They gathered, the Fleet, their weapons sharpened by will and their 
shields toughened by need. Almost a battlegroup and a half in 
strength, they came. Ships and glory, they hung poised in space close 
to the Tyranis-Chronos Jump Node. Sleek, dynamic Corvettes. Rugged 
and flexible Cruisers. The powerful Destroyers, living up to their 
names. 

Looming, sheltering Carriers. Gargantuan and terrible Battleships. 
Here and there, the odd Frigate upgrade... blazingly quick 
Interceptors. Prime war vessels all, and in the characteristic 
flattened-spoon shape of Drave Naval Yards design and the old 
Severance Navy. It was the grandest sight, not since nine hundred 
years ago had so many ships had gathered in the same place. 

  They were mercenaries no longer. They were off to war again, but no 
longer for money, or fame, or for any number of loose reasons. They 
were fighting for themselves, their families, the friendships that 
they had forged. For Tyranis, the home they've found and learned to 
value. For hope itself, for the light and future of all civilization. 
They fought, for they had no other choice.

  At least, this was what they believed. On the other hand, they 
could simply accept the doom awaiting them.

  I myself knew that I would die. And yet I exulted. I dared not show 
any cowardice in the face of my brave comrades, although we were 
cowards all. Those who were not afraid to die were afraid to live, to 
throw away the respect given to him by those who nearly worshipped 
them as saviours unerring. Death no longer terrified us. We had 
invented barbarisms and brutalities that surpassed the horrors of 
dying.

  In battle was least painful of ways to die. To die was good, to be
captured was an agonizing prospect.

  The Scourge were coming. An alien armada from beyond the Outer Rim, 
clear across the galaxy, and unrelenting in their conquering onslaught.
None had yet to win any decisive victory against the onrushing swarms,
the most that could be done was to slow them. These creatures utterly
beyond understanding, whose words were sent upon strings on madness in
the air, and whose tactics brought to heel forces that had thought 
themselves proofed against attacks by superior numbers. Where they
went, there was only death. They had to be stopped, once and for all
time. The Fleet was made for that purpose. 

  I set down my thoughts while I still remember. I doubt that anyone 
will believe me. It does not matter. I will forget, everyone will 
forget. This knowledge was never meant for minds such us ours to 
know, it is the nature of things to preserve us from its prescence. 

  The Scourge frightened us then, our nightmares made manifest. We 
had ruled our galaxy too long, and they came to destroy all the 
pillars of our civilized station. In war we were unsurpassed, in our 
rules of war and technological expertise we had thought ourselves 
ultimate masters. The Scourge knew war only as the operation of life 
itself. Micro-organisms fought for food, space and sex. Macro-
organisms merely expanded the scale of destruction. The Scourge 
thought that anything not dealing with war was a thing leading to 
death. 

  It was about survival. And the Scourge were very good at surviving. 

  They could live and fight under any circumstance, they were 
persistent and unsparing in their assaults. Oh, how they made us 
fear. A Glorious Death was far preferable to being eaten. 


  I no longer fear the Scourge. I pity them. Their horrors pale to what 
I've seen, their bloodlusts only temporary. They could only kill me 
once, and physical pain fades far too easily. 

  They watch me, even now. Those things that the Scourge barely glimpse
in their psionic unity. In this way I am the same as them, they feel 
the shadowy grip of these entities and it drives them further and 
further into their fear/anger/hate medley and pushes them forward into 
conquest.

  If I could find a Scourge Warrior not intent of killing me, I would 
tell it "I envy you your focused mind, that you cannot even guess at
what your masters intend."




  But back then, I wanted to kill Scourge. The Fleet hated them with 
such unwavering passion.




  To this end they had been given all the resources a depending 
starsphere could offer, a star supercluster confederation owing their 
continued existence to so few. Long burdened by the memory of a nine 
hundred years-old defeat, in these their bright young sons and 
daughters they would entrust their fates. They had their destiny 
stolen from them, and they were riding on the edges of ours.


  Six days later this mismash of volunteers and sellsoldiers would 
fight to near decimation. Of every thousand, only ten would live on. 

  Yet their blood would have bought enough time for the other half of 
their Integrated Guardian fleet to complete the equally massive task 
of evacuating the Outer Rim. Transport Cruisers, refitted Frigates, 
Freighters, Resourcers, and by the thousands... almost every 
noncombat ship in Tyranis would move people and valuables, cleaning 
out entire worlds, leaving only the most suicidal of defenders to 
beat aside the inevitable Scourge counterattack. The four main worlds 
that the IGF used as bases would be completely levelled by Scourge 
bombardment. 

  And still, the Fleet would fight on even after the defeat of its 
main force. They had prepared numerous military caches for limited 
guerilla strikes against Scourge factory/colonies.

  It would be almost a year later before the war would be won, but 
not by by our hands. By then countless Fleetmen and of much more 
civilians would have perished.


  For their sacrifices, they would be all hailed as Heroes of the 
Scourge War. 


  In their passing, Tyranis would be turned into a devastated realm. 
The remnants would either drift away or be formalized into the formal 
navy of Tyranis, renamed The Associations of Tolera. 

  For the Federation Navy too, was almost brought to heel. They were 
weakened, while factions such as the pirate bands of Jorael and Zane 
would be almost untouched. The Reunification Navy would rise, and 
under its eye all the Outer Rim would tremble.

  The Fleet had suffered much for their beliefs, yet rest would not 
so soon be found.



  Heading towards this peculiar destiny, a sleek golden ship would be 
their flagship. The IGF Mimir's Will, first of her class, pride of 
Kitaran construction, would disappear by the end of the Scourge War. 
She would survive the Scourge onslaught, but would just vanish with 
all her crew... was she destroyed? Scuttled? Roaming where no one has 
roamed before? Or hidden until the time she would be needed again? No 
clues, only countless rumors fading into legend.

  With her ends the last vestige of an era. Prior to the Scourge War,
a time of daring, of optimism, of exploration.


  But I know. I was there. It doesn't even make sense. Madness. Such 
a comfort, insanity. Many of us already took this refuge. We left, we 
returned, we fought the war, we left again. And we return. Without 
ship. Without crew. 

  Space is nothing of import to us. What is the silence of vaccuum, 
compared to the silence of true death? We have seen it. We have 
touched it. And like all others before us, it changed us forever.


_______________________________________________________________________


                      Illuminati-Fiction.net 
                            presents

                      A TDZK Fanfiction

                   ----------------------------                     
                   \              |           /
                    \      Mimir's Will:     /
                     \  I DREAM OF KITARA   / 
                      \      *    |  *     /
                       \  *       |    *  /
                        \*        |     */
                         \        ------/
                      An Alternate Universe 



_____________________________________________________________________

Chapter One         
Paradise Reclaimed


      IGF MIMIR'S WILL
      Integrated Guardian Fleet Mimir-class Destroyer
      Near the Tyranis-Chronos Jump Node
      Dominions of Tyranis Capital Star System
      Scourge Suppression Zone


  Tabbana Brusolla could not help a tired grin. In battle formation 
were the largest independent fleet an Alliance could ever muster. 
Power given form, and steered by his desires. If he had sought for 
it, he would have been ecstatic. However he was not the sort of man 
who could be made happy by such display. And for that reason, was how 
authority came to drop into his hands. He could blame it all on the 
Dominions of Tyranis, those people formerly so high and then struck 
down by the Federation... left to rot, threatened by those that they 
used to rule. 

  He supposed he should feel taken advantage of.

  The Integrated Guardian Fleet. What a difference three years made!  
An Alliance, as defined by the Standard Knowledge Base was:

    An independent professional entity given certain concessions and 
    protections of law, who operates without direct affiliations to 
    state or issues. 

  We could trade, we could purchase battleships, we could go to war 
and own worlds... and without bending the knee at anyone. Of course, 
it was for the better to keep in the good graces of governments, for 
while we had protections of law, we also had limitations. Alliances 
could not have to their name more than thirty ships; either 
tradeships or warships, and we could be held liable under the 
judiciary of systems we operated in. Navies could clean us, and 
pirates could trouble us. From fledgling company to a full 
strikeforce, we bled and fought and lived. Alliances were many in the 
Federation, and were roving investments. We had attracted the 
sponsorship of CHOMA-Miranda, one of the six largest 
transcorporations in Tamaran holdings. We had no home but the stars, 
no friends but our guns, and no loyalty except to each other. Those 
were days of crystal and brightness, and all before us seemed ready 
for the taking.

  We went into Rim, for there in lawless space were legends born. 

  When we started out for the Outer Rim, we were just another 
contract Alliance off for a system protectorate of Tyranis. It was a 
simple duty, and one we had practiced to perfection in the buffer 
zones of Taelon. We were unprepared to face the staggering tasks that 
awaited us. The contract assessment was in the realms of insane 
profitability, and included a world for ourselves to base on during 
our term of service.  Reinforcing their meager mustered flotillas and 
helping hunt down pirates to their strongholds. And once there, as 
the armed-up merchantmen patrol groups were too weak and divided on 
their own, the IGF would have to bear full brunt the costs of a 
planetary assault.

  Pain and death. We had song. 

  Mercenary, look away 
  From the fruit your actions done
  Be it for ill or a brighter day
  Just do the deed and be gone




  In the name of the almighty GalCred, begone thee from our sight, 
for ye are found unworthy of living.




  But the sad thing was of how such mundane tasks impressed the 
Dominions. Ever since the fall of the Grand Dominion and the 
Severance Navy, no one had bothered to try and either conquer or 
protect Tyranis. The Federation had left it too bombed-out, too 
broken in spirit, there was almost nothing to protect. Their apathy 
could make even stolid pirates look for better pickings.

  It was cruel, what the Integrated Guardian Fleet had done. We had
given these wartorn populace a ray of hope. Contact with the 
properous Federation without being pressured into subservience! 
Protection from the pirate bands of Chronos! Industry! Trade! Order 
from the chaos!

  SELF-WORTH!

  It was beyond surprising how easily the once-proud starsphere 
convinced itself that it needed new masters. So quickly, so 
thoroughly, that we, the Fleet didn't even have a chance. We were 
doing their administration, becoming supreme law on whatever region 
we strayed into, we were going beyond the limits of our contracts 
and... most foreign of all, actually SEEING people instead of just 
sources of income... until one day we woke up and said;

  "Oh, holy <bleep>. Did we just take over four hundred worlds in our 
sleep?"



  We were mercenaries. It was incomprehensible to us. The entire 
unit structure, our entire subculture as it were, was geared to being 
under someone else. We were paid to die, but they needed us alive. 
All that was theirs was ours for the taking. All the things that they 
had made themselves forget, to protect them from the ravages of those 
that chew upon the fringes of their fallen empire. We didn't know 
what to do! We had a clearer idea than most what ultimate power 
entailed. We were mercenaries, we knew! Power has its price. We were 
ourselves, we were free agents. Their gifts were shackles, their 
allegiance a prison. We had kept ourselves distanced from politics 
for so long, owing nothing to anyone. What we were was as we made 
ourselves. 

  Tabbana Brusolla, our fleetlord, bless his lunatic Kitaran heart, 
gave us a prison key.

  'People of the Fleet, hear me!' said he. And we heard. 'Repeat 
after me.' And we did.

  It is the duty of the strong to protect the weak, and 
  the powerful to wield power in the defense of right. 
  Therefore, it is my duty to protect as many as are in 
  my power.
 
  It lies within my power to protect all that live under 
  my sight.

  From this day forward, I declare that the practice of 
  war is essential.

  I shall give my children days of serenity. I shall 
  give them these worlds, and they shall know not fear
  or suffering. I will create a shining hope from the 
  ruins of the old. It is inside my power. All those who 
  would use their power for mindless destruction, shall 
  face my wrath.

  
  We were the Integrated Guardian Fleet. We were, for the first time, 
true to our name. A name that grew in the dreams of Lysle Rigger, and
brought into fullness by Tabbana Brusolla. For that pledge, all our
doubts were settled. Our Fleetlord could not have killed his former
Alliance Commander simply to take over his post. Rigger had 
disappeared and it was the first time I believed that he had left of 
his own choice, not assassinated. 


  All power had its price. This was something inescapable. We chose 
to pay in responsibility. Precedents many was there of mercenaries 
being absorbed by the broken vigor of the things they protected. The 
damn Tyrans knew us better than we knew ourselves. We had begun, and 
we could not abandon what we had started. 

