Sand Mother Memories by Swiftfoot

This was not exactly how she'd envisioned her next trip to the Sand Mother. In fact, it was not even remotely close. The only thing that was right was the fact that Ace was here with her - and Ace wasn't even here. She was back at the shelter, if you could call it that, resting on the leeward side of a slab of steel from the late Faux's hull. Swiftfoot had no idea how far she'd come, or how long she'd been walking in the pre-dawn twilight. The stench of burnt starship fuel was still heavy in the air, marring the crispness of an early desert morning. Drips and splashes of glass marked her path along the sands where the super-heated fuel had fallen from the sky as the wounded ship plummeted to the planet's surface. As long as she kept track of what direction she came from, finding her way back would never be difficult with a line like that to mark her path.

The ragged, badly injured pilot limped clumsily up the side of a sand dune on three limbs, her broken leg hanging limply. The Demarian was no doctor, of course, but she knew it was broken or at least badly damaged in some way. No matter how easy she went on the damn thing, it stubbornly refused to support her weight. She could always tell when she was starting to get tired, too, because then it started to drag like it was now. That's a hell of a shitty way to know when to head back to the shelter, she thought. When your foot starts to drag. It was almost funny, in a way. Almost. The pain in her belly didn't help either, and she had no idea what was wrong in there. Bone grated against bone - and probably other things to boot - when she moved the wrong way, which was pretty compelling reason not to move the wrong way if she could avoid it.

Searching was always easier early in the morning, after true darkness had faded, but before the twin orbs of the Great Watchers rose over the barren sands of the desert, two hammers to one white-hot anvil during the day. But that time of day is short, and searching in the morning hadn't turned up anything. Both Swiftfoot and her gravely injured tovarisch both needed something to help them survive another day of the Sand Mother's hostility, and so she kept going though every instinct screamed at her to turn back.

The top of the next dune was not far away when she slipped, getting a snout full of sand. She didn't even move for a few moments, and then moved only slowly. She coughed as she tried to inhale, getting a mouthful of grit. Fuck, that's just great. She looked up at the sky, and shook her head. It was getting too warm way too fast for her tastes. I'm no expert, but I know when it's getting dangerous. That much, at least, I remember. I only wish I remembered more. She stumbled again, and this time, merely stared up at the sky for a few moments, unable to even muster enough presence of mind to rise.

Suddenly, she was elsewhere.

***

A crack of light appeared around the door to the smugglers' hold, and the Demarian within froze stiff with fear. She'd been discovered, and after only a matter of hours. Brakir damn it all, Swiftfoot thought to herself, creeping quietly toward the side of the doorway, into the dark corner made by a pair of haphazard stacks of crates. Perhaps she wouldn't be noticed. It was then that the hatch was opened slowly, and she groaned inwardly as she saw what stood there in the doorway waiting for her. The captain of this ship was a Demarian. That did not bode well at all.

His nostrils flared as he scented the air, and his whiskers bristled forward. His ears were flattened back against his head, and he had a firearm of some sort in one paw. He sniffed again, then peered behind the crates, and his light-green eyes locked on hers. Oh, he noticed her, alright.

She turned to flee, trying to dodge around him, but not quickly enough.

There was a feral roar behind her, and suddenly, the weight of the much larger and heavier male pinned her down to the floor on her belly. His claws dug into her back painfully, almost cruelly. Swifty struggled in his grasp, trying to bring her footpaws to bear to push him away, but only succeeded in getting herself even more clawed up as he renewed his grip in the flesh of her back. His breath was hot and rank and ruffled up the fur on the back of her neck. She whimpered and recoiled away from him as best she could.

"What's this? Such a pretty little stowaway..." he murmured in Demarese, trying to nose the side of her face. The gesture was anything but affectionate.

The only answer from the orange-striped female was another whimper and more struggling. For some reason, something was happening on the other side of the hatch, too. Voices - human voices - argued briefly with the captain in Standard. She wasn't sure what they were arguing about. Her mind just wouldn't engage around the words. Suddenly, there was the telltale blue flash of a stun weapon being fired, and the male went limp atop her. She curled up into a ball as he was hauled off of her, closing her eyes tightly and shivering.

***

Skulking little reptiloid forms moved nearby, stalking none too silently among the dead and the dying. The former were efficiently stripped clean of anything that could possibly have value. The latter were killed first. The stink of Nall and the smell of fresh blood - fresh Demarian blood - filled her nostrils, and the anguished cries of those still living reached her ears in her hiding place.

The disturbingly empty eyes of her sister stared at her from no more than twenty yards away, red blood bright against her white fur. Orange and white, a coat all too similar to the one she saw in the mirror every morning, could be seen just past Snowfur. That would be where Father had fallen, the rest of them behind him. He fought to his last trying to give his family time to escape. Mother and Snowfur and Blackpaws and Greeneyes and Shortears, and her new friend Blackwhisker that she had only just met as they boarded the ship... all of them, gone. Just like that. And she'd watched every second of it.

The Nall were swift, and they were merciless. So she hid. She hid with the dead, and she prayed silently to Brakir for deliverance. Two bodies lay atop her in her hiding place, a Bonded pair that had fallen much like her own family had. Their kits lay not far away, all in a heap. The sight of the broken and torn young bodies left Swiftfoot wanting to retch, but all she could do was lie there, frozen in fear. To move is to die. To move is to die, she repeated to herself over and over again in her head. She stayed there, not moving, not thinking, not shedding the guilty tears that wanted so badly to fall. There would be time enough for all of that later. For now, she played dead. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, and as the Nall moved away, she drifted off into a light, uneasy doze.

***

"Be safe, Swiftfoot."

Those were his parting words to her, that first time they'd met. She hadn't been, though. She'd been bloody giddy all the way back to the landing pad, hardly paying attention to her surroundings. If someone had tried to rob her in the ruins, she probably would have handed them everything she had and several things she had to steal just for the occasion, all because she was in such a good mood. It was stupid, too, because she hardly knew him. He was a disreputable character at best, an enforcer if the word on the street was to be believed. But then, what are you? she thought. An ex-privateer. Now there's a reputation to be proud of by comparison. A pause, and she snorted, shaking her head. He's older than you by a good bit. He's obviously been around the block a few times. What's his angle? A better question is, do you care what his angle is? He's got an awful nice tail, and he seems to like you an awful lot. Either that, or he's got an angle... Yeah. He's got to have an angle.

He'd even tried to sucker her into a bet. A bad bet. A really bad bet.

But that's just part of his charm.

Charm, my ass.

She fairly skipped up the landing ramp when she got to the ship, ruminations and any possible witnesses notwithstanding. The airlock cycled open obediently as she punched in her passcode, and stayed open while she paused there at the top of the ramp, staring back toward the Warren. I'll probably never see him again, she thought sadly as she turned to enter the ship, the hatch shutting behind her with a hiss of displaced air.

***

An interdimensional gateway swirled like water before the Faux's viewscreens, a shimmering disc of light marring the starfield of the Ra system. It was ringed by a veritable fleet of ships, all in the service of the mysterious man named Savant, but none of them moved to intercept the freighter as she nudged it toward the rift. Her paws trembled with anticipation on the controls, the felinoid watching for the slightest sign of a reaction. It didn't even seem like any of them saw Faux. So maybe I'm not completely and utterly insane, she mused silently, her thoughts wandering just a bit despite the overwhelming need to concentrate - or perhaps because of it. If the voices at the end of the universe tell you the truth when they say that they'll lend a helping hand, then are you still fucking nuts for listening to them? The gate and its retinue of ships drew slowly closer, the pilot nearly holding her breath, and afraid to go too fast lest she break this strange spell that kept the enemy ships from detecting their presence.

