Prologue "Myaun rii! Be gladful, blessed woman! You have been gifted with a healthy young boy... hear how he cries! Strong lungs are a sign of strong will later on.." "May I see my child?" "Yes, let me just cut the umbilical cord.. here." "My..son..." "Send in the father, will you?" "Yes, sir." "Beloved! Are you all right? Are you in pain? And this is... this is.. ah... doctor, am I allowed to hold him?" "Control your excitement, man! Wait, give me the child... we must wash him first - ... oh. Hmm." "Is something wrong?" "..no, nothing. It's just that your child's hair has the barest tinge of bronze... even under the light, it's almost Fanthyrani color! Oh, well.. at least he has a good headful of curly Tabbanna hair, but there is an old superstitition - dark hair brings dark days, or so they say." "Are you saying just because my son was born in color of the warlike Clan, he will feel the call of battle? Rubbish. There are no more wars. Finally. The Clanholders have met in Council, the Inysilar was finally broken last week - and forever. Ahh...there will be no more war between the Clans of Kithara..give him to me, that he may see the moon..." "I want to hold my baby next... let him sleep in my arms..." "See the moon, my son! Our final moon. The testament to our kind's folly and responsibilities. It is the rock by which your destiny is bound - you are Tabbana! You will endure." "Have you decided on the child's name yet?" "I have helped to keep running the merciless machine of war. May Kithara not see my son forced to shed the blood of others, even indirectly. He will be, Tolriir - peaceborn." "A fine name. May he bring joy to the Clan and his kin." "Arin manirukh tolhijiran- Know only peace, my son." Illuminati-fiction.net And presents so fifteen years have already passed since the coming of the Scourge and the terrible Scourge War. The Federation and its people still bore grevious wounds from the torrent of fighting and destruction they'd barely managed to live through, against all odds. Dozens of planets were still blasted, uninhabitable, and battlefield debris congregated in vast hazardous fields, but the pain of memory would take much longer to fade. Nevertheless life was starting to reassert itself, the everhardy spacefaring society resumed exuberant progress. Rampant rebuilding had disguised the scars left over from the War. Of the people that fought and died, for them were great many monuments erected, but the very much greater effort was spent in blotting out from all of popular consciousness the traumas of war. Suddenly many former idealists who faced the Scourge threat suddenly just found themselves unwanted, ignored, looked at with embarrassment. The wretched realities of war forced some people to match the savagery of what they were fighting. It was their rough courage that had saved the galaxy but for the great 'enlightened civilization' their new instincts were abhorrent to the lofty peace-loving mind they were trying to cultivate. They were lost, rejected by the very community they had protected at great cost. Some had adapted, fought their dark nightmares and abandoned all of the power that shedding the skin of culture and civilization could bring An them. Some did Aegis:Taenar's Light not, choosing story to love their newfound brutal sides and revel in its purity of compelling urges, emotions and pleasures. Some heroes became criminals, like the War had forced a few lawbreakers to care and become true heroes. A very rare few found the niches they were fated to occupy in the recovering Taenarianized universe. The war was over. But little did the galaxy know it had only been given a taste of the trials it had to suffer through, to prove its right to live. -~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~- "Passing ways, -- FADING GRACE, -- every journey must have its end" -Yanfarr -~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~- ACT ONE Chapter One She was the greatest in her class, the first and last of her kind. Other Stations were in orbit around planets, other Stations were made as star colonies, to hold and service the spacegoing populace; they were made to free the people from the limitations of floating balls of rock and gas. Outer Space was become another name for home. But of all the Stations, Crossroads was above them all. The galactic spacefaring civilization was not a Taenarian one... but the harmony of ALL Races. and Crossroads was its heart. The crossroads-class Crossroads Station hung in the exact spatial center of Nexus, cradling in her arms a planetary-sized population, a thriving trade-based economy to rival Tamara and Derivia, and milieu to accomodate all the Races' habitations. Where the galaxy comes together, all Jump Nodes lead to Crossroads Station... this was the first bastion of true peace, the symbol of civilized coexistence in the galaxy. Beneath its armored half-globe was a complete self-sustaining ecosystem which supported the commonality that knew with their hearts the thought - it was natural as nature itself to be born in space, and it was they, the new generations are made free from all the prejudices and traditions which old cultures had forged from countless wars and politics, all for the same pieces of land over many centuries! They had no direct past, hence no stains upon their names. The future was the only door they available to them. To this Station came all sorts of ships from all over the Federation, and even beyond. At that day, forever hidden from the eyes and ears of everyone else, the price for enjoying civilization, came calling. It was a very small restaurant, though hardly cramped. The food was quite affordable, but hardly charity-level. Like all station buildings, it was a flat-topped white brick with blunted edges. It lay alongside a main road of the Residential Quarter (Section 7) in Underdome D, in a row of suburbian commercial businesses selling mostly general consumer merchandise and light machination supplies for its slice of the many billions that lived within the Station. Unobtrusive alongside these shops, like a pearl half-formed, it sat there trying to appear as unextraordinary as possible. The interior was sparsely decorated, yet did not give the appearance of barrenness. The light was dim enough to encourage relaxation, but not too dim - that would encourage bruises. There were three rows of round tables draped over with velvet red cloth, four chairs to each table and three tables to a row - not too close together, to evoke intimacy of diners. The walls were a flat, unreflective black but etched with iridiscent curving blue lines on its lower half, like the glowing blue grass of Kitara's Myorrin islands under a cloud- shrouded night sky. The floor was a thickly-carpeted green, and the windows were shaded with gold-colored curtains. Light was provided by ceiling-hung globerod lamps above each table. It was a room of an elongated rectangular shape and on its far side was the kitchen, separated from the dining area by two thin pasteboard walls. A nice but otherwise unremarkable place. It held class, but not too much class as to intimidate its primary customers, overstressed office workers returning home and the family out for a sunday meal. Savine smiled as she served them. They were regular customers, and she knew them well. The father was large and off-handedly polite, the mother was openly friendly, and the two teenaged children were only too happy to finally see food. They bent to devour their meal and soon there was only lip-smacking and chomping. They were also incidentally, Quelaar. The sound of three bells ringing floated as the roadside door automatically slid open, notifying her of new customers. For a reason then unknown, she disliked these new arrivals instantly. They were a Derivian couple - a gaunt woman, whose face was smoothed and painted over with thick make-up in disguise of age lines, with the end result of making her look like a ceramic doll. She stood spiderlike in the doorway, with the artificial sunlight beaming though and being split by the flecked black frock festooned with jewelry that she wore. The other was a tall, heavyset and bespectacled man, with a square jaw and suspicious close-set eyes in a black business suit. His hands were of a prizefighter's hands, but neatly trimmed. They chose a table in the center row and sat down with the unconcerned indolence of the very upper crust. The woman perused the menu, while the man merely looked bored. He saw the Quelaar family and blanched. Apart from them, the whole restaurant was empty. It was a sleepy mid-afternoon, even the streets outside were deserted. Savine let them have a few moments to themselves, then approached. "Would you like to order now, sir.. madam?" she said in that crisp, professional way she'd cultivated. Endless practice only gave her a pale shadow of her mother's inspiring efficiency, but she was proud of at least managing to get the tone. Respectful, but not deferential. "Oh, how cute!" said the woman, as if noticing her for the first time. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. There were times she felt ridiculous in her serving uniform, a dark blue shirt and skirt lined with zigzagging grey strings, with a broad, accentuating yellow necktie. The brimless cap that perched precariously on her tufty auburn hair didn't help matters any. But it was her mother's design, and with her own hands she'd sewed it... she was proud to wear it, dammit! The girl had learnt early on that the one thing others can't take away unless you let them was oneself's own self-respect. Savine frowned slightly, giving herself a somewhat aggravated look. Which only provoked a squeal of delight from the woman. "How absolutely daarling, David. The ambiance in these lower-class side shops are perfectly quaint, like I told you. (a small twitch appeared on the side of Savine's face) When Anne told me there was this ignored little (she flinched visibly) restaurant near Block Nineteen, on the road to her mansion, she was SO INSISTING we see it for ourselves, I could hardly believe it. That I would lower to dine in a food-hovel, I was insulted. (a slight growl escaped her lips) But she dared me, and I had to go - oh, I wouldn't regret it she said." She smiled slightly. "Let's hope I don't shall we?", turning to Savine, clearly indicating whatever she thought on the conversation mattered little. "Hmhrmm... ", said the man noncommittally, peering at her through thick lenses. Despite that eye defects were easily corrected, there was a strange fashion going on with wearing the old measures, in the idea that it would make the wearer seem more intelligent. "Child labor", he said. "Oh, hush - it's a family restaurant." The woman teasingly poked the man's arm. Outwardly, his expression was bored as ever, but Savine saw a brief flash of anger in his eyes. "That is so deliciously rare these days. Let's hope the food compares." She spoke again to Savine, her tone laced with subtle denigration. "I am told your... chef, is... familiar with the cooking styles of all Races." "Only those that may be safely consumed by all", she replied, not a quaver in her voice to betray the rising indignation in her chest. "Several recipes have been found to highly toxic to other species. The ones on the menu have been certified safe for cross-consumption." "Hmf, these... " the woman placed the card face-down back on the table. "Are just names. The important question is can he duplicate the authentic palate of his pretentious list?" Her words dared her, and yet she felt in them a circular hook, trying to ferret information. "Yes," was the curt reply. "But your speciality is Kitaran cuisine, I asssume?" "Madam, I am Kitaran after all." Savine made a slight, ironic bow. Her patience was wearing thin, it was only politeness that kept her going. So what if these particular customers seemed rich? It's not like they needed their money that much, desperate enough to sacrifice their pride? No. She grit her teeth and forced a courteous smile. "Have you decided on what you'd like to order now, madame?" "Very well, then - I desire the Dulane Suire (she pronounced it dlayne surr), it's been so long since our last vacation to Tamara Prime, and my David here -" "Can order for himself." the man put in, drumming his fingers with impatience. "One Murro steak - medium, unpeppered. A Shinarukh roll, no milk and... a bottle of Kirrana brandy. See to it that you serve me nubile wine, at least having twenty years to sweeten." Savine's eyes widened. The pronunciation and accent of ethic Kitaran dishes were perfect. "And excellent choice, sir." and bowed low. "Please await with patience, we shall do our best to have your orders served within fifteen minutes." The woman looked upon her husband with some degree of consternation. He shrugged at her. "Even so, at least have me eaten something I like." he whispered. The doors chimed a notice again, and into the restaurant stepped a tall Sniv, bending his lengthy neck to enter the doorway. He chose a table by the corner, and sat with his back to the wall. His pupil-less eyes scanned the room warily. Then relaxing, he crossed his arms on his many-pocketed spacer's vest. He closed his eyes and listened through his pebbled green skin the music piping from the walls, and grinned with satisfaction, showing rows of sharp teeth. When he opened them again, he saw a Kitaran girl of eleven standing by his side, her face set into a serious mask. He tilted his head to the side, a gesture telling her to get on with whatever she wanted to say. "Welcome to Chez Nyario, honored sir. Would you prefer to peruse the menu or perhaps I would list our Sniv food delights?" The Sniv turned away and rested both palms on the table. "Do you know thiss music?" he asked, his hissing voice barely able to shape his words into recognizable Galstandard. Savine raised her right eyebrow. "I fear I don't, sir. If it's not to your liking, I could have it changed." "Hm... it affirss your education'ss veen neglected quite a vit." The Kitaran girl bristled again. What was it with this afternoon, the whole universe seemed inclined to send her customers determined to make her feel like a little girl (of which she was)- but Savine prided herself for intelligence beyond her years. And even children had the distinct right not to be blatantly insulted! "I fail to see how that is any your skriffi-..." No, Savine. Control. Control. Deep breaths. She exhaled and opened her eyes, filling herself with the inert hardness of ice cubes. All calm, all professionalism. "Perhaps the honored guest would like a few moments alone to think over what he'd like to have today..", she continued tonelessly. "Ael Luimin." said the Sniv, pleased. "Um.. what?" "The music." A lilting harmony of strings and woodwinds. "It is a Taenarian comfosition, to sselevvrate the launch of the first Taenarian Wanderer four thousand yearss ago. Vut modst of itss beauty liess in the low ssonic rangess, fatterns too faint to be even heard by your Kitaran earsss." Ah, but he could hear it. He had no ears, but his senses were more precise than theirs, his ancestors were once swimmers in a great sea. And water, was generally a better conductor of sound than air. "Are you... a musician, sir?" she asked doubtfully. "No, but it is my visniss to know ssertain detailss about Taenarians. This melody for instansss, oferates on the suvconssscious, masssaging away with unhearavle refrainss the anger in the Racess' heartss. In short, it is an aurral sssoforific. Amongssst other things." He grinned and though it only made his reptilian features more feasome, his eyes were twinkling with amusement. "I will order now." "Thank you, sir." Can the frequencies of sound waves really affect brain functions? She made a mental note to look it up later. But why tell her? Perhaps the Sniv just wanted to hear the sound of his own voice... starved for conversation. Savine recognized the spacer outfit. In the long runs through space it does tend to happen, being bored out of one's mind. Sooner or later even a freighter crew grows inured to each other. Life in the vacuum were long stretches of routine, broken now and then with quick nerve-breaking instances of panic as pirates attacked. The ire of a minute ago left her, she allowed her customer some tactlessness, in respect to his hard journey. Truth be told, she admired anyone who dared roam the stars, and dreamed to do so someday. "Jusst give me ssome Vlin, quickly. I am hungrry." "As you wish, sir." She bowed again. "Oh, serving chiiild... " said the Quelaar mother in her warbling speech. Savine ran to them. "Thank you for a MOST wonderful meal. Kindly give yourself a substantial tip in our records." The others at the table burped out their compliments. Savine suppressed a sigh, and bowed low. "I am most appreciative, Lar-wen" the Qeulaar honorific for Respected Matron. "We are grateful for you continued patronage and look forward to the pleasure of seeing you again." A furry paw patted her head. "Such a polite kitten, you are a gift to your parents." And then the entire family stood up, and left without much fanfare, a parade line of large dignified otter-like beings in voluminous ornate robes. Politeness. Diplomacy. The most valued Quelaar virtues. Punctuality and credit were however not, if they didn't gobble up so much of their stock, she doubted Father would have allowed them to keep a running tab. As it was, their monthly payments just barely keep them in the black - enough to buy next month's supplies but unable to stockpile well, as the Quelaar were always a month behind on their dining debts. Enough exasperation to drive someone up the wall. What was it with her, and today, and being surrounded by weirdos? Sighing freely, Savine gathered up the plates in the small tray she always carried around. Thank goodness for ceraplastics, the appearance and texture of glass plates, at a mere fraction of what a real one would weigh. She weaved past the tables, balancing a small tower of dirty dishes. Past the thin walls blocking the kitchen view, two boards forming a nook. Her twin sat hunched forward on his wide fauxwood desk at the side of the front wall, the cash-register machine on its left. It was situated so he'd have a full eye on the entire dining area, as the purser and door manager. He however was ignoring all else, staring at an antique gas lamp and the dancing flame on its wick. The girl entered the back room, and saw her mother leaning back against the kitchen counter, and her other mother calmly slicing carrots. Their uniform was similar to hers, with they being the real waitresses, she out there only when business was light. While her outfit made her look unsuffrably cute, they were breathtaking in them. Her father sat at the far end near the stove, reading a recylable newspaper. He was a mid-sized Kitaran, not to tall, or too thin, his brown-tipped tail twisted around the seatleg, someone easily lost in a crowd. His only distinguishing feature was a frayed black moustache and with it the dim beginnings of a beard which he thought gave him the aura of age-earned respectability - but somehow only heightened an impression of unruliness. He had on an apron, but otherwise was wearing normal clothing, jeans and a bright blue sweater that threatened to poke out the viewer's eyes. He rarely ventured out of the kitchen to meet the people eating what he'd cooked. "More dishes?", her mother said upon seeing her. She bent down and took the load off Savine's hands. Into the sink they went, and was let to stand under the faucet's stream. She grimaced as she reached for the sponge. "This is positively humiliating. This is shameful degrading manual labor!" The slim, greenhaired woman wiped at each dish. It was her litany, not a day went by that she complained of the 'indignities' she willingly braved. Savine knew that her mother had once been a successful businesswoman, but left that life of daily stress and backstabbings. Even in dishwashing she moved with unearthly grace. She was petite woman, a figure so slim and flaunted, her face of such melting charm that it seemed at times she was a sculptural ideal given life. "I REEK of domestication, during my time this was one place I would never let myself be seen in." she said with an affronted aire, her ears flattening to the side in a wounded expression. "Stop it. I can FEEL your eyes behind me. Cease with the giggling at me." An impish smile was on her mother's face. She placed the knife aside, heaping together equal slices cut to millimeter precision, and adjusted her large round glasses. Savine's real mother was a woman exuding relaxed sensual elegance, the noble angles of her face, nose and chin, and the long silken tresses of night-black hair flowing down to her shoulders marked her a full-blooded, full-flowered Fanthyra. "I'm not giggling. Are you giggling, dear?" she asked Savine. "No, mother." she replied, snickering. "Are YOU giggling?" she asked her father. "Me?" he replied, never taking his eyes off the page. "I NEVER giggle." "You G45 file says - " "THAT file never happened!" he suddenly shouted. He waved the newspaper in her direction, aghast. "To remind me of things I'd forgotten. You must be PURE EVIL." Savine giggled now, she couldn't help it. In these little ways, she saw how her parents got along. They were each different people, and instead of suppressing their differences for the sake of peace, their personalities harmonized into an environment always fun - though hardly stable. They loved each other, and all the little quirks that made them who they were as individuals. "By the way, we've got new people in. They're asking for - " and she recited their orders. A groan, and her father slumped forwards the table. "Advertising. Is. Hell. I knew I should never have boasted I could serve Racial dishes." "Father, you've got an ego." she said smilingly. "It's your own, so you've got to live with it." "Well, you heard my daughter - get moving, you worthless lout!" her mother said, her loving tone belying the harshness of the words. She placed the last plate into the rack and slid to where her wife was still slicing carrots. "How