find out," said Koy'lisag with a grin exposing the missing teeth from numerous beatings. "Let's go ask them politely."

Parzandor had other ideas. "Those of us with uniforms will get the gates opened, then as we kill the masters by surprise, those without uniforms will take them from the dead. Once we free the slaves we repeat the process at the next camp and so on, those masters fleeing to the city will meet my sister."

"That will teach them," said Koy'lisag, chuckling, "They'll soon surrender when they bump into her."

It was clear to Parzandor that the short hairy slave would fight with enthusiasm, enjoying the killing of every master who got in his way. Parzandor just hoped he would do it quietly. They had inside experience and knowledge of how the masters ran the camps but they had to do this quickly to use the darkness of night. He had twenty wearing blood and mud covered uniforms, weapons tucked away for quick use, in the two marching lines the masters used. It was a very long shot fooling the masters this way but it was the only shot they had. They reached the imposing fence and four still dozy camp guards had their sleep interrupted.

"Lieutenant Gar'fnotsew reporting and requesting entrance, sir." He had read that name from the uniform's shoulder insignia ready to use it. A check was done on the guards computers and the plasma lasers were turned off to allow the platoon inside.

"You were not expected, lieutenant," said the guard, also a lieutenant. A real one. This lieutenant was shocked to have his computer console turned off and a weapon digging in his chest. After the initial shock came the realisation. "You are a slave."

"Correction. I was a slave," replied Parzandor, savouring the man's reaction. "And you. You are known to me. When Mil'ferid was suspended on the poles to die for three days and night, you were the one who used your whip on him to see if he was dead or not."

"I...was doing my job. Just following orders."

Parzandor's lips twisted into a menacing half smile. "And oh, how you enjoyed doing it. I wish we had time to make you suffer but we do not. Remove your uniform."

"But I..."

"I _am_ going to kill you. But a clean uniform without blood and holes will be more useful for us."

The guard stood defiantly, not willing to submit to a lesser being. "No."

"A man of few words," said Koy'lisag becoming impatient. He grabbed the man's head and twisted hard, snapping his neck. "Even fewer now." He dropped the man to the floor and removed the uniform folding it for the next slave recipient.

The rest of the slaves filtered through the barrier, one naked woman taking the clean uniform, not concerned it was two sizes too large. She also picked up the unused weapon, ready to kill more guards and masters. Especially masters. She looked to Parzandor and Koy'lisag, her eyes urging them to give the word. She had suffered all her life at the hands of the masters, often being abused sexually when they had a mind to. Her forgiveness wasn't an option.

Parzandor said, "We must still act like the guards. Give nothing away. We don't put ourselves at risk but use stealth and cunning. We take out the guards then we go to the masters barracks. Be swift, thorough and give them no chance to warn others. Go."

The guards who guarded the camp allowing the masters to sleep were at specific points around the inside of the perimeter, changing shift at regular intervals, ready to prevent unrest and escape. The masters were to force the slaves to work and they slept when the slaves slept.

The slaves were so familiar with the camps and the way they operated, finding, surprising and despatching of guards became just a process. Many guards died as they snoozed between shifts, others only nodding at a familiar uniform before they died. More slaves in uniforms and it was the slave masters turn to meet early deaths. All guards were dead and soon were all the masters. The slaves of this camp already knew this was likely to happen through their secret code and had been waiting quietly for this moment. One whooped with joy, only to have a fellow slave's hand clamp over his mouth.

"We have come too far to fail now," Koy'lisag advised him. "We have the weapons, the people and the will. Be patient. You will get your turn."

And they did. What had worked so well in the first camp was repeated at the second camp and perfected at the third. Now it wasn't just hand-weapons the freed slaves had but vehicles, land and air. As a brand new dawn broke, Parzandor's flare told his sister all the slaves were now free and were heading her way so they could combine and take the city and their whole planet back. When the nine armed aircraft once controlled by the military landed two hundred yards away, she and the others were still prepared to fight, but when Parzandor jumped down and ran to her, she dropped her weapon and grabbed his hands, dancing a jig of joy.

More ships landed nearby, some badly as the untrained former slaves struggled with the controls. A cloud of dust kicked up across the plain as nearly fifty slave driven armed land vehicles raced towards them.

"We've done it," said Gotloskad.

"Not until we've taken the main barracks. And they are onto us."

Gotloskad followed his gaze but they were instantly diving for cover as the military aircraft attacked. Thirteen assorted craft, some armed, some not, shot indiscriminately at the slaves, also wiping out two of the commandeered craft on the ground. Then it was fight-back time and those on the ground with anything that could hit back, did just that. They may have been lousy shots, but the sheer number of plasma cannons blasting away brought down five of the enemy craft. Then something totally unexpected happened. The remaining enemy craft stopped firing and as one the still unscathed eight ships landed and their crews came out with their hands in the air, their weapons gone. They had surrendered. They stood together saying nothing, waiting to be shot. And slaves aimed their weapons but before anyone fired, Mil'ferid's voice yelled one word. "Stop!"

All eyes were on him appearing from seemingly nowhere. To one and all, Mil'ferid was more than a man but a symbol of fortitude and unquenchable desire to see the day when all people stood as one, equal and free.

"No more killing. It ends here, it ends now."

They marched on the city finding no resistance. The Regal now stood alone on the entrance to the palace.

"Is this how it ends?" he asked.

"Yes," said Mil'ferid.

The Regal nodded, accepting his fate. "All I ask is that you make my death swift."

Mil'ferid waved a hand at those behind him. "There are many who would beg for the chance to kill you. But that will not happen."

There came a huge groan of disbelief and Mil'ferid turned to face them.