And then, the gate was in front of them, its rippling surface taking up the entire front view. The Faux passed through it effortlessly, the ship not even giving any sign that it was passing through a tear in space, and possibly time itself.

***

The felinoid sat up so suddenly that she moved without thinking it through first, and an involuntary yowl of pain escaped her. Damn it all she thought to herself as she shifted again with a wince, be more careful or you'll draw attention to yourself, dumbass. What the Brakir-damned fuck are you doing sleeping out here in the sun, anyway? Idiot. Fucking idiot. Go back now, before you can't go back at all. She sat still for long moments, letting the pain ebb, but knowing she couldn't tarry too long - the Great Watchers rose ever higher in the heavens. As she went to get back up, dreading the trip back, a forepaw dragging with fatigue brushed against something - something cool and most definitely man-made just under the surface of the sand. She started digging with her forepaws, ignoring the lingering old pains and the sharp new ones in her leg and belly. She dug out whatever it was - a high-impact plastic tank of some sort. It didn't look at all like a fuel tank, and was way too small, in any case.

No, she knew this container. She'd seen it before. After some thought, it came to her - this one was from the galley. The label was gone, but this wasn't a container for cleaning supplies, either. No, this was a container for some sort of drink. Whatever liquid that it actually contained, it would be helpful. Demar would provide after all.

She loosened her tattered sash from about her waist and tied one end to the tank. It wasn't heavy under normal circumstances, but these were definitely not normal circumstances. The very thought of trying to either walk on two limbs and carry it with one, or walk upright for that matter, made her wince in pain. Fuck that, she thought. I'll just drag it. I should go slow anyway. The other end of the sash she tied around her waist before beginning the long, tedious crawl back to the camp.

Offspring by Colchek

Circling for eons around a distant star far from the known worlds, the planet Hygia was often used by local spacefarers as a rest and relaxation stop on their routes. It was a local playground, as it were. Uninhabited, except for various forms of flora and fauna that often entertained visitors. The planet was much like Earth in climate, and quite inviting to a group of travelers who were nearing the end of a long journey. An end which brought with it much sadness, for the end of this journey also marked the end of the journey of a valued friend.

With a last burst from his maneuvering thrusters, Galactix settled into an orbit around Hygia. This was what he had been searching for. The planet was a jewel in space, a place where his crew could start anew after their long trek through the galaxy. It was also a place where he could land for the last time, and prepare himself for the next journey that awaited him, beyond this life. For him, it was not a time to mourn, but a time to rejoice, for at last he would be re-united with his brothers and sisters, lost so long ago in the Great War. He had seen them once before, when Sanctuary had visited the Realm of the Dead ever so briefly, and now he would be with them for eternity.

Despite his positive outlook on the inevitable, his crew did not share his sentiments. Galactix for centuries had been their liberator, their home, and their friend. His loss was not going to be easy for them, and already the haze of despair had settled across the crew as they made final preparations for Galactix to land on the world he had chosen for them. No one was forsaking their duties, but today they went through the motions without their usual sense of purpose.

As Galactix settled into his orbit, he brought his sensors online and routed the images to the display screens on the bridge. He had been scanning the planet for some time as they approached, and he had already picked out the perfect spot. Highlighting an area on an equatorial island continent, he zoomed in and overlaid a silhouette of himself over the flat landscape on the southern side of the island. His bridge crew watched as he did so, knowing what it meant.

“I believe this would be the best orientation.” Galactix said. “Here my body will provide the centerpiece of the new city, and allow room to build around it as the colony expands.”

Rubytail, the current elected leader of the crew, nodded as she watched Galactix select the landing site. The image of the planet, the plans for the city displayed before her, brought the fact that this was the last journey into the forefront of her mind. Fighting back a tear, she nodded her agreement.

Galactix knew the meaning of her silence, for he had known her, and all of the crew, since birth. All of the crew aboard him were descended from those he had rescued in an alternate universe, and he had watched births, and deaths, for the past 1000 years they had travelled. “Do not be saddened, my child. We all knew this day would come in time. These old bolts have travelled many a light year, and my mind isn’t what it used to be. I have earned this rest.”

Rubytail managed a smile, brushing away a tear that had moistened the fur around her eye. “I know, but even with that knowledge, it still pains all of us to lose you.” She settled into the command chair as Galactix began plotting a descent to the colony site. As she did, she glanced towards a nearby scanner and noticed three blips approaching the planet. She knew what they were, and their arrival brightened her spirits a bit. “It seems the children have come back from their explorations.”

Switching one of the display screens to an external view, Galactix focused a sensor array on the approaching contacts, and three old freighters came into focus. “It is about time, children. I was beginning to get worried. Did I not tell you to stay within sensor range?” Galactix’ tone was firm, and he was concerned, but at the same time he just couldn’t stay mad at the three of them. Their curiosity and boundless desire to explore made him a proud father.

The largest of the three piped up. “I’m sorry dad, but I picked up this comet on my sensors and we just had to take a look! It was amazing! It had all kinds of dust jets spewing out as it approached one of the nearby stars. I’ve never seen a comet’s tail that bright before!” Tharsis said excitedly.

Galactix couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’ll see many more in your travels, of that I am certain. However, you mustn’t stray too far from me. This region of space is not one I have travelled extensively, and thus there is no way to know what dangers may await us here. Do you understand?”

“Sure dad, we’re sorry. We’ll stick closer next time.” said Alaria, the smallest of the three. “We didn’t mean to worry you.”

“That’s all right. You’re back, you’re safe, and that’s all the matters for the moment. We’ve reached the end of our journey, and we will be setting down soon. You had best stay nearby in orbit until we land; I have made sure there is plenty of room for you to set down as well.” Galactix said.

Rubytail couldn’t help but grin and shake her head as she listened to the exchange. Her thoughts drifted back about 8 years to the day they had first brought his children on line. They were the crew’s ultimate triumph, and their gift to their aging liberator. Each was a copy of Galactix’ core programming, his basic sense of self, and since that time had grown into individuals unique in their own way. They were eager to learn, enthusiastic about what lie ahead, and prone to getting into mischief, but due to Galactix’ firm parenting, and the help of the crew in guiding them, they were for the most part well behaved.

Idly, she wondered, would they remain once Galactix was gone?

The trees around the edges of the landing site swayed in the wind kicked up by Galactix’ massive landing thrusters as he settled into position to touch down on the surface of what the crew had dubbed Hope Island. Nearby, his three children had found their own suitable spots to land and were also setting down. With a mighty whump that shook the entire area, Galactix settled onto his landing gear, which sunk quite a bit in the soft ground of the meadow.

“Gee dad, this place is awfully nice.” said Alaria as she powered down her thrusters. “It’s really warm here.”

“Indeed it is. This will be the perfect spot.” Galactix said as his massive engines powered down for the last time. To this point, Galactix had told his children half-truths about why they had headed to this planet. He desperately wanted them to understand what was to happen, and now the time had finally come that he would have to reveal the finality of this journey.

Tharsis and his younger brother Berseus, the youngest of the three, settled down beside Alaria and their father as the dust began to settle around them. Galactix’ boarding ramp began to lower to the meadow below, settling into place with a soft thump as his crew began to file out into the bright sunshine. Galactix sensed his time was finally near. In his mind, he prepared his final words to his crew and his children as his crew began to set up camp.