  Tyranis was filled with debris fields, shattered hulks of once-
mighty starships, and ruined military complexes. A starsphere, an 
area a thousand light-years in diameter, completely organized for 
war. Such a massive undertaking, that even nine hundred years later 
the signs were barely faded. Crumpled into the third moon of Paxis, 
capital world of the Dominions of Tyranis, was still the SSN 
WURSUNEI, a 2.5 kilometer long Severance Navy Volkov-class 
Battleplate... one of the largest and most powerful ships ever 
constructed.

 It was there! Hidden, ashamed, we had to grub through their psyches 
but the potential for them and us to be truly great could be found. 
The old Severance Navy ships were the most robust of ships ever made, 
and the Drake Naval Yards of Drake Station were used to build them. 
The people were accustomed to following authority, and saw it as a 
joy even to simply reconstruct their old symbols of glory. But the 
sigil of the Separate Starspheres was of defeat, and so they obsessed 
about our sigil - the white triangle over a star-studded black 
circle. Each point on the triangle stood for something: Hope, 
Courage, and Persistence of Purpose, with which anything can be 
overcome. 
  
  They liked that. They got their old emotions back by sucking at ours. 

  They had taken a risk, that they wouldn't be taken advantage of, 
and it paid. It was all calculated. The more they gave, the more we 
could not pull away. There were technological secrets that no one in 
the Federation had ever seen. We needed them to crew the new ships 
they built for us. We needed skilled workers, technicians, and 
developed an elite status for servants. Brusolla was a Tabbana, his 
work ethic seeped into everything. Each person had a purpose, each 
person doing work was a prayer unto the universe. They loved it. They 
were being educated, they were being paid, and excitement filled the 
air as the old was made new.
  


  And ironically, only in time for the Scourge to arrive and deem 
them a suitable target.



  They came, in their subspace tunnels, in their swarms, in their 
appetite for destruction. It was a shock for anyone, how their armada
was always perfectly coordinated, the utter devastation they left
behind, the mass executions of useless civilians... Our worlds were
carved into and stripped bare to forge more and more of their ships.
Our people, either workers or reprocessable biological material. They
did this not out of malice or intent, it was just the best way to 
wage total war. Now, I can see that they had pride of their own. 
Efficiency was their word. As scavengers they were penultimate. 

  We rallied, we fought. We died by the thousands, but we pushed them
out of our space. Much of the Tyranis mine belts were intact, that 
helped. The debris fields had some old, ridiculously strong chassis 
we could refit. 

  We warned others, but they did not listen. We and others who had 
faced the merest scouting swarm of the Scourge banded together for
protection. Soon enough all others would know panic and loathing.

  Tyranis we mobilized, we forged into machine dedicated to killing
Scourge. Others realms fell, we lived, if just barely. Recognizing 
our worth as a forward base of operations, the Federation aided the 
region they once considered 'hostile' in rebuiding their military 
capbility. Most in the Federation Navy still believed that their 
awesome might could turn aside the Scourge, more pragmatic ones
saw how the Outer Rim fought on their own and despaired at their own
Council's callousness. 

  The Kitarans specially, what with most of the Tyranis population 
being long-lost kitarans, offered their most sincere (and thorough) 
aid. 



  Brusolla sighed and leaned back on his seat. He was, even by 
Kitaran standards, short. He had thick brown hair and an unlined 
face, this made many assume him to be much younger than what he 
really was. He was  a Tabbana, that cultural and subracial 
denomination noted for its  perseverance and pacifism. Despite this, 
all looked up to him for  guidance. His command pod was on a raised 
dais above the bridge, eye level with the massive holoscreen, and 
allowed him the right due to any  Kitaran captain - to pilot his own 
ship directly. "Mimir.." he whispered. The name of his murdered wife. 
IGF MIMIR'S WILL, Clan Tabbana's gift. 

  It was a testament to love, an odd purpose for a warship. But with
every component, he proclaimed his remembrance. And his vow never to
let innocents suffer the misuse of power again.

  Behind the flagship hung warships produced in a hurry, crewed with 
eagerness. 

  'Can't you see I'm leading you to die?!' he wanted to yell. 'You 
should be cursing me, not thanking me!'

  Instead he just said "Sound jump warning. All hear this, prepare 
for Node entry. The MIMIR'S WILL shall enter first. Follow with 2nd 
and 3rd Strikegroups. Battleship wings, hold for all-clear reports. 
All Destroyer groups, enter in sequence. 4th Strikegroup remains with 
the Battleship wings."

  Ships shifted formation, assenting to his command. Back then, there
was no other option than victory.

  "Aye, sir. Sounding jump warning." replied the Fantyrani Pirshan-
miro Purron Shani. She had long lustrous back hair, large round 
eyeglasses, and by  comparison towered over her captain. The Fantyra 
were the most 'war-like' of all Kitaran Clans, but for intensely 
secret reasons her temperament veered more towards logic and harmony. 
Sometimes she woke at night, wondering 'How did I get here?'. She was 
a datajill, that entity that weaves through the Node Network and was 
bane of all would-be superhackers. All others thought the Datajill 
was a specialized artificial intelligence created to protect the 
datastream, one that was sentient and powerful. Armies of netrats 
swore themselves to her name. The truth was far stranger. Twelve 
women, intelligent beyond  measure, created specifically to aid in 
conquering the entire Federation.

  Of them, she was most rebellious. Her Sisters were in secure 
places,she lived amongst the seculars. And tantamount to sacriledge, 
she bound herself to protect one person, not the entire spacefaring
civilization as their Sisterhood had promised. 

  Her voice filtered through inship comms. "Jump Warning. Jump 
Warning. All hands prepare for Node Entry."

  All over the ship, klaxons rang and lights dimmed to battle glow. 
The crew tensed up, some rushed, it was the last chance for anyone to 
get secure in their stations. Immidiately after emerging from 
subspace, they might immidiately be engaged in battle. 


  "Shields at full, integrity field online." Anuma Seline put in. She
sat in a smaller command pod to a little lower to the left of the
main command pod. She was green-haired, only slightly taller, and 
with a tight bodice. She was the reason Shan had sworn to follow 
Brusolla, to protect and monitor her actions. For the datajills were 
part of an organization devoted to finding and stopping all Polloid action.

  Seline held all other biological life in contempt. She was its 
ultimate expression. Eternal. Everchanging. She was one of only ten
thousand of their kind in Federation space, compared to trillions of
everyone else. Their numbers alone didn't seem to pose much threat. 
Yet paranoia reigned in anything that seemed to have the mark of 
Polloid involvement. 

  Tabbana Brusolla did not need protection from her, even though she 
had once tried to kill him. The opposite was true, he was protecting 
her, from others of her race. 

  "Sublight thrusters engaged, powering up SSJD."

  She restrained her nervousness. Her knowledge wasn't up to the raw
mental library of others, what she had on her side was experience.
She was hundreds of years old, and possibly even older than that.
For Polloid in the Federation were banished specimens of their kind,
and their memories from being separated from the Polloid Union was
unreliable at best. 

  THE most advanced Kitaran ship in the galaxy, the MIMIR'S WILL was. 
It was the pinnacle of Kitaran construction, matching blinding 
mobility with punishing firepower. It was also highly experimental, 
and they had numerous precendents of things in the ship exploding for 
no apparent reason.

  She wasn't afraid of death, but subspace travel did give her such a
headache.


  The Jump Node pulsated, waiting for the golden ship to dive into 
its kilometers-wide hole in the universe. 

  Jump Nodes assisted ships in traversing distances thousands of 
light-years apart. Even ships without subspace jump drives could use 
them. However, those with Jump Drives were capable of node travel 
speeds magnitudes greater than their less-elite contemporaries. They 
function by forcibly keeping open subspace jump threads, the 
connections between stars that allows accelerated subspace travel. In 
the long history of Jump Node use, accidents were extremely rare, as 
the Taenarian-designed structures were far more stable than a normal 
ship's jump drives.

  The chance of anything going wrong was one in several billion.



  The IGF MIMIR'S WILL went in. 

















  Serpents! Fires! Claws and darkness! They know Its name, that 
untenable will, that glittering hand that shapes the days of our 
lives. That cursing touch, that name that commands, whom none can 
disobey. Free will is an illusion we perpetrate amongst ourselves.

  Do you believe in God? It refuses even that title. Without shape, 
or form, or limitations - only by Its works can It be felt.

  It had us, Its expressions of whimsy, and with the most 
imperceptible of contact, sent us careening from our destination.  


   






  















  "Jump warning! Jump warning!" the conn announced. "Prepare for 
subspace exit."

  The MIMIR'S WILL slid out of the swirling blue tunnel of subspace 
with no small degree of unease. Energies could be seen sparking and 
sliding across her gold-painted hull. Subspace travel affected 
everyone in different ways. To some, going superluminal was nothing 
special. To others, the base energy-state of subspace was a spiritual 
place. Certainly it was beautiful to behold.

  All ships do not engage visual sensors immidiately after jump exit.
The sudden switch between a moving azure pattern to a still 
pinpoints-on-black was disorienting to the senses. Normalspace could 
be ugly if seen so soon after being a part of all the cosmos.

  "Contact warning." the computer announced automatically. "Massive 
gravitics distortion detected off port bow."

  "Object has been classified as a planet." it added. 


  Jump Nodes were constructed along subspace jump threads. They 
needed to be perfectly aligned with each other. Therefore, they were 
located on the far outskirts of capital star systems and away from 
any major gravity influences. 

  There were no Jump Nodes placed within the orbits of planets. 

  No one on the bridge could deny the large blue-green world 
dominating their vision. 


  "What in the...?" Brusolla muttered. "Situation report!" 

 Seline looked over her console. On it, ship schematics drifted past,
with notations on each major component status. "Ship functions all 
read normal, captain." She then turned her gaze to the similar 
command pod directly opposite. 

  The MIMIR'S WILL was a Kitaran ship, and operated by Kitaran Rules. 
The Captain had no first officer, but two specialized seconds-in-
command. Appropriately, they also had contrasting duties on the 
bridge. Seline was The Inward Part, ship's functions commander. Shan 
was The Outward Part, ships's comms and sensors. 

  "This is impossible..." she gasped.

  "Yes, damn!" Brusolla smacked his fist into his pod's side. His 
anger was tempered by curiousity. That had always been his greatest 
flaw. "We've been jerked out of subspace... the jump thread's failed. 
They must have destroyed the Chronos-Tyranis Jump Node. But even 
then, we should have emerged on the other side... we were already IN 
the thread...with jump drives on, we should have ridden the subspace 
connection to its fraying point, the other star's gravity well." 

  "No, B-sol. I mean that planet." She turned to him, her eyes wide 
in wonder. Normally she wouldn't have dared to refer to her captain 
so familiarly while on duty. "The computer is telling me that... that 
planet... is KITARA."

  Seline scoffed. "Impossible. Or.. perhaps my diagnostics are shot. 
Fine, let's have a full systems check."

  "There is nothing wrong with the computer... if the computer says
it is Kitara - then it has to be. We are dealing with hundreds of 
concurrent comparisons here. All the data within storage are detailed 
and impeccable." 

  "Don't joke with me. Even I know Kitara's mostly brown."

  "Well you can LOOK, can you not? The eastern continent of Solace, 
the western Issya! The twin continents Sylannia and Illenia!"

  And with that, silence fell across the bridge. Planetary details 
were put on the primary holoscreen. 

  "A pristine Kitara..?!" everyone voiced their disbelief.

  Kitara Prime, second planet in its system and the prized jewel of 
the Kitaran race, was a mere shadow of the grand planet it once was. 
13,663 kilometers in diameter, a rotational period of 22 hours 43 
minutes, and a revolution of 389 days, the planet would seem a 
perfect environment for life to take root, with warm days and nights, 
and relatively calm climates. However, its once lush and fertile 
forests had long since disappeared under centuries upon centuries of 
turmoil and strife. 

  Even with Taenarian assistance and terraforming, much of it was 
still blasted wasteland. Its very soil secreted delicious agony. By 
contrast the world they beheld was a true jewel among the stars. 

  "Two moons..." Shan added in an awed tone. "Two moons! Kitara Prime
only has ONE moon, the other was destroyed in war." That had been a 
proof that the Kitarans were not any more or any less superior to 
other races, despite the arrogance of some. Zalluns had created 
battlemoons to serve as mobile forward bases for their Imperial-class 
fleets. The Kitarans, in their brutal inner wars had devised weapons 
of such destructive capacity that all other Kitarans fell upon this 
Clan and eradicated it to the last child.

  "Maybe we're wrong about this. We shouldn't check the ship's 
systems, maybe we should check if we're still alive." 