can I help?" she said to both her loves. "Gah. Those things are monstrously complex to make, really demanding on the ingredients. I'll have to supersteam a few things for quick cooking. " He rolled up his sleeves and heated up the pan. "Good thing we've got the vegetables pre-cut. We do need several onions, finely diced. Garlic, a cupful, same. Cabbages, kurrtri leaf, oh.. cauliflower - all in strips. Soy sauce? Vinegar? Nur blood? Ah, here they are." The kitchen was arrayed around a single large table, on it were many cutting boards and ingredient bowls. Left to right, the walls held supply bins, freezer, the stoves, the dish rack, and the sink. The spiral staircase to their home upstairs wasn't technically a part of the kitchen, but they used it as a tiered shelf for trays anyway. He reached into the freezer and took out a shank of meat. He began to slice it into a spiral cut. Setting this aside, he then took a few eggs and began on turning these into a slurry. Her natural mother was taller than her father, and she nibbled playfully at the back of his ears. He flicked aside in reflex. "Hey!" he eeped, almost spilling the frothy bowl. "Focus, dear." she said, turning back to her task. "Don't hurry too much." "Or order us around in THAT tone of voice. Remember, this is a kitchen, not a bridge." Her other mother drew aside bangs of wavy hair occluding her vision, and gathered the already-sliced vegetables into large basin. She dressed these with salt and vinegar in preparation for steaming. "Abuse, abuse" her father mock-grumbled. "I don't get any respect around here." That gripe drew as many familiar chuckles as his wife's wounded complaints. She knew her father had once been a spacer, had owned his own ship and plied the stars in trade.. that was how he'd met her mother. Well, mothers. Nevertheless, he gave up that dangerous game, that young man's enterprise, he'd seen his fill and that was that.. he had a family to raise, and in a sense every day was just as exciting as when they were roaming the starlanes. "The garnishing's all done. Vlin is some sort of thick meat-soup, isn't it? I will never understand why the Snivs refuse to eat anything until it's positively DROWNING in sauce." "If it's impossible for a man to understand a woman," said her mother, again adjusting her glasses, letting the light catch and reflect on it just.. so. "Of same species, note. Then how can we hope to understand the volitions of another species?" Her other mother reached out to cup her mother's chin. "You understood me." she said, and kissed her full, taking her completely by surprise. Savine turned away back to the dining room, smiling and shaking her head lightheartedly at her parent's antics. "They're at it again," she told her brother. Kardi only shrugged, not taking his eyes of the fire. They saw nothing unusual at having two mothers, who were apt to demonstrate that they felt affection for each other, and at their father. Love was love after all, and it would have been much more foolish to pretend that it didn't exist between them. They rather felt compassion for those who had only one. But at school though, they met with incredulity when their family situation came up. Why not, the children asked a teacher who said it was improper. It just wasn't done!, was the reply. And again, why? A classmate noted that in their literature, a man with two wives always fought with each other. But their parents never fought.. So they were left alone, as they liked. They were Kitarans, that Race from the planet Kitara (her father still pronounced it the ancient way - kiTHARra), of those people posessed with what other races called the 'feline graces'. Crossroads had its share of Kit, but their family had chosen to live in the Section of the Station populated mostly by Tamarans and Derivians. Their father was a dissident member of Clan Tabbana, their mother was yet a full member of Clan Fanthyra, and their other mother was one born in space and had never tried to take the Clan Tests - a Maralli or freeborn Kit. It would have mattered much if they lived with the other Kitarans... their father would have been forced to take the name of her mother, for a full Clanner inherently had higher status in Kit society than someone cast out from a clan. And while their multiple marriage might have been tolerated, it would not have been binding for only the Himiro-nobles could honorably take on more than one wife. Or husband, depending on the Clan-ranks in question. Had they been there, the strange nature of their marriage under Kitaran law would have meant that they were yes, married in the fullest sense.. and at the same time, unmarried and all single in the truest sense... and that did not make ANY sense. All three of them would have been open to courting, and they would have never found their peace. They escaped from the rather dogmatic nature of Kitaran traditions, which although served the Kit well in the past, would have exposed their children in the weirdness that they did not really need to face. Their parents had chosen to raise them away from Kitarans to give them a balanced viewpoint on the Galaxy, that no one way is automatically right or automatically worse than any other. At least at their chosen section of the Dome, the others lumped it all with simple Kitaran strangeness, unknowing of the traditions that cause them to act. And the restaurant was made, their exoticness an advantage instead of a drawback. She looked at the dining hall again, and realized that while nothing at first glance had changed - but there had been a transformation nonetheless. There was an atmosphere of agitation now. "What happened?" she asked her brother. "Nothing happened," he replied. The flame on the lamp was burning brightly, illuminating his face, so similar to hers and yet different. "The music changed to the next song on the loop, that's all." The sound was of trumpets and drums. A lively tune, but not too brisk. It was supposed to stimulate the appetite. But the diners sat tensely, with narrowed eyes. The couple stared at the sniv, borderline hostile. When the music started, they'd all recoiled, and realizing that each other recognized the tune... Certain suspicions were confirmed. For minutes they kept their attention on each other, and the children watched them carefully as well. Violence was in the air. Savine thought of switching back the music, then dismissed the idea as frivolous. Despite what the Sniv had told her earlier, she knew it would not even close to being enough. The current music was the trigger, but it wasn't what could be used to ease the tension. If she changed it abruptly that might cause a reaction, one or both, might leave. Which was bad for business. While Chez Nyario had consistent clientelle, they lived at most a few blocks around the restaurant. The only way they could get more customers was by word of mouth, advertizing being deemed a needless expense. They wanted customers, but the thought of the lunch or dinner rush.. being swamped by hungry people... gah. For the sake of civility at least, the costumers had to be left alone for a while. "..look away.. from the fruit your action's done.. be it ill or a brighter day.." Savine mumbled. Kardi actually broke his meditative gaze on the lamplight to fix on her. "What was that?" "I.. don't know." she replied, blinking in confusion. "I don't know why I said it.. but.." "It matches the rhythm, doesn't it?" She nodded. The girl closed her eyes, and strained her hearing. Maybe the music had words, which she'd heard faintly. But no, all of it was instrumental. She hummed along. It was bitersweet melody, its beat telling of triumph tempered by sorrow. "Stand aside, sugar." Her mother said into her ear. Savine almost jumped, their parents always moved with no sound at all. She smiled at her, for though she was born of another woman she wanted to most of all to be like her. Though her real mother had not objected to the concept of Savine dyeing her hair green, her father had exercised his veto vote. They were already starting to resemble each other, strange as that may be. She was carrying a tray with platter of juicy steak, gummy soups, sweetbreads, and several goblets. Savine stood aside to let her pass. Her mother's cool competency was sure to bring things back to order again. The dining guests stood up sharply at seeing her, almost tipping their tables over. Their expressions were of frank triumph. "SELINE!" they said at once. "Oh, shit." she said back, almost dropping her tray. Chapter Two The woman held her arm out, stopping her husband from completing the drawing motion he'd started. She looked to the Sniv, who had his hand inside his vest and no doubt on the smallgun holster within. "Stay your hand, Lumin.", she said to him, and turned to Seline. "We have not come all this way just to fight." He took out his hand and shrugged, jamming them deep into his pockets. "Neitherr had I, let thiss place be neutrall groundss. Thiss is no place for our own sseparate disputes." Looking at Seline as well, "Wordss are the only weaponss I weild today." "Seline... Kardi.. please, go into the kitchen RIGHT NOW and tell your father we have visitors. And stay there, this is not a time for little children to be curious." Even if all they wanted was to talk, it was too dangerous to have the children underfoot. There was also violence in words, even the most gentle ones. Cutting and destroying more vididly than even bullets and knives can. She narrowed her eyes and let her tail whip with subdued caution. Words or deeds, she warned, both were provinces of her skill. And this they knew. Yet it was not she who they've come for, after a lull of fifteen years, but one whose own potential in either of those fields fell far below hers... and yet paradoxically, accomplished more. Khry. Fate. She gave them a mysterious little smile. "Who are you today?" she asked them, knowing full well whatever names they gave were meaningless. "Today I am known as Gemmi of Tideaine-Wroth." said the woman (it was prounced teddie-anne-wrote). "You should know the name.. the T-W transcorporation was one of your best 'works'." That this announcement was met only by another indulgent half-smile puzzled her. Seline wasn't acting they way they'd expected. "Today I am Rales John, an I AM Tideaine-Wroth." the man said imperiously, for he was the President of that mighty company, but in full knowing that he was relatively unimportant in the greater scheme of things, for his wife was the true force in their partnership. The fact that he was both master and servant did not rankle, that was his life's work... to appear to be strong and strong-willed was all he'd been made for. To the Sniv she turned, but he merely shrugged. "Who am I iss of no consequence, any Lumin could have been here in my place. I wass jusst the closesst. The decission hass already been made, even if you choose not to see it yet.. Ssurely you see the inevitabilties in thiss situation?" "Inevitability." she scoffed. "That's what we hate about either of you - how you toss that word around." How blatantly ironic. Three arrogant peons sent out to meet - "How many are there?" her father had asked. For some reason his face held the look of resignation. When Savine mentioned just exactly who were waiting outside, he spoke to no one in particular "At the same time, here - and they're not trying to kill each other?!" His wife shrugged, and wiped at her lenses with damp cloth. "Get out there, hiding won't accomplish anything." He approached them, and behind him two little heads peered at the edge of a pasteboard wall. Their mother bid them away, to help her with several small tasks. Savine dutifully followed, her brother slower in step and like always, staring eerily at something no one else could see. "So this is the infamous Tabbana Brusolla." She drank in his rolling slouch, his careful disinterest, and that revolting sense of color combinations. "Bane of pirates. Killer of Scourge. High Duke of Praid. The nightmare of Polloid everywhere.", she said with a sweeping wave at each title, and then held out her hand. When he merely looked at it pointedly, she sat and smiled thinly, steepling her fingers under her chin. Her husband did the same. "We are quite pleased to finally make your aquaintance, lord Tolriir." "I'm a.." he stuttered helplessly. "Ah..a-afraid you're mistaken, Miss... Missus? Miss, then... there's no one here by that name." He bowed and took the tray from Seline's hands. There solemn tension in his movements, as he lay down their orders. The Sniv wanted to say something, but a subtle hand signal done as his soup was set down bade him quiet. Then he placed the couple's orders. He added pleasantly to all three of them, "I'm very sorry that you are no closer to finding the man you're looking for, but please... eat heartily and enjoy yourselves. I only hope that your trip here would not prove to be such a waste." "Don't play games with us", said the man, gruffly. The woman snatched his wrist as he turned to leave. Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone so thin. "We were so afraid of you." she said softly. "The end of the Scourge War was our weakest moment... and even though the IGF was almost destroyed it suffered no worse than any other Alliance. You had Aelanna's ear, you had the Taenar's Light ready to jump to your side in any conflict... but us, the Scourge were trying to exterminate for our 'betrayal' of them.... with just a word, you could have set back millenia of Planning." Her nails dug into his flesh. He winced slightly, but the more he tried to pull away, the deeper her nails went. Her voice rose, tremolous. "WHY? You had everything... and you let it all fall apart?! If I were in your position, to repay all the wrongs done to me.. with such overwhelming options at my disposal... I would have tken all that power thrust at me and settled the whole vile issue! You could have had it all and you give it away?!" Her mascara cracked as she sneered. "Could you understand how it felt?! For months the Polloid Union hid, thinking that entire battalions of Lumin were tracking us... worse, that Aelanna knew of what has been going on under her nose... when we heard you had disappeared we all thought it was a trap! And when it became clear you had really gone, did we feel joy? For a year more we still kept from exposing ourselves... it was an unreal time, accursed Kitaran! Even the Masters were deep in disbelief. Your IGF could have been the sword to the Lumin's shield. We are not prone to rumors, but we were frightened out of our collective skulls that you had found some greater force to ally yourself with... and that one day you would return to purge our kind from the Galaxy!" The Sniv plainly cringed. But the Polloid was only voicing the questions he lacked the gall to ask. The Taenar's Light had undergone the exact opposite of what the Polloid Union felt - they had faced a massive euphoria, for once it seemed their neverending crusade could actually be won! With Lysle Rigger, Tabbana Brusolla, and Myanimi Aya - the new Trumvirate to hold the ideals held by Augustine Rigger, Lio Yanfarr, and Quill Miranda - with these three under the benevolent guidance of their greatlord and leader, surely they could not be defeated! With Rigger commanding the main Aegis fleet, B-sol exhorting the IGF and their agents into action, and Aya holding back the Crimson Pirates(the Polloid's own fleet of influence), for the first time ever they weren't fighting a losing campaign. But Rigger led the Fleet to pursuing the remaining Scourge and adapting their technology to the aegis, B-sol disappeared and left the IGF to fend for its own, likewise did the Dread Star Pirate fade away into the nebula. And disenchantment set in, but at least the Lumin were used to such kicks in the teeth. They had never taken the agressive run, and their leaders had refused to drive them into one... they were aegis. They were shields for the prservation of galactic civilization. "Why, in the Elder's name... why?! You could have had everything! And you give up all of that for a meaningless parcel of Station real estate?! When we realized you were gone we hated you EVEN MORE for not finishing us off. I DEMAND an answer, fleetlord!" Her voice had risen to a shrill protest, her grip was drawing blood. B-sol yanked his arm away, uncaring that strips of his skin were being ripped off. He clasped his hands in front of him and bowed again. "I.. I.. I.. I'm truly sorry, but you're asking the wrong man of all the wrong sorts of questions." The woman's frenzied eyes followed his fleeing back into the kitchen. She turned to Seline, pleading. "What is it? Amnesia? Mindwipe? Or is he playing the fool again?" That Kitaran had always done everything to get his enemies to underestimate him. "Another legend proven to be false," and the Polloid man spat onto the carpet. He pressed on and rubbed the spittle deep into its fibers with his shoe of genuine leather. "I told you not to expect too much.." Seline crossed her arms, her gentle smile infuriating the Polloid even more. "You could say the man that was known as Tabbana Brusolla is dead and buried, but the hysterical one you saw did not replace him... any more than my love for him hasn't changed over the years." The Polloid woman threw up her hands in disgust. "So you say he'd always been a spineless coward?! I don't believe it." It's impossible - that the wreck of a man could not have been the irrepressible spacer that others have seen. It was more than just stories and rumors, they had documented evidence of the galaxy's most (in)famous Kitaran and his demented deeds. She glared at Seline. That man she'd seen could not have inspired the fanatic allegiance of one the Polloid's own... diving her to betray her own species. "You were one of us, you too were one of the best that the cycles produced... why in Sadoi do you take this miserable existence? You could have been something much geater!" "I don't think you'll ever understand" she replied, shaking her head. "These ARE the best moments of my life. I wouldn't give them up for all the riches and rule that the Polloid Unity can give me." "You too are a fool, Seline." said the man known as Rales. Again she only smiled at them. The Sniv dipped his head back at her, but grimly. At least he understood, the Sniv were well-known for their loving care of their brood. Neverthless, he could never really be sure, that all of it wasn't an act. Fifteen years were short, for Polloid plans. Chances were, that Seline was still part of the great Strategy. Three pairs of eyes met one that refused to be intimidated. She crossed her arms just stood there defiantly, shaming them. "Eat your damn food." she said. "We're not talking until those plates are empty." The strange Kitaran returned from the kitchen some time later, and carrying tray with two bottles and two more glasses, a strip of purple cloth binding his foremarm. His ears perked at seeing they'd consumed their fare. "Not bad," even the Polloid had to admit. Though devious by nature, all Polloid were in their own judgements rigidly honest. He poured their long-brimmed chalices with fine apple wine, then from the other bottle, his. Seline was given a choice of which wine to take. She took the Derivian vodka. He asked her help to pull on a table for their own use. So it was that they sat, three tables facing each other, three points on a triangle. 