The sun was beginning to sink beneath the horizon when the crew had finished their labors and settled in for the night. A variety of camp fires had been built around which the crew gathered for a town meeting of sorts which Galactix had called for a few hours earlier. As quiet came across them, Galactix mustered his last bit of strength to address them.

“As many of you already know, my time in this life is about to come to its inevitable conclusion.” Galactix started, prompting a few gasps of disbelief from his children, who immediately began to protest. Galactix kindly shushed them as he continued. “It is true. Like any living thing, I can not live forever. My life has been long, rewarding, filled with triumphs and challenges, and hopefully one that has left its mark on the galaxy. My positronic matrix has functioned well for nearly 550,000 years, but with all the maintenance, all the self-repair systems, all of the technology used upon it during all that time, it has finally reached a point where nothing further can be done.”

Galactix’ voice was already beginning to waver as he continued. “I feel that I only have a few hours at best before my pathways finally collapse, so I wish to say some things while I still have the time. We have suffered great tragedies during our time together. We were hunted relentlessly by the Phyrrians, pursued them to this alternate universe where we were subsequently trapped by the rifts in time in space, joined with the noble Vanguard, and at last set forth on our own journey to make our mark in this new world, free from the Phyrrian tyranny. Our journey has taken us over millions of lightyears, lasted 1000 years, and has culminated on this planet of paradise. It is my final gift to you, my friends and my family, as I will no longer be able to carry you onwards.”

Galactix paused slightly, leaving a silence filled with the weeping of some of his crew, and that of his children, who felt great sadness for this news, even though they had no tears to shed. “My children, I know we have only had a few precious years to spend together, but those years were perhaps the best these tired bolts have ever known in my long life. Each of you carries a part of me inside you, and thus I will be with you always. I have given you knowledge of worlds, peoples, cultures, and celestial sights that will take you a lifetime to visit and explore, for there is still more to learn despite what I have taught you. Although my end is near, I meet it with joy rather than trepidation, for I know that I will live on in you. Know that I am proud of you, as proud as any father can be of his children, and know that your aunts and your uncles who watch over you from the great beyond share that pride, and know the legacy which you have inherited.”

Tharsis was the first to speak, after a long silence. “I… I understand dad. I think, deep down, we knew this time would come, but… we didn’t know it was to come so soon.” he said, pausing slightly to gather this thoughts. “We will carry your memory with us always, dad.”

Alaria spoke up next, sadness in her voice. “As life begins, life must end, as we have seen these past few years.” she said. “Even knowing that path of life, it still saddens me to lose you, father. We will honor your memory with each passing day.”

Berseus, always the silent type, spoke one simple sentence. “I love you, father.”

Tharsis and Alaria shared their agreement to this sentiment, to which Galactix responded. “I love you all, my children.” He paused slightly, and continued in a voice that was a bit weaker. “I feel that my time is drawing nearer. I may not have enough strength to talk any further, so I leave you with these final words. Do not mourn my loss, but instead celebrate our journey, and the beginning of a new world upon which generations of our progeny will work to found a new culture. In this, I find peace, and satisfaction of a job well done.” With his voice fading, he said “Farewell to all of you…” as his vocal synthesizer finally gave out leaving nothing but the sounds of sadness and the crackling of the campfires.

Galactix’ matrix operated for only another 2 hours after his final words, and with a last flicker, shut down for all time as his pathways collapsed one after the other. The next morning, the crew and the children arranged a meeting to decide their future. Rubytail sat at a long table with the bridge crew and officiated the meeting, calling it to order as the sun was just beginning to rise above the horizon.

“I am sure we all know now why we are here. Today we will begin to lay the foundation for how we will live our lives here on this newfound planet. We will begin by electing a government to oversee the establishment of our city…” she said as the meeting got underway. Meanwhile, the children of Galactix stood silently by to listen and watch, but between them, they were having their own meeting of sorts, using their private commlinks.

“We can’t just up and leave them without us.” Alaria was protesting, as Tharsis and Berseus discussed plans for striking off on their own. “Whether he implied it or not, father left them in our charge.”

Tharsis had different ideas. “We may be able to stay for a while, Alaria, but I think dad fully intended us to find our own destinies. If he had planned for us to remain here all our lives, why did they place us in these bodies? We have the means to go where we will, to explore like dad did. That, I think is what he intended.”

“I would tend to agree.” Berseus commented. “I do not think our departure intends to be hasty, but I do think it is inevitable. It would be wise to remain and ensure that the colony becomes firmly established, and assist the crew with whatever they may require in terms of planning or transportation.”

“They’ll need supplies; that much is for certain. What dad has on board won’t last long, and certainly won’t build an entire city.” Tharsis said, as the crew voted in favor of leaving Galactix’ body intact as a memorial. “We’ll have to find a source and bring it here so they can build homes.”

“Then it is settled.” said Alaria. “We will help them get established, and then if we choose to leave, then we can. I for one intend to stay for as long as possible.”

“I’m not surprised there sis, but I think we may want to agree on a universal code we can use should we need to find each other again.” Tharsis said. “It’s a big galaxy.”

“Agreed.” said Berseus. “We may want to take some of the long range communication technologies father was working on and adapt them for our purposes. We may be able to devise a method of sending short messages long distances without suffering long delays.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with for that. I’ve got a bunch of blueprints in my memory banks I’ve been working on for stuff along that line.” Tharsis said, as the crew finished electing their leaders and began to adjourn to begin the day. “Berseus, how about you take the first shift on taking a look around this sector to see who’s in the neighborhood. You’re better at diplomacy than we are.”

“I will see to some of the medical needs of the crew in the meantime.” Alaria said. “With dad no longer operating his body, many of the systems will no longer work, and there are a few among them who are nearing birth or have taken ill.”

“A good idea, Alaria. I will begin my search.” said Berseus. “If needed I will call, but I doubt there is anything truly dangerous in this system. Otherwise, we would have detected it on our way here.”

“Allright little bro. Be careful out there, and I’ll keep my comm open.” Tharsis said. “If you need help hauling anything, just give me a ring.”

Berseus lifted off and headed to orbit as the remaining two began their tasks. As Tharsis began his design work, his thoughts drifted to his father’s words the night before, and it was then he decided that he was going to see the worlds his father spoke of in his tales. He would see these worlds called ‘Earth’, and ‘Sivad’, and the home worlds of the many races they had travelled with for so long.

By now, 5 years had passed. Around Galactix’ former body a small city had begun to grow, built with supplies acquired from some of the friendlier races in nearby systems that the children had brought to Hygia, now re-christened Delta Ultunima in homage to Galactix’ home world. The new city, Galactia, was beginning to show signs of life and the bustling activity Galactix had envisioned when he set course for this world those years ago. Life for the former crew was good, and their future was bright.

However, true to the agreement they had made among themselves that day 5 years ago, the children were beginning to plan their own paths through life. For Tharsis and Berseus, that meant heading off to explore the galaxy before them. For Alaria, it meant staying put, at least for the time being. She had become an honorary doctor for the city, and for the moment was serving as its primary hospital.

The crew, especially Rubytail, knew that this time would eventually come. Galactix intended for his children to follow in his footsteps, and to do that they had to head out into the wide expanse of the galaxy. Berseus and Tharsis had agreed to leave together, and then part ways once they had left the system, and so the crew had prepared a small send off party for them on the eve of their departure.

The party was beginning to wind down as Rubytail stood between them. “So, where do you think you’ll go?” she asked.

Tharsis already knew his answer. “I want to see the worlds that dad spoke of in his stories. I know they’re far, but we have many friends along that path we met along our journey, so I’m not worried about supplies or fuel. I want to see it for myself.”