  "Su nyaa ilan miming kitharramur minnenyao..." Brusolla semi-
chanted. "Daris kunnai iselyaa onsum riisa iannraio."


  And yes, we shall walk upon a pristine Kitara 
  Together on those lands warless and forgiving


  Such was the aphorism said upon every traditional Kitaran funeral. 

_______________________________________________________________________
Chapter Two
Hold and Fast


      IGF MIMIR'S WILL
      Integrated Guardian Fleet Mimir-class Destroyer
      In extended orbit above the planet Kitara Prime
      Republics of Kitara Capital Star system(?)
      Federated Kitara(?)


  "Well, this is interesting." Seline's bland tone cut through the 
faintly religious atmosphere. If she could not find a way to kill it,
humiliate it, or sell it off - it was not interesting. "But we've got 
a war to win. Mark this on our charts, and let's meet up with the 
Fleet."

  Brusolla had hard time tearing his eyes away from the screen. He 
had been born and raised on Kitara, and even the lowest of the low in 
the homeworld was accorded some status when put beside someone raised
offworld; with all things being equal. Such favoritism in keeping 
with the planet's role as the center of ALL Kitaran culture was 
something he'd hated. But even he wasn't immune from the effects of 
cultural impetus. It came from the same wellspring of emotions that 
made him  deem Taenarians as creatures to be protected at all costs. 
It demanded he sanctify even the name of Kitara, and could not be 
denied. 

  "Thank you, Seline. I can always rely on you to keep perspective. 
Plot a course, and sound jump warning." He didn't see how she preened 
from just a simple compliment.

  Shan turned to her task with a faintly narrowed eyes. We had always 
thought the two women competed far beyond professional levels. Were 
it not that they were so evenly matched, with different aptitudes, we
would have made bets. She was mind, we knew that. We trusted her 
conclusions without question. After matching up their local scan to 
the Galactic Arm's index, she let out a tortured scream. "IT DOES NOT 
MAKE SENSE!"

  "What doesn't make sense?" the captain asked. 

  "That planet IS Kitara. This star system IS Prima Kitara. We ARE in 
Kitaran space." She held up her hand to forestall Seline's 
objections. "The Standard Star's Index has all known stars and star 
formations and from it any decent ships' computer can locate itself 
from anywhere in known space. The Racial territories are some of the 
most well-mapped areas. EVERY STAR for ten thousand light years 
around us matches the chart. It is impossible for ANY OTHER location 
in our galaxy to match it. It is ridiculously unlikely for any other 
location on any other galaxy to exactly match it."

  Again, silence.

  "That's... Kitara?" Brusolla asked numbly.

  "Aye."

  "How long would it take for us on our subspace jump drive to get to 
the Chronos battle zone?"

  "Twenty-six years."

  "On our..." he coughed. "Other jump drive?"

  "Four years."

  "Damn."

  We knew that the MIMIR'S WILL was one of the most advanced ships in 
the galaxy. The captain had kept from us just HOW advanced. These 
things we had, that went beyond even the cutting edge, they would 
have terrible, terrible ramifications.

  "Assuming that there is even the faintest trace of a battle zone 
should we do get there instantaneously."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Going by a former hypothesis, we could actually be dead." she said 
with an uncommon smile.

  "It wasn't a hypothesis!" Seline pouted cutely. That brought a 
slight laugh from her companions. She was capable of changing her 
form even to below a cellular level. Her preferred face was of a 
classically beautiful Kitaran woman, and a pout on that was heart-
tugging; belying her remorseless personality. Her expression snapped 
back to seriousness. "I'm serious."

  "I'll bite. Why do you think we're dead?"

  She lifted her gloved hands and flexed her fingers. "Because I feel 
alive."

  This apparently contradictory statement only made sense to those 
that knew Seline's true nature. "I am myself." she added, looking up 
at an astonished Tabbana through her slim digits. "I am an 
individual.A person. I am alone." Each word, in its truth, was making 
her heart explode with joy.

  Alone. That drove home an urgent idea into Shan's head. She closed 
her eyes and seemed to meditate. She gasped. "So am I. I can't feel 
my Sisters... anywhere."

  "Oh, hell no." Brusolla nursed a rising migraine. He didn't quite 
believe that they were dead. But if the datajill Shan couldn't make
telepathic contact with other datajills, that was beyond bad. They
should be able to hear each other anywhere in the universe. The only
other explanation would be that the other datajills were dead. 

  Which meant, that the Scourge had won. Utterly.


  "I still think we're simply dead. We could have won, you know. 
Struck down in our prime. What bliss."

  "I believe we jumped back in time."

  "You're both deranged, you know that?" He chuckled in relief.

  The two had learned of his tendecy to drop into dark moods, and how 
to bring him out. For someone on the ultimare rung of the command 
ladder, his confidence level just wasn't all that high. This 
simplicity though, is what endeared him to his crew. He wasn't The 
Captain, a remote infallible entity, the impression that other ships 
encouraged. He was the Fleetlord, and in direct contrast to the 
title, you knew he cared if you lived or died.

  The entire IGF subculture was devoted to making officers and their
men act as one. Everyone Belonged. Because we didn't have the 
numbers, we had to compensate with the exceeding quality of men and
materiel. It was so similar to the Severance Navy attitude, that the
Fleet was swamped with Tyranis enlistment. Of course, on a straight-
out war of attrition lasting fifty years or so... we would lose, like 
they had. But then we had no intention of defying an industrial 
juggernaught like say, the entire Federation. The Scourge Swarm was 
similar though, which was we had massed our forces and prayed for a 
quick fight to the finish. If the Scourge were allowed to take root, 
they'd overwhelm even the strongest defenses. Fast as we could kill 
them, they could make more. We had to destroy their source.


  Seline tapped her console. She was indeed convinced she was dead. 
That she should by all rights, be practically immortal, was making 
that idea sweeter and sweeter by the minute. "What should we do 
now?" 

  "I'm going down there."

  Both women would have stood up in protest, were they not secured to 
their pods. "Sir, regulations state that UNDER NO CONDITIONS should 
the commanding officer expose himself to danger. A Captain belongs to 
the ship, he is its light, the engines are his desires and its 
weapons are his will." Shan spoke up. 

  "Stuff it. I made the rules, I can change them." He stopped in the 
middle of unlatching himself from his seat. "Note to self. Stop being
so damn literary in writing rulebooks." Had Brusolla never one into 
space, none of us had any doubts he would have made his name in 
writing. Instead of going to space, he would have taken it down to 
himself, in words making it his own.

 "I won't let you kill yourself. I'll break your legs if I have to." 
Seline warned. The captain actually reconsidered at that. She could 
do that, yes. And no one on the ship was capable of even slowing her 
down, much less stopping her. 

  He was ready to get killed, but was he willing to kill for Kitara? 
Had we known them what we know now, we should have broken his legs,
his arms, and kept him from speaking.

  He shook his head. "I have to take the risk. That's KITARA down 
there. A green Kitara. Just let me touch it, let me know it's real... 
fifteen, thirty minutes, tops... and we can jump out of here." He 
fixed bleary eyes with her. "I will do this."

  She winced. He was using THAT tone of voice. He would crawl to the 
dropships if he had to. "Then take me with you."

  "Allowed."

  He'd agreed too easily. Seline's mouth was shaped into a 'o'. Shan 
rose to her feet as well. "I am also Clanned. I cannot let this 
opportunity to inspect Pristine Kitara pass." Her mind was bustling
with all sorts of questions, and in the search for answers there was
nothing more stubborn than a datajill. 

  Seline strongly objected to the idea. "What, let's bring the entire 
command crew down there?" 

  Brusolla rubbed his nose. "Hm.. why not?" 


  Both women turned to him. Maybe this was reason Kitara was a nuked-
out world. Its light drove offplanet Kits insane.


  "Hey, danger twins!" he shouted below to the two gunnery control 
pods. "You up for a dirtside recon? Chances are that it's going to be 
boring, but if worst comes to worst, you're going to massively outgun 
any resistance."

  As if there could be any other answer but "Nyao!" if he phrased it 
that way. The twins Erhili nearly leapt out of their pods and went 
running off to gather their respective arsenals get equipped with 
powered armor. They'd weighed the prospect of being attacked by a 
cloaked ship against the chance to hunt vintage Murrowi beef. 

  Fraxy and Denquerele Rowy Erhili would in other times be considered 
borderline psychotic. Their obsessive-compulsive reaction to weapons 
and USING them, their sharing everything including boyfriends (and 
girlfriends) and most importantly their unerring accuracy in combat...

  Tabbana Brusolla had pulled them off a SAIRAAD mobile biological 
resources lab. The Crimson Fury actually had the idea of pulling the
girls' brains out and integrating them into Targeting Computers. 


  The two subcaptains reconsidered their captain's state of mind. The 
safest place to be when the twins Erhili was around was inside their 
zero-range. This was a concession to them, he wasn't planning on 
dying so easily, whatever may come.



  Big as she was, almost six hundred and fifty meters long, the 
Stealth Destroyer needed only five people to control her up on the 
bridge. When all that fails, there was one other place the ship could 
still be operated from. There was only one person that could be 
trusted to get the ship out of harm's way even crippled, half-dead, 
as she'd be. 

  "Shan, please get me Engineering." 

  She complied. On the holoscreen, a relatively young Kitaran girl's 
face appeared. She looked to be no more than twenty at most, but 
already her hair was completely white. Considering that most Kitarans 
could live up to one hundred and twenty-five, that was odd. 

  "Irina, I need to to make a planetary landing. Do we have any small
shuttles?"

  Irina Whythir shook her head. Whitehair, a nickname, that was the 
only other name she'd known. She was an orphan he'd sponsored. Ten 
years later he checked up on her foster home and realized that the 
girl was an absolute sorceress with machinery. And that talent was 
being abused by the creativity-deficient engineer that dared call 
himself her adoptive father! She had an intuitive grasp that amazed 
anyone that ever saw it in action. Even Shan, a certified genius 
herself, wouldn't compete with Irina in technical trivia.

  After the resulting admittedly-deserved beating of her foster 
parent, Irina was moved to Tyranis, where she consistently topped 
critical decision-making tests. Finally Brusolla had no choice but to 
have her installed as the flagship's Chief of Engineering, where he 
could keep an eye on her and trust that his ship was always at 
optimum efficiency. 

  "No, sir. Please take a Cormorant heavy dropship. They're all 
fully-loaded."

  Cormorants could carry two Very Heavy machined weapons platforms, 
two Heavies, three Mediums or five Lights, six modular Scout Tanks, 
three Vertibirds, four Heavy Suits, and up to twenty-four Power-
armored infantry. In addition, it was heavily-armed on its own, with 
multiple laser and plasma cannons along with a battery of missiles. 
And enough ammunition to sustain the assault group for a week or so 
of combat.

  He grinned. "Irina! I'm going down for exploration, not to start a 
war!" 

  The girl didn't grin back. "Sir, if you'll remember, we WERE going 
towar when we set out. All dropships are fully-loaded."

  "Hm..." He checked his ship's loadout in his mind. The new ship was 
too big, and packed to its combat carrying capacity. "Ready a 
Stingray." It was a light dropship, making up in orbital insertion 
times what it lacked in weapons and armor. Its capacity of four 
machined weapons platforms, four Heavy Suits, four Scout Tanks and 
two Vertibirds was still a respectable assortment. Not that they 
would be needed, but..

  "Aye, sir.  Give us ten minutes."

  "Thank you, Irina."

  She cut off with a salute. He smiled at the blank screen. That girl 
was just too anxious to prove her worth. He would've been happier if 
she was in one of the fleeing Transport Cruisers, but her raw 
determination could match his easily. 

  "Open a channel to the Marines."

  The holoscreen flickered into Sickbay. This would not be unusual if 
the Marines Commander was also your ship's doctor. And a very 
disgruntled doctor at that. 

  "What do you want from Mai now, captain?" Anuma Mai-mai Valurris 
asked. "Mai hopes that it involves spilling blood, not stifling it."

  Brusolla had to clench his lips to keep himself from chuckling. 
Mai-mai's habit of referring to herself in the third person was 
something he'd always found insuffrably charming, which Mai herself 
was anything but. She was blond-haired, well-muscled without looking 
unfeminine, and was one of those hyper-traditional Kitaran 'tribes' 
that lived on the hostile wilderness of unreconstructed Kitara. They 
were allowed to roam even the new forests, because were it not for 
their efforts during the time Kitara itself was nearly uninhabitable, 
many species would have been extinct.