"Killing the Regal and his peers would serve nothing more than a short time of yet more bloodshed. Isn't it just that bloodshed which we have longed to end? Those that made us slaves and lived so well from our sweat and blood must learn the value of that sweat and blood. They will remain free but be put to work in tearing down the slave camps. They will take up the tools of the miner, the food growers. They will work side by side with us but not as slaves." A boy no more than ten years old who was born into slavery, stood with his once slave mother, barely comprehending the events unravelling before him.

Mil'ferid called the boy to him and he looked up at his mother who walked him to the living legend who waited with hands outstretched.

"Don't be afraid. Never be afraid again. Citizens!" A roar for this. "Citizens. For that is what we _all_ are again. Your name, boy?"

"Lax'olandu."

"A fine old fashioned name. Citizens. When old people like me are long gone, Lax'olandu and children like him will become our men and women and the days of slavery will be confined to history. Let us all work towards that time. For ever more, this day will be called Lax'olandu day." He turned to the man once hailed as the Regal. "Citizen Melnovlor Lum'mitwox. Do you accept this?"

A hush descended on those waiting, not even a bird daring to break the silence that sunny morning. Citizen Melnovlor Lum'mitwox knew his life had been spared by a better man than he.

"Yes, I accept."

### Chapter 67

Principal Domtavora received the news personally and addressed the Alliance Council.

"This extraordinary meeting of the Council has only one agenda. News has reached me directly from Jorgon. They have taken back their planet and Regal Melnovlor Lum'mitwox has been deposed."

This brought much cheering and murmurings amongst the Councillors. Many hands were raised to ask questions but Domtavora's simple wave of the hand silenced them. "I have nothing much more to add. My hope is that in time the citizens...the now free citizens of Jorgon, will take up their place as a full member planet of the Alliance." He paused, as if wondering if he should continue. "There was one last message from Jorgon. Before the rebellion, several very senior officers took three ships to space, using technology, sadly, sold to them by ex-councillor Covestrom. My supposition is that they are on their way to Earth, possibly to forge a partnership of their own so they can gain control of our Alliance. As you are aware, the young man known as Drifta is on Earth's neighbour, Mars. Drifta's mission is to persuade the Earth humans to join us and not the Jorgonians."

A Councillor called out, "We must warn Drifta and his crew of the three ships heading their way."

"We dare not just yet. Drifta's mission has one final element on Mars that we must not risk the three Jorgonian ships finding out."

A voice, "But if the three ships are still in the split to Earth they wouldn't be able to receive any radio communications whereas on Mars they could."

"I agree," said Domtavora. "But we have no knowledge that the Jorgonians are still in the split or not. I suspect they will pass Mars and go directly to Earth to negotiate. This will give Drifta and his friends a little more precious time to do what they have to do. We must give them the best opportunity for success. I ask you to keep this within this chamber. Let us be thankful that a barbaric reign is finally over. When I have more to tell I will do so." Before facing another barrage of questions he couldn't or wouldn't answer, he hurried away out of the chamber. He had only just entered is offices when he received the message. It was typically succinct.

"I understand," replied Domtavora. "You know what to do. Good luck."

As the call ended, he slumped back in his chair, feeling every one of his long years in office crushing him. He vowed once more that he would resign his position once the events unfurling were finally over.

"Good luck, Drifta. You will need it."

### Chapter 68

Drifta held Maglissa's hand as he stroked the sensor on the computer. "You should see this."

It was the last of the message from Domtavora and Drifta felt Mag's fingernails dig into his palm as she learned of the four Earth humans soon to land to explore the very tunnel they were in.

"May have weapons. Could be dangerous they."

"You heard Domtavora. They are intelligent people and explorers, not soldiers. Our satellite is now non-operational to avoid detection. All we can do is to wait their arrival. Mag. We've seen many good things about Earth humans. Please be open-minded when they get here."

"Listen to them shall I," she promised. "But trust them...?"

At least she would listen to them which was more than he had hoped for. "We need them to favour the Alliance over the Jorgonians. Or at the very least stay neutral. If the Jorgonians pass on our technology to Earth, this opens up serious threats to our people."

She stared into his blue eyes in that Earth human face. " _Our_ people? Who _are_ your people Drifta?

"The Alliance has always been good to me. Of course I want Earth to become a willing Alliance member. But if not, then we shall return and I'll forget all about Earth humans and be with you forever."

Mag smiled, still really wondering. "Wish could contact my father do I."

"You know why we can't. We can't risk giving our position away too soon. It's been a long day. Time to eat then we'll sleep."

So they did that and found a place to sleep, wrapped up in each others arms, both having very strange dreams. The next day they got on with all things domestic and also passed away the hours on systems checks to test the integrity of the tunnel. Occasionally they would discuss what they would say to the Earth humans, Maglissa even suggesting the visitors may be armed and dangerous. This was still her tainted view of that strange people. They soon realised that it was all conjecture and pointless to ask each other such rhetorical questions. By keeping themselves busy it was soon time for the Earth humans to arrive on Mars.

### Chapter 69

Mission Commander and medic Carla 'Doc' Withers could hardly wait to get out of the can as it was dubbed. "Nearly four months of the boring bits followed by a few minutes dicing with death to look forward to."

Technical expert Joe Farmer sighed and replied, "Nothing like inspirational words from our illustrious leader and that was nothing like inspirational words."

"She has a sick sense of humour," said mineralogist and mining engineer Lan Yang. "That and suffering from can fever. She'll revert to normal once we get out of here."

Science officer William Romano ignored the banter and said, "A storm system in the landing zone. Just a breeze for Mars."

Lan Yang said, "With so little atmosphere we'll hardly notice it. Apart from low visibility with the dust."

"Entering atmosphere...now" said Romano. "Forty two degrees angle. Heat shield temperature rising."

