TEXT: © Palladium Books®
  James M.G. Cannon
  TM
  Volume One:
  The Cosmo-Knight
  TM
  Hammer of the Forge
  ®
  
  Take a journey with fellow human, Caleb Vulcan, across the 
  Rifts® Megaverse® to Phase World® and the Three Galaxies™. 
  Meet all sorts of alien beings, demons, and creatures that wield 
  magic and advanced technology, possess super abilities, and 
  guard dark secrets.
  A tale of cosmic adventure, alien worlds, and unlikely heroes 
  that will enthrall and captivate you.
  The Hammer of the Forge™ novels are inspired by the Rifts® 
  role-playing game, and Phase World® and the Three Galaxies 
  Dimension Book™ series.
  Hammer of the Forge™: The Cosmo-Knight™ is a novel 
  that spans Phase World® and the Three Galaxies™.
  Based on the Rifts® Role-Playing Game series.
  1
   
  
  Warning!
  Violence and the Supernatural
  The fictional Worlds of Rifts® are violent, deadly and filled 
  with supernatural monsters. Other dimensional beings often 
  referred to as “demons,” torment, stalk, and prey on humans. 
  Other alien life forms, monsters, gods and demigods, as well as 
  magic, insanity, and war are all elements in this book.
  Some parents may find the violence, magic and supernatural 
  elements of the novels and games inappropriate for young read-
  ers/players. We suggest parental discretion.
  Please note that none of us at Palladium Books® condone or 
  encourage the occult, the practice of magic, the use of drugs, or 
  violence.
  Please Note: Strong Language and Violence
  may be inappropriate for readers under the age of 17.
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  2
   
  
  Rifts
  ®
  Hammer of the Forge™
  Volume One:
  The Cosmo-Knight™
  James M.G. Cannon
  Edited by: Wayne Smith
  Proofreading: Alex Marciniszyn
  Other Rifts® Novels & Titles
  Sonic Boom – Book One in a Trilogy
  Deception’s Web – Book Two in a Trilogy
  Treacherous Awakenings – Book Three in a Trilogy
  Rifts® Anthology: Tales of the Chi-Town ‘Burbs™
  Rifts® Machinations of Doom™ – Graphic Novel & Sourcebook
  Rifts® Path of the Storm™ – Movie script
  Based on the worlds, characters, text, game rules, concepts and Mega-
  verse® of the Rifts® Role-Playing Game series created by Kevin Siembieda. 
  Phase World® and the Three Galaxies created by C.J. Carella.
  Palladium Books® Inc.
  www.palladiumbooks.com
  3
   
  
  4
  Published by:
  Palladium Books® Inc.
  39074 Webb Court
  Westland, MI 48185
  The cover is by Michael Leonard and depicts our heroic Cosmo-Knight.
  PDF Edition – November 2020
  Copyright © 2020 by Palladium Books Inc. for the collected work.
  1998-2006 © by Palladium Books as serialized in The Rifter®.
  All rights reserved, worldwide, under the Universal Copyright Convention. No part 
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  Printed in the United States of America
  ISBN-10: 1-57457-279-2
  ISBN-13: 978-1-57457-279-7
  Palladium Cat. No. 306
   
  
  Dedication
  To my parents, who always encouraged my imagination and love of sci-
  ence fiction.
  – James M.G. Cannon
  5
   
  
  6
  Chapter One
  Crucible of Fire
  Earth, 1967
  The desert stretched out before him, as far as his eyes could see. Waves 
  of heat rose up from the sandy ground, creating the illusion of moisture. In 
  the distance, the great blocks of mesas rose up from the earth, shattering the 
  horizon.
  Caleb pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator, and the dune buggy 
  responded. The engine roared, and the vehicle lurched forward, devouring 
  the desert floor under its heavy wheels. The wind whipped at Caleb’s short, 
  blood red hair, and particles of sand and dust were thrown against his gog-
  gles. Out here, in the silence and emptiness of the desert, Caleb felt at home. 
  The speed his buggy could reach was just the icing on the cake.
  He was trying to forget that in a mere two days he would be shipping out 
  for boot camp. And after that, he would go on to South East Asia. Vietnam. 
  Just like his dad, Caleb would get to fight the Red Menace in a foreign land.
  Caleb didn’t want to go. His father may have been gung-ho to go to Korea, 
  and felt the same way about his only son going to Vietnam, but Caleb saw 
  things differently. It wasn’t that Caleb hated war or liked Communism or 
  anything like that. He wasn’t some kind of deviant, for God’s sake. He be-
  lieved in America and what it stood for. His father was proof that the military 
  could better a man, and dad owed his education to his years of service. By 
  association, Caleb did as well.
  No, Caleb wasn’t like those cowards who ran to Canada, or those commies 
  who demonstrated against the war. He knew it was a good cause. He knew 
  Communism was evil, and had to be stopped. He just had no ambition to be 
  the one to stop it. Let someone else do it; if he had wanted to go to Vietnam, 
  he would have enlisted in the Marines, not waited to be drafted.
  But there really was no denying reality. Caleb Vulcan was going to war. 
  He would learn how to kill, and he would learn to be a warrior. It didn’t mat-
  ter that Caleb wanted to stay home, and race his cars, and maybe learn how 
  to fly.
  Well, there was one plus to service. He might get to fly.
  The mesas drew closer, and the engine of his dune buggy howled in ec-
  stasy has he let it have its head. The speedometer climbed into the red, and 
  Caleb smiled for a moment, careful not to swallow any sand. The buggy ate 
  the ground up and spat it out as he thundered across the landscape.
  The sky was so blue it hurt the eyes to look at it, and the sand was golden 
  brown. His buggy was bright red and gleaming under the layer of grit and 
  sand. He was eighteen years old and felt immortal, and though somewhere 
  in the back of his head he knew about death, he was sure it waited for him 
   