  When the Assembly of Kitaran Clans declared him an 'Encapsulation 
of Kitaran Spirit' (whatever the hell that was), she'd arrived two 
days later with a note signed by ALL Clanmasters that she was to be 
his bodyguard. It was not a request. Considering that by that time 
sixty percent of all investment and infrastructure pouring into 
Tyranis was from Kitara, he could hardly refuse. 

  She'd followed him everywhere, almost even to bed, until she was 
convinced that he didn't need her protection at all times of the day. 
This was accomplished by having Seline hand the self-proclaimed 
'perfect Kitaran warrior' her behind in ten consecutive sparring 
matches. And since he'd gained Seline's service by defeating her, Mai 
reluctantly stepped back.

  He hoped she'd never find out how much of his victory was 
attributable to dumb luck and that he'd been throwing plasma grenades 
around like they were apples. 

  "Mai, have you seen the outside monitors?" He reconsidered. It was
a silly question. If she had, she would already been celebrating in a
highly distracting manner. "Well then, I require you and three of 
your Impact Marines to accompany me, Shan and Seline on a planet run. 
Light Powered Infantry Armor only. Should we need firepower, we've 
got Heavy Suits. Should we need to reshape the landscape, we're 
bringing two Heavy machined weapons."

  "Suu da nyao?!" You mean it?! "Whatever you desire, spirit!"

  She saluted and went offscreen. 


  Brusolla groaned. "Hey, at least she's not Zallun. I've lived with 
them for a while; now THEY define fanaticism." he remarked aside.








  The people that met for the planetary drop did not exactly get 
along together. That was unimportant, they were the best at their 
chosen areas of expertise. 


  The main hold had been cleared, and depressurized. All nonessential 
personnel were to be kept from knowing exactly what planet it was 
that hung outside. Even Irina, raised far from Kitara, was barely 
keeping herself restrained. Not everyone on board was Kitaran, it 
wouldn't do for someone to get killed in the overenthusiastic 
explanation as to WHY it was of such crushing significance that 
Kitara could be... beautiful.


  The Dropship VOIDSKIMMER detatched from her locks and thrust into 
the upper atmosphere with practiced ease. This dropship had done 
countless drops and gravlifts, most in combat conditions.


  It was highly unexpected then, that midway through the tropospause, 
it exploded. 

_____________________________________________________________________
Chapter Three
Look Well Before You Leap


      Outskirts of Elisyan Locale
      Siona Heraldic Empire 
      Sulass Continent
      Pristine Kitara


 Tabbana Brusolla groaned. Pain. So much pain. That was a welcome 
sensation. That meant he was alive, Seline couldn't be right, if he 
could feel pain. 

  He felt a slight kick in the ribs. "DAMNATION, WOMAN!" he yelled.
"Can't you find a gentler way to check if I'm alive?!" He open his 
eyes, wincing at the stabbing brightness, and instead of seeing 
Seline and her smirk - a tall stranger in a dark red cloak, looking 
shocked. 

  "Oh." he added. "Who are you?"

  "Should I not be asking you that question?" The voice was oddly 
nasal.

  "Before I answer that, I need.. a status check. Am I bleeding? Am I 
missing a limb? Is my hair on fire? Do I.. smell like something.. out 
of either a sewer or a chemicals factory?" 

  "It is not within good bearing to answer a question with a 
question." The stranger nodded, amused. "But I did begin this farce. 
No, no, no, and... many of your words are unknown to me, but you do 
not smell at all."

  "Thank you." He managed to weakly pull himself to a sitting 
position. He felt a tree on his back. A tree! Not a dream. "Ming... 
surrai... Kitharra.."

  "Seek pristine Kitara?" he was echoed.

  "Sorry, that must... sound weird. Specially since I AM on Kitara."

  "What do you mean? Kitharrana is where souls go to die. THIS is 
Sulass."

  Brusolla opened his eyes wide. Solace! He was on the Solaris 
continent. "How far is the ocean from here?!" he asked rashly. If he 
survived the drop, then others might not be far behind. 

  The person who found him shrinked back, finding the sudden 
excitement a shy touch of insanity. And the insane were supposed to 
be the eyes of the Gods upon men. "Far, a journey strong. Mayhaps a 
full silver's journey."

  "What in Yanfarr's name is a silver's journey?" The pain was 
starting to fade. He had a tendency to overtalk under stress. Ahh, 
blessed battlesuit-integrated painkiller packs. There was a rather 
obvious flinch on his rescuer. "Wait, important things first... Who 
are you?"

  "I am become Nelaris Iriyana Rumir, lost one." 

  That the insane would be referred to a those who had lost 
themselves, was one of the many coincidences that would plauge us. 
Incidentally, Brusolla's name was a Zallun word; meaning something 
willfully lost. 'Burus' (lost, wandering) and 'Zola' (will, 
determination, warrior). He had abandoned his Kitaran name, as with 
his former sedate and scholarly life.

  He laughed weakly. "Good for you. My name is Tabbana Brusolla. If 
you could help me up, my gratitude would know no bounds." He held up 
his arms with much difficulty. He was hauled up with ease. Whoever 
this Rumir was, he was quite strong.

  "You speak most strangely indeed, nin Brusolla." 

  "Ha! So says the man named Redhand Cloud Master." Then he fainted. 
And at that, Rumir let out a sigh of relief.


  Rumir dragged Brusolla to a pallet and laid him down. He took off 
his cloak, his helmet, and then the pigtail he tied his hair in. Long 
golden locks flowed down, and turned what had previously been a 
rather nondescript face into an unmistakably pretty one. Even the red 
facepaint could not hide how the gentle shape of the face, the lilt 
of the lips or the bobbed nose were accentuated by the dimmed light. 

  Rumir frowned. She'd been travelling for three moons, and not once 
had anyone ever an inkling that the juniour knight they've spoken to 
was a woman. But as she slept in this abandoned farmhouse, she had 
dreamt of her City burning again. Those towers, lighting the night.
Those walls, broken. Homes aflame, their flags trod upon and their 
temples desecrated. It was a classic seige, and everyone was put to
the sword. At least the enemy hadn't gone so far to salt the lands. 

  Her City was lost forever, no one would even dare take shelter in 
those soot-encrusted ruins. Bones would scream their soundless cries 
to eternity.

  She always ended up waking herself with her own cries. But that 
night her nightmares took a different turn. A dark cloud descended 
upon the empty, still-smoldering city. It doused the flames, but 
shortly began to consume it. She yelled something at it, she needed 
at least something to remind her why she existed. It was just 
blackness, and while sometimes she could convince herself that she 
was killing those who swept into her home, to dream-kill fog was 
beyond her. 

  Dreams were more than metaphor. The most obvious of meanings in 
dreams were often the most wrong. She didn't even bother to guess at
what the cloud did represent, she stood by and watched it do its 
work. It left a circular lake, clear and glassy. Upon this lake arose 
on six pillars, a castle of worked metal. Bridges to the north, south 
and east budded from the land edges. The castle's western face, to 
the sun, was a gigantic wall etched with murals. Her face was there, 
featured prominently, queen of the continent.

  This was a city that would not fall so easily. It would end, yes. 
She saw it. From the sky, its death would come.

  And then the was wakened by the sound of half the farmhouse being 
sheared off. She found what looked to be a metal coffin, glowing with
heat, around it was thrown about wood and turf. It was imbedded deep 
into the ground, but then it grew... not exactly legs, more like 
grasping units, to pull itself out. It dragged itself a few feet 
away, and there it rested. 

 It wasn't until early in the day that it opened. 

  What it disgorged was what looked like a young male, hair of common
dark brown, and a green uniform of some kind with a lot of pockets. 
She'd been asking the Gods if her path was the correct one, but this 
was a sign she wasn't expecting. It was a definite answer, but then 
like all divine answers were subject to interpretation. 

  Brusolla shifted in his sleep, muttering incoherently. Poor little 
thing, she knew the signs of a nightmare in progress. She couldn't
approach though, until she knew... was he sent to help, or stop her? 





  "Mimming Kitharra!!" The Impact Marines hadn't stopped shouting yet. 

  "WILL YOU SHUT UP ALREADY?! we want to be able to HEAR the sounds 
of Kitara, you know."  Seline yelled in equal decibel ranges. 
Actually, she could care less of Kitara, she wasn't a real Kitaran 
after all. But if the anomaly they were in was artificially-created, 
then she knew of only one species capable of performing such a 
complex feat. Her kind. And only her would be able to defend against 
their complex, insidious plots.

  She blinked. Or maybe she was becoming biased. Must... keep... 
perspective... I can almost still hear her, repeating that phrase 
over and over, too fearful to stop. 

  "What have we got?" Brusolla asked. He was personally piloting the
dropship, delaying its descent as long as he could. We couldn't just 
send a probe down, the MIMIR'S WILL carried H-ARM dedicated combat 
drones, no V/A (Vacuum/Atmosphere) modular drone vehicles. The latter
were only useful in planetary combat situations, mostly as air 
screens for hovertanks and other light vehicles. Against the Scourge, 
maximum damage in minimum time was the key. 

  "No pollution, somewhat high oxygen levels (but that is to be 
expected), and the ozone layer is untouched. Pristine Kitara in all 
respects."

  "Do we have any signs of intelligent life?"

  "INDUSTRIAL life, you mean. None at all. Even monuments and 
continent-spanning structures can be hard to see from orbit."

  "Then we'll have to see them for ourselves. Everyone secure?
Atmospheric entry, now!"

  The dropship began to burn, the flattened-disc shape from which it
derived its name began to turn white-hot. Normally shield systems 
were engaged at that point, but just in case there were hidden 
planetary guns, they didn't want to draw any unwanted attention.

  They got it anyway. The first sign was when Brusolla's control 
stick came off in his hand. "Oh, bloody hell." he said, even as all 
contol panels in the dropship blew.

  "WARNING! REACTOR MALFUNCTION. CORE BREACH IN FIFTEEN SECONDS. 
WARNING! REACTOR MALF-- krzzhk!"

  "Oh, bloody flipping hell." 

  "To the escape pod!" Seline bellowed, getting out of her seat and 
breaking her restraints. She found herself grabbing his lapel to pull
him out. Unlike her though, he didn't have the strength to simply 
break free without undue pain.

  Shan didn't even bother looking back. She led the way to the proper 
egress. "No! That has a Fusion Core as well. Take the infantry drop 
pods!"

  "-on a stick." he finished, even as he unlatched himself. "Don't
worry about me. Go! GO! SURVIVAL FIRST! FIND EACH OTHER LATER!"


  Each jumped into a drop pod, robust rapid-deployment systems with
integral gravitics module, inertial cancellers, course computers, and 
thirty millimeters thick of the same stuff they made battleship 
armoring of. 

  The gravitics modules didn't engage.

  Neither did the inertial cancellers.

  Drop pods were also triple vouchsafed. They also had a few more 
conventional reaction thrusters, same type as those used by V/A 
drones. These went on, but being a bit more powerful and 
uncontrollable than antigrav suites, they parted from the orderly 
drop arrangement and smacked into random, distant areas of the 
continent. 


                               ---


  His nightmares were almost always the same. There was Mimir, 
smiling, blood leaking from her lips, dying, because he was weak. He 
had loved her with all his heart, he was Tabbana! They mated singly 
and for life. He was unworthy of her, he knew that. And yet she died 
to save him.

  There was Myanima Aya, the dread star pirate. In any other time and
place, they would have become friends.. maybe more. But they spent 
most of their meetings in trying to kill each other. It was a test of 
skills they had grown to enjoy; Crimson Fury training against Border 
Patrol dedication. It was a game, until it had involved the death of 
one million people.

  There was Jeanna Bowe. Even Shar Dalis Mavic, though he had known 
her only a few weeks. Amazing how the women he chose to get close to 
inevitably died. Some survived, by breaking his heart. He was a bit 
happier for that. 

  Power has its price. He lived through things that would have killed
any other man, because he was himself. And he had to live alone. 

  There were all the people he'd failed to protect. Clients as a free
agent, innocent bystanders caught in the middle of his rampages, the 
inevitable casualties of assuming a full battle line. And worst of 
all, he saw all of Tyranis, asking, begging- don't fail us. And he 
knew that he would. He was sending their children off to die, and die 
they must! It was the only way to win.

  Mimir would say "I don't know you anymore" and turn away.

  And then the screaming would start. People dying, because and 
despite of what he's done. Leaving him. Alone. In the darkness. Where 
he no one could see him cry, like a weak simpering fool. 


  "Mimir... no! Don't die." he sputtered out, to Rumir's ever-greater 
shock. 