Compensating for the storm, the landing three minutes thirty two seconds later was textbook. "Commander Carla Withers calling mission control centre. Pleased to inform you that we made a perfect landing "said Withers. They all imagined those back on Earth would be celebrating. Not waiting for the time delayed response, she unbuckled her safety harness as she updated her call. "Two hours until daylight. Hopefully the weather will improve by then. Over. Right. Double check your suits and we'll do an equipment check."

It was more to keep the team busy but it didn't hurt to ensure everything was in good order. The rear of the ship was divided into two main compartments; equipment storage and living quarters. Every inch of space was utilised. They began by checking each others suits to a list and everything passed ok.

"Now for my baby," said Lan Yang, stroking the four seat buggy and wriggling into the driver's seat. The batteries were fully charged with a nine hour life at top speed of twenty miles per hour. The controls were deliberately basic, simple enough so that any competent person could drive it with minimal training. They had all clocked up many hours in an identical buggy in desert conditions but Lan Yang had claimed drivers rights. As she checked the controls, Romano and Farmer were doing the equipment check of everything stowed in the back, Withers entering results on her recording pad.

"Time to go," said Withers, pressing the rear hatch switch. There came a hiss as the entire rear of the ship opened up and Lan Yang drove them outside.

"Welcome to Mars."

From the ship to the end of the lava tunnel was an easy walk of four hundred yards but the buggy was essential to carry the equipment. They parked up and became the first from Earth to set foot on the red planet.

"It's all a bit low key considering we are the first here," moaned Farmer. "I mean, hello. We are the very first to leave our footprints on Mars."

As if on cue, his colleagues slow clapped their hands in a round of applause.

"Feel better now, Joe?" Withers asked.

"Very funny. Just saying, that's all. Anybody giving me a hand with some actual work?"

Between them they carried two large cases to the end of the lava tube they planned to open up and make into a secure base. Placing the cases carefully on the ground, Romano became the first to touch the end of the huge natural formation, billions of years old. "If the robots were right, this is hollow inside and should be the thinnest wall area about here. If we start the scanning probe around here then work our...Shit!"

"Will?" asked Withers.

Romano stepped back from the rock face, lost his footing and fell backwards. "Something...it just isn't right."

Farmer helped him to his feet. "See something odd, Will?"

"I didn't see it at first but then I wasn't expecting it. Look."

The join line of the lava tunnel where unknown hands had made the entrance could not be seen from just a few feet away but within touching distance it was hard to miss. The entrance door was as close to matching the natural material as possible but the regular storms bombarding the surface with sand had slightly discoloured the door. They all stood in wonder at what shouldn't have been there, the implications of it too astounding to believe or comprehend.

"We need to call Earth right now," said Withers about to turn to use the buggy's radio. She had walked just three steps before the huge entrance hissed open and slowly exposed the airlock where Drifta's shuttle was parked.

"Russian? Chinese?" Farmer asked, searching for identification markings but finding none.

"Don't look at me when you say that," warned Lan Yang, "We're all British here."

"You tell him, Lan," Romano added, towering above the young woman.

Withers said, "Whoever it was, how the hell did they keep it quiet from the rest of us?"

The airlock door closed behind them and the automatic lights came on.

"Now I'm getting anxious," said Lan Yang. Their personality evaluations meant neither were likely to panic or over-react to unexpected situations. Although their heart-rates and breathing were elevated, they showed little exterior emotion. She was holding her breath as the internal door started opening, her heartbeat faster than usual. She used an expletive she hadn't used for years when she saw Drifta waiting there.

"Please come in."

Hesitantly they complied, all glancing behind them as the inner door closed.

Withers regained her composure and demanded, "Who the hell...?"

"My name is Driftaxol. People call me Drifta. Oh. You can remove your helmets."

Pleased to do that, they approached the fair-haired man with thousands of questions whirring through their minds. Romano was the first.

"You speak English but I can't place the accent."

"I speak standard Alliance. I don't know of this place you call English."

"England," said Lan Yang. "But you've seriously never heard of...Damn! You had better tell us where the hell you came from."

Drifta pointed vaguely at the roof. "Out there. Hard to explain. Lets just say I'm not from Earth or Mars. Why don't we find somewhere more comfortable and I'll explain why I am here. This way."

Carved into the wall of the tunnel was one of the many rooms used by miners over the years. It had been left in the usual untidy way of miners, chairs and tables made from the same black polymer resin in no particular order. They each took a chair and sat around a table.

Farmer said, "I thought I didn't recognise that shuttle. Wait. I just realised. That shuttle isn't capable of long distance travel. Where's your ship?"

"Out of the way for now. There is somebody you should meet. Mag?"

Maglissa had been watching the arrival on the internal screens having told Drifta she was unsure about meeting the Earth humans in person but she stepped into the room, saying nothing. Drifta went to her and took her hands in his. "Trust me. It will be ok."

The visitors stood and approached the couple then quickly stopped when they saw Maglissa's face.

"You aren't human," blurted Withers.

Drifta saw Maglissa's facial grooves screw up angrily. For her to be called not human was about as insulting as it could be.

Before she could strike back with some vitriolic response Drifta said, "She didn't mean to offend you, Mag." He turned to look at the four confused people. "Maglissa is from just one of the Alliance planets. We are all human but the different planets create slight differences. I am unique from all the others."

Maglissa whispered angrily, "If they keep staring at me, not responsible will be I."

Drifta put things straight. "Mag is a little different to you and I but just accept it. You have many different humans on your planet, black, white, brown, so nothing unusual." He pointed at the oriental features of Lan Yang and the swarthy complexion of Romano to emphasise his statement. "You must accept her the way she is."

"My...our apologies, Mag," said Withers. "You are actually very pretty. We were just surprised."

They sat together, Maglissa simmering, trying to cool down.