Berseus piped up then. “I really have no destination in mind, but once I start exploring, I figure I’ll set my mind on something.” he said.

Rubytail nodded to them, her expression a mixture of joy for their spreading of their wings, but sadness at their inevitable departure. “Good luck to both of you then. Never forget, you have family here, and should your travels find you this way again, our arms and our hearts will always be open to you.” she said, hiding a hint of a tear in one eye. “Be careful, and do not be so quick to trust those who you meet. Despite the friends we made, there were just as many enemies we met as well all those years.” she offered in warning to them.

“I’ll keep that in mind as I travel.” Tharsis said. “Please, take care of Alaria. I sense that she’s a bit more afraid of what’s out there than we are, but perhaps one day, she’ll feel the longing that we do and explore. Until then, I know she is in capable hands.”

Rubytail nodded. “You have my word on that, Tharsis. May Altheor watch over your travels, and may he one day guide you back home.” she said, her grin moving to a smile as she nodded once more, and headed back to join the party and assist in the cleanup.

Tharsis settled himself in for the night, giving his systems a chance to rest before he put them to work on the journey ahead. As the sounds of the night overtook the party, he settled into a dream-filled sleep…

The next morning, the entire crew had gathered to watch them begin their journey, and they waved as the two ships fired up their engines and began their ascent away from the city. As Galactia grew ever smaller behind them, they both realized that they had taken their first step into a much larger world. They were entering a world without the familiar feeling of family; a world without the familiar presence of their father. The two flew together until they reached the very edge of the system, and it was there they paused to say their goodbyes.

“You take care of yourself, little brother.” Tharsis said. “If you ever need me, just call on that new transmitter I had installed in your console. I’ll come as fast as I can.”

“The same holds for you, brother.” Berseus replied. “I think my first stop is going to be that nebula we passed on the way here. There were some interesting patterns in it I didn’t get a chance to really look at as we flew past.”

“I’ve got a ways to go before my first stop.” Tharsis said. “The Sylenians are about 50 lightyears from here, but I think I can make it. There I can refuel and get a good feel for what lies ahead. It’s been at least 10 years since we were through there.”

“Until the next time, then, brother.” Berseus said. “Our paths will undoubtedly cross again, of that I am sure.”

“We will meet again, little brother. Until then, be good, be careful, and always watch your back.” Tharsis said in reply as he set course and began to throttle up. “The journey begins.” he said as his Spindrive charged up and engaged, sending him off in a flash of white light, as Berseus disappeared in a flash of his own.

The feeling of being on his own for the first time was rather overwhelming for the first few hours, but Tharsis busied himself with a few puzzles and logic problems that helped keep his mind off things as he travelled. He knew it would take him at least 72 hours to reach Sylenia. His ultimate goal, Earth, was years in the distance, but he had planned a few ‘slingshot’ moves around a few stars along his path that he felt should shave a few years off his journey. He knew it was tricky, and his father had nearly collided with one during an attempt several years ago, but he was confident that his speed and small size would be an advantage to him.

He began to idly access some of the records his father had left for him before his passing, and he studied them hard as he travelled along. He wanted to be as prepared as possible for his inevitable arrival at Earth, and at least have a chance of understanding what he was to encounter. In the back of his mind, though, he knew that a long time had passed since then, and even what information he had would be questionable at best. Undaunted, he was dead set on his chosen course, and as his visit to Sylenia came and went, he kept a steady trek towards that distant solar system. No matter what awaited him.

Letters from Home by Arizhel

Dearest Arizhel,

I heard about the power outage on New Luna. I'm getting worried about you. Please get ahold of me as soon as you can.
-Mom


Dearest Arizhel,

Two days and I've heard nothing from you yet. I'd think you would have gotten off that God-awful backwater planet by now. You always were... resourceful.
-Mom


Dearest Arizhel,

Really, now, you expect me to believe that you still haven't gotten off of New Luna yet? Call your mother, young lady.
-Mom


Dear Mother,

It is quite difficult to escape from a place with no power and no working ships, unfortunately. I am, however, quite flattered at your assessment of my abilities. To be quite honest, the only reason that I did get off the planet is a friend's impeccable timing. I am sorry to have worried you. I assure you that it was not done out of malice, but rather, because of a complete inability to find a solution to the situation.
-Rish


Dearest Arizhel,

Apology accepted.

You sound a bit... different. Is everything alright?

Where are you at?
-Mom


Dear Mother,

I am perfectly fine. Is good grammar and precise speech usually an indication that something is wrong? I had heard of no such thing, to be honest, but perhaps it is something to look into. Hm. Ah, as to where I am at, I can be found on La Terre. The friend that picked me up from New Luna has dropped me off with an associate of his. We will be going into the wilderness to better avoid the Phyrrian threat. I will not be reachable by commlink or PDA, at least not directly, but do not worry. I will not lose touch again, though my response time will likely be very slow. I will simply need to make arrangements to have messages delivered and picked up.
-Rish



Dearest Arizhel,

Why don't you just come stay with me? Sivad is safe. I don't like the idea of you running off into the wilds. There's all sorts of lunatics living out there. Just think about it, okay? I know we don't always get along, but I'm still your mother. I still worry about you.
-Mom


Dear Mother,

Thank you for your concern. I will be fine. Staying with you is an unnecessary burden on you, and would present problems because of Tiana and Rillitan. I will not be alone, as they are going with me. The group numbers about five hundred now, more than enough to deal with common criminals or trespassers.

After today, messages will get to me sporadically at best. I will take care of myself. Try not to worry overmuch about me.
-Rish


Dearest Arizhel,

Well, at least you will have friends with you. Tiana - is that the Martian girl you told me about? It's a bit unnatural if you ask me, for a Martian to be taking up with a Timonae like that. I guess there's no accounting for taste.
-Mom


Dear Mother,

Rillitan is actually rather peculiar as Timonae go - he is not so flighty as most. In any case, I think they make a rather fetching couple. A bit odd, yes, but still, they obviously care about each other very much.

Ah, there is the transport now. I will stay in touch.
-Rish


Dearest Arizhel,

See that you do. Your mother worries about you.
-Mom


Dearest Arizhel,

I know that you said it would be sporadic contact, but two weeks seems excessive. I can't just sit around knowing my only daughter is off in some trackless wilderness full of crazy people and convicts and God knows what else. Write back as soon as you get this.
-Mom


Dear Mother,

My apologies for the delay. It took longer than anticipated to get settled in. We are quite far from any sort of major settlement, but supplies do come in regularly. Myself and Tiana have been put to work in the kitchens, both cooking and procuring food. It keeps us busy a good portion of the day. Some of the rest of our time is spent in target practice or physical training, and I myself have been spending any spare time I can find at the med tents. If war is indeed upon us, then I mayaswell learn to be useful.
-Rish


Dearest Arizhel,

Target pratice? Physical training? It sounds as if this is an army in the making more than anything else. My heart aches to think of you doing such menial things. You were meant for so much more than that. We both know it.

Do you even have any instruments with you?
-Mom


Dear Mother,

The entire point of the target practice and such is survival. I do not wish to be useless should an attack actually come about. The practice and the training are both largely voluntary, in any case.

I will be in New Paris on Tuesday if you wish to meet at the Bluenose for lunch. I know it is not up to your usual standards, but thought it might be nice anyway.

I have access to an acoustic guitar, to answer your question. It is shared. I do not have my own because, by necessity, we had to travel light.
-Rish


Dearest Arizhel,

It pains me to know that your real skills are going to waste like that while you do all of these menial little tasks fit for a Specialist.