  How could he know her true name?! Enough. Whoever or whatever he 
was, he had to die. She had to survive, no one must know, her mission 
was far too important. She could NOT be stopped. She crawled to him, 
a dagger in her hand. She raised her right to stab.

  She stabbed rough fiber blanket.

  Rumir blinked, as she found a weeping, whimpering Fleet Commander 
curled up hugging her waist and saying. "Don't die, don't die, I'll
protect you this time, I won't let you die again..." 

  She allowed him to blubber on for a few minutes, until he ran out 
of dreaming hysteria-induced energy. She even went so far as to 
stroke his hair hesitantly as he slept. 

  Then she realized that she was a KNIGHT OF SION, and no one should 
be nearly fondling her. She pried him off, resisted the urge to bash 
his head in, and covered him up in dirty blankets.

  Hm.. that was an idea... she was a Knight without a Squire. This 
had already drawn comment, and her mission required that she not draw 
attention as much as possible. If he was not sent to destroy her 
efforts, then he might as well help. And who would believe an 
obviously crazy character if he manages to slip out about her secret 
identity? Women could not become Knights. 


  She tossed the blade away, and sighed. Things were starting to get 
too weird for her, even in the legendary magical lands of Siona. 



_______________________________________________________________________
Chapter Four
Truth Is A Dangerous Thing


  Other drops weren't quite so fortunate. Seline had landed deep in a
forest of darkest Atral, and upon emerging was accosted by a bandit 
group. She was disoriented, and was unable to offer much of a 
defense. It was until she took a crossbow bolt through her stomach 
and kept on fighting that the bandits began to worry.

  The pain woke Seline up. And shortly thereafter the bandits began 
to have a truly bad day.


  One of Mai's Impactroopers splashed down off the coast of Nian-i-
sara. The bouyant drop pods also contained a quantity of supplies and 
incredibly, an oar(!). A week later she washed up on a beach, and had 
the uncommon bad luck(?) to face an entire family of saberteeth. 

  She had fresh meat for dinner that night, carefully roasted with a 
plasma torch.


  Mai-mai herself landed in the northern part of Sulass. Being from a 
Kitara nearly denuded, she had very little trouble finding food. The 
north was mostly uninhabited, which was good, for quite some time she 
liked to joyfully run through the forest completely naked.


  Another impactrooper landed in the farming village of Mirruvai, on 
the Matriarchy of Sorinn border, whereupon he was beset by villagers 
thinking he was a sent to end the drought. He opened up an underwater 
vein by dropping several plasma grenades into the well. Then they 
tried to get him to marry the village chief's daughter. He ran away, 
mostly because the girl was too pretty and he was castigating himself 
for even thinking for a second of giving up his sworn duty. 

  The flagship personnel were the best that the Mariposa Training 
Academy produced. They didn't have to be mentally well-balanced.



  Case in point, the twins Erhili who had somehow managed to land 
within fifteen kilometers of each other. They had sufficient ordnance 
to take care of themselves or an entire regiment of enemy troops. It
did not matter where they were, for by virtue of overwhelming 
firepower ten kilometers around them were their own sovereign land.



  The last impactrooper landed in the middle of a battle between two 
locales of the broken Absinnrai city-states. There were horsemen, 
pikemen, archers, and whatnot on either side of him, at least a 
thousand men strong on each side. He only had enough time to say to 
himself "...hey, there were never any horses on Kitara!" before he 
was dogpiled. 

  In keeping with one of Brusolla's sayings (If you don't know 
what'll work, toss a plasma grenade at it) he blinded everyone in a 
sudden midair second sun. Then he swiped a horse and began looking 
for cover.

  It was starting to rain.



  And Shan.... 





      Temple of The Bright One
      Isonia Pledgelands
      Sulass Continent
      Pristine Kitara



  "Ahhh ah anya nyi haenan hannyaa..."

  "Ia ia iaaa nan son hannyaa sunha hanad yaaa..."

  Shan blinked, and saw only misted shapes. She was almost blind 
without her glasses, the same unique neural connections that gave her 
an IQ to calculate with an ease to put supercomputers to shame also 
took away her eyesight and half her lifespan. 

  At seeing her awake, the chanting grew stronger.

  "Innya sunha nnyassou jann hannya tolriraa i sien nami anserri shaaa..."

  'See with me the one that walks the night, in whose footsteps gods 
follow?' Shan squinted, more to focus her concentration than force 
some semblance of shape into her vision. It was not too dark, and she 
could smell candles. By the feel of wind on her skin, she was no 
longer wearing her IGF 'blue-and-greys' but something akin to silk. 

  "Your blood sings to us." she heard someone whisper in her ear.

  She went still. No, it can't be. Datajill blood was the same as any 
other blood. Unless you were an extremely powerful empath. 

  "You shine, moon child, you shine. The stars themselves tell you 
stories."

  Oh, to paraphrase B-sol, hell in a handbasket. She could feel she 
was bound, and very securely. She was fit, as to be expected from 
combat crew, but the ropes were tight. She surprised herself by 
wishing Seline was near, not B-sol. But she was a creature of logic, 
and despite her misgivings, knew that there wasn't anyone quite so 
dependable under fire as the guilty green-haired woman. 

  If only there was anything of high-technology around, anything! A 
computer, hell - a microwave oven! Her psionic ability was to control 
the pattern of impulses that govern technology. Psionics was mostly 
about recognition of pattern. Healing, was the encouraging of 
molecules to re-stitch their former pattern. Fire, the seemingly 
chaotic molecular motion. Water; solid, liquid or gas. Thought and 
neuron linkages. The flow of electrons in a circuit, or light in a 
optronic assembly. Patterns.

  Patterns around her 'declared' their affliations. I am wood. I am 
stone. I am steel. I am flesh. I am fire.  

  She reached out, and felt something respond. I am HC6-series 
Infantry Drop Combat Delivery Pod. 

  Activate beacon.

  Beacon is nonfunctional. Automated defense is nonfunctional. Self-
destruct is nonfunctional. I am little more than a lump of metal and 
ceramic. Oh. Most of my locks still work. Arsenal is pretty much 
untouched.

  Plasma pistol.

  I have no power.

  Damn. Damn. Damn. 

  "Look, look! She flies! She flies!" Excited chattering washed over 
her and was ignored.

  She reached further, out past the clouds. Hear me, MIMIR'S WILL. 
Prepare for fullscale planetary assault. Charge Fusion cannons. 
Planetary bombardment on my command. 

  Nothing.

  I am the Datajill Pirshan Purron Shani. MIMIR'S WILL, you are made 
with the blessings of Taenar's Light. We are almost kin. HEAR ME!

  Nothing. The ship... it wasn't there? No, they would not have 
abandoned the Fleetlord so easily, even if the dropship was 
destroyed. She let her mind free. It was something that the 
Taenarians had taught her - minds were not contained in lumps of grey 
matter... no, they were clouds that extend outwards, following the 
senses. Extend this cloud and you extend your senses. 

  She had soon realized that most people had minds reaching out to 
only a few meters of their body, their concerns small, their dreams 
limited. She was a cloud, a stormcloud, her strikes of lightning 
making machines bow to her will. 

  Then she looked at her Taenarian teacher and was humbled. She was a 
moon. They were the sun. 

  
  "Ai! Ai!" they yelled. "Enough! Enough! It's too much! Please go 
back, please return."

  She paid no heed. Tempest! Roar! She felt HIM, the taste of his mind she'd never forget. Somewhere to the southwest. Seline. Like a 
black hole, sucking in her mist. To the east. Mai-mai, almost feral, 
her mind somehow melding with the dumb psionic heat of trees. The 
twins, their minds a ribbon connected to each other. They were all 
spread out, so far apart. She wasn't a telepath, but she knew these 
minds well and they reacted to her. The others, she could only trust 
that they would find a way to meet up on their own. 

  And then she stopped. There was a buzzing at the back of her head. 
Her own neuroshunt implants... it was a feeling she knew well, when 
she was directly interfacing with an intelligence to match her own, a 
highly-sophisticated ship's computer...

  Oh dear Aelanna, a information superlink spread out throughout an 
entire planet. On purely biological lines!

  And above, a field surrounding the world, a field that knew 
technology and destroyed it with passion. An anti-technology field, 
as nonsensical as that might sound. 

  Awareness. 

  Always she had 'known' things, even things that shouldn't be known 
so easily. She could tell the exact temperature from her skin, 
calculate distances by mentally triangulating what she could see, 
small things, small but difficult knowings. When she rode the 
datastream, all things were hers. Encrypted military communications 
were no challenge. Time ceased to have meaning. She was everywhere 
and everything, pure energy flowing through the universe.

  She rode the planetary superlink. It will rain in 24.32 minutes, 
there are 281 murrowi being born at the moment, around this room are
sixteen women of ages between fourteen and fourty. The sea! The 
silent sea! Every molecule of water, every wave upon the shore. The 
winds, every gust, every whimsy! Trees, great and small, in every 
sway! Encryptions! Storage devices! Patterns! All matched in complex 
tempo to her heartbeat! The whistles of great leviathans in the deep, 
the insect call, all were the music of information. All this world is 
mine, and all your wishes bring fruit.



  She blinked.





  She was back. 





  She could see again. Her vision was perfect. Her psionic abilities 
were locked by a force that knew her power, and sealed them before 
she realized the danger she could become. 

  And they exulted, women dressed in flowing grey and blue robes, all
circled around her. "She has returned! She has seen the Shell of the
World! And lived!" 

  "Ahhya nanya sian rani sil nnanhaa riha yaaa..." 

  Our Mother is with us again.


_______________________________________________________________________
Chapter Five
The Follow-through


      IGF MIMIR'S WILL
      Integrated Guardian Fleet Mimir-class Destroyer
      In extended orbit above the planet Kitara
      Unknown
      Unknown



  "They can't be gone! They can't be! There had to be drop pods that 
detatched from the VOIDSKIMMER!" 

  The other Combat Engineers paused in their efforts. Their sensors 
only showed one huge fireball. The MIMIR'S WILL was a command ship, 
designed to coordinate the battle movements of an entire fleet even 
through jamming. She was also an interdiction ship, with her 
interdiction and subspace archor field emitters, along with the 
necessary equipment to move effortlessly through enemy fields. She 
was a cloaked operations ship, her passive sensors gathering 
information without risk of her being detected. All in all, she had 
triple the amount of data assimilation capability than any other ship 
of her type, being designed to counter Crimson Fury warships, the 
absolute masters of cloaked operations. It was almost impossible to 
escape her attention. 

  "You don't believe me?!" her voice cracked with despair. "Computer!
Replay recent visual sensor log three minutes twelve point five to
twelve point nine. Apply multi-channel filtering. Seek medium-heat
source."

  The dropship was bright white disc, enduring friction burn. From 
its sides spurted nine small red dots. A few milliseconds later the 
screen was awash with brightness.

  Again it was proven that data without proper interpretation was 
without value. They were all trained soldiers, they had to expect the 
worst. Regulations stated that if a dropship containing the command 
crew was shot down under overtures of peace, then the first order of 
business was to find the nearest military base and perform a thorough 
surface bombardment.

  "H-how could you have possibly known that?! That was too fast for 
an eye to follow!" Alfred Regault asked. He was a Derivian, talented 
enough to be on the flagship and schooled in the finest Andromedan 
Science Institute academies. It still galled him that he had to take 
orders from someone less than half his age.

  "I had faith in my friends." I trusted that they would know what to 
do, I trusted them to be who they are, and not abruptly fall 
incompetent.

  Irina had two minds, one to let her her speak in the simplistic, 
somewhat naive way she always did, the one that made everyone treat
her like a child. Another spoke silently, with a bitterness that 
shouldn't be in someone of her age. 

  It was all automatic, even she wasn't aware of it. 

  "Even that, we don't know where they landed. Should we take down 
the ship and perform a search and rescue?" 

  The girl caressed her control panel. The datajill Shan could 
command circuitry. She could only work with them... Shan was mistress 
over technology, while she loved technology itself. 'Machines are 
happy when they are well-made, well-maintained, and fulfilling the 
purpose for which they were intended.' She liked machines. They were 
so easy to understand. Cause and effect. Much easier to understand 
than people. She cared for the ship as if it could respond to her 
ministrations. Sometimes she even felt as if it could... there were 
components in the MIMIR'S WILL that even she couldn't understand. 
Non-standard equipment, clearly not of Kitaran manufacture. 

  Somehow she felt as if she shouldn't bring the ship down. She 
looked at the world on her monitor and felt the same distress she got 
each time she looked at it.