Drifta said, "I would invite you to share our rations but you would probably need time to get used to our food. The water is good here, though."

"Get it will I," said Maglissa, still uncomfortable sitting with the visitors. As she was filling beakers from the purified supplier at one end of the room, she glanced back, relieved they weren't staring at her. She was almost over her anger by the time she sat down again. She had noticed these warlike humans carried no weapons and took that as a promising sign.

"Cheers," said Withers, chinking beakers together with her colleagues then offering their beakers to Drifta and Maglissa for the same. "An Earth custom. Just a friendly gesture."

Maglissa followed Drifta's lead when he chinked his beaker with the others.

"My head is spinning with all this," said Withers. "Oh. Sorry. I'm Commander Carla Withers." She introduced the others. "So. You are humans you say. Does that mean you or your ancestors are from Earth originally?"

"Much speculation about our origins and ancient history, " said Drifta. "Apart from me. Recently I learned my father and mother were what you call astronauts from Earth. Abigail and Darwin Jones."

"Jones? Their ship never landed on Mars," said Farmer. "Are you saying they are still alive?"

Withers said, "I do know Darwin Jones died doing repairs outside his ship."

"He did," said Drifta. "My mother was rescued by an Alliance mining ship and survived to have me. She died shortly after."

"Incredible," said Romano. "But you never visited Earth?"

"Only as close as Mars. On a mining ship. Our mines are down there off the lava tunnel."

"Which is why we are here,"said Farmer. "One of our robots found a particularly useful metal ore. Robertston. After Roberts, the one who analysed it and saw its potential."

"Marsillion call it we," said Maglissa.

"We use it on our ships to protect the surface," said Drifta.

"That's our thinking, too," said Withers. "But you come from billions of miles away to mine it?"

"This and other planets."

"I must say," said Lan Yang. "You have learned our language very well."

Drifta chuckled. "Actually, we think it is you who learned this language from us. Centuries ago."

"Oh, no," said Romano. "I'm not buying that."

"It is part of our history," said Maglissa. "All Alliance planets speak this language."

"Your accent is different to Drifta's," said Farmer.

"People on my planet speak old Alliance as do I. Not like you or Drifta."

"We think they do it to annoy the rest of us," said Drifta, getting a light slap on his arm for that old joke. "Ouch. I still love you though."

Withers said, "You were expecting us. Are you here to warn us off Mars, to keep us away?"

"No. Now you are finally here, the mine is now yours. We shall mine elsewhere."

"No need to fight over Mars, you," said Maglissa.

"Fight? Why should we fight?" Lan Yang asked.

"Your people always fighting," said Maglissa. "Always killing each other are you."

"She does have a point," said Farmer, solemnly.

Withers said, "You two are here for a reason. Lets hear it."

Drifta was about to explain everything when the inner airlock door suddenly opened.

"Go now must we," said the man.

"Grakos?" said Drifta.

"Three Jorgonian ships have just left the split so go must we. Hurry."

"Father. Have Earth humans here do we."

"Hmm. So Earth humans go back to Earth. Go now must we."

Drifta said "We can't leave them to the Jorgonians. We haven't discussed Earth joining our Alliance yet."

Grakos rolled his eyes to the roof in exasperation. "Then...all come now with me."

Withers said, "I have no idea what's going on here, but we have our own transport."

"That scrapheap? With us come or die you."

"Seriously? You'll kill us if we don't come with you?"

Drifta and Maglissa were already suiting-up and checking their helmet pressures. "That's not what he meant. We are not the danger to you. You should listen to the man. Coming?"

"It looks that way," said Withers.

When they left the lava tunnel Grakos' ship was there and Earth humans jaws dropped in unison, understanding instantly why Grakos had referred to their own modest ship as scrap. The airlock door had barely closed behind them when Salashar had the ship off Mars.

"The Jorgonians?" Grakos asked.

"On course for Earth," replied Salashar. "If wait behind Demos then should pass us by will they."

"Yes. Do that."

There was no room on the flight-deck for the Earth humans to join the crew and they were in the cargo bay now devoid of the shuttle left behind. It hadn't been intended for the ship to land on Mars but Grakos knew he had to act fast.

Maglissa said, "Cannot let Jorgonians reach Earth."

"Three warships have they," said Salashar. "Can't fight them we."

Drifta said, "Let them pass, then we head for the split. Their ships will pick us up and follow us."

"And wipe us out," said Maglissa.

Salashar said, "Not if reach the split before them. No weapons discharge inside split."

Grakos had to think fast. "Timing will be everything. Do it."

They needed luck that the Jorgonians wouldn't pick up their ship's signature on the way to one of Mars' two small moons. Then as Grakos had pointed out, they had to make it to the split for the journey home before the Jorgonians backtracked and destroyed them.

Salashar skilfully positioned the ship with Demos as cover as the Jorgonians bypassed Mars and continued to Earth. It would be her best judgement when to race away to the split with the Jorgonians on their tail. Once in the split they should be safe from attack as it was too dangerous to fire in the huge invisible funnel of dark matter. Once out of the split they would be vulnerable to attack if the Jorgonian ships turned to chase them. It indeed seemed impossible to evade the Jorgonians but they knew if anyone could do it, Salashar could. She turned all instrumentation off, just leaving enough dim lighting on so they could safely walk about the ship. All they could do was wait.

### Chapter 70

Making best use of the time, Drifta and Maglissa joined those waiting in the cargo-hold. "We are safe behind Demos," said Drifta. "You can use the ship's facilities now."

"Hungry are you?" asked Maglissa.

"Very," said Withers.

The ship had all the facilities required for a crew of four and nothing they didn't need. The visitors were impressed with the functionality of it all and relieved to find most of it was suitable for everyone.