'Why is it, that everything in my life happens in threes?' mused the Kitaran. His and Seline's glasses clinked in a toast, then they downed their drinks in one shot. The burning in their throats and stomachs killed the storms of nervousness there. "So.." he said to his visitors. "Please allow me a guess. The only reason that such representatives as yourselves could a. be here at the same time b. not killing each other c. not killing ME is... 1. You want something I know, or... 2. You want me to fight for you, therefore A. Something hugely FUBAR is going on somewhere, and it has got to be hugely not a benefit to my continued existence and physical well- being, ergo (*) Bidding starts at LEAVING US ALL THE HELL ALONE. Going? Going? Any takers?" He hiccuped and groaned as the ethanol hit his brain. "Aahhhgghh... sold to the bastard without any teeth." His wife lilted her lips amusedly at his show of weakness. Gemmi blinked, then smirked. Now that had sounded like what Tabbana Brusolla might have said. Completely unintellegible, but the more drunk he got, the better he thought. Interesting. Perhaps their expedition wouldn't be a total loss. If they could just convince the old Tabbana Brusolla to resurface, success was theirs. "I'm begging you," he added, sundering through their scheming mood. "Just forget we exist. I left all of that behind, it's beyond me now." He looked the Polloid squarely in the eye and his sift words were like thunder. "I forgive you, Polloid. I understand if you cannot forgive me." The two brazenly grimaced. " He turned to the Sniv. "I beg for your pardon too, Lumin - but *he* knew. And approved. If I was in error, do you think even I could have resisted *him*?" The Aegis Taenar nodded. Even Tabbana Brusolla had his betters. To defy that man he was referring to would have been like trying to convince time to stop flowing through the use of rhetoric. "Your problems are not our problems," Seline added. "Just let us live our lives - we're not bothering anyone. We can't fight either of you, all we can do is ask for what mercies you can give. It's impossible to bring back those years in the past, all that you and we can do is to live for the future." Distaste flashed briefly through the Polloid faces, but so ingrained into all Polloid was the ideal of emotional control, that they regained their composure quickly. "We are prepared to be magnanimous," said Gemmi, with a disdainful glare at the Sniv. "There won't be any conflict with your.. beliefs.. in fact all we require from you is exactly what you wanted to do. Non-interference in the events to come." She clapped her hands twice. "You shall be given a yearly stipend amounting to fifteen million standard credits, you shall be free to do whatever you wish with the sum - except to look on Polloid interests. Furthermore you will be under the our protection, the bounty on your head will be lifted and whatever waiting charges will be dropped." Rales took off his glasses and said oily, "Of course to gurantee that you do not participate in any endeavor harmful to the Polloid, you must understand that you will have to .. relocate. You may choose where you desire to live, if necessary we shall construct mansions. There will be complete facilities, and your children will be admitted into the finest schools." The Sniv said nothing, merely leaned back on his chair to sip at his liquor. Sweet and not too alcoholic, he savored its aroma. "It's a cage" Seline said with some resentment. "But a very comfortable one. You will not be harmed. You will not be imprisoned. We are giving you all the luxury you were used to, without asking for ANYTHING in return. The Taenar's Light must simply NOT have him again as a symbol for our xenocide." The woman leaned forward. "You know us Seline, we would not renege on a deal. We ARE living beings, too and we deserve to follow our own destinies as much as anyone else." She was almost convinced, but saw that her husband was staring at his glass, swirling the liquid inside with little motions of his wrist. His expression was blank, his gaze distant. He was thinking.. but not of the farcial exchange being made. Gemmi watched him carefully, it fit the descriptions in his dossier. Letting infinity embrace him, considering the things No other mind, no sane mind would seek to contemplate. "This appears to be all your fault," Seline told the Sniv. "What do you say for yourself?" "I am a ssimple herald. I can only offer death, if you rijoin uss you will face it - do not returrn to uss and you will meet it." "Is that a threat?!" she bristled. She felt his hand on his shoulder. She turned, and saw his bleary-eyed countenance. The lines under his eyes had deepened, his eyes were tinged by certain distress. Broken. Defeated. Utterly. He knows, she gasped silently. He knows what's really going on... from just the little scraps of information and their body language... he knows why we don't have any choice. She smiled and became content to just trust his intuitive leap. That sort of insight was the one talent she lacked. "It's not a threat" he said. "I know what it means." To the Sniv, "That far gone, huh?" The Lumin nodded. "The aegis taenar have nothing" Gemmi interjected. She motioned with her lips, to the twins peeking out of the pasteboard separation. "We will give security, stability to your family and the rest of the Federation. Their doctrine blinds them to the long-term effects of our Plan. All these are yours, just don't ask why. Think of your children, milord. They will create tomorrow." "If you touch them," B-sol ground out in his most amiable voice, a wide and somewhat vapid smile plastered on his face. "I will farking kill you." Seline hurked. Gemmi was taken aback, more so her companion. 'Had he finally gone stupidly insane?' all were thinking. What was he hoping to accomplish? At his current state, he was less than any danger to the Union. The sensible thing to do was to just say yes, he'd be assured of tranquility for the rest of his life. The stem of his chalice broke under his fingers. "Good try," said B-sol. "Your offers are too good, I'd be stupid not to accept." He bade Seline to attend to the children, "But I'd be a skriffing MORON to accept whatever is said here on face value." He left his chair and gleaned up the crystal shards, then all empty plates. He looked up at the sniv as he took his bowl, and crushed his hopes. "I am not beholden to your duty." he said. "Don't throw this opportunity away, Brusolla!" the woman shouted as he left the dining room. "This is your last chance to make something of yourself!" "It's not my goodwill you're trying to buy" he answered. "but the lives of my children. Who knows what will happen in the next few years? I can't trust anyone with that..." And looking back, his expression gentle, "Peace is not paid for through war, I managed to learn at least that much. I found my peace only when I stopped trying to fight for it. Polloid'i, I am no longer your enemy. Aegis, tell your master I approve - but even he must know that the fight can never be won as long as someone as to lose." "Don't worry about the chit, it's on the house.", said Seline. "Anatha?" asked Purron, her eyeglass glinting. "It's all right." he answered, and ruffled his son's hair as he passed. "Nothings changed. I think we're reached an agreeable compromise." After piling the utensils into the sink, he took a sharp cleaver, an onion, and serenely began to slice it. At first his cuts were uneven as his hand quivered with unease, soon it was all a smooth flow of movements. His wife beamed, did she dare hope that after all they've suffered through, there was closure? Thinking it all right for them to leave the kitchen, the children went back into the room. Seline told Kardi to input into the expense list the dishes they'd sent out, under GRATIS - NO SALE. Savine pondered their visitors, the Sniv was relaxed as ever, but the couple were discussing animatedly in a language she failed to recognize. They turned to Seline, who was waiting with a broom for them to leave and so allowing her to clean up. "Unacceptable." said Gemmi, her demeanor hard as diamonds. Seline's eyes widened in total consternation. They'd already had what they wanted - a pledge of noninterference! Did they think she'd not keep her word? In just fifteen years, had the Polloid Union lost its sense of principle?! "KIDS! INTO THE KITCHEN, NOW!!!" she commanded as the Sniv and the large businessman took out pistols, out from the concealment of their jackets and pointed them at each other. While impossibly, the the woman reached INTO her own chest, her skin hollowing out to take a a small energy-gun from inside her left lung, and aimed the same to her. Seline roughly pushed her children aside, even as a pulse-bolt entered her abdomen. "MOM!" Savine screamed as Seline fell, bleeding. Her father was already hacking through the pasteboard wall. The cleaver flew across the room, imbedding itself into an overturned fauxwood table. Panicked with worry at hearing her cry out, he'd taken the quickest way back into the diner, THROUGH the separation instead of past it. In a glance, he saw his wife on the ground, a sniv and a derivian scrambling for cover even as they shot at each other, and Gemmi already aiming a pulse pistol in his direction. Much as he'd have liked to stand there in mute disbelief for a few moments, he ducked under the firespray, and pulled Kardi down with him as pulse bolts set to wide- spread arc riddled the space where he'd been half a second ago. He looked back and, "Oh no - Shan!!" he shouted. She had been behind him, and her vision on the debacle outside had been blocked. In essence, he'd taken the only existing protection between her and the the shots. Dammit! The Kitaran let out a deep-throated growl. A wave of hatred, an oddly comforting and familiar emotion passed through him. Fifteen years were falling apart with such rapidity he'd never even dreamed of. No! There was no time for thoughts, if she even she got so much as a single scrath...these bastards WILL ALL DI- "I'm fine." she answered blandly. Mentally he slapped himself, he really had to stop underestimating her. Relief quickly flooded him. True, she may not have his and Seline's strength and agility - which was good, as she had none of their recklessness. The dark-haired Kitaran woman lay prone on the floor, and gave her judgement based on what's she'd seen. "YK33C Pulse Pistol, standard range 18 yards. Pulse bolts are 1.3 inches in diameter, stun frequency." She was already trying to pry out one of the floor tiles. "Modified, Crimsontech." A defeated sigh. "I actually thought I.. we.. had left all of this behind us this time. But it's no excuse to be unprepared." Her searching fingers found what she'd been looking for. "Don't say that again..! It's not your fault... if there's one to blame for it, it's mine to take" Another volley raked the air inches above them, a series of deceptively soft *vip*vip*vip*s, in hoping they'd be flushed out. Tabbana Brusolla snarled. Why? Why couldn't these freaks just let them live in peace? "There's time enough to play the guilt game later. Right now we need to get the children away from these psychopaths." He clasped his son close to his chest, shielding him from the bolts with his own body if need be. Where was his daughter? His eyes widened in panic as he saw what she was up to. "Mom.. mom, please.. wake up." Savine crawled and tugged on the hem of Seline's dress. And incidentally placed herself outside the desk's cover. A stillness hung over the restaurant, as everyone waited for the others to make a move. He'd been in many firefights within enclosed areas, and one of his battlefield rules was that flimsy cover was better than no cover at all. The whole point of ducking wasn't to have something between you and the bullet - but between you and the eyesight of the person holding the gun, and then letting the law of random chance decide the rest. B-sol strained out to grab his daughter's left ankle and pulled her back in - but the child's hold on her mother's dress was strong, and Seline was also dragged across the floor, her blood tracing a line. ".. mom?" She's dead!, the girl was starting to realize. That sent a frozen needle into her heart. Never to see her caring smile, or be crooned to sleep. She loved both her mothers equally, but felt closer to her who shared temperament. Both tended to be aloof and high- strung, looking at the world with sarcastic amusement. Suddenly, Seline's eyes shot open, and with a grimace, "Aaaaaahh! That.. had zarkhing.. hurt!" She turned over to her back and clasped her hand over the scorched entryhole. Above her, a burst of gunfire shattered blindly through the wall, forcing their attacker to seek her own hiding spot. Ballistic weapons and bullets were supreme against unarmored targets, and since each customizable clip tended to contain more ammo for the weight than pull charges from power cells by newer energy weapons, they were hardly obsolete. And cheaper to boot! The children's biological mother stepped through, SMG-2 in hand, one that was still somewhat caked with concrete dust. She burst a few rounds of cover fire and crooked down to check on her wife. "Are you okay?" "Give me five seconds.. three.. give me a gun." she said. It was a clean hole that drilled straight through her, insignificant damage normally, but the electrostatic feedback from the bolt was what made her go into a brief regenerative coma. Seline took her hand off her wound, it was barely more than a discolored patch of skin now. Savine stared at it in mute wonder. The child felt Kardi's hold on her wrist. Her father had placed it there, the twins belonged together. Protect your sister, always, he'd told Kardi. Keep your brother out of trouble, he'd told her. Then, he clasped both their hands reassuringly. "Shan, take them away of here.", he said to Purron. His expression had hardened, so different from what they were used to seeing. He had out on his palm several serrated knives. Cooking knives to be sure, sharp and balanced nonetheless. "We'll handle this.", with a nod to his other wife. "Go on... it's not like we'll get killed of this. We've faced worse situations before." Purron stifled a misplaced laugh. That they did, but never had they tried to fight in the presence of their own children. It was of ultimate importance, the safety of their young. She nodded, scooping up a child under each arm. The two were dazed and confused, offering no difficulty. "Amazing!" shouted the Polloid's malefront operative over the din of their gunfight. Several tables have been overturned, the Sniv took potshots at them from the far side of the room, keeping them from getting at the Kitarans, or the exit. "This is working out SO well. A direct confrontation will catch them off balance, snipers on rooftops are SO cliche!" "Shut UP!" was the answer. "I'll keep their heads down - you take care of the other problem." They both knew all the rumors, and deep down they itched to take down the traitor, the irksome datajill, and then their former most dangerous adversary, personally. The sniv Lumin was just a distraction. Seline without warning popped up and filled the air with a wall of brass-coated lead, as an adrenalinized Datajill rushed with her two children back into the kitchen. Everyone in the room hugged the floor. At the same time, B-sol peered out from the side of the desk, saw the other man crawing to circle around, and with several easy flicks, lodged a knife up to hilt into each of his eyes, and two more throws - *thunk* into his chest as he rose, between the third and fourth vertebra, and the last into his open mouth as he screamed in pain. That was one of the distinct disadvantages of having a nervous sytem that the Polloid race wasn't quite yet capable of cancelling. He toppled, a fountainhead of red spurts. The former freespacer smiled with grim satisfaction, and mumbled a thanks to his wife for her cover fire. Enough time had been wasted, they poised to leave. The befuddled sniv could only look on as the two then snap-rolled with eerie coordination through the hole in the wall, and into the kitchen. Gemmi stepped up to chase after them, and he took the opportunity to lodge several plasma shots into her lower spine. He ran ahead, knowing that would only stop her for a relatively short time. He entered the kitchen and saw the back door just swinging to a close. And all the stoves on... with a naked wire leading from the burners down into a closed cabinet. The Polloid could only look on in suprise as a frightened Sniv ran at her, and past her, diving out a glass window. Her companion writhed, and pulled out the blades with sickening squelching noises. He was still trying to regenerate eyes to see with. The Chez Nyario blew, a pillar of fire and carbon. Stoves were fueled by compressed gas, under the tradition that real food had to be cooked over real flame. The blast completely destroyed the small restaurant, and crisping the Polloids to an extent beyond their capacity to regenerate. The sniv was hurled by the explosion wave into a dumpster. Bruised, foul-smelling, but otherwise intact. He groaned and felt his bones grate against each other. He keyed his wristcom. "Ssir, I have made contact with them. It semss that our 'comfetitorss'... have also been visy. They.. hrr.. got away." "Understood," said his superior officer. "Find them, keep them safe." "It shall vi done." he replied. The sniv checked the clock readout at a corner of the miniature screen. Perfect. Bruised. Stinking. And late. "I rreally sshould have exfected that griffing Kit to find a way to completely sscrew up my hisskedule." he spat, staggering back to his feet. Duty called, pursuit under way. The Kitaran family was already halfway across the Quarter by then. Chapter Three "Name?" "Tabbana-marrukh Fralur Markan." the man replied, handing over the passports. He was a little short for a Kitaran, with unruly brown-black hair streaked with some traces of gray, a full moustache on his lip. "And family." The station officer slid the card into his slotreader, and checked the data with the faces. Fralur Markan, emigrated directly from Kitara Prime to Crossroads Station twelve years ago. Age 47, no records of criminal actions. Reasonably wealthy, owns a Frigate kept in storage. His wife, Siralin Naru (spaceborn, unclanned), was 43, a woman still stunning with her lithe body and aristocratic face. Kitarans tend to show their age slower than Derivians, after all. Fanthyra Pyrshan-miro Purron, a cousin, was traveling with them. She was supple and 40, with such arresting orange eyes, why did she have to hide them under those overlarge lenses? Apparently she was to help look after the children, a boy and a girl, Kardi and Savine, both eleven. The boy resembled the father, and the girl resembled the mother. Just a nice family finally out for a well-deserved vacation. He handed them back their datacards and let them pass through the turbolift into Overdome C (Business Quarter Left, right next to the Docks). They entered it quietly and with some degree of haste, but that's only to be expected. He puffed on his cigarrete (legal again since GO5661B - The Right To Be Stupid law), it could get plenty boring in the sheltered sections of Crossroads. Artificial Utopias were kinda like that. B-sol looked out through the transparent gravtube at his home for the past ten years. The only home his children had known, a peace he'd fought hard to preserve. A decade was a long time, even with the galaxy's trend towards extended lifespans. Good people can become bad. Bad people can become good. Things change. Rust sets in. He sighed. A fleeting dream, it seems the fruit of mistakes still stalked his steps. He turned to his family, and gave his children a reassuring grin. Then to his wife Pyrshan Purron, formerly known as The Datajill, he asked; "How far do you think we can get on our current Profiles?" "Not very far, I'm sorry to say. FEDNET Central Controller's still on my side but our good friend AI can't physically shield us from harm. It's keeping the bought police from serving false warrants out for our capture and barring our exit from this Station, but bounty hunters et al, are beyond its control." At the mention of an AI, she smiled. She still remembered when AIs were not programmed to be gender-neutral, and that her husband was controbutory in showing how that situation was inherently hazardous to everyone's health. FEDCORE's Central AI had once decided she was in love with Lysle Rigger, his mission partner. And when the Derivian said no in his usual severe manner, she decided she'd raher die than not have his love. And accidentally sterilize a substantial section of the Galaxy while at it. Rigger was held her captive within the Systems Kernel section of Manchari's Mil3A Station and her method of suicide was to implode said Federation Naval Station's power plant. The resulting catastrophe was roughly equal to the a solar nova. Rigger had to be rescued and the AI shut down. But the Kernel was one of the heaviest-defended places in the entire Federated space, it was a fortress within a fortress within the Federal Navy's largest citadel. No personell armoring could withstand the banks of defensive lasers and wall-mines, no vehicle could hope to escape the many automated robotic defenses. The only way to live and get into the Kernel was to not get hit. A single person then, blindingly fast. That meant it had to be Kitaran. But given the odds.. that person would have to be stupid, suicidal, supremely egotistical, or all three. That meant it had to be Tabbana Brusolla. And once the debacle was done, major comptrolling systems were reprogrammed to relate to all people, and gender, equally. She'd helped there. Datajill smiled, of the things past that seemed so long ago. Centuries ago, though it was but decades. The people that had been there were so different from what they were now, like blurred shadows. Silence as the tubolift ascended, each person lost to their own thoughts. Seline tapped her foot in ennui. "I won't let them have my children." her decision. It was hardest on her, the predicament, for she had the most to gain. The temptation was enormous. She placed a hand on each of their heads. "Mommy will protect you from the bad people." she crooned. They looked back at her, completely confused. She gave each a hug, though she hadn't carried and born them, they were as much her children as Shan's. B-sol scratched at his nose. "There's a saying on Kitara - even a warrior's fury pales next to a mother defending her young." Seline preened at the praise. Motherhood had drastically reset her priorities. "What are our alternatives to running and hiding?" "Hiding and THEN running." said Datajill, after having run through countless theoretical scenarios in her mind. "Not good enough." was the reply. "I'm not going to live my life like a scared little rat. We NEED some peace, dammit - we deserve it!" "Mom?" Savine asked, seeing how Seline heaved with fury. It was the closest she'd ever seen any of them coming close to a disagreement. "The other alternative might be worse - ", said B-sol, the mere tone of his voice calming them all. "I swore I'd never walk that path again... but if necess" "I'll just find a way," Datajill hurriedly interrupted. The emotionless edge of logic-processing thinking faded from her eyes, and she twisted he lips, becoming a living, loving Kitaran once more. "My... *our* children deserve the better life." Savine blinked, almost seeing literal waves of determination roll furiously around her parents. Her brother said nothing, as usual - but his eyes spoke of implicit trust. The children were still at that age when one's father knew everything and one's mother could do no wrong. Darkness filled the view as the turbolift left the illusion of a living world, and showed them the true nature of their home - metal. Millions of tons of it. It was passing through the connection between the Underdome to the Overdome. A vacuum lay between the sheathed skin of the Crossroads Core, to prevent heat loss from the living area. Outside the dome was as pressurized and comfortable as Below, but it was open to the stars. A spectacular view of the endless skies through transparent environmental shielding reminded the businessmen of the Station: THINK BIG. You're not alone in this universe, your profit is filtered through hundreds of worlds and thousands of ports. We are all interconnected. The children gasped in delight, it was their first time to see the Starport section of Crossroads. Despite that the Residential Quarters allin all could contain up to four billion people, it always had a feeling of smallness, of suburban charm. There were six billion on the Stationand while four of which lived in a circular area encompassing several thousand kilometers, the other