  Kitara. Birthworld. 

  She should have been excited. But she wanted to get away from it. 
It was deep-seated urge, it tightened her insides, filling her with 
energy. All Kitarans onboard felt for a reason unknown, more vibrant
than they had ever felt before. For her it was sickening. But she had 
to stay and get the command crew back.

  "Reactor failure at twenty thousand meters.... failsafes should 
have given them fifteen-seconds grace time, but the explosion.... it 
was a TOTAL reactor collapse."

  No abnormal readings on planetary scan. Sabotage? Reactor cores 
were impossible to tamper with. Undetectable planetary defense 
weapon? Not very likely. There was something that clawed at the edges 
of her consciousness.

  "Please have a machined weapon fitted for atmospheric entry, 
Lieutenant." She didn't notice the hostile frown he had, or the 
disapproving glares at him by the other secondary bridge crew. We 
were all protective of her, for a reason not entirely linked to her 
ascent via nepotism. Her unassuming brilliance, her innocence and 
optimism despite the things she had gone through. It hinted to us 
that the universe could still be a place of beauty and fullness. "Rig 
it for remote piloting."

  "Commander?" Was she just going to throw an empty war machine at 
the planet? Those things were expensive... the Tyranis manufacturing 
plants, while equipped with the newest facilities, could not produce
machined weapons at competing cost to Federation models. Their only
true advantage was in the inherent flexibility of old Severance 
construction. So flexible and yet so sturdy, the machines on board
required little to no maintenance and could switch weapons and parts
with ease. 

  Still, even if they were commissioned, the cost to labor and raw
material was not ignorable. And one of the objectives in the war they
set out to fight was the confirmed destruction of Scourge land 
installations.

  "Now, please." she added curtly. She thumbed her comm and made her 
first command as acting-captain. "Clear drone launch catapult Five 
and Six, all Combat Engineers make ready to launch a heatshielded 
Ocilot."


  Within the bowels of the ship, the 'kombees' rushed to fulfill the 
orders. They were lifeblood of any ship, ensuring all within it kept 
working, minimizing damage and making the impossible possible. 
Foolish is the captain who does not say (even at least to himself) 'I 
owe this much to the Combat Engineers'.

  Machined weapons crew stood at ready to operate their war machines, 
and cursed at realizing the most they had to do was to deliver a 
Medium to the main hold. There, the machine was lifted up to the 
starboard launch catapults, its shape obscured by dark slabs of SEAR
(Snap Entry Armor Reinforcement) plates fastened over its regular 
battle armoring.

  The Ocilot was a scout/guard weapons platform considered fast and
adaptable, a bit powerful for its smallish frame. Smallness was a 
relative term, though. Each leg had to be fitted to a drone launch
catapult. 

  "Catapults, ready! Ocilot slave circuits, on! Clear for launch!" 
came the reports over Irina's command console.

  "Launch!"


  The mechanoid was hurled out into space, and was grabbed by the 
world's gravity. She peered at its sensor buzz with growing disquiet.


  Fourty thousand meters... 

  Thirty...

  Twenty-five..


  Core collapse. The machined weapon exploded for no readily apparent 
reason. Its last message was of a brief energy surge in its circuits.



  She dropped back to her seat and tapped her armrests. Her crew 
recognized her expression - she was GONE. Not even death itself would
budge her until she solved the problem consuming her mind.

  The increase of internal power levels started at thirty thousand 
meters and rose slowly, at most a .008 percent more flowing through 
the circuits. It was well within tolerances, and SHOULD NOT have 
affected the Fusion Core in any way.

  Unless it was an indication of Core malfunction.

  But the Cores themselves were supposed to be SAFE. They could not 
overload and explode. They should implode. The power source of all 
ships and heavy machinery was the 'Collapsing Core' reactor. The 
worst that could happen was that it would short out the surrounding
connectors and cease producing power; creating a lump of superdense
material out of itself.

  Thirty to twenty-five thousand meters was the key. That was the 
same height that the dropship experienced an explosive core collapse. 

  Twenty-five thousand meters, a critical power surge. It was surge 
only in comparison to the earlier power rise, a sharp exponential
increase. Like a wave, crashing on a shoreline...

  Wave.

  Wave effect!



  Irina grinned. Obviously there was something in the atmosphere, a 
field of some kind undetectable to her sensors. The Fusion Cores, 
like most of the technologies gifted to the Federation by the 
Taenarians, manipulated subspace at some level. It was the most 
efficient power source that the galaxy knew of (or at least, the one 
that Taenarians were willing to teach). Pity a planet's gravity well 
interfered with subspace detection and operation....

  "What do we have that's heatshielded and doesn't use a Fusion 
Core?" Before anyone could answer, she gestured to the ship's 
secondary pilot. "Take us out beyond lunar orbit, please." 







  "Jump warning! Jump warning! All hands prepare for subspace entry."
the ship's comm said. "Microjump in ten seconds."

  A bright pool formed at the ship's bow, then rapidly consumed the 
ship. The subspace tunnel lasted for but a mere second.









  "Contact warning." the computer announced automatically. "Massive 
gravitics distortion detected off port bow."

  "Object has been classified as a planet." it added. 

  "What in Taenaria...?!" Regault spat. "No location change, 
commander. Not even simple drift.."

  Irina flicked her ears, beyond puzzled. Kitara again overshadowed 
their screens. But subspace jumping was impossible within a gravity 
well, and they were already well outside the planet's influence. 
"Bring us out two hundred thousand kilometers.." she said softly. 
"Repeat jump."






  "Contact warning." the computer announced automatically. "Massive 
gravitics distortion detected off port bow..."

  "No change from our former position..." Now Regault's tone had a 
tinge of awe.

  "Repeat Jump."






  "Contact warning." the computer announced automatically. "Massive 
gravitics distortion detected off port bow..."


  "Commander, perhaps we should.."
 
  The girl merely grinned triumphantly. "Bring us out farther to five 
hundred thousand kilometers. Drop a drone every hundred thousand 
clicks. Have the combat drones set on Agressive mode." 

  "Commander, I protest. We should not take any rash action until we 
have a better idea of what's happening to us."

  "You can either stay here or wait in your quarters, Lieutenant."

  The ASI graduate glowered, but kept his voice low."..impundent 
little.."





  "Contact warning." the computer announced automatically. "Massive 
gravitics distortion detected off port bow..."

  "Drones status?"

  The drones were dead in space, having ran out of fuel. Running 
their sensor logs, they encountered nothing... for fourty days until 
they lost power to their untiring electronic brains.

  "How... how is that possible?"

  "Subspace jumping is a shift in spacetime. We weren't shifting in 
space, where was the energy we spent immersing ourselves into 
subspace going? If we weren't moving in space... then we had to be 
moving in time."

  "Choose a hypothesis." Regault muttered. "Test said hypothesis." 
That was the method he lived by. He wasn't sure he liked the way it 
was applied so casually on a warship. 




_____________________________________________________________________
Chapter Six
All Journeys Begin With A Single Step


      Elisyan Locale Main Road
      Siona Heraldic Empire 
      Sulass Continent
      Pristine Kitara



  Brusolla was not a happy camper. The last time he was out in the 
wilderness, he had a full battalion to keep him company. Camping, to
him and many spacers, involved sitting on a ridge with a machined 
weapons platform capable of hitting things almost halfway across a 
continent.

  
  He was stuck with only his combat uniform, a drained plasma pistol, 
two plasma grenades, and two hidden switchblades. That, and he had no 
idea where he was, or how to get to a radio transmitter. 

  He knew that possibly no one on the planet had one. They hadn't 
detected any signals from either ship or dropship, after all. Perhaps 
he could build one. Somehow the beacon in his collar had shorted itself 
out, EMP-shielded as it was. He had to contact the ship and let them 
know he was still alive. 

  For any of his ideas, he required contact with civilization. 


  He hated to admit it, but he was spoiled. He couldn't forage on his
own. Give him a city, and he could live comfortably. Different were
the skills needed to survive in the urban jungle, there; he was an
expert. In a place of uncaring hunters, he would be high on the food 
chain.

  That was why he was walking behind Rumir, carrying a pack. It was 
humorous in a way, there he was, speaker for over four hundred worlds
and personal owner of three(maybe even more if he asked for it.. Clan
Tabbana seemed all too happy to just throw border star systems at 
him, if he returned to be their mindless propaganda piece) and again 
a workslave. Thirty years ago, he'd left Kitara woving never to bow 
down to anyone again. Now he'd returned to Kitara, and the first 
thing he did was to bow down to someone's will.

  There was kind of a karmic closure in there, if he cared to look 
for it.


  "And what do I get out of being a Squire?" he asked in a tone as 
whining as possible. He was disguising his enjoyment. He'd walked on
Taenaria, as perfect a world as could possibly be made - but nothing 
could warm his heart as noon over Kitara. Of the millions of species 
that once flourished on Kitara, only a fraction remained. The trees
that cast their shadow, and the birds that sang, how long had it been 
gone from his own world? In pristine Kitara, they still lived, along 
with other creatures he had no knowledge of. Life was his drug. 

  "Food." replied Rumir. "My sword to protect you, a roof to sleep 
under whenever it should be possible. What is most important, 
training when I deem you ready. And when that is done, myself shall 
present you to the Emperor for him to judge your worth as a Knight."

  The Knight sat straight on his horse, adjusting its pace to 
Brusolla's shorter legs. She had on half-plate over the torso, and 
metal pads on her thighs and boots. Her broadsword hung on her back, 
on a strap over her tough Vinaru-hide cloak. Mimir no longer existed, 
her memories were submerged, her mannerisms gone. Other than (his) 
her body, Rumir was a complete entity on (his) her own.

  "And what's so good about being a Knight of this... Sionnarmaris?" 
The Empire Of Siona seemed to be a fairly generic feudal caucus to 
the Tabbana. He ignored for the moment the utter impossibility of 
there being horses or even full plate on Kitara, as Kitarans had 
always valued mobility and striking power. Having Knights moving 
about the countryside was closest the 'Empire' had to a police force, 
relying mostly on intimidation factor. At least it wasn't hereditary, 
the chance that the peasants could be so 'honored' gave them extra 
incentive to be good. 

  "Ah, but it is a life well lived! A land your own, peasants to farm 
it, your armor and weapons to be repaired by any blacksmith without 
payment. Greatest of all, the glory all yours in vanquishing the 
evils about the land."

  "So.. the Emperor just up and gives me a parcel of the countryside 
and whatever's in there is all mine? I simply go there and take what 
I want?"

  "Yes." Her new servant seemed interested. Good, he would follow her 
directions without hesitation, with a bit more prodding. He wouldn't 
ever be ready, he simply wasn't built for the task, but at least she 
was travelling with someone that she knew wouldn't be able to molest
her. She snicked at the thought. 

  "Why?"

  She stopped. "What do you mean, why?"

  "Why should I benefit? They farm it, they guard it, they store and 
sell the crops. For all intents and purposes, it's their land. 
Wouldn't it just be easier for the Emperor to award me a regular 
allowance of coin from his own coffers? Let everyone pay a tax rate 
proportional to their earnings, and the burden of one Knight's 
upkeep... is light on thousand." 

  Rumir felt her heart hammering. She irritatedly spurred her horse 
on, forcing him to quicken his step. "Someone attempted such manners 
once. It was not... successful."

  "Ah, yes. Silly me. I should have realized that the rise of 
bureaucracy would weaken the ties between a knight and his lord. They 
would become soldiers, instead of an elite social class. And the 
peasants might even think it was a DUTY for the ruling class to 
protect them." 

  In one smooth motion, the sword slid from its scabbard and was at 
Brusolla's neck. "And what can you even know of it?!" she hissed. 
"This talk ends here, Squire. If it surfaces, I shall cut off your 
tounge."

  He grinned back. "Nyao, serani!." Of course, my master! 





  Off in the distance, they spotted a covered wagon. It was pulled by 
two murrowi, the indigenous workbeast of Kitara. They looked a cross 
between a rhinoceros and a cow, and had even lower intelligence than 
either. 

  Rumir flattened her ears, and hissed. It was such a primal response
that her squire actually jumped in suprise. 

  "Remain here." she growled. "I have vermin to kill." 

  And at that, she unhooked her scabbard from her back and let it 
hang by her side. From a pack on her stirrup, she took out a small 
crossbow, which she weilded left-handed. 

  She dashed down, hollering "Nijan rin thari! Nijan rin thaaaari!" 
Submit or die! Submit or die!

  The driver let out an "Aiie!" and dove into his covered wagon. 