"Now here is a little room I need urgently," said Lan Yang charging in and closing the door behind her, seconds later the others heard the moans of relief.

"Easily pleased," said Farmer.

"She could be awhile," said Withers. "Only one of these on a ship this size?"

"One on the upper-deck," said Drifta pointing the way.

"Mine," said Withers a fraction ahead of the other two.

"Hmm. This could be a long flight home," said Drifta. "Time to get busy in the galley."

Eventually, everyone was clean and fed.

"A fine ship," said Romano. "How fast is she?"

"That depends if we are in the split or not," said Drifta. "Below and up to light speed out of it, faster than light in it."

This was astonishing news. "Faster than light?" said Farmer. "You've done that? It's actually possible?"

"Well, yes. Inside the split."

"The dark energy dark matter funnel you've mentioned before?" said Withers.

"Dark matter tunnels, splits through space, were discovered several centuries ago. You cannot detect them yet."

Farmer said, "We are still trying to understand dark energy and dark matter. That you have made practical use of it is amazing."

"We think we have barely began to fully use its potential," admitted Drifta. Advances are being made all the time. Using the collected dark energy as fuel it makes space travel across the galaxy practical. Outside the split we can only reach close to light speed. I have a basic understanding of it all but Salashar is our true expert."

"Hopefully she'll talk us through it," said Withers.

"That depends. We can't divulge too much at the moment. Maybe when Earth joins the Alliance. I don't think now is the best time for that discussion."

"These Jorgonians," said Lan Yang. "Your enemies?"

"Yes. Well, no. Not really. Their leaders most definitely. The poor people they enslave are not."

Drifta still unaware of the latest events, spent a full hour explaining their situation and the plight of the Jorgonian slaves. "I did what I could do to help but I'm not sure if they can overrun the Regal and his slave-camps. I can only hope so."

"Then why have those three ships left that rebellion behind?" asked Withers.

"Maybe they weren't aware the slaves were about to fight back," suggested Farmer. "But surely three ships aren't enough to take on the billions of Earth?"

"Not their primary objective," said Drifta, wondering how much to divulge.

"Got it," said Romano. "Three ships is a mission to join forces with Earth, not destroy it. They see our warlike tendencies as a possible asset."

"And we are supposed to choose who we go with or not,"said Withers.

"And you would be unwise to join the Jorgonians," warned Drifta.

"We only have your word for that," said Ramona.

The reply from Drifta went unheard as they felt the plasma drives kicking in. The race to the split was on.

### Chapter 71

The tension on the flight-deck was palpable as Salashar took them on a flight for their lives. Splits weren't fixed in space, but constantly variable funnels of energy crossing the universe in roughly the same directions which could be logged into computers, located when faster than light speed flights were required and used by skilled pilots in ships with the necessary drives in their ships. The variations in position were relatively slight in universal terms but could mean pilots working hard to find the splits which could be millions of miles from the previous location.

"Got it,"said Salashar. "Four point three million miles away. Correcting course."

"Well done you," said Grakos, preparing the drives for a fast change over. "Any sign of the Jorgonians?"

"No."

"Only a matter of time."

This was true as the Jorgonians would be alert for any ships signals. Their computers would identify the signal as a split capable ship and therefore probably an Alliance ship. Commander Gos'krikun had been studying Earth when his gaffer pilot informed him such a ship was heading away from Mars towards the split that would cross the galaxy to the Alliance cluster.

"Just one ship? Get after it. We must prevent them contacting Earth."

"Yes, sir," said the female gaffer.

Three Jorgonian warships were now on a race to destroy the Alliance ship before it reached the safety of the split. Weapons were primed and ready, trained on the ship and waiting to be in range to make their shots count.

"Matching our speed, sir. Unlikely to catch them."

Gos'krikun had to decide whether they should continue to Earth for their mission or chase the ship. "Stay with them. Fire if you get the chance. We can go to Earth once we have destroyed their ship."

Salashar finally picked up the signals from the three warships. "After us are they. Close will this be."

Grakos stared at the screen, four blips, one themselves, in a sea of scrolling figures. The Jorgonians had gained distance as Salashar had been seeking the split's position. Should the Jorgonians fire their plasma weapons, the distance would mean little or no structural damage but it was possible that instrumentation and systems could suffer disruption, maybe enough to prevent successful entry to the split. He knew this so the Jorgonians probably were aware of this also.

"Three minutes to the split," said Salashar. "Still with us."

Grakos replied, "If going to fire, now will they."

The curving line of the split on the screen showed them becoming tantalisingly closer, the three following blips on a direct interception course.

"One minute," said Salashar.

"They're firing at us. All weapons simultaneously."

There came a combined barrage of energy heading their way. It was a desperate attempt to damage the ship. They watched the wave of energy cross the millions of miles, steadily weakening in power but closing in on them. It would hit them a second before they entered the safety of the split.

"Brace yourselves," warned Salashar.

The wave of energy hit them the second they entered the split and all power was lost.

"Rebooting," said Salashar. "Come on!"

"Again," said Grakos.

"Rebooting."

Lights came on again and the controls returned to normal, Salashar's hands flying over the sensors as she tried to change the drives over. "Got it."

"So have the Jorgonians," said Grakos as the three warships followed them into the split, their signals becoming undetectable. The assumption was made that as the Jorgonians had entered the split they would follow them all the way to the Alliance cluster. For the time being though, they were safe.

### Chapter 72

"You are sure they can't fire at us in this split thing?" Withers asked.

"Nobody knows the true consequences of what would happen if plasma energy was released inside a split," said Drifta.

"Much conjecture and contradiction from so called experts," added Salashar taking a well-earned break, leaving Maglissa to share time with her father on the flight-deck. "Some say nothing will happen, others predict disaster. Don't risk it will we."