two billion lived in a place the size of which was only an eighth of the former. Here towers reached to the armored dome itself, and above open areas in the superstructure starfaring vessels floated. Gone were the mirages of blue sky and faux clouds - each one here woke to infinity. It was a cavern, though one large enough to admit to its own weather patterns. A Quarter wasn't a square-shaped area, but referred to a calculated dominion, exactly 1/4 the total wrought surface of the entire station. It was a misnomer, hearking back to the first days of Derivian station engineering, when their stations were divided into chunks of areas devoted to specific uses. The massive Starlight Station orbiting Derivia was a classic example of their 'solo-pizza' design. The Taenarians had however perfected the art of creating artifical habitations, but for some reason kept some of the lingo. At the center of the Station was the Residential Quarter taking up over half the mass of Crossroads, next up the Business Quarter aka the Citiwheel, and then Industrial Quarter directly below the Shipyards. The First Quarter was isolated, guarded by layers upon layers of armoring, the other Three melded together in ease of shipping, communication, security, and other practicalities. Behind the horizon-spanning skyscrapers (or rather spacescrapers) were the massive spacedocks, a ring around the deformed sphere where this Station came in touch with the rest of the Federation. Aircars flitted like bees between the towers, as unlike the other Quarters, the Overdome had no 'ground floor' or 'main road' to speak of. The flat tops of kilometers-wide edifices were the only open foundations, a canopy of parks and lesser buildings exposed to the stars. Inverted pyramids, lattices, like a crawling metal jungle, the Business Quarter was made with each structure supporting each other. Portside constructions were packed in, massive shield generators right next to head corporate offices. Overdome were all the things that those living inside wanted to forget. Farms, malls, and schools were all well and good, not so traffic, lawyer's offices and sprawling warehouses - the Taenarians have taught progress and commerce should never again take precedence over a populace' emotional well-being. They stood on a raised walkway, facing the series of movable platforms that were the 'ground' of Overdome. Between Overdome and Underdome massive pillars, and in the case of Station-attack, the occupied buildings could be moved, blocks and city-sections en masse, and retracted into Underdome for double protection. People were around, uncountable numbers of them. Walking, driving, shadowy figures within windows. Barely had they exited the turbolift that it flicked away, and the doors opened again to let out a stream of passengers from another part of the Dome. They followed the crowd flow into the turborail, a transit system that allowed a full-circuit travel of the entire station's diameter in a matter of an hour. They went deep into the Business Quarter, into the Concordiat City Circle, for the entire Quarter was actually nothing more than a string of self- contained yet overlapping metropolis. The first thing they did was to find a computer store, walking calmly and with some langour, they inspected the merchandise with casual foolishness, and ended up buying the most expensive, most powerful portable in the store. "A computer is an investment for the future." the sign above said. They rested at one of the overhanging playgrounds, the children played as children do (and Kardi even laughed, losing his shy somber nature) while their parents watched. They were at the sandbox, and the twins tried to shape the sand... or rather, perfect grains of millimeter-sized hexagonal shapes, into a sand castle. Safer, and better than pulverized rock in all aspects. "They're on fire", Kardi said. "Huh?" Savine patted down a wet wall, with water from a small hose the P.A.R.Korp's designers had so helpfully provided. "What d'you mean?" "If we think of everybody as like a candle, then they're burning bright. It's like they were covered up and not getting enough air and now the fire's strong again." He looked at his sister. "They were hiding things from us." "Grown-ups always hide," she answered. "Like pretending something doesn't exist REALLY makes it not exist." The two children spoke only to each other in such a way. They'd learned that adults tended to dismiss their opinions, becoming disturbed if they try to SEE something through their eyes. Innocence is however equated with truth, not the hiding of truth. Innocence was not the same as ignorance. They were children, yes.. but Kitaran children above all. They were still at that age when the newness of things were a delight, not something to fear. "Let's make this castle look like Castle Tabbi." he suggested. "That's too easy. It's just a mountain with a bulbous top and a moat. Let's make it Castle Hekirra, it's a REAL castle, not a clanheart." And so putting serious thoughts aside, the children played, trusting the adults to make sense of the universe. "Anything?" "We've just been declared legally dead," Datajill replied. Her fingers sparked across the keyPADD, assimilating and judging pagefuls of information with the briefest of glances. The laptop teracomputer didn't have a direct access port, but she was hardly slowed by the manual interface. Bioelectronic Neural NETs were on the market, but what she was so much more than just a simple mind/machine interface. Using that would have only succeeded at slowed her down. "Our doomed restaurant left an ugly little crater in the Row. The bought forensics found two bodies, which they've identified as you and Seline. A woman and two children, Kitaran, are missing and they've have determined that the blast must have thrown us into the air, and have set search patterns throughout the block." "Ha! Such magnificent bullshit! That must give our neighbors goosebumps. Who knows, our grisly remains must be lying unseen in their yards, on their roofs... who'll wake up to find a body in their swimming pool?" B-sol grinned and then let his face hang slack, clawing at the air with hooked fingers. "WiLl OuR gHOsts hAUnT oUR FInal rEStINg plaCE?" he said in a zombie voice."BraIInSS. CuPCakEs. TEAAA.." Seline giggled openly. "Seriously though, does that mean our current Profiles don't work anymore?" "Gaff. We can't lift off with the ship." he realized. "Hold on, I'm giving us new Profiles." And she then went into the task of creating them new and plausible identities from scratch. She hacked into the FEDNET data superstorage, altered the Station Records, commanded the printing of a new set of datacards, and had them mailed to their location - all of these happening invisibly in the datastream and all within three minutes. A small hover deliverybot approached, and out popped from its chest a large white envelope. B-sol paid the delivery charge of two credits, and tore open the mail. He tossed the paper aside, it'd decompose into harmless dust within an hour anyways, automatically recycling. "I'm Tabbana-marrukh Grai Karrente now," he said. "I'm a division supervisor? AGH! I'm a workdrone. A payslave. A cog in the corporate machine! Ohh the pain. The pain." Seline whistled. Her eyes were positively sparkling. "I'm Sarila Friss. Active vice-president." She leaned over and gave Shan a peck on the cheek. "Thanks for the promotion, boss." "Boss?" "Look at her datacard." B-sol did so, and twitched. "Datajill Systems. Sofware security company, CEO and Founder: Pyrshan-miro Miyum Nerri" He smirked. "I thought we were trying to keep a low profile?" "It's a precaution, in case some stupid fool actually tried to counter-hack my code." She tossed her hair back, and gave a confident smile. The Netrank of Datajill was enough to clear an entire node of hacker scum just by LOOKING at it. They don't just put the fear of God back into cyberterrorists, they put the Fear Of Datajills deeply into their pscyhes. Even megacorp and goverment icers steered clear of cybercombatting a datajill. They were one with the machine, the goddesses of the Net, who protected the entire web from chaos and sabotage, and whose wrath were awesome to behold. And mother of his children. B-sol fell in love all over again with her again at that moment, she was once again assured of her place in the scheme of things. Seline looped her arm around Datajill's waist, bringing her back to reality. "Don't go infocrazy on me, now", she said. Some computer geniuses tended to cackle insanely in triumph as they basked in the perfection of their code and skill. "I won't" she replied, closing the laptop. She resumed being just Shan again. "Just don't try making stock market changes when I'm not looking." she added, with a twinkle in her eye. Datajill Co, was a real company, though it lacked an office, it did come with extensive opportunities. Some Polloid-trained corporate geniuses tended to cackle insanely as they basked in the absolute control they have at moving through the everchanging economic situation. He felt a twang of guilt - when he decided to leave the active galaxy, they didn't have to take the bitter pill of exile with him. Just because he couldn't take the pressure anymore, that didn't mean they too had to dampen their talents. They seemed to sense his mood. Seline brought him out of his funk, by giving him a quick and helpful rap on the back of his head. "Ow.", he rubbed the slight bump. He was about to say something along the lines of 'violent women', when she then gave him a deep kiss. All protests died on his lips. "We don't have time to mope around." she said, and leaning over Shan's shoulder as she opened the laptop once more. "What's our situation?" "All right - I've set up alternative identities, but since we can't use the Frigate anymore, our exit from this station will have to be on a commercial cruise liner. I've funneled our bank account into the dummy Company, that'll get us going a while but not too far. We can start all over again" she sighed. "But we don't have a guarantee of safety." "Can we get to Kitara?" "Even if we go there, no one'll take us in. I've given up on Praid and the Tabbana Council isn't likely to help a rogue Tabbana. No, we need a buffer between the children and the rest of the galaxy. A horde of security men. An entire condominium fortress all to ourselves. Maybe I'll buy a battleship and hollow it out - turn it into an improvised castle? Anonymity doesn't work." He leaned forward and steepled his hands under his chin. "Pour into our cash pool my emergency funds." "Emergency..funds.." Datajill worked quickly, digging up buried accounts. "Holy shit." she gasped. "And you've been keeping this stash secret from me? You just stood by while I worried about our monthly mortgage payments!! You skag!" she growled goodnaturedly. B-sol grinned sheepishly. "Hey, just because I loathe the idea of having billions in my bank account and a war fleet at my disposal doesn't mean I don't recognize the USEFULNESS of money." "Pah!" Seline snorted derisively. "Your billions?! The only idea this fool has on gathering mass amounts of money is to embezzle it from the alliance account of his fleetborne. It was MY effort that brought him his own quarter-trillion fortune, which he almost immidiately sank into his ship. And we recall how that turned out. Ramming something into a Scourge Hive is not a GOOD way to get returns on an investment. No, combine it with MY emergency fund." Datajill's eyes were wide saucers. "Eep." B-sol's jaw dropped. "Five hundred eighty-two million?" He stared at Seline in frank disbelief. "'Sene - I seem to recall you saying that when you came with me, you had ZERO credits, you didn't want to bother with using cash to control people again." And all throughout their life together not once did she ever touch a credstick again. "I DID." she replied. "You're looking at what took me the last ten years to accumulate using floating interest rates." She crossed her arms on her chest, and held her head high, pouting. "If I wanted I could have made us billions on billions by sponsoring a freighter line." A softness passed through her features, she was looking at the children. "I only did it for them, so they would have a future." B-sol grinned. "Woman, you never cease to amaze me. Who else would think half a billion credits were but college set-asides? What, you wanted to establish your own university?" "Well.." Seline twiddled her thumbs. "I was hoping that they wouldn't have to leave home.. if it came to that, maybe our home could follow them instead." Her husband and wife both grinned, then laid a hand on her shoulder. Seline had changed so much, such a far cry from what she was fifteen years ago. In Shan's own words, back when the two were naturally at odds with each other; 'A greedy, unethical, manipulative bitch'. No longer. She laid her own over theirs. "I've been so happy, you and the children give me my meaning, and I won't let anyone take that away from me." Behind the bench, their tails twined with each other. The Sniv frowned at seeing the three easing together. He lowered his binoculars and lowered himself back into his chair. He was in an aircar parked behind a support strut of the building directly across the park, looking for all to see a taxi driver out on a nap break. So very hard to overcome his innate loathing for all Polloid. Instead, he observed the children. His binoculars could also display a person's psi index, fron a Telurian crystal built into it. The Datajill held a 21, the Kitaran normal was 2 to 5... but she was a -Datajill- after all, hardly a normal Kitaran. B-sol registered as a zero. Had the scanner been able to guage negative values, he would have been a -15. Complete psionic immunity, the sniv reflected. The Polloid.. Seline, he corrected himself.. he had to think of her as a person too... was at -700. The direct mirror of Taenarian levels. But unlike Taenarians, the Polloid's psionic potential was directed inwards, in control of their bodies at a molecular level. The children were interesting. Their psi index fluctuated, as their personalities and minds were still underdeveloped. However, they were already that rarity - genuine Kitaran psionics. Kardi was at around 80, while Savine was in the 60s range. How their psionic potential would manifest were still unknown. Ahh, the things he had to do in the name of duty. Playing babysitter was hardly the reason he joined Taenar's Light. He had no psionic abilities, but he was resourceful enough. He swept his gaze back to the bench where the parents sat talking. "This is interesting... " Datajill remarked. "I think I may have figured out why the Polloid wanted us alive." Seline peered at her data. "I see - 'Sul, are they watching us now?" The former fleet commander flicked his eyes from one periphery of vision to the other. He leaned back and grinned. He pointed to the left, to the secluded side of the park, and at a couple necking each other. The two suddenly stopped, and left their spot, a trace of fearful unsteadiness in their walk. Then he pointed in front, to the roof beyond, and a tell-tale glimmer of a scope being put away betrayed the sniv's presence and hurried evacuation of his observation post. "How do you know which people are minding their own business and which ones are spying on us?" Seline asked, frowning. "I've never been able to figure it out, mannerisms?" "It's not that - it's mostly a matter of feel. Call it a gut instinct." She lowered her peaked ears. "That's hardly a method. It's not even scientifically quantifiable." "Ah! I've done it!" Datajill interrupted suddenly. "Let's see what we have on our watchers. Those two were.. hm.. tourists. From Taelon." "Polloid." noted B-sol. Not the ones that confronted them, of course. He guessed it would take them a week or so to heal up. "Obviously so, they don't put down roots - but instead move their agents around yet still giving the appearance of belonging somewhere." Her husband blinked, and then smiled again - noticing how she said 'they' instead of 'we' as she was habitually saying so in the past. "The taxi's registered to a Massuntev Shil, sniv... and interestingly enough, he looks EXACTLY like Hisilussavi Dnain, a stationborn sniv who just so incidentally have been part of the Federation Navy's 3rd Battlegroup against the Scourge despite having DIED SIXTY-NINE YEARS AGO." "Taenar's Light." B-sol said with some distaste. "That's the sort of thing they'd do." Datajill nodded. "Our own identities are of deceased people whose deaths have just conveniently.. gone unreported. I'm working against another datajill here, I THINK she might have just LET me crack her barriercode without making it look too easy," she grumbled. "They think I've softened through the years." "I'm sorry, Shan." B-sol quickly said, abashed. "My choice, lover. Don't play the guilt game with me, remember?", she replied, her grin belying the vehemence by which she closed shut the laptop. B-sol looked pensive. After a while, he decided her anger wasn't directed at him. "It's going to get harder from here on. We're working on limited resources, and defying two of the widespread controlling shadow organizations in the galaxy." He groaned. "Shan, could you make us a reservation outbound? 'Sene, could you please call the kids? I've got to buy something." "What is it? Maybe I can just order it online.." "Nah, it's just a little thing - no bother at all." He looked sadly back at them as he stood up. "Just a razor - I've got to shave this embarrassing moustache off." The two smiled, but their eyes too held sadness, uncertainity. They knew there was more than that, to the ritual of changing a Kitaran's own sense of appearance. Chapter Four "We're going to see the Great Nebula!" he said, grinning his goofy disarming grin. "It'll be fun. It's a beautiful place - and there are resorts, amusement parks and research stations there too! We're going to have a great time." No, we're not. This Savine refuted silently. She hardly recognized her father without his large wriggly moustache. It was a tradition for Kitaran males to start growing their beards at middle age, and by their later years their manes and moustaches giving them the somber dignified look of an Elder. When B-sol shaved off the beginnings of his maturity beard, his whole face seemed to age backwards a full decade. And his demeanor... altered drastically in the space of a few hours. His flippantness held a wry edge of irony, his steps grew more forceful, and subtle desperation draped over him like a cloak. They'd all been surprised as he'd chosen to take them to one of the most elite hotels in the Station. A building of arches and peaked towers, wrought in gold and royal purple. The Falassmarion, deep in the heart of the business quarter's millionaire columns. There, he'd asked for not just a room - but the penthouse suite. The manager sniffed haughtily, he was a Derivian man in his later years, the medical methods of slowing down age already useless for him, but he wore his age with somber respectability, like the full waist-length white beard he had, a beard to make other old men gnash their teeth in envy. His head was completely bald though, showing off the lines wrought by decades of hospitable living. He knew his place in the universe, the hotel was not an establishment, it was almost a part of him. Perhaps they would rather rest a while in the lounge to see if he would regain their sanity? It was raining outside, a heavy shower, weather was allowed its unpredictabilities for cleansing of impurities from the air. Clouds formed upon minute traces of dust and pollution, which fell in blurred storms. Kitarans were not fond of being wet, moisture clung to their hair and fur instead of rolling off, and it made them irritable. B-sol slammed his palm flat on the desk. "Listen to me", he hissed. "You are a servant, a peon under my control. I am a customer, and if you would bite your tongue, allow me to pay now in advance, and then stay out of my sight then perhaps... tomorrow when I wake up - I won't take measures on having you credless out on the street, and this SUBSTANDARD RENTBED you call a first-class hotel not marked for demolition!" "Are you threatening me, sir? Perhaps you'd better le-" "The next five words out of your mouth will decide your social and financial status for the rest of your miserable life. I advise that it be 'please have a nice stay'." he hissed. The master majordomo locked gazes with the crazed Kitaran, his impassiveness met with a somewhat malicious grin. He gulped. He wasn't a gambling man, he didn't get so far up the employment rung by taking unweighed risks. He did have his pride, but.. It was bluff he couldn't afford to dare. "Very well then, sir. But payment in advance is requested." "So be it." B-sol slid his credstick into the slot, and smirked lopsidedly as the hotel manager almost had a heart attack. The each- unique credsticks were the boon of business, it allowed each person to have direct control over their funds without fear of being robbed. It was a three-inch long piece of coated circuitry, on one end was a miniaturized thumbprint reader and on its other edge was an interface coupling that plugged into a datastick scanner. Only in hand of its proper owner will any credstick be of use. The man had done more than just download the cash, he'd made a surreptitious check on his guest's finances - all perfectly legal, but hidden from his customer's view. The Kitaran could well afford having the hotel razed, rebuilt, and pulled down once more. "Please have a nice stay, we are most pleased at your patronage." he said with a bow. He realized that there were children, and that he'd been a bit rude in dealing with their parents. Perhaps the Kit was just over-reacting so he wouldn't be embarrassed in front of his progeny. He wiped sweat from his brow, good thing he hadn't given in to his first impulse of having the entire family thrown out, served him so to judge by mere appearances! Despite their bedraggled appearance, and that distinctive.. not really unpleasant, just ... strange... odour of a wet