Speaking of, are you still insisting on seeing that Lunite boy? He's far too young for you, you know, as if him being Specialist-derived wasn't bad enough in and of itself. Well, anyway, I'm only asking because you haven't mentioned him in quite some time. I thought perhaps you'd actually come to your senses. Unfortunately, I am busy Tuesday, but perhaps next time you are anywhere civilized, we can meet.
-Mom


Dear Mother,

"That Lunite boy" is in the Vanguard, and we have not seen each other since some time before I left New Luna. We maintain sporadic contact, and are on friendly terms. It is too bad about your being busy the last time I was in New Paris. Next time I know in advance, I will inform you again.

You will be pleased to know that we are moving to a more 'civilized' location very soon now. There is even a small village nearby, though it is still out of comms range of New Paris. Our encampment numbers about twenty-five hundred now, so there are many to provide for. At least there is plenty of help to be had.

There is another Terran here. I find him very interesting, actually. He speaks not only Spanish, but several other Terran languages. I am grateful, if nothing else, to sharpen my language skills. Precious few people speak Spanish anymore. It is good to hear it spoken by someone other than myself.
-Rish


Dearest Arizhel,

You’re making your old mother jealous. You can manage to find suitable prospects even in the middle of nowhere. I keep hoping you’ll come to your senses and find someone that’s worth your while and quit this nonsense about carrying on with Lunites and, God forbid, Timonae. I thought you’d thought better of it when I heard a little rumor about you and Andrew Long, but it seems like you’ve let that slip between your fingers. Silly, silly girl.

When can I see you? You don’t get away from that camp nearly often enough, and you don’t write as often as I’d like.
-Mom


Dear Mother,

He is someone else’s fiancee. I am quite certain that she would be very upset with me were I even to attempt such a thing. As for Andrew, there was an understanding there from the very beginning – that relationship was never permanent, nor meant to be anything other than casual. He is, in fact, the one that put me in contact with Ms. Withern.

We are closer to New Paris now, and so messages should be a bit more regular. It is also easier to find reasons to be away from the camp. Perhaps we can meet sometime soon. Actually, I will be on Sivad next Wednesday on business. Perhaps we could get together then, after my meeting.
-Rish


Dearest Arizhel,

When has that ever stopped you?

Ah, another casual relationship. When are you going to settle down and give me some grandchildren? Human grandchildren, I mean.

I would very much like to see you, but am going to be away next Wednesday, unfortunately. Will you be coming back again sometime soon? I can try to reschedule my engagement, but it’s highly doubtful that I could push things back without some bruised egos. You know how men get about that sort of thing.
-Mom


Dear Mother,

Please do not put yourself out on my account. I am sure that I can invent a reason to visit Sivad again. Barring that, there is always New Paris.

If you need to reach me early next week, I will be spending several days at the Outlook Club with Diri. A few days of sleeping in a real bed should be refreshing, and I find myself quite looking forward to spending some time with him. It has been rather lonely here at the camp – actually, it has been rather lonely in general for quite some time now.

Before you jump to any conclusions, I do not know where things stand between us. We have kept up contact and are on friendly terms, yes, but that means little. I am not certain that I want to keep up a relationship with him, or vice versa. There are things that would need to change on both sides of things, I think.

In any case, I will let you know next time I will be on Sivad.
-Rish


Dearest Arizhel,

There’s no need to rub my nose in it.

You’ve always been so damnably stubborn. Just like your father. And mean, just like your mother. At least you get it honestly, I suppose.

Do see that you let me know well in advance. Then I can make sure I don’t have any prior engagements that interfere.
-Mom


Dear Mother,

I did not mean to rub your nose in it. If I had, I would have been considerably crueler than I was. I was simply letting you know where I would be.

And yes, at least I get it honestly.

G’ahnlo was lovely, as always. The Outlook Club has long been one of my favorite places to stay, despite the one unfortunate incident I had there. It was an isolated thing, after all, and in no way the fault of the management or the staff. We stayed there for several days, all of them quite enjoyable. He was kind enough to split the bill with me, despite my insistence to the contrary.

I am thinking of joining him on Hancock Station, if they will have me.
-Rish


Dearest Arizhel,

I would still much rather you came home. I’ll… well, as much as I hesitate to do this, I’ll even help you find an apartment for your Lunite.

Carlos still asks about you, you know. All the time. He’s been seeing some Sivadian girl, though. You’ll lose your chance at him if you don’t watch out. He’s a good Terran boy with a good family. Think about it for your poor old mother’s sake, would you?
-Mom


Dear Mother,

Carlos and I have been nothing more than friends and occasional social companions for some time now, despite his attempts to the contrary. I do not foresee that changing anytime soon.

I will not be allowed to join Diri aboard the station, unfortunately, as they think I am some sort of spy. How preposterously cliched can you possibly get? In any case, he has decided to join me.
-Rish


Dearest Arizhel,

I’m not certain that I even want to ask how you’re going to pull that off. How could he possibly leave military service during a war? I only have one possible answer to that, and I seriously hope you aren’t acting that rashly.

If that’s what you’re doing, I hope you know that you’re letting yourself in for a world of trouble. I’m not going to talk about this any more. Not like this.
-Mom


Dear Mother,

Fair enough. Diri has joined me on La Terre. That is all anyone needs to know.

I do know what we have let ourselves in for, and I have weighed that against my loneliness. The loneliness won out, in the end. In any case, we may be moving on soon, as it seems as if perhaps we have overstayed our welcome here on La Terre. Things have been quite tense for some time now. Perhaps it is time for yet another move – I have been restless for awhile now, anyway.
-Rish


Dearest Arizhel,

If you do decide to leave, I hope you consider Sivad. My offer to find an apartment for your Lunite still stands, against my better judgement.
-Mom


Dear Mother,

I am pained to hear that he would not be welcome in your house, though I suppose I cannot blame you for that. It is just a shame, really. We have indeed found it necessary to leave La Terre. I will be in touch as soon as we get settled somewhere new.
-Rish


Dearest Arizhel,

Where did you go? It’s been a couple of weeks now since I heard from you. Are you trying to give your poor old mother a heart attack?
-Mom


Dear Mother,

It is best that you did not know where we are. Then, if you are asked, it will not be necessary for you to lie. Know that we are safe, and that we are with friends. Sending messages should be near-instantaneous now, as we are at least in a civilized location.

You always did have a flair for the dramatic, mother. You are hardly in any condition that would suggest you would have a heart attack simply from not hearing from me for several days. Circumstances have forced us into a second move very soon after the first, and so, I have not been properly settled in just yet. As soon as I am, I will come to visit.
-Rish



Dearest Arizhel,

I would very much like that. There is a formal dinner coming up in several weeks to celebrate someone or other’s retirement from the University. His name escapes me at the moment. Unfortunately, you would be my guest, so your Lunite would be unable to attend with you. Come by and pick up a couple of your nice dresses. On a Thursday, if you would, in the evening. I am usually home then.
-Mom


Dear Mother,

I will certainly do that. This Thursday, I think.
-Rish


Dearest Arizhel,

It was wonderful to see you again, even though you’ve gone as skinny as a half-starved alley cat. What have you been doing to yourself? There’s no curves left to you, girl – not many men go for that lean look anymore, you know. You’ll probably have to have those dresses taken in a few inches.

Doesn’t your Lunite boy feed you at all?

And God, what did you do to your hair? I hate it. It makes you look like a cheap hooker. At least dye it black again to be seen in public with your poor old mother, would you?
-Mom


Dear Mother,

Diri seems to like me the way that I am. Of course, he liked me before, too. I don’t think he can help himself, actually.