"Experts, hey?" scoffed Romano. "How many to change a light-bulb."

"What?" said Drifta.

"An old Earth expression. We have no radio either?"

"Doesn't work in the split," said Drifta. "Something to do with travelling faster than light-speed."

Farmer said, "Faster than light. Heck. Everything is so advanced to us, yet somehow much is basic and familiar to us. Seems...weird somehow."

Drifta shrugged. "Hard for me to make comparisons with Earth, never having been there."

"Your parents were the best of the best," said Withers. "No astronaut training goes without history lessons including those on pioneers like the Jones's. You should be proud to be their son."

"I am. She did all she could to keep me safe. She risked our lives trying to save my father. That is a lot of love."

"I see that when you look at Mag," said Withers. "And take it from a woman, she feels the same for you."

Lan Yang said, "You two being so different obviously isn't an issue you being together."

"We just look a little different. We are still people."

"Human people," added Lan Yang. "You say there are these differences throughout the Alliance. Was this never a problem?"

"Many centuries ago, maybe. Some religious differences caused friction until it was stopped by the Alliance council."

"Religion was banned?"

"Not banned. Believe what you want inside your own home."

"Don't you have a god or deity?" asked Romano still feeling the pull of the catholic church of his Italian ancestors.

"Me personally? I have travelled space to all of the Alliance planets. I have seen and experienced wonderful, amazing things. I appreciate the smallest flower or the grandeur of the biggest planet. All that beauty is my god. To me it just is and I couldn't love any of it more with a religion."

"You should have been a poet," said Romano. "You people have poetry?"

"Yes. Poetry and music. We found your imagine poems of John Lennon very moving. A great philosopher."

"I always thought so,"said Lan Yang.

Drifta said, "I once sat in the hills of Poraslon and as the sun set the locals came in their thousands to sing their songs about the beauty of the universe. Just the beauty itself, not some imagined creator. Does that make sense to you?"

"The results of no wars or conflicts on your planets suggests to me you have something that works," said Withers. "Most of our major conflicts were and are about religious differences. That and political ideologies."

Romano said, "I'm not sure how willing our people will be to give up on religion. Maybe I'm biased."

Withers asked the question on their minds. "If we can't resolve our own differences, would this prevent us being accepted by the Alliance?"

Drifta answered, "We have seven planets with people working together. Hopefully eight with Jorgon one day. If this was how you lived, would you invite a warlike race to join you? We are certainly unlikely to share our superior technology with you."

"Think not I," said Salashar. "Have far to go to prove can be trusted you."

"You must see our worlds and meet our people," said Drifta. "Hopefully the right decisions can be made before it is too late for you."

With those poignant words hanging in the air they found places to sleep away deep thoughts.

As Grakos and Maglissa slept, Drifta shared the shift on the flight-deck with Salashar.

"Quiet are you."

"Hmm. Such a lot to think about. Am I like them, the Earth humans?"

Salashar sought the words as she monitored the screens in front of her. "Remember Somax?"

"Somax? Oh. Mag's pet cat. Scared the life out of me when I met her."

"Meet one in the forest and it would kill. Somax was raised as an orphaned cub by Mag and a bond formed with them. Without that bond Somax be dangerous. Raised with love and kindness by Mag means Somax can be trusted."

The analogy was clear. "Earth humans know no other ways, you are saying. Somax learned from Mag but Earth people have very little help, just divided opinions. I was always a part of the Alliance so grew up with the Alliance way of life. I couldn't live on Earth."

"Earth could be changed. Maybe. In time."

"Jorgon was once an Alliance planet. Expelled because they chose a different way. But I saw a core of goodness in the slaves I met, so one day things could be very different there."

"Maybe."

"Withers said she could see the love between me and Mag. Is it that obvious?"

Salashar laughed. "Your love lights up a room. Look after her, you."

"Given the chance."

"Concerned has she will go live on Earth you."

"Never."

"Then must tell her this you. Tell her your life together is not on Earth."

"I will. If we survive this."

They both knew they were safe in the split but eventually they had to leave it with three Jorgonian ships behind them.

### Chapter 73

Days and billions of miles had passed and they were close to the Alliance cluster.

"One hour."

It was all Salashar had to say. All were suited, helmets checked. Salashar, Grakos, Drifta and Maglissa secured in their seats. The others were in the bunk rooms, hoping for the best outcome. Grakos was no slouch on the plasma cannons, but it had been years since he had cleared space debris threatening the ship and apart from once winging an Enforcers ship, he had never intended harming anyone. This time he knew it was kill or be killed. He would have no time to appraise the situation, instead leaving the split with both cannons blazing. He could do this.

"Grakos?"

"Ready, Sal."

They could almost feel the three warships chasing them. Coordination was imperative. They had to change from matter drive to plasma drive and be ready to fight off the attacking three ships. As the final few minutes approached, Maglissa left her seat, hugged her father and told him she loved him. Then she hugged Salashar in a telling moment of growing understanding between them. Back in her seat she reached across for Drifta's hand and even with the helmets on they could see the love in each others eyes.

Salashar counted down the final seconds and the shimmer of the split was left behind and she was changing the drives over. Grakos searched for the three warships when combined plasma beams streaked past on all sides.

"Too close."

At least he had some direction to concentrate on. He blasted away with return fire in two directions at once but they were zigzagging and his shots went wide. Salashar's skilful piloting was making life just as difficult for their enemy. The radio crackled, distorted by the bolts of deadly energy around them.

"Give up, Grakosdrak," Commander Gos'krikun demanded.

"Hmm. Give up you."

Another exchange of shots, too close for comfort. Warning lights began flashing on the console.

"Hit are we?" said Grakos, still firing his cannons.

"No. Energy distortions. Drives are down. Trying to correct."