Kit, he still had to respect them. The fact that they were wet immediately connected into his mind of their not having a car, or being able to afford a taxi ride. Ergo, no money. And so thereby, they did not belong at all in the establishment. As they walked to the elevator, he called to the Kitaran man. "Sir.. pardon me, but... have we met before? Your face seems familiar somehow." It's a good thing he recalled that moviestars and venture businessmen dressed and acted like the lower class sometimes. "..no, I don't think so." he replied softly without looking back. Massuntev arrived at the hotel. Casually he asked the desk wheter a certain Kitaran family had checked in yet, and in which room were they staying? Hotel policy of course forbid disclosing such information to just anyone, but he was a good friend of theirs - one they hadn't seen in along time and they just -had- to get together and catch up on old times. He was just visiting the Station, he said, and at least he could meet them before he left, or they left on their.. vacation. Earlier that night, B-sol had apologized to the manager. He'd also asked for some advice on where he could get custom articles of clothing made in rush - within six hours. "I live to serve, sir. Will the leather be black or red and will there be spikes??" The Kitaran blinked, three times, and blanched as he came to what the man was thinking of. Ahh, they must have some SERIOUSLY weird people sleeping in the place. The manager was used to his guests needing all sorts of unusual things. No, he explained - what he needed was a certain suit made of ..certain materials... heavy-duty materials. He'd chosen this hotel for its seclusion and security. The penthouse was as well-guarded as any bank. There were those who would use his children against him, and he'll be damned before he'd let them get past himself. "Do you have children of your own?", he asked The manager nodded. He did, and he understood a parent's paranoid obsession when it came to their children's safety. He would do all he could to help, he said. "There will be of course, substantial thanks for your efforts." "I sir, am no bellhop. Tips and monetary gifts will be an insult. I do this because it's what I've proven to be good at." he resolved. He had pride in his work, and that job was to do the impossible that were asked for. "Forget CEOs, politicians, and lawyers" Lio Yanfarr's words echoed in B-sol's mind. "Know the REALLY IMPORTANT people, the clerks, the aides, the managers, the guards, the faceless working masses. They can open doors that others can't even perceive. Their sympathy will save your life many times over." "If you don't mind sir, I would like to have some identification.." Even as the sniv reached for his datacard, the manager held up his hand. "If you would kindly supply the next part of the phrase - Dawn breaks with infinite slowness..." Massuntev's eyes widened. "A harrt of darknesss vefurr day wakess." A nod, "He is in the saloon, sir. Or perhaps the casino. He has been waiting." The sniv entered the hotel's segmented foyers, keenly aware of how misplaced he was in the river of people bedecked in exquisite garments. He peered through the doors, scanning the crowd. There were not that many Kitarans within, but he failed to find the man he was looking for. The manager had said B-sol was waiting... but no longer. Why did he leave? The casino was just a place for hotel guests to pass the time, not a full gambling bonanza. Nevertheless, it was packed with those who felt luck was on their side. The stakes were incredibly high for such small games, the lowest chip was ten thousand credits worth. He wasn't in there either, that Kitaran was known for his atrocious lack of luck in those games of chance which involved money. He turned to walk back into the Front, and ask instead of the room they were staying in. The words he'd just been given was tantamount to an invitation. It was their codephrase for 'watch out, imminent danger'. Then all of a sudden he felt a garrote wire on his neck, and he was being pulled to a service room! With his head pulled back, it was all he could do to breathe, the Sniv voice box was pinched in when the whole neck/head was held ramrod straight. It was an evolutionary carryover from when their animalform ancestors swam silently through rivers and ambushed prey. He could only make strange gurgling sounds as he was dragged, too dazed to even resist. A length of rope was looped on his snout, sealing his protests even as the garrote loosened. His arms were likewise restrained with such frightening rapidity. "Three seconds to subdue you, Aegis Taenar? Sheesh, I'm being hunted by a newbie - those Lumin must really want me to die at Polloid hands." He pushed his captive against the door and cut the wire gagging the Sniv. The door and walls were thick enough to muffle shouts. "Answer my questions, and you might yet live - why are psionics and their families disappearing all over the Federation?" "S..so, you know avout that alrready?" "Shan's a Datajill. You should have been more surprised if she failed to figure that out as quickly. It's not far at all of a logic leap." Datajill had 'spoken' to FEDCENTRAL, and its AI provided her with all the information she required. There were disappearances, but nothing was amiss, those mysteries were rare enough. But when she tabulated the data, she'd seen the order of major vanishings in terms of number. Wraith. Derivian. Zallun. Tamaran. Sniv. Quelaar. And the race with the least disappearances was - Kitaran. "It's obvious, that's also the order of psionic potential in the Race Guide." "You k-know your sshildren are pssionic.." the Sniv gasped. "We are obligated to.. protect.. ssuch sshildren of the un-universss.." Slowly he slanted his head to look his assailant in the eye. "We have taken them to frr-rotect - gggak wheeze - them... all of them have come willingly. The Folloid are alsso collecting, and what they do their captivess are not sso venign..." It tightened, then abruptly all his bonds were let go, and the sniv turned to his attacker. Tabbana Brusolla grinned back, wanly, and made a deep bow. "Savin nilil", he said. I'm sorry, in mainlander sniv. "I just had to test you, I had to know if placing my family's life in your hands would be a mistake." "And I have failed" Massutev replied with a frown. He'd been an officer in the Sniv Marine Corps, but then again... that was B-sol, one of the Operative Triumvirate. He knew the rumors, that the crazy Kitaran had gone hand to hand against Scourge. Until he'd faced him, he felt it was all just the exaggeration of soldiers too long out of battle, longing for those good old days when death was in the air. He'd faced the Scourge himself, but at the time the Kitaran had led the Integrated Guardian Fleet into participating thickly in the defense against those alien's massive push towards the Fererations' military heart- Manchari. From a fleet comprised of three-thirds the whole Federation's Naval strength, the entire attack wings of most large Alliances, with the allied fleets of each of the Races - against countless numbers of Scourge. Shil was lucky, he was engineering crew of the Federation Dreadnought "FNS ALEKHINE", and even that mighty ship limped back into the Manchari shipyards. There were others who went into the attack knowing full well they would not survive. The Scourge fired upon escape pods with as much glee as they swarmed capital ships, boarding and killing crew, they relished more the true feel of death on their claws over the mass murder of bombardment. The Scourge were a terror, aliens from beyond the Galactic Arm, beings that were nothing more than biotechonological killing machines. They were tall, thin, and yet incredibly strong. They were like spiders, six limbs ending in razor-sharp claws, capable of crawling on ceilings and up walls. Often though these creatures stood like humanoids, using their lower limbs as legs, and slaughtering entire companies of infantry. They had chitinous exoskeletons highly resistant to all of the Federation's weapons, the same material their ship hulls were made of. They had subpace tunneling technology, and weapons systems far beyond the Federation's own level. It didn't help that they outnumbered the defenders twenty to one. Thousands upon thousands of ships, and hundreds of thousands of brave souls met their deaths in Cryos - few, one in every thousand men and women, made it out of that meat grinder alive, the Kitaran was one of those rare few, despite how much he wanted to die along with the people of his alliance that fought just as valiantly.. and were only awarded with their own destruction. "Actually, you did quite well." "Sahessi?" Are you sure? "I sucker-jumped you - anybody would've been take like that. You won out because you didn't struggle, you knew I'd wanted you alive. After all, if killing you was my objective, why bother with a garrote? A silenced snub-nosed pistol would have been more effective." He grinned wider. "You've got split-second intuition, and that is a vital Taenar's Light virtue." "...you had fleying 'Hopeful' and 'Mercenary's Place', that told me you had not forrgotten ssertain noble traditionss.." The Kitaran scoffed, and waved at him disgustedly. "I just like how they sound, all right?" The sniv rubbed at his neck and looked around. They were in a supply room, a heap of sealed crates occupying half its space. "The rooms arre all bugged" he realized. "Vut the management doessn't bother to put surveillanss camerass on voxess of fresserved fruitss." "So you can see it would've been the height of stupidity if I talked to you out there, or in our suite." He helped the Lumin to his feet. "I'll ask later what The Head Honcho wants, for now there are things I need you to get." "What are your orderss, commander?" Massuntev snapped a salute. B-sol winced. "DON'T do that. I don't hold any rank, I'm a civilian now. What I ask of you is a personal favor, and I'll see if I can help you in some future time." "An aegiss taenar doesn't just ssstop veing guided by taenar's light, until he diesss", the sniv replied. "I accept the favor you assk then, as someone who offers helf to those that need it." "Fine, fine... let's not quibble over semantics." He scratched his nose, unconsciously standing with his feet apart, as if balancing himself on a starship deck undergoing manuevers. "I need a few things delivered up to my room before daybreak. Find a metalworker and have my old... equipage... duplicated. A small tesla field generator. Several yards of superconducting wire. Three concealable pulse pistols, military grade. And see if you can get a rare bottle of oldcountry Druvelian sherry, I've heard the hotel chief is quite a connoisseur of fine wine, but being around the hotel's stock and forbidden to touch 'em has got to be grating on a man's nerves. I've already made several 'purchases', if you could accellerate their arrival, I'd be grateful. Oh, and charge it all to my account, don't you dare use me as an excuse for requesting a larger credit-requisition allowance." A feral smile spread over the sniv's face. "Considerr it done." The light of Taenar reaches far, it would be no problem handling that. It was a wonderful place, up on the rooftop of one of the tallest buildings in the city. Night came to Overdome by the dimming of array lights, allowing the stars to appear in all their brilliant multitude. They'd had the finest dinner sent up, and all entertainments and comforts were partook of, funny movies watched while eating ice cream, in effort to erase what had happened earlier in the day. None of them spoke of anything that happened before two hours ago. And while the children slept in their phenomenally soft waterbeds, their parents made love with a wildness, a fierce passion they hadn't given way to in years. They made merry that night, for come tomorrow they might have to die. Savine and Kardi sneaked looks at the stranger that their father had become. Early in the morning they left the hotel, and searched for clothes more suitable for travel. A package was already at their door when they stirred to wake. B-sol had burned his original battlesuit, all of it from collar to jacket, to pants, to gloves... but, damn. It may not be cerafibre he was wearing, felt good to at least be in combat green again. Apart from a few haggard wrinkles, he looked exactly as he did back when the ubermanuever Destroyer IGF MIMIR'S WILL was a reality. "I kind of prefer you this way," her mother whispered slyly. "You're more like the man I vowed 'serve and obey' to." He gave her that stilted, sad smile he seemed to be using more often. Chapter Five They had been at the boarding ramp for the turborail leading into the Docks 3A district. After sliding their credsticks through, they entered the train, and found their seats. Every train could contain a thousand people, in two staggered rows of five seats on each side. B-sol hefted their suitcases into the overhead compartment, they'd done some rapid shopping, buying the very best in everything they could purchase. He took the aisle seat, and relaxed as they traveled at 750kph to halfways across the Station. Kardi was at the window, his eyes gulping in the shining heavily- industrialized expanse, Savine looking just as eagerly over his shoulder. Seline and Shan held each other's hands, drawing strength from each other. They let him be, knowing he had his own way of preparing for the intense action to come. He grit his teeth, letting free the old emotions he'd buried under a false cement of cheerful self-effacing serenity. Despair welled up first, threatening to engulf his entirety. Who did he think he was? Just one man, against the galaxy. Judicious anger pushed it back, not just a soldier, not just man, but a father. The Polloid Union, Taenar's Light, endlessly searching for more psi-actives to add to their cause. The anger decanted, settled into raw boiling hatred. This too was let to simmer, until there was naught but a coagulated mass of hardened resolve and conviction. He felt himself slip into a light trance, the state of complete battle-readiness that the Fanthyra, the Zallusa Templars, indeed all military training and discipline was directed into bringing. It came with such easiness that it frightened him. Fifteen years. All gone. All meaningless. It wasn't his fault.. dammit! Two light thumps, barely perceptible with the line's great speed, woke him from contemplation. He looked to his wives, who nodded. Their trained senses too had picked up the minute irregularity in the noise of the hypertrain's travel-vibrations. He stood up, took out one of the suitcases, and headed towards the back of the train. "Where's father going?", Savine asked. "He's just going to take care of some excess baggage, dear." Shan replied. The girl nodded, not finding any falsehoods in her mother's tone, and resumed being awed by the view outside. Their names were unimportant. They had hundreds of names, changing identities as easily as you might change clothes to suit your mood. For that mission however, they were known as Aldus and Lairne. They jumped from an overhanging bridge as the train passed, the shock of impact would have shattered all bones of any normal person's legs, but they hung on as momentum struck... their fingers lengthening into claws which gouged grips onto the turboliner's carriage roof. They stood up, two clad in skintight high-tech blacksuits. They walked calmly to the baggage car, their magnetic boots keeping them assured even in such breakneck velocities. Though the whip of air wasn't all it should have been, at 750 kph the galeforce winds should have shredded anyone to ribbons. However, the turboline was more than just a maglev(magnetic levitation) train, it utilized full graviton field principles, like the aircars. It used the track merely as a guide for an uninterruptible travel. The turborailer plowed through the air without exciting it, the modulated gravfield it generated around itself allowing it to run with minimal air friction. The woman, Lairne, took out a hand laser and began to etch a circular entryway into the train. Her companion placed two magnetic handholds on two ends of the developing circle, to prevent it from falling in and attracting the attention of people within. At completion, he hefted it above his head while she looked in. "Hello," said B-sol, waiting within the carriage. He swung and threw the heavy steel suitcase upwards, catching her right under the chin. The blow was sufficient to fling her off her feet and send her falling down train's side. Jumping on several pre-stacked cases, he clambered up onto the roof. The Polloid agent's face was hidden under a helmask, his eyes were glaring red orbs of night-vision lenses. B-sol absently wondered what idiocy prompted these Polloid to suit up in something to inappropriate for daytime combat. The black-clad agent lobbed the metal circle at him and went into a knife-fighter's crouch, bringing out a curved dagger. From the files on B-sol, he knew that his suit was specifically designed to repel focused volumes of heat and force, aka it was bullet- and laser-proofed. But it could tear though, the fabric was not indestructible. The advent of advanced polymer composites had revived the old skills of bladery - the only sure way of knowing you've inflicted a fatal wound was to feel an nanoedged inch-wide blade penetrate flesh. Aldus had no way of knowing that his opponent's combat armor merely had the APPEARANCE of durability, that its protection was almost nil. The Kitaran ducked, and merely yawned as the Polloid circled him warily. Yet another bluff, but such blatant darings had he served him well in the past. The two stared at each other impassively, the enmity between them was instinctive, they were almost natural enemies. As if each was born to destroy the other, but as truth was - it was the actions of each other that allowed them to grow into what they were. "My Task is to bring you alive, Lumin scum. But if you struggle too much there's clear permission to just kill you. You KNOW what's more important to us. Cooperate and all will live." His voice was muffled by the breathing mask, into scratchy mechanical sounds. Despite that, his menace seeped through. There was no single person the Polloid hated most but a certain Taenarian, though running a close second was Tabbana Brusolla. For fifteen years the Kitaran had eluded their vengeance, but following the movements and surveillances of the Taenar's Light had led them to a hiding place. And as annoyingly as ever, B-sol had hid right under their very noses. In Crossroads Station, the largest, most accessible Station in the Federation. How many times had they overlooked THAT Kitaran family, that Kitaran restaurant, as simply being harmless? None of them, Polloid or Lumin, had really expected the irrepressible Brusolla to settle down and live such a normal, boring life... The galaxy was an unimaginably immense place, with uncountable people of distinction. There were better fighters, far better pilots, but the Polloid did not fear those. There was one Tabbana Brusolla, one obsessive lunatic, and that was enough. Just as it was their fate to someday rule the galaxy, so it was that his fate was to bring their species to near extinction. Such was the Oracle's warning. "And you know that you're not going to get even near them." he answered. He beckoned tauntingly. "Before I kill you, may I at least know what you call yourself by? I'm told that Polloid do have some degree of individuality, how can you manage to be such arrogant bastards if not, eh? Mideh poien laillo.." A Polloid insult, one of the worst. He made a certain rude gesture to emphasize his point. "..how dare... HOLLIA saig!" the Polloid shouted, apalled at such vulgarity. He thought of himself as a true warrior, one that fought with rare honor. He expected his opponents to at least know enough to obey battlefield courtesy. Then, DIE! "We've had enough of your insolence!" And he shot forward, in one bound closing the distance between them, and his curved blade stabbing towards B-sol's throat. The retired spacer merely moved his arm up, parrying the edge with the back of his gloved wrist. There was a *spangk!