  A gaunt, bearded figure in a blue tunic poked his head out and saw 
the charging Knight. He began waving his arms about in panic. "Hold, 
serani! Hold! Whatfor you attack us?! We are just traders on to 
Elisyann."

  "A trader of lives." Rumir pointed her crossbow at him. She knew 
those colors that the wagon displayed. She had seen them before, the 
day before her City burned. She knew it was too much to hope that it 
was the same wagon, but the Company of Issuma was forever her enemy. 
"Slaver! Under edict of Emperor Lanndis Kuwai the First, slavery is 
abolished all through the Sionnarmarissa. Under penalty of death, do 
you work your business, fleshdealer!" 

  "Please, young knight, be at ease. Slavery is such a strong word, 
neh? We provide workers for the city, workers for work none else 
would take. In exchange for our pains in seeking these volunteers, we 
are paid. They are paid. It is fair, it is fair."

  "Your attempts are twisting the law supports you not. What 
'payment' these poor souls get is taken by their masters for the onus 
of keeping them feed and under roof. It is slavery. And Gods have 
mercy on you for what happens to girls you carry." 

  "Now, now, there is no need for haste." His gestures became slower, 
more graceful. "There must be some way we can resolve this. Young 
knight, you are young. You must learn, that it is not by honor or 
glory that men live, but bread and money."

  Rumir raised the crossbow and aimed it precisely. "I will not be 
bought." she spat. "Surrender and release your captives now, or die."


  "So be it, young knight. If you would just put your crossbow down.."



  She grit her teeth, fighting that all-too-intense gaze. Those eyes, 
those twin pools devouring light, dark and merciless as space. 
Trapping her with apt fascination, nothing existed but those eyes, 
and Rumir realized they were too beautiful for the scraggly face they 
occupied. With a small scream, she dropped her arms and let go of her 
weapon. 



  "I will not harm you" he crooned, taking out a stiletto from his 
boot. "Come to me, young knight. Let's talk. I'll tell you of lands 
you haven't seen, and the glories you may yet earn."

  Rumir raged, but listlessly alight from her horse and began to walk. 

  "I'll tell you of your days hauling filth, of your days fighting 
for someone's amusement. You look strong, young knight. I'll tell you 
how long before your youth escapes you..."

  No! She screamed, she howled, she battered the walls in her own 
mind. Still she kept walking. A mindfilch! The Knights had gone on a 
crusade to slay all who had the slightest taint, young or old, that 
this sort of thing would not happen. After all she'd gone through, to 
fall to a practicer of the Curse... it was the worst, the worst! Like 
a thousand tiny needles, she felt pricklings in all her sensitive 
areas. It was not unpleasant. Her blood run cold, as a reptile's. 

  The fleshdealer smiled lopsidely. "You are mine, young knight, like 
all others that I espy." Soon, Rumir would be effectively brain-dead,  
responding to any command.  


  By Lut, who sees
  By Lut, who knows
  The darkness in all
  The failings of flesh
  Hungers of the soul
  By Lut, I walk
  By Lut, I seek
  For Lut, I take
  For Lut, I break
  
  
  Let me savor his memory, that salty soul, worshipping an entity 
that didn't give a damn wheter he lived or died. He had spent his 
life trying to be of significance to the world. He was only important 
in that he was the first of his kind we met, and had he known what 
was to come after, later, he would have thought that Fate chose to 
honor his dedication.

  He had been a minor Imperial official, taken in a foray into the 
country side. His blood was wakened, that awareness others called a
Curse.

  In his former life, he had beeen puttering and sluggish. In the 
new, pursuing the course of discord with exuberance. He ruined lives, 
planted the seeds of distrust and cared for these until they bloomed 
into war, tempted the incontent and destroyed the foolish. Tari 
Rundaris Shor. Only in our remembrance is the proof he ever existed, 
and that too will vanish.

  
  
  He turned, and beheld a young-looking Kitaran male. Of Lut, he 
reached out. 

  And Lut recoiled. 

  That mind he touched was once destroyed, and reshaped by the 
Taenarians into some measure of sanity. They infused it with their 
psionic love, coaxing it to heal. For Brusolla was a Tabbana, an 
engine than ran on affection. 

  In rewriting his neuropaths, they had incidentally made him immune 
to mind control. Gulleys deep and false tracks of thought, all 
designed to entrap those that would meddle in his consciousness. And 
at its core, a old symbol etched into his very personality. He was 
Kitaran, and this was the very foundation of his being. It was a 
symbol all too familiar... Lut sent a shard of pain through the link 
that was between Him, Rundaris Shor, and Brusolla, and fled.  

  Both staggered, silence ringing in their skulls. To the mindfilch, 
it was the first time that Lut had ever gone from him. Even death 
could not have held so much terror for him. His face gone slack, he 
swayed as if drunk, looking for something familiar to tell him he 
still existed.

  Responding in instinct, he lunged at the source of his isolation. 
His dagger flashed, and that flicker was warning enough. Brusolla, 
even dazed, was a soldier first. His own instincts were of basic 
training, not the caprice of drowned spectres. 

  It was an amateurish attack, from someone used to his victims being
helpless in his gaze. The captain bent under it, and in a snap kick 
drove his steel-tipped boot into his attacker's face. It crushed the 
bridge of Rundaris' nose, and altered his fall. The mindfilch tumbled 
in midair, and landed with his neck at an odd angle.

  


  Rumir dropped to her knees. "Rah!" she snarled, clutching her 
aching head. 

  The stranded fleetlord helped the knight to her feet. His 
curiousity warred against his temperance and won.  He'd crept forward 
and heard the exchange, his respect for his unknowing guide rose by 
several notches. Mind control?! On Kitara?! But Kitarans were one of 
the least psi-active species in the galaxy! 

  "What was that?" he asked.
  
  "An agent of the Cursed Children." she replied between gasps. 
"Servant of Lut, the Eater of Memory. Mindfilch." 

  She looked up, and suddenly pushed him aside. A mindless wagon 
driver, implanted with the compulsion to protect and obey the 
mindfilch, leapt weilding an axe. Without Lut, he was berserk, a wild 
animal in fattened guise. She let him impale himself upon her 
broadsword, pushing it up to the hilt.

  "I guess that makes us even, then." Brusolla remarked, somewhat 
uneasy. The sight of death was no longer a wonder to him, but that 
recent clash had been entirely too... personal.

  The knight flicked blood off her sword. "No, it is my duty to 
protect my squire. My thanks for saving my life." Her voice turned 
icy. "Next time I tell you to remain behind... STAY BEHIND."

  "You're my offworld ticket." he replied, as if that explained everything.

  "I will not even pretend to understand the strangeness you say." 
She turned away and opened the canvas flaps. Within, sixteen people, 
of varying ages, sat stone-like and staring at nothing. Their apathy 
was almost palpable. They were implanted with just the compulsion to 
obey. They would feel hungry, they would need to sleep, they still 
had some of their old minds, but never would they be bored or 
defiant."These folk can still be saved. Go front and handle the mu- 
what are you doing?!"

  The Kitaran was in the midst of looting the dead bodies. He'd come 
up with two daggers, a coin purse, and a silver necklace. The 
necklace interested him most, as it bore the crest of Clan Tabbana. 
"Um... doing what any other traveller passing by would be doing?" He 
didn't feel any qualms of stealing from the dead. It had been 
ingrained, that he would be issued limited clips. But there was a 
battlefield source of ammunition, called the enemy corpse. In 
pristine Kitara, he needed anything that could help him through his 
ordeal.

  "Cease that at once! I will not have my squire rooting through the 
deceased! We are warriors of honor, not ghouls!"

  Brusolla showed the necklace. "What can you tell me of this sigil?"

  Rumir shrank from it. "Put it away. It is the symbol of the Cursed
Children."

  He put it in his chest pocket. The coin purse, he tossed into the 
wagon. "For these poor sods" he justified. "Please. What ARE the 
Cursed Children? I.. I feel that I MUST know."

  She saw both desperation and determination. She knew that look 
well, the last time she'd seen it was in a mirror.  "I shall say in 
the city. Speak nothing until we arrive thence." 


  And as thus they rode into Elisyan. 



______________________________________________________________________
Chapter Seven
Who Calls The Hawks Home?


      Higina Pass
      Basarra Mountain Range
      Sulass Continent
      Pristine Kitara



  At almost the same moment, a misshapen walking thing in white fur 
was plodding through the snow, uncaring of the snow and splinter-
filled winds rushing past. It stopped in front of a cliff face etched 
with circle within a circle within a pentagon. In another place, that 
would have been the symbol of the Clan Tabbana, and mark of patient 
Kitaran craftsmanship.

  The Cursed Children were also fine builders, like their 
counterparts of the Clan, but most of their efforts were geared 
towards hidden, defensible structures rather than grand orbital 
strings.

  The being pressed its palm to the rock, and traced the points. Lut,
the Hungry One. Kerna, the Relentless One. Mubsaril, the Everpresent 
One. Suldreaga, the Hiding One. Oryol, the Wise One. "Seris nyari
nan khi Seralis emmi raoh." In waters unyeilding they sleep, in 
Seralis of cold anger. The rock strata simply...melted... revealing a 
perfectly circular opening. The cliff face reformed to 
impenetrability after he'd entered.


  The thing took off its head, exposing a red-haired aristocratic-
looking Kitaran male. His ears, seemed to have been chewed off. 


  "They grow well, mighty Kurrou." said Dannai. The bloodworker met 
his king at the top step. The dim light of crystals showed a steep 
descent onwards. The walls were carved with cyclopean glyphs, and 
angular patterns that made the eye swim. Winds rushing though vents 
carefully incised into the rocks sounded like the breathing of some 
immense, obscene monster. "I must say I am honored... and surprised 
that you would trek all the way here."

  "Something is wrong" said the thrice-cursed monarch. "The Masters 
sleep fitfully." Storms ravaged Issya, and in the southern tip of 
Sulass, there was a drought. It had begun three days before hand, and
but a few hours ago he felt the tremors in the link. The world itself
was reacting to something.

  Dannai looked up, and saw that his king's eyes were glowing a 
murderous green. "His time of awakening is at hand, highness. Perhaps 
it is mere... forebeyance."

  "No..." Kurrou tightened his jaw. "He and I are linked... and what 
I felt was... fear. What is it that could make the Masters fear?"

  Those sentiments older than time, older than the world; Kitara was
the lock and the key, keeping their appetites chained.

  "It would do us mortals well not to think of the things that Gods 
worry themselves over." The old Kitaran laughed gratingly. "Does it 
matter to concern ourselves? In six days we shall be as gods 
themselves upon this world." 

  "Suu hanae daris nin raha?" Is the soul stronger than steel? 

  "Siana didann i sumirai meras aiyara." Our will is a sword that 
cuts through mountains. Who would have expected a frail old man of 
being one of world's top assassins? He was a bloodworker, a molder of 
flesh and shaper of form. He created custom soldiers, and tested his 
procedures upon himself. He was practically unkillable. 


  Kerna fought Death and won
  Those who kill for Kerna 
  Need not ever die


  A battlegolem approached them, a creature of magic and metal. Again
the coincidences pain me. The old sadist was also an artist. The 
battlegolem that greeted them was in the shape of a nubile young 
woman, glistening enchanted bronze, its head a faceless blob. The 
Higina Cavern was the world's version of an advanced weapons research 
lab. They had made their own guards a vision of death and beauty, 
with fully-articulated armor, round helmets, and for some unknown 
reason- high-heeled boots. 

  The style of armor, the bulbous helmet, it was nearly identical to
our LPA2-F Tactical Powered Infantry Armor. Even down to the railguns 
molded into the forearms - though they shot needles of bronze, not 
steel. But taking into consideration sorcery, the effects were the 
roughly the same.

  "A hundred of these dolls can annihilate the Sionna Armies. They 
are proofed against magic and hardened against their arms. 
Unfortunate thatthese paragons need a year to be created."

  "The Empire is first only of our foes. Soldiers strong, ruthless,
loyal and ready to die by the droves... this is what we need." Kurrou 
looked pensive. War was not their plan, conquest was only a side 
effect. Death was unavoidable. They were still too few, even the 
Cursed Childred could not be victorious with their own strengths. 
They were not ready, but who were they to question the stars? The 
time was right, they could not wait another six thousand years. 

  Another hacking laugh. "Ah, my son, my son. I would give you only 
the best, if I could. But to suit your desires, I have created life 
from the shadows, fury from bone, and my own irritating healing 
ability."