Plasma bolts were suddenly tracing through space in all directions.

"One Jorgonian ship down," said Salashar. "A hit to the main drives. Good shooting, Grakos."

"Not me," confessed a bewildered captain. "Look!"

More than a dozen Enforcer ships were firing at the Jorgonians, allowing Salashar to correct the drives and have them limping away from danger.

A few more shots from the Enforcers, then, "This is Marshal Zaxtormon. Jorgonians. The slaves have taken Jorgon. Your leaders are gone."

"You lie," bellowed Gos'krikun.

"You may want to consider that assumption. For ten seconds before we wipe you out."

Gos'krikun's communications technician confirmed the worse. "It is true, sir. The Regal has gone."

"Then we have nothing to lose. Fire at will."

But knowing the slaves had taken Jorgon, his crews had no will to fire. They stared at Gos'krikun who sagged into his seat. It was over.

"We surrender, Marshal Zaxtormon."

### Chapter 74

The huge creature approached the wide-eyed frightened strangers, snarling, saliva dripping from vicious fangs.

"Somax behave, you," said Maglissa. "Offer her food."

The Earth humans had been enjoying the hospitality of Grakos and Salashar and had stuffed themselves with the rustic food, a relief from ships rations, when Somax had strolled in, her feline curiosity deciding if these people were friend or food. She accepted the morsels offered by Romano's slightly shaking hand. He counted his fingers just in case.

"Nice...cat."

Grakos had enjoyed the encounter. "Not yet eaten Alliance human has she. Earth human, who knows."

Somax accepted a little food and a hug from Maglissa then strolled casually out of the open door with a flick of her tail on her way out.

Drifta said, "She worried me when I first met her. So far so good."

"An amazing home you have, Salashar," said Withers, her heart-rate returning to normal . "And the air is so clean here."

"From how live we. Respect our planets do we."

Joe Farmer was wondering if he would ever fit back in his space-suit after another generous feed. "Having seen life on three Alliance planets, healthy competitiveness blended with inter-planetary cooperation, we have a glimmer of hope for Earth if we adopt even half of your way of life."

Drifta said, "We've tried to squeeze as much about our culture and way of life into your visit as we could before we take you home. Earth's leaders need to hear it from you, not just us."

"We shall be enthusiastic emissaries for the Alliance for a better way of life," said Withers.

Lan Yang looking unusually feminine in her new clothes and make-up said, "Your low populations must be the key. Millions on each planet, not billions as on Earth. I'm curious as to how this is achieved."

Maglissa said, "By quota system for children. Say, a man and woman were life bonded, if they wanted children they would register this. As somebody died, couple allowed one child to have."

"So, if say you and Drifta were...life bonded, married we call it, you would register for a baby and your baby would sustain a viable population. What if, hypothetically, you weren't able to conceive?"

"That happens. Then they have adoption rights and their option to conceive a baby falls to next couple."

"Sal. I thought you had a sister?" said Lan Yang.

"Twins are we," explained Salashar. "Naturally occurring multiple births are allowed."

"So simple," said Withers. "No wars and a sustainable population. All wealth generated gives everyone all they need. Is work compulsory?"

Grakos refilled the beakers with his best wine and said, "Why would not do work we? Boring doing nothing."

Farmer asked, "I get that. What about creative people?"

"Creating is _also_ work," said Drifta. "I love art and performances. Artists are encouraged and supported, better ones making good money. Nothing wrong with that."

The more the Earth humans learned of simpler, better ways, the more despondent of the Earth way of life they became. There was still one mystery they couldn't let go.

Farmer asked the question. "This common language we share. I still don't get how that happened."

Drifta said, "I'll tell you what I know. We call it the Forglatkos legend. The technology of using the splits is constantly evolving but it had to start somewhere. The discoverer and pioneer was Forglatkos. A self-trained rogue scientist expelled from several universities. We had previously discovered dark energy and matter, but he discovered the waveforms off the splits and understood the implications for space travel. Sadly, he was dismissed and ignored by the scientific community. Undeterred, he worked with a few trusted friends and built his own ship from scrap parts off the crude ships of the day. Before this time we had further developed our plasma drives so we had some space-travel capabilities, with the three nearest Alliance planets colonised. We had even developed hull coating with something similar to marsillion. It took five years but finally he was ready."

"And his scientist life partner, Mozlanalos," said Salashar. "My hero is she."

"Yes," said Drifta. "She developed the way to condense the dark energy to use to drive the ship in the dark matter of the split. They took their son with them and set off to the nearest split. They hoped they were on their way to Earth but weren't sure exactly where they were heading, but did it anyway."

"They ended up on Earth you think?" asked Withers.

"So legend has it. Over centuries, we had been looking for habitable planets worth investigating with our telescopes. Many exploring probes were sent to investigate the most promising planets and one had sent back information about Earth. Of course it was far beyond our reach at that time to send people, but Forglatkos hoped his theories of the splits could take him there quickly. Only when they were in space did he state their intentions. Ignoring all demands to stop, he went anyway, along with his partner and son. They were never heard of again but one day the abandoned ship was found drifting in Alliance space."

Salashar said, "Our authorities found a log on that ship, or so is said."

"Fascinating," said Farmer. If the ship landed on Earth five centuries ago, I bet that caused a scene."

"And I can't believe we are not aware of it, if it happened," said Lan Yang. "And here you are using the English language very close to what we use to day on Earth."

Drifta said, "We know little of what happened to them on Earth."

"Hmm," snorted Grakos. "Officially."

"Many believe most of that adventure was not made public," Salashar said, sharing Grakos' scepticism of politicians. "What is known is that their ship was found back in Alliance space abandoned."

"Good grief," said Romano. "The crew were not found dead onboard?"