*, the sound of metal meeting metal, under the cuff was hidden a special sort of armored bracer. Impossible, Aldus thought. B-sol was a full-spectrum Kitaran, having no special strengths and abilities other than what any Kitaran was capable of with sufficient training and enthusiasm. For a Polloid to even contemplate defeat by the hands of such an inferior creature.. The Kit swept the dagger away with his palm, and with his left fist, jabbed a standard Kariwurra set of lighting-fast blows at his attacker's ribcage. His metal-rimmed glove sparked tiny blue lightning between his fingers, and with the static jolt he pushed the Polloid back. And.. that was it. A Polloid's sole weakness was an electrostatic current, its flood numbed their control over their shape. It was impossible to kill a Polloid, hack away enough at their body and still they'd come together. They can't suffer from age, disease, or fatigue unless they chose to. Their entire body was nothing more than mimetic alphacells that linked and changed into different cell types on mental command. To manipulate their malleable existence was as easy as thinking. The black suit was an electron flow dissapator. B-sol's only weapon that could quickly put down the Polloid for extended amounts of time was proven worthless. He shrugged. He didn't really assume that he was the only one in the galaxy who put effort into preparing before going into battle. He grinned fiercely, and took a step forward. "Kassoi loen pailli!" he shouted. The Polloid actually cringed! Though faintly. There is no death, B-sol had said. A Polloid proverb. Seline had patiently taught him the Polloid language and culture, to add to the tounges he already knew - Taenarian, Zallun, Derivian , Sniv and of course - Kitaran. His life as a spacer had impressed upon him a need to know the intricacies of what conversations were really of, the better too to understand what makes his enemies tick, and in so predict how they would play at the Game of Life.. Their race thought of themselves the pinnacle of evolution. Were they not after all, able to assume the form and potencies of whatever race they desired? Were they not after all, unkillable - their memories were at a cellular level! Behead a Polloid and still that on lives - its consciousness could either be in the torso or the head, and the two could still be rejoined easily. Even pureeing a Polloid was not guaranteed to kill them. Eventually some of the liquid would reform, find a body to take.. maybe an insect... looking for food to consume and convert into more cellular mass. Unintelligent, indistinguishable from any other fly, but a biological imperative encoded in a Polloid's cells commanded it - SURVIVE! OPTIMIZE! A fly becomes a cockroach, and after being swatted a few times it recognizes the need for a more flexible form, a cockroach becomes a rat.. a rat to a dog, and in that form the primitive brain would realize that there was knowledge locked away, but it was still incapable of recognizing. Yet it could understand that it -needed- to think. The brain reshapes and becomes more complex. And later becomes a Polloid passing itself off as one of the Races again. Only one true Polloid consciousness could exist with the fragments of Polloid-matter(all then the 'unowned' Polloid mass disintegrating), it was a psionic rule that proved their kinship with Taenarians. They had spies almost everywhere, but fortunately most of them preferred the humanoid shape. Polloid plans could only be derailed temporarily even by the Taenar's Light. It was inevitable, they would win in the end. Their only deficiency was in the lack of overt psionic ability. If only they could take that power from their Taenarian siblings - they who were made by the supernatural Elders at the same times as their own race! If the two races could combine, then there would be the ultimate form of life... B-sol refuted this. His prophecy was that inevitably the Polloid will die out, or choose to become part of the 'lesser Races'. Their own arrogance will doom them, their doctrine of evolution leads to stasis and that, is a state the universe will not allow. His words were a Polloid phrase, a greeting for a mission well accomplished. A mockery of the Polloid all the values they lived by. "There is no death." he repeated again. You can't kill me. Even in death I won't be defeated. You're worse than beaten, you're WRONG. The Polloid screamed in outrage, and leapt. He slashed with wild abandon, unleashing all restraints, barely could B-sol keep himself from being perforated all over. He kept warding off the lunges he couldn't dodge with the back of his hand, the back of his glove being sheathed in high-density alloy. Even so he was battered with blows that would have staggered a Zallun. He let his movements flow, not resisting overmuch, moving in harmony with the force of his attacks as they arrived and minimizing the pressure being put upon his long-unused fighting muscles. He yelped as a lucky swing opened up an artery in his left arm and pushed the pain aside to a corner of his mind. "Battles are won beforehand," another of Lio Yanfarr's lectures. "If you know how your enemy will react, but he also knows how you will react, keep him off-balance. Goad him to attack, let him take advantage of his percieved strengths. All the while, just watching for a chance to nullify them. Then, he has NOTHING to fall back on, while you still have what you have." The Polloid's physical advantages were obvious. It was stronger, faster, and out to kill. Its disadvantage was that it was stronger, faster, and out to kill. "Stand STILL, CURSE YOU!" "Give me one good reason why I'd want that" said he, grinning madly. His seeming nonchalance drove his enemy to greater fury. How dare that inferior patronize him?! The Kitaran intentionally left openings in his defense for the Polloid to take advantage of, only to draw back at the last possible moment, saving himself from gratuitous death. A laceration appeared on his knee, he faltered and barely avoided the next aimed at his liver. Though he kept his face dementedly ecstatic, he knew that it was just a matter of time before he was.. well, bisected. It was the height of sheer imbecility to fight a Polloid on his own terms. B-sol saw his chance, the Polloid's mind was focused on removing the worthless aggregate of genetic material in front of him, so much that he forgot about all else. He wasn't even noticing how as he assaulted B-sol and said Kitaran eluding his strikes with the slimmest of margins (more now on weariness than actual insulting intent), they were walking in a closing circle. With such vigour, his overburdened Derivian-type muscles were starting to tear and release poison into his bloodstream, microfractures forming in his bones. Of course, his own Polloid cells repaired almost instantly, but fact remained that he wasn't hitting with all the energy he thought he was doing. The Kitaran let himself be pushed back, seemingly failing on the defensive, until he was almost forced into the hole in the turborail's roof. He let himself drop into it, catching its edge. Aldus' sweeping lunge met only empty air, and its impetus faltered in his stance, also having him fall slightly forwards. He recovered his feet quickly, windmilling his arms. But by then the Kitaran flipped himself back on the roof and got his outstretched arm in a sundering hold. B-sol pushed on the Polloid's hilt-holding hand, and heard the satisfying snap of a wristbones breaking. Aldus let out a cry, more in surprise than pain, but already B-sol's metal-capped shoe was already on its way to meet his jaw. His entire upper body swung like clothesline sheet flapping on a gust of summer wind. But B-sol still had his hold on the Polloid's wrist. He swung Aldus back to his feet and clamped off this arm to behind his back, a submission hold. He forced the Polloid to lie stomach to the ground, and unable to get the leverage to push or roll himself back up. "You know, your skin might be impenetrable but your bones are still far too movable." Aldus let out a real yell of pain as his right arm was yanked out of his socket. There was a *shink*, and a thirteen-inch blade extended from under the sleeve of B-sol's arm - into his opponent's heart. His bracer, a design passed on by Lio Yanfarr, concealed within its inward- facing side a retractile tritanium-forged stiletto. While the Polloid were difficult to kill, hack away enough pieces of them and they'd be stopped for a goodly amount of time. The Polloid stopped struggling, his focus inwards to get his blood to flow despite the blockage of his left ventricles. B-sol took a good grip on the back of his head and pulled Aldus' face from his kissage of the roof. "Did you really think that I was so foolish to also overlook the usefulness of bladed weapons over battlesuits? That despite fighting for years garbed in one I wouldn't know its flaws?" He slammed the Polloid's head down. "I've spent thirty *wham* farking *wham* years of my fragged *wham* life to learn and perfect *wham*wham*wham* how to farking KILL people. Pirates. Bounty hunters. Federation agents. Scourge. Your kind" he sneered. "I'm crazy, not stupid!" *WHAM!* "Give your enemy credit" Lio Yanfarr had said. "Anything you can think of, he's probably thought of as well. When two intelligent people meet in conflict, there is mutual respect, and the most vicious of possible confrontations. You will try to exploit each other's failings, there can be no room for mercy." Then the Kitaran stood up, and kicked again, this time at the side of the Polloid's head, and jellying the medulla from its impact. "You're not going to have them..." he wheezed. "Not you, not War.. not HIM.. anyone." There was a thunk. And another. Over the minute or so they were fighting the sounds had kept on, starting too faintly and slowly gaining in strength and frequency. With a final *thunk*, a hand formed into a sharpened claw grabbed at the turborailer's roof. A masked head peered at the situation. A black-haired Kitaran clad in green, his tail fluttering with the wind, with long gashes along his arms... and face-down in front of him was a figure all clad in black, and deathly still. "Lord Aldus!" shrieked the Polloid woman. Daal Aldus! LORD Aldus?, B-sol mused. Interesting, the Polloid hierarchy was entirely based on prowess. A Polloid Daal was one that had killed three other Polloid by ABSORBING all of said Polloid's cells into himself. Memories, experiences, skills, all of it added to his own. A Polloid's fight against another Polloid was a chemical one, and though all it involved was two Polloid seeming shaking hands almost amicably, it was a war of wills - one's immune system pitted against another. Failure in a mission was grounds for liquidation. Another Polloid in line for promotion would take your post, IF they managed to defeat your organic defenses. This ensured for the Polloid Union that all resources were utilized fully, that even incompetence could be made product of. Yet Seline had never faced another Polloid in such a way. All her Tasks had been accomplished with ruthlessness and efficiency, at least until she met him, that is. So that meant, he'd faced a warrior among warriors, a complete living weapon. Pity that this one's conceit, surety of his superiority took control over his own sensibilities. If only he'd tried the cautious approach he'd be the one left standing. He shrugged. At least they sent someone who they thought was well- equipped to kill him. He'd been thinking he was really low-priority, only four Polloid after him? The entire Polloid race was to be counted in the thousands only, but they weren't THAT rare. He moved to check on his recovery. What was it with Polloid and the Derivian form? If he had faced another Kitaran, he'd have lost. They had no reason to take that shape, aside from, of course ,that race so comprising half of the entire Federation's trillional population. Yet even so, a Derivian wasn't a true creature of combat - that was why those cunning, curious, hairless monkeys invented such a vast showing of technologies in the first place! Knives for they had no claws, scopes to augment their vision, ships to conquer the forbidding sea, and later space itself. There was a faint *spak*, and an EHP bullet just barely grazed his left cheek, leaving a thin red welt. Lairne gasped. She'd NEVER missed before. She fired again, but by then the Kitaran had taken a few cautionary steps backwards. She shifted her aim, and fired - her shot passing harmlessly yards above him. B-sol had dived down, sliding across the roof and ended up lying down by the roof's edge, his face just inches away from her. And his blade resting lightly on her throat. A tiny rivulet of blood dripped down the polished length, and stopped as her slight wound healed. He grinned. She scowled. "You're wondering how you missed, right?" His head was of course, unarmored, and a EHP to the brain would have splattered it open like an overripe melon. But, it hadn't - she knew she'd aimed properly, even taking into the equation his walk. Why? "First off, you need to remember that this is a moving thing we're on. You were downwind from me. Of course, that my ears are a lot bigger than yours - the train's floating inside a gravfield, no contact at all with the rail. It's not making that much noise." "You had your back to me and you dodged the bullet. I find that hard to believe." "The train is moving." he repeated. With his left hand he pulled off her mask, revealing a beautiful heart-shaped face with almond eyes, pert nose, lips just begging to be kissed, and short-cropped red hair. She snarled at him. He grinned again, and held out the enviro- seal mask in front of her. Then, he let go of it. The mask, instead of falling down, fell sideways, streaking away from them at great speed. "The train is moving," said the Polloid, chagrined. How could she have made such an elementary error! The train travels at 750kph. The average bullet time from a tiny snubnose pistol was around 800kph. An imperceptible difference within a few yards but still.. the deviation and the trick on her perception was enough. He chuckled, but not insultingly, at her inward distress. She'd read of how he was reluctant to kill females, most specially pretty ones.. that was how Seline got attached to him in the first place. A Polloid was bound to kill those who had knowledge of who they really were, he'd figured out her disguise and had to die. She'd failed, and instead of killing her.. as the Polloid union would have detroyed her anyway for her failure, he offered her a place within his Alliance. And looking closely, she could understand a bit how a dispassionate Polloid could have grown to follow him ahead of what she'd been made to do. He was mildly handsome, but it had to be more than that. If mere physical superiority was Seline wanted, a Polloid male could harbor all of her wildest fantasies! No, looking into his boyish, disarming grin, he held a vibrantness of impulsive spirit that most others lacked. "Do you always lecture your enemies on how to kill you?" she asked him, sultry. "I've been told its a bad habit I just can't seem to break." He placed his hand over her grip, as if to help her up. He grinned his cheerful, friendly grin one more time. "See that you don't make that blunder again." He dislodged her clutch on the train's roof, sending her falling irretrievably to the Station's veneer below. Her scream faded quickly. B-sol turned over to lie on his back, and took great heaving draughts of air. The whole shapeshifter encounter drained him more than he had expected. "I'm getting too old for this." He looked down to where Aldus was still slumped, and twitching. He was already starting to regenerate back to full combat ability again. The Kitaran doubted he'd survive another debacle as he'd faced. Wearily he got to his feet, and pushed that Polloid off the train as well. Then he collapsed into a kneeling posture, completely exahusted. "They're Polloid..." he mumbled. "They don't die that easy... it's not even murder...." He grit his teeth as a wave of coldness overcame him. His pulse thundered in his ears. But wheter or not a murder was sucessful is irrelevant - it's the intent that was important. What was he turning into? The ease, the joy in killing, he thought he'd finally left all of these behind. "Mimir..." He'd had to draw on an old, deep, searing hatred. Just the mere remembrance of it, it pained him to the quick. The unfairness of it all.. that he should live, a confirmed scoudrel, and that the innocent and pure be struck down in the brightest days of their lives. He could never forgive them for taking her away from him... He steeled himself. His children were still innocent and pure. He WOULD NOT let anything of the sort happen to them! Chapter Six "It's time." Seline looked up, and nodded. She knew at some base level what he'd had to endure. She'd wanted to help him, but... her accursed Polloid nature. She'd actually FORGOTTEN during the lovely decade they had together that she was one of them. That she was Seline, Kitaran, lover mother, wife, hobby businesswoman. She felt a similar rising fury as he'd experienced, but if she'd gone out there the Polloid knew just how vulnerable they were to each other. And Shan and the children would have been left helpless. Nevertheless, there were other ways she could fascilitate their escape from the Station. She stood up and helped B-sol take down their lighter luggage(mostly clothes, toys, and disassembled L2 SUNBEAM laser rifle). Datajill opened her laptop and patched into an encrypted band. "...you're wounded" She creased her brows, noticing how his clothes were torn and dripping. She took out her white handkerchief and synthesized ethyl alcohol in her kidneys. She moistened the cloth with the germicidal palm-sweat and folded it into a crude poutice. "It's nothing." he waved aside her attempts to apply first aid. He turned to Datajill. "Ready? Do it." he said. On the boarding platform for which the train was bound were waiting several large men in trenchcoats. They held Federation Bureau of Investigation badges, which superseded any and all Station authorities and jurisdictions. Upon hearing of a Polloid Daal's failure, they were to take the targets where they were at a distinct disadvantage. Someone snorted that they should not have let the old notions of Principle interfere with Process. There were many ways to obtain whatever they wanted, most of them highly accommodating and foolproof, but since their target was one that caused them great trouble in the past, they just HAD to take it personally. The pride of the Polloid had been slighted, they had to redress that fifteen-year old standing debt. It was an order straight from the Masters themselves, it could not be disobeyed. The transport cruiser was delayed in Dock,and surrounded by Station Police. Official story was that the ship had been sabotaged, a bomb squad was checking it out. In reality they were prepping every single room and hallway with surveillance, and the Main Drive itself WAS being sabotaged. If the Kitaran managed to slip inside, the cruiser would stall an hour after engaging its engines. Outside the Station Standard Law, they could then do 'agressive search techniques' to sift through its list of passengers. The turborail train was three minutes away from it. Halfway that distance waited in the shadow of a conical office building, a series H90V taxi-type aircar. As the turborailer approached, it started moving, as if trying to race the train. A standard aircar's top speed using its antigrav propulsion was around 200 kph. His of course, could do faster. The turborail and it came neck and neck, and then not too slowly began to overtake the straining aircar. Its driver, Massutev Shil, a Lumin, that is to say... a member of the Taenar's Light, patted the dashboard of his aircar almost affectionately. He had no wife save his Ship, and no children except this heavily-customized baby. There were those who would have ridiculed him for being so proud of what was essentially nothing more than a flying white brick, but he'd already proven his worth as a pilot and a soldier during the Scourge War. The right tools for the right job, he had no need for flashy swift rides, vehicles that caught the eye. No, he preferred the insconspicuous shuttle-type aircar. It fit his personality, his race had put patience as a virtue, of seeming to be harmless until the escape of its prey was impossible. It fit his profession, an aegis. A multitalented individual. Someone who could belong anywhere. Someone who could find out information hidden from the rest of the populace. Someone well-trained not just to win at conflict, but to stop them before it even took root. In other words, a spy. It was not all guns and pretty women, more often than not it consisted of long sleepless nights staking out an apartment, eating store-bought microwavable meals, not leaving his van for days on end. He did not complain. Too much. He was Lumin, he knew what he had to do. And aegis central liked his dilligence, they sent him on missions that appealed to his excitable spacer-side, now and then. He gunned the midpowered drive for all its worth, counting the train doors as they passed... first door from the train head.. second... third.... his 'passengers' would be at the seventh. The fourth had passed, his engine's temperature was already in the red. He keyed his commpad, which sent beeping a certain laptop inside the turborailer. Upon that laptop readings on his position, velocity, and fuel time appeared. His own commpad then beeped twice. Acknowledged. Fifth... Sixth... Seventh! He punched the horn with his full strength. Not only did it elicit a blare from his aircar, it also activated certain booster systems, a chemical drive. It briefly pushed him forward at slightly greater speed than the turborail itself. Carefully adjusting the outflow, he brought his velocity to matching it, coming closer and closer, almost touching the train's door to his aircar door. Just inches away. Simply speaking, he was using rocket boosters. He only had enough fuel for thirty seconds of the primitive, but only too effective means of propulsion. Twenty-five... twenty.. and the door remained closed. He let out a low-pitched whistle of rage. Why had he agreed to this insane plan, again? Well, not that he was all that sane to begin with, too... else he'd not have chosen to join the Taenar's Light. His life before the Light seemed like a dream, a meaningless fancy, empty. Seventeen! And the door remained closed. Fifteen! And the door remained closed. Thirteen! The metal door trembled. Nine! The door bulged at the sides a bit, being bent inwards, yet it was designed to withstand several tons of pressure! Six! The door was ripped off its hinges! Wind surged into the new hole between a high-pressure locale and a low-pressure one, turning the train car into a dull flute. The whistle combined with the roar of rockets. THREE! His thruster was already starting to sputter. A slender, manicured hand reached out to grasp the hinges of his aircar door. And incredibly, pulling that aircar in contact with the turborail exterior. Sparks! Metal screeched against metal, ruining both paint jobs. Even in mid-air, the vehicle still weighed upwards of six tons! One. And gone. The boosters died. Whoever was holding the aircar had to contend with its great dead weight. Shil latched onto the train shell with strong magnetic clamps, relieving that person of hardship. The door to his taxi opened, and he saw through it Seline fainted in the arms of her husband. Sweat dotted her forehead, and her breath slow and laborious. "Shan, could you bring the children in now?" he said to her, unseen. The Kitaran gently hefted and cradled his wife close to himself. He hesitate to step through the ruined train door and into the taxi. It was a treshold to a world he once left, a world of savagery disguised, a world where good and noble hearts were only too willing to die for things they