  The battlegolem opened a heavy etched steel door. They entered one 
of many domed chambers cut into the mountain. Sloping walls glistened
slick with moisture, and air hissed through its many pock-marks. In
bubbling vats below them were thousands of hulking, rough-skinned 
creatures. They had the shape of men, but with longer, more muscular 
arms, tails barbed at the end, long foxlike ears and a toothy grin.

  "I give you the spawn of Kerna!" Dannai shouted, his voice strong.
"Your brothers and sisters, they shall smooth your path unto Seralis."

  "I should kill you." growled the king. "Male and female you made
them. You would loose a new race upon the world?!"

  "When you become He That Walks The Night." was the careful reply. 
"You will require worshippers."  
  
  
  
  He looked past the growing soldiers, to the breeding chamber. The 
walls echoeds gasps, moans, and at regular intervals a frenzied 
scream. There,on many racks were shackled naked women, their bellies 
and breasts swollen, their eyes devoid of everything. Though the new 
Khernakit would become self-perpetuating in time, at the moment they 
were the first of their kind. So, the followers of Lut had weakened 
city-states on the Empire's fringes, the killers of Kerna laid seige 
to them, and soon for Suldreaga there were offerings aplenty. 


  Suldreaga, of the shadows, the One that Hides, the One that twists
the old into new, Master of Change.


  Of the women, they took far to the North and into the valleys. Six 
hundred and sixty three of them, kept in constant variations of pain 
and ecstasy, their minds had soon broken. Lut was delighted, even if 
it was a side-effect of what Oryol considered 'mercy'. 
  
  Their wombs were used to carry the spawn of Kerna; these suckled
from the very lifeforce of their 'mother', that innate power within 
all women to give and nurture life as to men were create and destroy, 
to quickly develop from profane seed. The unwilling mothers were 
denied even the refuge of Death, blessed by Kerna was their toil. 
Changed into pinnacles of womanhood, so much flesh on display could 
only evoke disgust. Giving birth every three days, only to be 
impregnated again. 

  The City of Amra was first, it had been quite a large settlement, 
semi-independent even under the Emperor's pressure. A grand army was 
being built for Kurrou.

  After which, there would be souls too eager to depart their bodies, 
to power their bronze dolls with.



  Mimir, it should be apparent by now, was from Amra. None could
remain completely sane upon seeing even an unwilling avatar of the 
broken Voices.



  The king had to admit, the ancient bloodworker was brilliant. He
was not of temperament suited for Oryol, however. It still strikes
me as odd that a Bright One aligned towards wisdom and neutrality 
would take the side of cruder personafications. What was it that 
Oryol had refused to tell? In wisdom, perhaps the winning side was 
not necessarily one that's right. 



  "Not enough.." he muttered. He required the magical equivalent of
an artillery piece. What, from the darkness, could successfully spite 
the light? The Pledgelands lay between them and the Empire. Those 
lands were under the protection of Voices more benign, the very 
forces that bound the Masters that created them. They too, are 
asleep. Weakened, in the mountains of Isonia lay sprawled Shamran; 
the Morning Glory.

  Those warded rocks, many temples, the Sisterhood that hid timid 
within. They would be worthless even as breeding stock. They would 
have to die, if Seralis was to rise.   
  


  They followed the same set of prehistoric, forgotten writings, but 
the interpretations were vastly different. From the decayed strips of 
Oryol's scales were written - There shall come He Who Walks The 
Night, in whose footsteps follow Gods. To the Sisters, this meant 
salvation. To the Cursed ones, it was vengeance. 
  
  
_______________________________________________________________________
Chapter Seven
How Much Are You Worth?


      Elisyan Localeheart
      Siona Heraldic Empire 
      Sulass Continent
      Pristine Kitara



  Elisyan was surrounded by thick, crenellated walls, with many 
archers'towers. It was a half-circle, protected by mountains on one 
side and the great river of Erdyal on the opposite. The main gate was 
a great looming structure, with ballista mounted on either side.

  "Halt!" called the chief sentry. "State your business." Behind him
bows were readied, even if they could clearly see someone in Kightly
armor.

  "Juniour Knight Rumir, with a wagon of rescued slaves."

  "Pseh." More trouble. Far-off locales like Elisyan were only 
nominally under Imperial control. If not slavery, the at least 
peasantry close to it was the cornerstone of wealth and stability. 
Elisyanunni itself reflected this. Tight streets, small adobe 
dwellings stacked on top of each other; only to widen and grow more 
livable at the center, culminating in a govenor's palace carved into 
the mountainside. Imperial edict, backed by Imperial power, had to be 
obeyed however.

  The door opened, groaning fitfully as pulling murrowi strained at 
ropes and gears. The first thing to assault Brusolla was the smell. 
As a spacer,he was used to filtered air, and the sudden stench of  
civilization was a bit overpowering. 

  He forced himself to take several deep breaths to grow accustomed 
to it. "There's nothing here a good carpet-bombing won't cure." he 
muttered darkly. The knight he served, was already used to his 
incomprehensible mutterings, and ignored him. They strode into the 
city.

  
  "All hail the conquering hero!" someone yelled. "Beating on 
defenseless merchants, such a feat!"
 
  Rumir turned, to see a knight of the empire, clad in gleaming half-
plate. Brusolla bristled instinctively. The man looked of pure Liyo 
blood, tall, handsome, arrogant beyond measure. He could excuse 
Rumir, he knew that this knight knew limitations, and humbly tried to 
correct them. He'd seen the early  morning trainings, a hundred 
swings of the sword before breakfast. Behind tree cover, a hundred or 
so meters away, he did his own similar morning ritual, but of unarmed techniques. 

  This man approaching, he could tell by sight alone, knew nothing of 
the simple contentment of keeping oneself centered in full fighting 
form.

  "Yanno. I was expecting you. Bored with looking yourself in the 
mirror at last?"

  "Watch your tone, JUNIOR knight." The governor's son swept back his 
thick yellow hair. "Your heroics are ill-suited to this climate. We 
are loyal citizens of the empire, but you are hardly its voice." His 
father liked the pure idealism shown by the wandering Rumir. Everyone 
else hated it, since it forced them to put on their armor and perform 
more training drills - act like real knights, in other words. 

  "I have important news for the Knightmaster. Kindly get out of my way."

  "Whatever nonsense you have to say can wait. My father calls you to 
the palace. Why I have to personally escort you... I don't know. This 
is entirely unbefitting." 

  Actually, his father hoped some of Rumir's virtue would rub off on 
his derelict son, but upon further consideration... the prospect 
seemed unlikely. The least he could be content with was to send the 
boy to go off and get dirty - experience life, for gods sake! He 
didn't become regional governor by sitting and cavorting with loose 
women.
 
  "So be it. Squire. See that road? Follow it. You should come to 
large white building with a domed roof. That is a Sisterhood chapel. 
They have ways of curing the mind. Can you handle that?"

  The fleetlord managed to pack grave insult, affirmation of 
competence, and a sarcastic rejoinder in one haughty sniff. He kicked 
lightly on each murrowi and plodded along down the path. 

  "Such disrespect!" Yanno remarked. Only an utter boor like Rumir 
wouldn't know how to discipline his servants.

  Mimir, inside the helmet, merely smiled. Her squire seemed to have 
a spirit that would rather die than be broken. Much more interesting 
that way. She had no need of fawning lapdogs.

  
 

  Tabbana Brusolla whistled an old miner's ditty. It was especially 
dirty, which is why he didn't sing out the words. He had a horrible 
singing voice,anyway. He accepted that as one of the things he could 
never change. 

  It was far easier to change what's around you than what's inside. 
He  knew full well the folly of trying to affect change without 
similar personal progress. At most it would only be temporary, more 
often it was disastrous. As he made the cart weave through cramped 
roads, made tighter by stalls and belongings, his radical's mind 
slowly churned over on how to change such a soft, apathetic populace 
into a dynamic, self-respecting society. He did it once with Tyranis, 
he could try again to make sure it wasn't a fluke.

  "First off, I'd widen the damn roads. These are good for defensive 
fighting, but the drawbacks during seige far outweigh the benefits. 
If I can get some decent snipers in position, good... but infantry 
garrisons, not to mention horsemen, might as well try climbing over 
walls. Of course, there's also the side-effects of improved trade and 
hygiene." Hawkers tried selling everything from fish to stained rugs. 
Those that were too persistent, he lashed at halfheartedly with the 
murrowi whip. They were actually surprised that was all they got. 
Clearly they were used to such treatment. "Schools." he spat. "The 
old generation might be a hopeless cause, good only for serving as 
shock troops. I'll get my cadre of specialists from the young and 
unconditioned."
  
  Soon enough he reached the temple spoken of. It was easy to 
recognize, not only was it the biggest building around, it had a wide 
space in front... and it was clean! People avoided stepping on the 
tiles.

  Of course, he decided to park the cart right near the arched doorway.

  Immidiately, someone emerged to scold him. "Please remove your 
beasts from this holy place! You defile it with their presence."

  Brusolla looked about. It seemed that it also served as the local 
hospital. Trying to maintain sterile conditions, good, good. Once 
the.. no.. he had to remind himself; IF the invasion force lands... 
they could use this place as the field hospital. That should settle 
most of the problems of a population under seige. Of course, the Fleet would've also installed laser cannons along the wall... so the 
seige point is moot... but it was comfortable to note. He closed his 
eyes tightly, wrestling his thoughts away from conquest. Damn it! 
Never, in the history of wartorn Kitara, were the people so 
complacent, so lacking of will. Even the sedate Tabbana, if seen by 
the standards of other races, were ruled by clear personal 
conviction. These people.., had empty eyes, dry dreams. He considered 
them little better than the people he carried in the cart.

  "I have people in need of your aid. They are.. unable to move on 
their own."

  The Sister peered inside, and gasped. "What horrid fates! Come, 
come. Follow us. We will help you." The slaves responded obediently, 
if unenergetically. 

  As they passed, Brusolla noted that the priestess looked of clear 
Fantyra stock; tall and dark-haired. Odd, since the Fantyra had bred 
themselves over the generations for physical prowess. Such cultural 
control was absent from these people... yet the clanning breeds remained. With a grateful bow, he also followed in.


  The insides were suprisingly roomy, with large vaulted ceilings. 
The slaves were led into a large room, with many beds. Acolytes, upon 
seeing them, assigned each to an empty bed. "The Abbess will see to 
them soon. But first, I think, she will want to speak with you."

 "I don't know much." he admitted. "I just happened to be there. It
seems I've become a squire of knight Rumir."

 The woman gave an approving nod. "Ah, him. Appeared out of nowhere
did he, but rare in the young are the respect for the old ways." 
Although her face was unlined, her eyes were those of a parent who 
had outlived their children. A deep peace, striding close to death.
"You are fortunate indeed, young master. I foresee great things in 
store for him and those around him."

  "You can tell the future?" the fleetlord replied with some 
distaste. 

  "No, but our order is not without influence." Her smile lacked
warmth. "And it is not hard to guess; the Emperor is getting old, 
his wardays already fading into legend. Tradition is what sustains
this empire."

  Brusolla blinked, not understanding. She sighed.

  "Knight Rumir is a conservative. The Imperial Prince has been 
antagonizing the noble houses recently, and though untested in battle 
is popular with the younger knights. Have you met our grace Yanno?"

  "That fop?"

  She hid a smile. "Your master is young, competent, idealistic; 
everything our young lord is not. Surely you can this can cause both
opportunities and difficulties."

  Brusolla nodded, feigning interest. Local politics didn't interest 
him, but it did remind him of something else. He took out the brass
medallion from his pocket and showed it to the priestess. "What is 
this thing?"

  "Ah!" she gasped out, crossing herself. "You met an actual 
Accursed? Long have we suspected they were hiding themselves amongst 
our peoples again. Most ominous..."

  Brusolla grit his teeth, and forced himself into patience; she
didn't seem to want to offer any more information. Ominous and the
Tabbana normally didn't belong together; mostly harmless was more
appropriate. 
  
  "The Abbess Lathre can answer your questions. This way, if you 
please." As they went deeper into the sanctuary, he realized that
the passages were becoming more and more militarily defensible. The
open balconies were excellent archer roosts, the corridors were
tight, though well-lit, and branched off in right angles. However, 
he could see everyone inside were unarmed and rather relaxed, in
no fighting readiness.

  The building wasn't something that was just converted into a 
temple/hospital. It was relatively new, he could tell. It was made
this way by these people, and yet they apparently didn't see it fit
to prepare further.

  This; was ominous.

  



 
  
<to be continued>









bpen@illuminati-fiction.net