Drifta said, "There was evidence on the hull that they had been successful in re-entering the split somewhere but their bodies were never found. Their ship was impounded by the enforcers, but rumours surfaced about significant recordings found on the ship's computer. If we believe the rumours, something went wrong on the journey to Earth, sending them back in time."

"That's just crazy," said Lan Yang.

Withers said, "Until now we would have said that about the splits but they exist. Go on, Drifta."

"Right. The most popular assumptions are that Forglatkos and his family discovered that the Earth humans spoke using sounds not unlike our own. They thought that if some sort of common language could be developed it would be a way to develop understanding between the various peoples of Earth and maybe later, Earth with the Alliance. They must have been regarded as superior beings with the humans there so found ways to advance our language with influential leaders. That they were from another planet was gradually a side issue. Leaving that legacy behind, after many years they decided to return home. It was on the abandoned ship that some think they discovered it had gone back at least five centuries in time, a thousand or so years ago from now."

Romano said, "A thousand years, hey? Now that would be more consistent with the development of the modern English language."

"Time travel is something we've speculated about for many years," acknowledged Lan Yang.

"No clue as to what happened to the family on the ship's log?" Farmer asked.

"Nothing for certain."

" _Some_ people know do they," Grakos insisted. "The great marsillion discovery on Mars?" he added, looking at Salashar, who merely smiled.

"Wow! Time travel," said Withers, coping with information overload. "I suppose the powers that be would be rather concerned about people whizzing about through time as well as space. No wonder it was hushed up."

"Perhaps we will never know," said Drifta.

"So what about that great discovery you mentioned?" Withers asked.

Drifta said, "The reason many believe the legend is true, is that samples of marsillion were found on that ship. Until then we had three planets in the Alliance, but without the technology to use the splits to take us further. The coating we had at the time was incredibly expensive to produce. Maybe Forglatkos' ship brought back samples from Mars after using the splits. Soon after, we were on mining trips to Mars, using splits, bringing back marsillion and the Alliance quickly grew to seven planets and new sources of the ore. Quite a coincidence, right?"

"And even now politicians deny it happened that way, do they," snorted Grakos.

They took in the sunset in the rambling garden, drinking the wine and the intoxicating air. The scents off the nearby forest mingled with a multitude of bird and animal sounds.

Romano with his romantic soul asked the rhetorical question. "Could Earth ever be like here?"

"Principal Domtavora hinted the Alliance might help us if we are serious to save Earth," said Withers. "Even if we said yes it would take centuries to come even close."

Romano yawned, tired but his senses in a whirl. "We have a choice?" It was time for bed although he doubted he would sleep.

## Epilogue

Principal Domtavora's final duty as Principal was a joyous one, presenting the medals to Grakos, Salashar, Drifta and Maglissa at the official ceremony before the thousands waiting to see the final throwers match of the season.

"I couldn't think of a more fitting end to my political career. We shall elect a new Principal who hopefully will be younger and more energetic than I am to embrace the many changes and challenges we face in the near future. The Jorgonians will become full members of the Alliance by the end of this year." He turned to the Earth humans. "You will be taken back to Earth in due course and it is within your hands to convince your leaders of a better future if only you are willing to take it."

"We will try, Principal Domtavora," promised Withers.

Drifta stepped forward. "Principal. May I say something?"

"Of course."

"Hrmm. I just want to announce the official commitment to life bonding of Maglissa and myself. If she will have me."

Maglissa stepped forward, the thousands holding their breath.

"Have you will I."

There came a resounding cheer from the crowd.

"Looks like we could be going to a wedding soon," said Withers.

"A life bonding ceremony," said Romano wiping a tear away. "Sounds more meaningful than wedding I think."

The teams marched onto the pitch to more cheers and the day slipped easily into the history books. A few days later, Domtavora walked with Zaxtormon into the experimental division.

"Couldn't resist one final look around, Dom?"

"Old habits, Zax."

"No regrets about retiring?"

"None. The Earth humans are to be taken back to Mars so they can take their own ship to Earth. Now the Jorgonians are no longer a threat there is no reason for Earth not to take our offer to help them. Time will tell. And talking of time."

"The greatest ship never to have flown in recent our lifetimes."

They admired the clean lines of the ship, unlike any other they had.

Domtavora said, "The hard part was to repair the damage of the original ship built by Forglatkos but leave intact her special qualities. The crude energy collectors exterior antennae had sustained some damage and after five hundred years we think we have it perfected. The differences between what we use now and the original unconventional features of her creation is what gave this ship the ability to cross time whereas our modern ships can't."

"She can cross time in theory."

"We both know it was more than just theory, Zax. Our modifications could mean what happened accidentally could be repeated in a controlled manner."

"Perhaps. Even if it worked, the consequences could be, well, disastrous."

"Or truly amazing."

Zaxtormon said, "Just forget it even exists."

"I will. This strange ship will remain the worst kept secret of the Alliance. Besides. How could we dare use it and risk changing the universe as we know it?"

"Your caution has kept that from happening until now."

"You would have done differently?"

"Thankfully, I'll never be in position to have to make that decision."

"As Principal I had to make those decisions. Anyway. It's all academic. Nobody would be crazy enough to try it out."

"One very special crew just might be."

Domtavora's eyes seemed to take on that faraway look. "Forget it." He turned to make his way home, paused at the door and looked back to see Zaxtormon still staring at the ship. "Zax!"

"I know. Forget it."

He joined his old friend at the door, both taking one last look at the unique ship.

"Forget it," they said together.

"Lights off!" said Zaxtormon and the hangar was plunged into darkness.

Many thanks for reading my book. I hope you enjoyed it. Please review it if you would, as feedback for this one could determine if it's a one off or number one in a series. I have some interesting ideas for another book if people are interested. Regards, Gary.