didn't fully understand, a world which treated entire fleets and the people that made them as mere pawns in a galactic game of death and destiny. It was a glittering trap, it promised honor, glory and happiness... making the massive loss of lives seem all worthwhile. All lies dressed up in glittery guise. He stepped into the aircar. It was sufficiently roomy, all the passenger seats had been torn out to have a small bunk bed, a smaller refrigerator, and a midget television set installed in. The driver's dashboard was a complicated sight, advanced computer systems combined with reciever assemblies, a very keen sensor suite. He placed her delicately on the bed, and wiped her perspiration off with the bedsheet (after making sure it was clean and unabrasive). Shan returned with Savine and Kardi. The children meekly followed their mother, and bewilderment crossed their expressions at what awaited them within the baggage carriage. B-sol had told them they were leaving and no, don't complain about how the train was still in motion. Just follow your mother, and then as they reached the door to where most of their luggage was, wait here. The other passengers in the train did their best to ignore the moving Kitarans. Most were office workers and students still feeling the edge of drowsiness. A few, were not - but they had to stay in their seats. Savine's mouth was an 'o' as she looked at the how mangled the outwrenched reinforced train door was, and her mother unconscious inside the taxi. She'd made the connection quickly. She looked at her brother, who unwaveringly stepped into the taxi. He turned to look at her, his large round eyes telling her there was no danger. She followed him, and after her tumbled another suitcase. Shan was having some difficulty lifting the other, it held inside a disassembled DAKU 13mm field mortar. Why they bought it, they couldn't remember - the Station Police wouldn't be stupid enough to send TANKS against them, would they?, but since it's there.. they couldn't just leave it behind and waste money. Years of penny-pinching hadn't been erased by suddenly having more money than they knew what to do with. B-sol jumped to her. "I'll handle that," he said. "Get in." He lifted the load with both hands, and staggered with it towards the taxi. The dashboard began bleeping uncontrollably. The children clasped their hands to their ears, to muffle the insisting high-pitched noise. It however failed to rouse Seline from her regenerative sleep. "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT FOR?!" Datajill yelled above the racket. "IT'S FROXSSIMITY ALA - wait.." He thumbed the alarms off. "It'ss a froxssimity alarrm, it tellss that several Station Fuliss WASP multi- function cofterss are convershing on uss..." She forrowed her brows. "But they can't hope to catch us with those things.." At 500kph, a WASP-type tricopter was just wasting battery time chasing after a turborail. But.. "They're going to surround us!" she exclaimed. Detatching from the train at the point in time would have them easy prey to the waiting Police, and yet riding with the train would only lead them to a larger force waiting at the line stop. She turned to the children and told them to stay in the front half. She then opened one of the suitcases, exposing the L2 SUNBEAM's parts. A large black suitcase landed with a thud beside her. B-sol leaned on the aircardoor, poising to hop in, and grinned. Shan stopped her assembly of the formidable (and outlawed) piece of Derivian ingenuiety. She knew that look. "Oh, no you don't -" The door slid to a close. She whirled to Shil, "OPEN THIS DAMN THING!" she screamed, her face twisted into undirected hostility. "I cannot! He hass jammed ssomething into the hatssh." And to illustrate his point, he pulled on the door-motor lever, it whined and clogged to a fitful stop. "DAMMIT, BRUSOLLA!" she shouted, and pounded at the sealed aircar door. "Don't do this to me!" "Go on, get out of here..." his voice filtered through the thin ferroluminium wall separating them. "I'll take care of this.. you get to the ship... I'll met you there. I promise - " "You've broken promises before..." she sobbed. There was a lengthy, painful silence. "And you know how much I've regretted that. LISTEN TO ME. I love you. I love all of you. And I'm not going off to sacrifice myself.. no, I'm fighting for LIFE, your lives and mine. Please, understand. Don't you think I want to be with you? Hold you? Until the end of my mortality? You, Seline, our children... I don't want to leave you. Trust me." "We are approaching the next sstop. We will arrive in less than two minutes... there iss no time! We have to detach NOW before we are ssurrounded. Caftyure iss assured in that case." "Damn you.." "Do it. There's no other option - I've still got a few of our suitcases here... I WILL make it to the Docks. Come on, WASPs? What the hell where those idiots thinking, sending those doomed things." "One of these days your luck will run out.." Shan mumbled, sitting with her back to the door. He had already left, she could hear his steps heading away. Her children stared at her in mute terror, huddled in the corner behind the front seat and the airvan's interior. They'd dutifully gone along with being shunted and moved like so much cargo, like good little children obeying their parent's inexplicable, but necessary, wishes. But in the space of a day, they'd seen their home destroyed, their father undergo a sweeping change, a grand hotel, the station in all its expanse, and their family structure starting to crumble. Their parents talked of death like it was a familiar friend. They had always known their birth mother was a little, maybe more than a little, smarter than everyone else. Any question they asked got a reasonable answer. For a somewhat less reasonable but more humorous answer, they turned to their father, that source of eternal silliness. Now the two were like coiled springs, tense and ready to lash out. Their mother put together a large rifle with the practiced ease of someone used to shooting such a thing at other people. Their father treated casually the assured destruction of several roving police forces. And of their other mother, they didn't quite know what to think... Shan blinked, and embraced the pragmatic logicality of being a Datajill. She slid in the barrel for the laser rifle and nodded to the Sniv. "Detatch." she said. "Open that skylight.." The aircar parted hard from the turborail, its antigrav field being pushed full, everyone within stumbled under the sudden deceleration. The WASPs could only look on as their quarry shot past below them. There were three of the oddly-shaped but highly manueverable chase helicopters, and two turned to take the fleeing aircar. The one on the left exploded as an SA 'Stinger' rocket streaked through the air, clipping away its tail rotors as it hit. The WASP went into a spin, its pilot fighting for control. Finally its personell decided to jump out, the 'copter plummeted into a Support Column. Its impact and resulting explosion barely caused a dent in that superstrong structure. Fragments fell into a fortunately-empty park. "Vadore! Macnellan!" said SP04 Gedron Nellis into his headset. He was the leader of the roving patrol assigned to intercept a turborail, a man well known for his cool head under desperate situations. Local terrorists were going to attempt an extraction of one of their leaders, mission control said. They were warned, the targets were EXTREMELY dangerous and well-armed, but MUST be taken alive. The two officers answered their 'okays', but the Senior Officer snarled anyway. He resisted the rising urge to disobey orders and return fire. Their assailant was a Kitaran who was holding an Sting bazooka. He stood on the turborailer's rooftop, secure in the knowledge they wouldn't DARE shoot at him. A WASP held twin 5mm miniguns and a rack of thimble missiles, but might as well have not been there - there were innocent civilians right under their target. The tricopters were helpless, and yet unexplicably, the culprit dropped his weapons and held up his arms to surrender. "Brodys, pursue the aircar..." he said to the other WASP. "This one isn't going anywhere.." He stared off to the end of the turborail line, at the Depot where hovered two more WASPs. He flicked his glance at his companion, the Section Chief Samuel Delos himself. An experienced cop with a face that seemed eternally scowling, he nodded his approval. The bastard had taken down a copter, they'd be damned before they let the credit for the collar go to some Fed who did nothing but sit on his ass and wait for his mark to come to him. "KEEP YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR," he said, and his words were piped out to the loudspeaker of his WASP. "YOU ARE HEREBY UNDER ARREST FOR..." the list of crimes flashed across his visorscreen, causing him to cough in indreculity. "TOO MANY SKRIFFING THINGS. DON'T THINK YOU'RE GONNA ROB ME TOO OF THE JOY I GET FROM BUSTING YOU, GRIFFER." The WASP lowered to intercept the train, the line curved towards Amity Circle. With smooth routine, Nellis brought the copter close to almost landing on the turborailer's roof. He got a good look at who he had to arrest, and felt his insides petrify at seeing that fearless grin. He'd seen the ceremony, when Aelanna herself gave medals to her Heroes of The Scourge War. He had never before felt so proud of the Federation and its people, he and an entire bar raised their drinks to the people onscreen. They had dared to fight for those they didn't know, flew into where even hope had fled, and somehow helped to turn aside the endless and invincible Scourge invasion fleet. But one old cynic amongst them remarked, "Be careful when fighting monsters, lest you become one yourself, any of you remember that? Look at how those boys up there, they don't look too proud, they had to let a little bit of themselves die for the of us to live." He took a swill of his beer. "I know there are some of them who wishes we could all just get killed, if in that way they could get that part of their soul back again." "This is not going to end well," said Chief Delos. He already had out his gun, cocked and ready to fire. The other WASP was already kilometers away, pursuing an aircar that desperately ducked and slithered between buldings to shake their chase. Its pilots were Brady and Brady, Samuel and his brother Solomon. The two were barely out of the academy, but had distinguished themselves by their excellent piloting skills. They clung to the hunt even when the sniv took evasive actions bordering on suicidally insane. "Whoever that driver is, he's good..." Samuel said. They ducked under a bridge, the twists and turns that the aircar was taking nullified the WASP's greater acceleration speed. While in the Academy, their crafty instructor had said that the life of a Station Police flyboy was one of boredom, being called to direct traffic, perform deliveries, and act as eyes for Dispatch. But once in a while, a smuggler would try to pull the wool over the Patrol's eyes... and they had to be there to block the carting of illegal goods. And perhaps once in their lifetime, twice if they're really lucky, the smuggler they'd face was more than just any trucker - but a real pilot. A starship pilot. Someone who'd sworn on his word as a spacer that whatever he was asked to freight, got freighted. That single instance would make their lives worth it. They would probably be outclassed in all respects, but at least they had a try at trying to catch those daring starfliers who had to think of several different things at once each time they went into combat. To live long as a starship pilot, you had to have responses approaching that of genius level, and nerves of acid-edged steel. The vacuum was a thousand times more dangerous than whatever the rookies might face inside a Station, and each ace pilot was a knight-errant of the new empire, the sovereignity of the Open Space. Out there in their own ships, they were kings all their own, and Alliances were nations that knew no race or boundary. His WASP was better in every way than any aircar, but even so he was hard-pressed to just keep the tail. Beside him, his younger brother bit his lip in concentration. "Lock... lock... yeeh- shit! Weapons lock broken! Ah, skag it! It's moving too erratically for me to get a real shot in." He tapped the side of his helmet, "Control, this is Patrol WASP 3, pursuing suspects alongside Amity-Concord hump. We're deep into the gap between Aeries Platform Nine and Twenty-Three, it's getting too tight - requesting permission to use seeking EMP minimissiles. Over." "Denied, WASP 3." came the soothing feminine voice of the Dispatcher, "You are to hold fire, maintain pursuit but do NOT under any and all circumstances shoot anything at them. This place is CRAWLING with Feds and if that aircar even so much as dents a bumper, it's yours and my career on the line. It's just an aircar, flyboy. I don't doubt you can keep the tail... over." Solomon shot a glance at his brother, who made a warding gesture. Don't let them know we're having trouble chasing a simple taxi aircar. They'll be the laughing stock of the Air Patrol Group. "Will do, Control." he interrupted, and closed the commlink. "An aircar has more juice to keep flying with than a WASP, if we don't get these griffers soon, we'll have to head back wheter we like it or not." "I'm tryin'... I'm tryin'..." the pilot pushed forward on his throttle, gaining on the taxi, which for some reason had decided to move out into the open. They followed it into an amalgam valley, the cleft between two gargantuan coporate buildings. Inside the aircar, the twins were being strapped into the front seats. Shan likewise placed restraints on Seline's sleeping form, then sat beside her children. As the Sniv shifted the Inertial Cancellers to full, she placed her arm around them protectively. "What the fu-", Samuel gasped as the aircar went into a swift dive, as if it wanted to crash. He had no choice but to pull down his WASP to follow them, what the hell was hat driver thinking? Suicide? Can't be.. He shifted his inertial cancellers up as well, the guage reporting that it was dampening 4Gs worth of inertial pressure. He followed their plunge, uncaring of what may happen, resolved only to not let his target's piloting skill shame his own. Solomon gripped his trigger-rod tightly, keeping his thumb away from the fire button. His HUD beeped the incessant whine of a perfect TARGET LOCKED. Close to smashup, the aircar did the impossible.. rolled, stabilizing itself to high-speed glide parralell to the platform floor, UPSIDE DOWN, its repulsorlift drive pods pulsing blue in their full view! He swore, bringing his stick up an forcing his WASP to swerve unsteadily. It stopped, wobbly hovering, while the aircar accrued distance from its unexpected trick. They lost its trace while their copter spun around. With another curse, a very vulgar Wraith term he learned at the academy, he surged after it. " Go ahead and use the EMP detainers" he said to his brother. "We need to stop them NOW before they kill themselves trying to escape us." "That's a no can do, bro. With those pods exposed, an electromagnetic pulse will critically short them out, and then the whole shebang explodes." He made a straburst gesture with his fingers and chuckled. "They're giving me the perfect target, knowing we can't take the shot." "How can we stop them?" "Can you bring us close, like..... five hundred meters? If I can't fry their circuits, maybe we can latch on with a magnetic hook. I'll send the EMP through the wire and fry their drive systems." "Sounds like a plan" Samuel quipped back, and brought the WASP to skim down level with the aircar, just slightly above them. He matched its speed, and kept his eye on the distance readout on his visor. He grinned widely as it cemented at 500, no matter what motions the aircar tried. "Damn, I'm good." he breathed, then snarfed as the aircar turned left into a dead-end street. "We got 'em now!" And inside the aircar Datajill said to Shil, "They're idiots, aren't they?" The sniv nodded. They'd taken what someone else would have recognized as simply too obvious bait. Chapter Seven Alleys were not normally fifteen kilometers deep, but when the two buildings flanking it were massive warehouses of the Portside Goods Management Company(PGMCo), the Station's own greater freight trading company that employed half the people on Crossroads, it was also a canyon in terms. Inside structures large enough to contain Destroyer- class ships, waited mass amounts of trade materiel ready for transport. Within the dark shadow of these citadels of commerce, two vehicles rushed madly towards a blank, meters-thick superstrong alloy wall. "Weapons lock... weapons lock...come on...gimme a yellow circle.." Solomon Brady cajoled his aiming reticule. He only had one shot, if he missed with the blunt 'harpoon', the aircar would be free to crumple itself on the far wall. The aircar turned over back its proper position, and acellerated, its repulsorlift pods glowing red. His eyes bugged out, the aircar had kept a maniac 300 kph as it darted through buildings in trying to escape, but at 400kph it was definitely trying to kill itself. Missiles struck the foundation pavements on either side of it, but the aircar refused to change his course. Its pilot even abandoned his swerving movements, but stuck to a straight line leading to irrevocable ruin. The WASP acellerated to full, nosing the aircar. From its skylight emerged a lovely Kitaran woman. Her eyes under her round glasses were unflinching at their approach, or their imminent disaster. She lifted out a large rifle, and aimed it at them. Their visorcreen views zoomed in at her. "Dispatch, this is WASP Three. We've sighted one of the suspects, what can you tell us about her? Please advise, her actions are kinda.. threatening." Beside her face, scrolled the data relayed from the Station Police Database. Name: Purron Race: Kitaran Mur/Clan: Fanthyra Himiro/House: Phyrshan Nari/Family: Orphaned ALL OTHER INFORMATION CLASSIFIED "Spooky stuff," hissed Samuel. "Why do I feel as if we're in over our head?" Despite the gun aimed at them, he kept his WASP steady. "LADY" he shouted through his speakers. "JUST SURRENDER, OKAY? YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO A FAIR TRIAL. BEING ARRESTED ISN'T WORTH DYING OVER!" She smiled at them, and a throathy voice whispered into their headsets. "Just back off, boys... you don't know what you're getting into." The sheer wall was just several hundred meters away, and still the aircar rushed at it. He felt his hands sweat. The brothers glanced at each other, there was something about the whole deal they weren't getting, but they just couldn't look on as their quarry crashed and burned willfully. "Fire the damned EMP line!" he shouted. "AW, SHI-" Solomon shouted as a red wash filled their vision, and half their windshield was sheared off. The Kitaran woman smiled at them, and recalibrated her rifle. "THAT WAS A LASER!" Solomon shouted, boggling at how the edges of their open front were fused plexiglass. "THAT'S A FRIGGING LASER RIFLE!" The WASP veered away, but the tight alley made swiveling around difficult... they had to hover in place just to turn. And in so were sitting ducks. "Dispatch! We're under fire! Requesting URGENT permission to return fire..." "DENIED, WASP Three." "This crazy bitch is shooting at us with a LASER RIFLE, dispatch." "Listen to me very very carefully," the control officer said. "The mainframe almost had a epileptic seizure when you sent that image of who you're chasing. That's apparently one of the key leaders of an underground galaxywide syndicate known as the Rationalist Leauge. The Feds aren't giving us any info BUT the impression we got is if she's got a Laser Rifle, at any time she wanted you could have been dust... it's a warning shot, WASP 3. We need to take her in alive, she knows too much. DO NOTHING that would provoke a hostile response. Do not return fire but maintain visual contact.." "WHAT?! ARE YOU IN-" The commlink shut off. "Dammit, they just said we were expendable! Provoke? Provoke?! We're trying to frickin' RESCUE the.. Screw this, I'm.." "Solomon, don't move.." "What?" "You've got a red dot on your head..." "... dammit, Sam." He froze in place, taking his hand off the gunstick. He raised his arm in submission, but at that Datajill tapped the aircar's roof twice. It went into sudden deceleration, again the WASP was forced to skid in mid-air... now it was they who were in danger of crashing into the wall. "Land.." came again that alluring voice. The two pilots shivered. "Control, we've got -" "Don't talk to the Dispatch." Datajill interrupted. "I am monitoring your communications, so please... you asked us to cooperate, now I request that you do the same. Unlike you, I've got no particular concern wheter you live or die." The Station flyboys groaned, and let their WASP down. The aircar, and its heavily-armed rider blocked their passage out of the alley, to try and fly away exposed the underbelly of their craft... unarmored metal, it provided no protection whatsoever. They didn't even bother reaching for their guns, they exited the copter with their hands raised high. "Guns away, please." Datajill added, and they complied. The aircar went aground as well, and from the driver's door emerged a Sniv in a spacer vest. He looked distinctly pleased. And also very distinctly holding a YK33 pulse pistol, covering them while Datajill put aside her rifle. The aircar's side door slid open, and she along with her children left the vehicle. It was the most astonishing sight the two had ever seen, an enchanting Kitaran woman dressed in silver blouse and tight black pants(... does she PAINT those pants on?), and the children in cutely matching red outfits. The scene belonged in one of those old 'golden years' advertisements from before the War. "Skaaaag mee...." Solomon muttered. "There were kids in there?!" She faced them, and smiled. "Savine, Kardi... I would like you to meet Police Officers Samuel and Solomon Brody. They're