Having the dresses taken in should not be an issue.

As far as him attending, I am not so certain he would want to anyway. No doubt you would spend the evening either sniping at him or ignoring him completely. I know you all too well, mother, so denying it is pointless. I do not believe that you have liked any of the men in my life since Carlos, now that I think about it. You really ought to meet him. He has proven to be quite trainable, and is much more attentive these days.
-Rish


Dearest Arizhel,

Of course he does. He knows that you’re settling and that he’s getting a woman that’s far too good for him. It’s no wonder at all that he worships you.
-Mom


Dear Mother,

Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?

In any case, I refuse to be drawn into a petty argument. We simply do not agree, and I am willing to accept that.

I will see you on the 29th.
-Rish

The Disappearance of John Christian Falkenberg by Falkenberg

In December of 3003, John Christian Falkenberg disappeared aboard Comorro Station in Hiverspace, while taking part in an expedition to find a way to defeat Grim, his former employer and all-powerful agent of the Kamir. His ship, the IND Hand of Fate, docked at Comorro to refuel while the rest of the expedition went on to their next destination. Without notifying his crew, Falkenberg went aboard Comorro, a place where members of the expedition had already stirred up considerable trouble in recent weeks, and disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again (so far, at least.) The following is the first installment of the story of his disappearance, and what happened after.

Author’s Note: These events are set toward the end of the original, or “classic” Otherspace Arc XVII, the final arc before the New Journeys era. Events, worlds, races and characters who find mention in this story and the coming installments are represented as they were at that time, in the year 3003 and early 3004 of the Otherspace universe (2003-2004 RL). The entire story is set in Hiverspace, where Sanctuary had journeyed during the original Arcs VI and VII and where parts of several subsequent story arcs unfolded after the opening of the multiverse nexus; at the time, the races, events, locations and political situations in Hiverspace were not very well developed as part of the Otherspace canon. In order to tell the story I wish to tell, I’ve taken certain liberties to flesh elements of Hiverspace out, particularly regarding the races and worlds that were encountered by Sanctuary; I may at times in the coming installments need to create locations, worlds or races that have never come into the story of Otherspace, though I will try to keep that to a minimum. Anything that appears in this story that contradicts canonical events on Otherspace since 3003 are solely the result of the author’s ignorance.

Darkness.
Cold.
Something hard against his face.
Then pain… a blinding surge of pain in his head that seemed to come out of nowhere. Gradually, it faded to a dull ache.
Slowly, John Christian Falkenberg opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw was the floor. A very small part of the floor, right in front of his face. At first he couldn’t tell what it was, but as his senses returned to him slowly, Falkenberg became aware that he was lying face down on the floor in a dimly lit room of some sort. The cold feeling against his face was the steel of the deckplate pressed against his cheek. A small puddle of drool had collected below his mouth.
With an effort, he pushed up off the floor and rose to a sitting position. His muscles didn’t seem to work correctly; it was as though his arms and legs were asleep. His head hurt.
Where the hell am I, he thought at last. He struggled to remember what had happened. The thoughts came slowly; his brain, like his limbs, did not seem to be working at full capacity.

I was… at the bar…on Comorro Station. We had just returned from Pansheera… Was he still on Comorro? The room he was in was small and dimly lit, with a dank, dirty smell. It looked very much like a cell. Certainly it was possible that he was in a cell on Comorro. After all, it’s not like we made friends here the last time, he thought. It was probably stupid to come back so soon and go to the bar for a drink by himself.

As his natural self-awareness returned to him, he noticed a deep, subsonic vibration rising up through the deck. Falkenberg had lived most of his adult life aboard various starships and spacegoing vessels; he knew the thrum of an engine when he felt it. Definitely not Comorro, he thought. The station’s power plant had a slow and steady hum. What he felt now was the rhythmic pulsing of a ship that was underway.

Ok, I’m on a ship. Now focus…how did I get here, and what happened to me? He was still struggling to get his arms and legs to obey his commands. He did not dare to try and stand; it seemed that whatever had knocked him out was wearing off slowly, from the top of his body downward. There was some strength and sensation in his arms, but his legs could only make broad, clumsy movements. He had no doubt that he lacked the strength to stand.

Gradually, he was able to piece together his last clear memories from… last night? Yesterday? How long had he been here? His wrist chrono was gone; it could have been hours, it could have been days. Belatedly, he thought to check for his weapons and his commlink; both were gone. No real surprise there.

He remembered being at the bar. He had left his ship, the IND Hand of Fate, late at night after making a refueling stop at Comorro on the way from Pansheera to the next stage of their journey. The other ships of the expedition had gone on ahead of him, but they’d wait; the Fate was the most powerful ship of the bunch and would be needed if there was trouble. His own crew was asleep, but he was bored and wanted a drink. He could handle himself if there was trouble…or so he thought.

He had been at the bar for a little while when he caught a brief flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye. He had turned toward the door slowly, the casual move of a bar patron waiting for a friend or associate to arrive…and he briefly caught sight of a grey-robed figure…it looked almost like a… no, that wouldn’t make any sense. Why would one of them be here? Whatever he had seen, he thought, probably had nothing to do with himself. The place was fairly crowded tonight. Still, he had turned back to the bar and casually loosened his pistol in its holster.

After a few more sips of his drink, he had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, some movement again, definitely in his direction. More than one of them, he remembered thinking, whoever they are, and whatever they want. Well, if they want to dance…He began to ease his pulse assault pistol from the holster, and prepared to turn…

And then it happened.

A loud buzzing or humming sound. Then a sudden burst of pain. Then…darkness.

The next thing he remembered was the cold sensation of the deckplate against his face, in this room, this cell, aboard some ship, headed who-knows-where.

Someone got the drop on him.

They must have been looking for me, he thought, and then his heart skipped a beat as a genuinely frightening realization dawned on him. Grim! He thought. Is it possible he set a trap for me, all the way out here? Damn, I’m a fool for letting this happen!

He hadn’t been caught off guard like this in years. Was he really getting that sloppy? Somehow, they’d hit him with some sort of stun weapon, right before he made his move. He knew they were there…but somehow they had moved faster than him. Had known he was on to them.

Who the hell were they? What did they want? If it wasn’t Grim, was it one of the factions on Comorro whom the expedition had angered in recovering the first crystal? Or was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time, having failed to realize how dangerous a place he was in, like the damn fools who walked down dark alleys in Shadowheart back home, never to be heard from again?

He had no way of knowing. All he had were questions. He hated questions, and he hated waiting. He wanted answers.

At that exact moment, the door to his cell slid open, and in stepped the last thing he expected.

“Welcome, Captain Falkenberg,” said the deep, sonorous voice of the Shohobian Mystic who now stood before him, “aboard the IND Crimson Star.”

Absit Omen by Aadzrian

Even to a soldier, blood could be a heady thing.

Aadzrian had never really had a problem with it; then again, never before had it assaulted every sense of his with its sheer, unfathomable size. There could not be this much of it in the universe, never in one place. Reason said that blood could not exist within a floor of blood, walls of blood, a ceiling of blood- underneath it there had to be something- but reason wasn't acquainted with the peculiar stench. It tickled the nostrils the way a barbed wire whip tickled your back.

He realized distantly that he was going to be sick, not from sight or smell or from the taste (taste, he had nearly forgotten taste) of it all, but simply from the realization that there was nothing else. A featureless landscape of blood that inner knowledge told him stretched from here to forever.

And then, abruptly, the vision ended.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen it, not since that day where he'd idiotically agreed to look at his own future to sate someone's curiosity- he could no longer remember who. Had it been Franceza? Well, he couldn't ask her about it; he couldn't speak to the real Franceza trapped within her incomprehending eyes. Those whom he loved were fast becoming memories.

"Shut up, you self-pitying –git-," the Timonae told himself aloud, voice thick and groggy with sleep. Ah, this time it had been a dream. Tirax stirred beside him, but didn't wake for once, and absently he reached over to brush back the younger man's hair. There was no reason to wallow in angst, considering how lucky he was. Hadn't he known what his future would hold anyway?

Quietly, Aadzrian swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. Slow, deliberate movements wouldn't wake Tir, he'd discovered, if he was very careful about them. Stealing a glance to either side of the Fox's crew quarters- dead quiet, at this early morning hour- he reached into his bunk's cabinets.

There it was, a battered (well, he preferred well-loved) book on human anatomy. It was old, but the man he'd bought it from reassured him that humans hadn't changed that much in the last 25 years, so he'd read it with confidence. Or tried, at least; it proved a torturous reminder of why he had ended up a soldier. He had no brains to speak of for anything else.

After three or four pages the Terran started swimming before his eyes, and frequent dictionary consultation slowed him down even further. After a couple weeks he was sixty pages into the five hundred, and each was a battle. He wanted to weep in frustration at the knowledge that this was the simplest and most basic thing on his list of books, a book on a subject he was already even familiar with. But resorting to Timonese books would just prove he lacked the skill to master a second language, let alone put the information he was slowly learning to any use.

"Doctors have to deal with a lot of blood, right?" he whispered to himself, appreciating the self-reassurance even when he knew how foolish it was. You couldn't become a doctor just by reading, no matter how many books you read. And he didn't want to try learning by –doing- when he might only hurt people worse.

He was being selfish. -Nobody- really wanted to fight forever, but someone had to do it. He knew the necessity, knew that some people could be stopped by absolutely nothing else. And he had a talent for killing, a stomach that could stand what had to be done, and enough control over himself to realize (these days) when the last resort was. He was absolutely ideal for what he was doing; pursuing dangerous jobs, fighting when he had to, trying diplomacy first.

But he'd had enough of hurting others already, and the thought of a lifetime of it was making him weary. He wanted to fix, to repair, to mend, to heal.

The words on the page were incomprehensible now to his tired mind, looking like scribbles as much as actual letters. Aadzrian closed his eyes, and smiled faintly to himself. If he'd been born smart, maybe he would have become a great doctor like Snowstreak. And if pigs had wings, getting pork tenderloins for last night's dinner would have been a lot harder. He would be content; after all, he was strong and young, he had friends and lovers and Tirax most of all, and he was doing good in the way he was suited for. Maza had not touched his life more than Lin, in the end.

It was later than he'd thought, he realized when his eyes opened again- or perhaps he'd fallen asleep sitting up, craned over the dog-eared tome. With noon threatening in an hour or two, he tucked the book away and softly kissed his still-sleeping better half. A quick note advertising his destination, and he slipped away to wriggle into the undersuit of his MCA- no, Ace's MCA, really- for its ventilated coolness. A good number of waterskins, fastened about his waist, and a billowing cloak to shade him from the sun. A pack with rations and more water, and the Timonae set off.

The trip to the Faux's ruins out in the Demarian desert wasn't so bad with the aid of a guide, as it was hard to miss these days. He'd made the journey more than once, and though it was always risky to visit the Sand Mother, he'd made it there and back with no permanent harm done. The shuttle flight lulled him to a brief nap once more, but when it landed he felt refreshed and energetic. Smiling simply because he could, Aadzrian crossed the landing pad and felt the cool of the early night air. He hadn't overslept -too- much, it seemed.

His usual guide was nowhere to be found, and few people seemed interested in leading a Timonae out into the Sand Mother on vaguely stated purposes, but at last he encountered a scruffy kit who knew the place and would do it for a meal before and after. They shared a haunch of roast dribgib, smelling divine, and Aadzrian smiled wider at the sight of how much his young companion enjoyed the meal. It was almost as good as tasting it himself, since he'd grown accustomed to his brain's vagaries. Damage to... some nerve or another. Some doctor he would have been, huh? He couldn't even remember his own old injuries.

The silence between himself and his young guide seemed companionable as they went to rent a small ship, just big enough to carry themselves and a sand buggy to the approximate location. Evidently some of the local pilots had grown superstitious about flying over the crash site; an hour out by buggy would do for him, however. A bit of haggling and it was done, the soft whirr of the engines accompanying them out over the sands. The silence continued, and Aadzrian thought perhaps it was growing strained, but his guide stared out the window with single-minded eyes. Just when he ached to say something, anything for the simple sound of voices, their shuttle began to descend.

Fifteen more minutes- how much of life is spent waiting? Less of his, perhaps, than most people's- and they were rumbling through the sands. He was a fairly terrible driver and he knew it, but his nameless young friend couldn't drive and navigate at the same time, and so they put up with his overcorrecting steering and the shower of sand that cascaded over the vehicle from the tires. After a while he settled into a rhythm that almost made his turn behind the wheel palatable, and definitely made the sudden looming of the hill on the horizon a surprise.

"Te Faux," he told his still-silent guide as they climbed toward it. "Te bes' ship t'ere was in te uny-verse, at leas' to me. Te people who help me and ask not'ing in return. I do no t'inked I payed t'em back very wel. But ah, I has tried, and per-haps t'at counting for somet'ing, huh?"

No answer, but Aadzrian shrugged it off. He was fairly used to the bemused silence of people who thought he didn't make any sense, and he couldn't really blame them for it.

The two halted about ten feet from the spaceship, and the Timonae stood there quietly gazing. It was hard to believe anyone had survived the ride in that cradle of twisted metal, let alone everyone, but he knew whom to thank. His debt to her had really just risen over the months since he'd been freed. It seemed she probably wasn't coming back, this time, and again he mentally reviewed everything- anything he could have done differently- perhaps words he hadn't known how to say-

He was so distracted with that repetitive silent litany of shortcomings that he failed to hear his guide softly sneaking up behind, and the discharge of the stun gun directly into his back came as a complete surprise.

In unconsciousness, he dreamed for once of nothing.

But slowly, creeping in through his ears and fingertips, sensation slunk back in. The line between slumber and awareness eroded under the stealthy assault of things distantly perceived; the jolting feel of the ride (smoother than when he had driven), the low moan of the engine, a distant louder echo of more powerful machines. The impression of motion abruptly stopped, and after a moment Aadzrian perceived with dumb confusion that he was now lying down. Grit- sand. He was lying in the sand.

"Sorry," a voice said, and then the buggy's chugging motor retreated into the distance.

Tentatively, the Timonae opened his eyes. It was pitch-dark night now, probably nearing midnight. He was sheltered between two dunes, two completely unfamiliar dunes, presumably somewhere between New Alhira and the Faux. And his head felt as if someone had stuffed it full of cotton, then thrown him underwater- everything distorted, slow.

Slowly he sat up and checked his pockets. His wallet was still there with all his photos of everyone, thank Lin; the money was missing, but he hadn't had too much on him anyway. His PDA was also gone, which was a sore irritant. So much for calling someone for a ride. Well, he still had two feet, and he could climb onto them pretty easily, dust himself off and take stock of his surroundings.