going to give us a ride on their copter. It's much faster than our aircar, and we have to hurry to get to our ship." The children numbly greeted, "Hello.." "How do you know our names?" Sam gasped. "I know everything" she replied, still smiling. Then abruptly that smile faded. "You," she pointed to Samuel, "come and help me." He had no choice but to follow her. She slid open full the aircar door, revealing another Kitaran woman, this one with clipped wavy green hair, whose perspiration-matted green dress clung to her in.. interesting ways... her position was peacefully asleep, but holding a suggestion of pain. "Help me carry her," Shan said, motioning for him to bear Seline onto the WASP. Sam carried her with the utmost of care, she seemed so fragile, like an exquisite porcelain beauty. He was more than a little suprised when Shan leaned over to kiss Seline's forehead as they took her out of the aircar. "You're going to be all right.." she said. "He's coming back.. we'll be waiting for him like always, won't we..?" Upon reaching the WASP, he saw the Sniv already seated comfortably on his seat. That rankled, but somehow also right... the spacer had proven himself the better pilot. Within the copter's hold sat his brother, brooding with his eyes closed, facing the two children who sat more than a little afraid. Their eyes brightened at seeing Seline, but one that was stained with worry. The little girl mouthed "Mom.." She was placed to lean against the corner, the little girl sidled up to her. Kardi looked at the officers with his disquieting gaze, as if measuring their worth as individuals. He had to sit with Solomon, and though no one was aiming guns at them any longer, the two found that they didn't want to try overpowering the sniv and arrest the whole friggin' lot of them. He considered again Shan's gentle expression, he could almost swear hers was a lovesick anxiety. It was had equating that with the one who'd shot at them just moments before. It was getting difficult to think of them as terrorists. Shan returned from the aircar with her laptop, and sidled into the gunner's seat. Plugging it into the WASP's onboard computer, she smirked as within seconds she had complete control over the entire Station's node. She put on Solomon's helmet, and soon bypassed all the codes of his headseat's own Computer Interface. "Say something." she told its former owner. "..what?" "How old are you? Where are you from? Do you have a girlfriend?" Despite himself, Solomon found himself reddening. "I'm.. twenty- three, I was born here in Amity, not in the Dome... and I.. uh.." "He's been trying to get at Dispatch, Miss Sarah, ever since we've all been at the Academy..." Samuel couldn't help himself from teasing. "But before he can say anything, his brain locks up." "Trigger-happy but woman-shy? I know the type.." Shan said with a giggle. "Dammit, Sam!" "Okay, check... one two... check." she hooked up the headset into her computer. "This is WASP Three calling dispatch. WASP Three calling dispatch, over.." Her voice was the same as ever, but the computer repeated her words in Solomon's exact voice. The young man's eyes threatened to pop out of his skull in sheer indreculity. None had doubts it was what Dispatch was hearing. "What's your status, WASP 3?" "The aircar got fricking away, Dispatch." "I'm really disappointed in you two.." the voice was petulant. "Don't give me that, Sarah!" Datajill replied quickly. "You gave me impossible orders.. I like you, but I'm not going to take that kind of attitude when we all know whose fault it is. Not yours, you had to say those things.. but don't put the crap on us.. we did our best, dammit. But how can we arrest something we're not even supposed to touch?!" Solomon seemed near fainting. "... yeah, okay. Look, I'll make it up to you. Why don't I treat you to a movie or something this weekend?" was Dispatch's answer. Her words before closing the link were barely-unheard whispers, but the coputer amplified it. "...about time you got a spine.." Sarah had said wistfully. Solomon lolled his head, a stupidly happy grin on his face. "Who the hell are you people?" Samuel asked. "We're nobody," Datajill answered. She took off the helmet and smoothed out her hair. "That's all we're supposed to be..." Meanwhile in the Stationmaster's office, a woman shrouded in red veil and cloak, pressed her fingers to her forehead and concentrated. After some moments, she spoke. "They've escaped." "Not completely unexpected," said an old man, tapping the ashes from his pipe onto the Stationmaster's crystal desk. Its owner glared death- rays from his eyes. Or rather tried to. He was ignored, as the elder placed his tired feet onto the table and eased into the fluffy office chair. A stationmaster held responsibilities and prestige equal to that of planetary governors. However he faced a man who bought and sold whole planets as a matter of policy. Fortunately, the geezer truly ENJOYED other people's irritation, his contemporaries would have filleted someone for simply daring to even delay in carrying out their orders. The intercom buzzed. "Mr. Juyza, there are two people here who want to see you. They don't have any appointments, but they insist that if I tell you 'you can't escape your own shadow' you *will* let them in. Should I send for security?" "I want to see them" replied the Stationmaster, a rotund nervous Tamaran. He peered from his peripheral vision at the old man who'd appropriated his desk, then moved back into a kneeling position. The arched doors into his office slid open with a tortured groan, and two cloaked figures stepped in. One tall and massively built, another of same height but petitely female. Their hooded robes were woven of intricate Quelaar designs, and they had laquered white opera masks on their faces - the ones with the harlequin long noses. They dropped to a full genuflection the moments the doors closed. "Fourty-third generational, sixth pool. Gemmi. Fourty-third generation. Ninth pool. Rales. Did you you two have any trouble escaping from the morgue?" "None whatsoever, Master." answered Gemmi. "We weren't seen. Our disappearance won't be noted for several hours more." "By that time we will have 'fixed' the coroner records." The Polloid took their heads from the floor, and under their masks were resentfully considering the red-shrouded woman. She was not Polloid. She had no right to speak of herself as 'We'! But if the Master made no objections, they had no right to raise their own. "Report." said he. "As ordered, we had contact with the Kitaran known as Tabbana Brusolla to determine if he was stll a threat to Polloid concerns." Rales began. "We have concluded he is no longer a danger to us, master." Rales stood up sharply. "WHAT?!" He made the pose of obeisance once more. "No, master - he must die. They must all die." Gemmi touched her forehead to the plush floor again. "I have it on full assurance that unless we attack him or his family directly he will not turn to the Aegis or assail us directly." "No, no, no! Even if that were so, he still MUST die!" Rales was near shouting. He ripped his mask off his face showing a badly-charred visage. He'd healed slower, for when the explosion came he had several unnatural openings in his head through which superheated jets of air could sluice in and parboil his brain. And had. At least Gemmi had speedhealed all internal injuries, skin covering though taking longer to restore. He fulminated - it was all her fault! He loomed forward, showing his damages. "Not a danger? Not a danger? Whoever dares to defy the Polloid MUST! BE! DESTROYED!!" The Polloid Master puffed on his pipe again. He was deep in thought about what should be done about Gemmi. "At any case, it's too late for that course of action. We have sent Aldus." "Daal Aldus?" Rales gasped. A wicked grin spread over his face, along with his missing teeth and browned mouthflesh making him look even more grotesque. The stationmaster scutled backwards a good three feet in sheer repugnance. "Aldus has fallen" said the psionic, touching again her frontal lobes through the red mesh of cloth. "Lairne fared better, she landed on a moving aircar. I see white walls... she in a hospital.. Aldus is mush, splattered on a building side." "No, no.. no... impossible. Are you saying Lord Aldus, ALDUS was slain by just a Kitaran?" It couldn't be! Aldus was one of the Polloid's most vaunted asassins. He'd been geneformed from the Polloidal Mass of Coortiz and Panama - two other great Polloid warriors. That meant Aldus contained within him over four hundred years worth of experience and expertise! A Kitaran, of measly fourty-seven years?! Just.. impossible. "It can't be. Aldus was -" "Aldus was an arrogant nitwit." said the Polloid Master. He smirked, his face creasing like packaging plastic. "He never learned what his predecessors knew, that which made them so sucessful of Polloid. Power is more than physical strength. It is a state of mind. Power is wisdom." He blew a smoke ring. "The right action at the right time creates the right and expected results. We are Polloid, we have no need to hurry." Rales worked his jaw, but could not produce anything coherent. "Aldus will be ..unavailable.. to our efforts for several weeks while he reconstitutes himself. What say you on our target's liabilities?" the Master asked Gemmi. She kept her face down. "I believe that any agressive act carries with it seeds for retaliation. Tabanna Brusolla is.. mostly.. harmless." "Harmless?" Rales chirruped."Item. During his days as a Border Patrol officer, he and Lysle Rigger have repeatedly hampered Rim Pirate and Crimson Pirate operations, which in turn reflected ill on our plans. During the case known as the Jerle Search, he has stopped the Crimson group(and so to say, us) from attaining the superweapon known by the codename Jerle... and indirectly killed off the entire Crimson Pirate command directorate by helping Aya take revenge upon the Crime-Family Beldi. Item. For ten years after being kicked off Border Patrol, his cruiser known as the Mimir's Will had destroyed Crimson Pirate cruisers and destroyers... one of the extremely few civilian vessels which were capable of profiting greatly on bounties paid for pirate eradication. ITEM. When the Integrated Guardian Fleet was founded, with the secret information supplied by Seline - Polloid activities all over the Federation were at risk. The IGF freed and were granted sovereign independence by the Federation for the star system known as Tyranis and effetively holding pirate expansion up to Cryos only. Jumping the node to Tyranis was equitable to a death sentence for all star pirates. ITEM. After our careful manipulations to fracture the IGF and the encouragement of the alliance known as the Renegades, the Kitaran began to undertake actions to derail our plans. At this time the existence of our nemesis, the Aegis Taenar was made known to him and the cooperation of the two groups led to the bombardment of several Polloid installations, setting back our coup plans by a good ten years and frestalling our meddling all through the Scourge War. ITEM. During the Scourge War, the IGF were of great value in preventing the Scourge from reaching Taenarian space. When the genetic similarities between Polloid and Taenarians were revealed to the Scourge the aliens began to classify us with the Taenarians and hunted us as prey. ITEM. After the end of the Scourge War, the Mimir's Will left the alliance and found our independent shipyards. She faced three of the most powerful rougenaval destroyers ever built, L400 Crimson Assault vessels, in combat and destroyed them, then forced us to stick to Jorael for our primary production base. ITEM. Tabbana Brusolla has disabled four Polloid operatives over the course of twenty-four hours and brainwashed one" with a contemptous sign at Gemmi,"into thinking his past sins against the Union were erasable. ITE-" "Enough!! He is a menace, but not for the reasons you describe. Tell me, what war do we fight?" Rales blinked. "Why, to conquer the galaxy of course." The Master made a 'blleaachh' sound and waved his wooden pipe around disgustedly, flicking ash left and right. "Newgenos..bah" he muttered. "What do you think we do?" he asked Gemmi. "We... we.. are only trying to reach our rightful place in the universe, master." she hazarded her closest guess. "We fight the war of inevitability, it's our destiny to rule supreme." "Closer, but not quite." He crooked his neck from side to side, and elicting creaking and popping noises from his joints. The Master yawned, stretched out and with seemingly great difficulty got to his feet. He pointed at the psionic he employed. "Perhaps you can tell these inexperienced youngsters what all of this is all about, Inissa." Another yawn. "How shameful, my own kind unknowing of what they are fighting for." 'So that's her name' thought Gemmi. It was a real one, an identity that was fixed. She still had no idea of how the psionic came to join the Polloid Union, but now she felt it was done willfully. "The war is called evolution. The contest is called survival of the fittest." she intoned in her dead, modulated speech. "It is the battle between Forced Evolution and Natural Evolution. It is the fight between choice and submission. Between daring to take control over fate itself versus trusting to unseen historic forces." A chill wind wafted through the sealed room. "The weak are food for the strong." "That is what the Lumin are too short-sighted to understand." said the Master with a grin. "For all their sanctimonious platitudes, for all their service - they still do not understand that our defeat is also a Taenarian defeat. They too, are products of Forced Evolution." For it was impossible for the Polloid to have developed through the process of natural selection. The Elders have made the Polloid to help shape the Taenarians, and then were discarded. As the firstborn they should have held the birthright to the galaxy! They were robbed by the Taenarians, and their protectors the Aegis Taenar blocked them from taking their destined due. "The Kitaran is a direct rebuttal to our ideology." added the woman, her veil rippling in the slight breeze. "Every victory he has over fullspectrum Polloid tests the theory that each of the Races have already attained the pinnacles of their own evolutionary paths while Polloid are still half-travelled." "This is where the children come in, right?" Rales asked. Personally, he thought the Polloid grandiose aims were like the old defunct religions, it allowed the weaker ones to keep steady while those who were stronger ignored it as much as possible. The Masters were old, wise, powerful, and... somewhat senile. They were older than any of the living Taenarians, a direct link to the past and the Elders who created their race. They had a tendency to obsess on mysterous things. The children of Tabanna Brusolla.. "Yes... they are not mere Kitarans. In their blood travels benign Polloidal cells." "But.. that is impossible! Either a fetus becomes geneturned into a full Polloid or it dies!" The Polloid cannot reproduce, they have no chromosomes to impart. They could not clone themselves, Polloidal mass was inert shapeshifting materien, cells which delcared allegiance to whichever mind was stronger. New Polloid are born from newly-fertilized eggs, ovum that would become psionically-active individuals. It was an affirmation of their irrevocable connection to the Taenarians, the process. Polloidal cells take over the growing fetus, its feeble psionic signature being altered and made to unite biomatter with the foreign cells, to alter the genetic structure from the base chemical level up. A growing Polloid saps the very lifeforce of its mother, and upon birth it's the death of its bearer that drives its psionic aptitude from mindblank 0 to -700. The Masters, and most of the more powerful Polloidi were born from captured Taenarians. Most Polloid were born of Derivians, by virtue of the missing Derivian women cases far easier to cover up than kidnapped Taenarians. Savine and Kardi had been altered by Seline so that they would at least resemble her, that was her genetic legacy to them. In effect all she wanted was for them to have three, literal, parents. But she had not known of how Polloid were made. Or rather, what she knew as incomplete - she'd never been told of the consequences of the process' failure. She had not known that the survival rate of the geneturned embryo was a mere 33%. The children should have died, not have latent Polloid cells acting like antibodial prokaryotes. And more impossibly,Tabanna Brusolla was NOT psionic. Datajill was not psionic. Seline cannot be psionic. Geneturning a nonpsionic fetus was simply abortion. Where then, did the children get their psionic potential from? The Master grinned evilly."Datajill blood is partly Elder blood." Three gasps. Even Inissa didn't know. Hell, even most of the Taenar's Light didn't know. It was one of the greatest-kept secrets in the whole galaxy, second only to that impenetrable mystery of who it was that actually led the Aegis Taenar. "Have you never wondered how selective breeding could produce for each generation seven women with IQs well into the 300th range? That despite these women were of diferent Races they were equal in everything that mattered, so much that Datajill was each one's interchangeable name?" "How do you know this?" asked Inissa. The kneeling Polloid noticed how she never talked to the Master with the respective 'Master'. As if she considered herself an equal.. or at least untouchable by him. "An old man is allowed to keep his own secrets." he said playfully. Then, seriously. "The children must be watched to see if they can surpass their sire. Their genetic structure is a bridge between the Polloid and the Racial genotype, if we breed them it will bring us closer to the goal of uniting our DNA with Taenarian DNA." "Breed them, master?" Gemmi dared to ask. "To whom?" "To each other, of course. They will be the first Polloid with a distinct chromosomal pattern. Their child will be a fullspectrum Polloid which hopefully give us the one more helix to our DNA which can mix with the Taenarian triple-helix." The Master cackled madly. "The parents must be captured, we have never got our hands on a Datajill before. We must try to replicate the process by which incomplete Polloidal organisms can be made." He began to quiver in delight at the thoughts of what tortures and horrors waited the three. The first- generation incompletes could hold psionic abilities but no shapeshifting gift. Second-generation should be completes, Polloidal in all matters, no psionic abilities BUT with transmissible DNA. What would the third generation be? Psionics AND shapeshiting? He sniggered again. For all the trouble that the Kitaran had brought the Polloid, seeting back their plans for several centuries.. then he goes and produces something that they've been looking for through the millenia. He laughed openly, a shrill barking laughter. Such irony! Surely there must be a God. Surely the Elders were watching him. The universe had a sense of humor! "Call off the dogs," he told the stationmaster. The Polloid had talked to each other in their own secret language, the Tamaran was shaking in fright, knowing that something momentous had passed and that he was better for not having understood what it was. "I am going to oversee this operation myself." Chapter Eight Overall, he thought he was coping with everything particularly well. Of course, he coped with everything well. The trick was just not to frown, that was all. Not to think of things he had no control over. Just to look on, and see things for what they were. While others thought his behaviour somewhat creepy, he'd learned to just ignore their jibes. Kardi had none of his sister's ironic bent, but accepted things as they happened, and unfortunately the pragmatic stance made him appear to be a bit.. dull, to the teachers and other adults. Were it not for his excellent marks on tests, they'd have recommended he be given over to a special class. As it was, he had to resist being shoved into a very different type of 'special class'. In school they called it the 'dork brigade'. The board called it the 'autism gift pack'. He had no friends except books, and no one understood him except his mother. The boy looked like his father, but with his insatiable hunger for reading, his mother had said he'd sooner or later need to wear glasses like she wore. It filled him with such surprising gratification. While he appeared to be watching the Station below, from he also monitored his mother and sister. Savine was concernedly watching over Seline, which caused him to smile. The green-haired woman had always showered them all with unconditional love, it was impossible not to love her back. Even if she was, well... his uninformed mind still couldn't define what she was, he'd never heard of Polloid before. Undead, was the closest word he could apply. Woo. "Are you sure it was all right to just leave the aircar there?" Shan asked. "Worry not for my vihikkle. No one will find it in that ssecluded sspot and the next aegis taenar assigned to thiss Station vill storr it for me until I need it again." Seline stirred. "Mother..?" Savine ventured. She blinked, wincing at the brightness until her eyes cleared. "..where.. where am I?" "We're on our way out of here, dearest." said Datajill. Much as she wanted to be there by her side, she couldn't just leave her seat in midflight. It fell to her the task of keeping their skyway clear from 'unfriendly traffic'. The onboard computer of the WASP had a direct access port, and a wire run from it to a cyberdeck implanted behind her ears. Hackers controlled computers. The Datajil blinked, seeing overlayed on her normal vision the things that were going to happen. She WAS the computer, her thoughts were its thoughts, its data was her senses. And the mind was capable of something called self-delusion. She typed several commmands in. "WASP 3.." "This is WASP 3," she said in Samuel's voice. Then changing the setting added, "What's up? Over." in Solomon's voice.