Featureless desert, as far as he could tell. Luckily, the kit had been more after money than sadism, and had left him his compass. If he wasn't too far out, he could probably walk it. So first he knelt, closing his eyes, and softly entreated, "Lady, please weave me a path between these dangers, shielded from your sister's gaze." There was one single credchip left in one of his many pockets, and he flipped it into the air, burying it where it landed by way of small tribute.

Only then did he rise and pull out the compass, consulting it carefully. Angling himself to face New Alhira and taking a drink to wash the sand from his mouth, he set off walking.

The first hour or so was fairly pleasant. The night was clear and dry, and comfortably cool without the blazing twin suns to fry him. He set a quick pace, and covered enough ground that his footsteps disappeared in his wake as he crested a dune, and the next, and the next. But the sand tugged at his boots, trying to claim his feet, and the monotony began to grow tiresome.

Still, he walked. He walked, and walked, and walked. Only the nascent soreness in his limbs told him he'd made any progress at all; that and the fact that the mountains did loom nearer on the horizon. But he wasn't prone to giving up, and so he kept walking even as dawn began to streak the sky.

The soft light of the rising suns cast an orange-pink glow over the sands, and Aadzrian halted in his tracks. The featureless sea of sand, tinged faintly magenta, was luridly suggestive of that vision that dogged him so often lately. "The future can be changed," he said softly aloud to himself, surveying the sand. "I decide my own path."

Yet even knowing the flaws and failures of his second sight, he doubted his own words. He could never be content with a life that didn't have a purpose beyond his own gratification. He'd thought long and hard on it, ever since he was freed from Tomin Kora. And always his conclusion was the same: he had no special talents beyond entertaining and fighting. When would he accept who and what he was?

Shaking his head firmly, he set off again. Thoughts whirled in his brain, irritation at himself, annoyance with his guide- he tried to suppress it, after all the kit was hungry- and the befuddled wistful voice that whispered to him lately that maybe he really should go back to school and give it another try. None of that mattered half as much as actually getting back to New Alhira in one piece, and he couldn't allow his vigilance to lapse.

Still it seemed impossible to fully concentrate, with the blankness of wide empty sands spreading out in every direction. He had no real idea where he ws. Had Razor walked this way, some number of years before, intent on proving himself? Had Tirax, looking for him, laid down in the shadow of one of these dunes for a moment to write those messages?

"You are betraying the crew. You are betraying Ace. You are betraying me. I will shoot to kill if I have to."

He didn't need his PDA to remember that phrase. Even though they'd taken him back, forgiven him every time, he knew he hadn't been much good for the Faux. Maybe it was for the best if Ace didn't come back, if she took the Fox and left. For a moment, he let himself think that it might be for the best if he stopped walking, too. But reason quickly interceded, and with a snort he moved on.

After a while, the sun's continued progress upward began to soak him in sweat. He found himself pausing to drink often, the weight of his waterskins noticeably lessening. Everything was blinding, the twin suns drowning him in heat and light. Still, he followed his compass, only stopping for any length of time when his belly demanded it. His supplies might last him another full day of walking, if he was careful with the water.

But it seemed that wouldn't be necessary, as the mountains were looming closer and closer in the slanting afternoon light. The kit must have driven him much of the way back, perhaps wanting to give him a fighting chance to make it out. It was a small kindness he could appreciate. Relaxing as he realized safety was probably about another hour or two away, he slowed down and let himself walk at a more comfortable speed.

It was while he was sauntering the last quarter-mile or so up to that trail in the hills that he heard the rumbling. Slowly he turned his head back over his shoulder, reluctantly confirming- yes, that was the sound of desert bumbler hooves; yes, there were quite a few of them; yes, the sound was the polyphony of the whole herd charging in a panicked stampede his way.

Aadzrian ran. All thought disappeared into the rhythm, one foot, then the other, eating as much ground as they could between them. His head start seemed to be slowly eroding, the ominous thunder of their hooves waxing exponentially behind him. He felt as if he was breathing fire instead of air, waterskins jangling harshly at his waist, half full- half empty? Whatever- sand treacherous under his feet. If he could just get up into the hilly path, narrow and steep...

But the world was submerged in sound, the ground vibrating under his feet, and he felt a moment's bemusement at the thought he should die to a herd of panicked cows. Perhaps that was all he needed- he couldn't tell if it was desperation or sheer indignation that lent a sudden fleetness to his feet. Up ahead were the foothills- he probably didn't have time to make up so high the slope would dissuade them.

So instead, he put all his trust in Lin, and using his long running start, he leapt.

His long fingers closed around a low branch of one of the hardy, gnarled trees that grew here on the very edges of the desert. Frantically the Timonae scrambled up, higher and higher, and clung to the trunk itself like a panicked cat. He had only enough time to ensure he was firmly wrapped around the tree when the wave of bovine flesh hit.

It was an unholy cacophony of thudding hooves, shifting sand, and terrified, braying moos. The bumblers were intelligent enough to try and avoid the trees, but the sheer press of numbers meant his perch received more than one shuddering blow. Aadzrian hung on in quiet desperation, feeling the trunk wobble and hearing the crisp cracking of shattering wood with every collision.

But every river runs to an end, and living rivers sooner than most. Even if it felt like an eternity, Aadzrian knew it took them only bare minutes to pass onward into the hills, scattering where narrow trails wouldn't permit the mass stampede. He saw no sign of what was chasing them.

He shifted, just slightly, and felt the tree teeter with even that minor displacement of weight. Very slowly, the Timonae looked down. The trunk had been nearly bashed to splinters, but from several sides- that equality was all that kept it balanced. Any redistribution of his weight, counterbalancing the most damaged angle through sheer serendipity, might bring his perch crashing down.

"...Aaah, crap."

Hardly daring to breathe, he began to wiggle downward. Inch by inch, and then his boot caught a slick portion of bark; just a moment of helpless scrabbling before he fell.

The thud of sandy impact on his back momentarily jarred breath away, but he wordlessly celebrated the fact he'd been only ten feet up. This jubilation lasted for the half-second before the tree began to teeter, swaying with a great groan. Aadzrian swore softly, gathered up his bruised and exhausted body, and rolled to the side. A great wave of grit swept over him as the tree crashed down, one branch slapping him with stinging fervor, the rest safely avoided.

For a moment, the Timonae simply laid there, baking in the setting sun. Getting up seemed as ludicrous as everything else that had already happened today. But eventually he knew he had to get on with it, and so he wearily rolled to his feet and trudged upward through the foothills.

Somehow, without being fully aware of it, he traversed bridge and mountain and jungle in a quietly exhausted stupor. He ran out of water just before reaching the great waterfall, and stole a couple hours' sleep beside it before continuing on his way. He lost one boot to a pool of quicksand within the marshes, saved from worse losses by the aid of another low-hanging tree branch. That bare foot trod on a snake only half a mile from New Alhira, but after he pulled it free from his heel and examined it he recognized it as non-poisonous, so he merely threw it off into the trees.

And so he arrived on the evening of the next day, nearly 48 hours since this ill-advised trip had begun, limping filthy and worn, sore and exhausted onto Sanctuary Avenue. Knowing that Tirax would kill him otherwise, the very first thing he did was trudge into the hospital.

The nurse didn't understand his wild laughter when she proclaimed him extremely lucky and more or less fine, needing only rest and proper nourishment. He wasn't really able to explain it, either- she was right, after all. Lin had heeded his prayers and watched him every step of the way. But the nurse had made him strip into a hospital gown for the examination, and though he was bruised all over, aching and pained, even the snake bite- not a drop of blood had spilled on him.

And that night, when he stretched out on a hotel bed for a nap before forcing himself to rise and go to Quaquan, the extremely lucky man dreamt of blood again.