  
  in the jungles of Vietnam, not out in the desert, where he had raced so many 
  times before.
  He never saw the rock. Buried under sand for many years, only in recent 
  weeks had the wind worn away at the layer of earth covering it. Caleb didn’t 
  expect it to be there, and he was barreling along far too fast to see it in time 
  to correct his trajectory.
  The right front tire collided with the rock, and the wheel twisted under 
  Caleb’s hands. The buggy spun out of control, and Caleb’s grip came loose. 
  The buggy flipped over, spinning through the air. It came crashing down on 
  the ground, turned over, and rolled a few more feet before coming to rest on 
  the sandy plain.
  Caleb, miraculously, remained conscious. He felt blood pooling on his 
  cheeks, and he couldn’t see anything out of his left eye. His arms refused to 
  move, and his legs were immobile as well, no matter how hard he tried to 
  shift them. He twisted in his seat, trying to get some part of his body active, 
  to pull him from the wreck. Something in his gut gave out as he moved, and 
  Caleb felt the icy hand of unconsciousness reach out for him. He resisted it 
  though, knowing that if he faded, he would die.
  But his body could not be denied. Roughly used, it needed to repair itself. 
  It could not do so if Caleb’s brain was screaming in pain. As the shock settled 
  into him, he slipped out of consciousness. The last thing his mind registered 
  as he went under was the smell of leaking gasoline.
  Mercifully, he never saw or felt the explosion.
  ____________________
  Caleb opened his eyes carefully, the memory of the crash still with him. 
  His eyes – both of them – registered a field of darkness surrounding him, a 
  darkness as black as pitch. A pool of light lay across his body, illuminating 
  his small, human form. He expected to see that body shattered and broken.
  He was whole.
  “Oh Jesus,” he whispered, and his voiced echoed in the darkness. “I’m 
  dead.” He recoiled from his own words, shivering as they rebounded all 
  around him.
  “No, not yet,” came a rich, authoritative voice, reverberating out of the 
  black. It was a woman’s voice. Caleb jumped, his eyes wide with alarm. 
  He couldnot see the speaker, though it sounded as if whoever it was stood 
  nearby.
  “Who... who are you?” A sudden thought occurred to him. “God?”
  There was slight chuckle. A woman’s laugh, from behind him. Caleb 
  whirled, but the dark was as impenetrable there as it was before him.
  “No, we are not your God, Caleb Vulcan,” the voice said. “Though there 
  are many who do pray to us, we have never claimed divinity.”
  7
   
  
  8
  Caleb cautiously turned to face the voice again. He was surprised to see 
  a sparkling light forming in the void, like a single star in the sky. As he 
  watched, open mouthed, the light expanded, growing and flickering dozens 
  of colors as it did so.
  Caleb almost found his voice just as the light flared up, forming a huge, 
  generous face. Caleb’s eyes narrowed against the brilliance, and all around 
  him he could see tongues of flame flare, taking on the shapes of people, driv-
  ing the darkness away. He raised a hand to his brow, and fought against the 
  panic that threatened to engulf him.
  “Then what are you?” Caleb demanded with as much strength as he could 
  muster.
  “We are the Forge of the Cosmos,” the face said, smiling as it did so. 
  Somehow, that smile calmed Caleb, and spoke to a part of him hidden away, 
  deep within his soul. “Millennia ago we were created to guard the galaxies 
  from the depredations of evil souls, those who would exploit the nature of the 
  cosmos and her children.”
  Caleb’s hand fell away from his face, unconsciously, and his eyes wid-
  ened, taking in all the light that surrounded him.
  “To that end, Caleb Vulcan, we search the length and breadth of the Uni-
  verse for souls with the proper balance, the desire to do good. When we find 
  a being worthy of the honor, we offer them a place in the ranks of the most 
  sacred order of the cosmos. The Cosmic Knights.”
  Caleb could not believe what he was hearing. Yet, part of him wanted to, 
  a part of him that was young and old at the same time, a Caleb that had once 
  thrilled to the stories of Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers and Isaac Asimov, a 
  Caleb that had died with his mother, a Caleb who had not survived the cold 
  pragmatism of his father. A Caleb that longed to fly.
  “We have observed you for many years, Caleb Vulcan, and we have de-
  termined that within you beats the heart of a hero. We have come to offer you 
  the honor and curse of our power. We would make you one of our Knights.
  “Before you accept, Caleb Vulcan, know that a life as our servant is not an 
  easy one. You will be called upon to perform dauntless tasks and face dan-
  gers that may prove insurmountable. You will be given vast and inestimable 
  might, but know that such power corrupts, and we do not tolerate corruption. 
  You will walk a narrow path, Caleb Vulcan, and though your efforts may 
  bring happiness and prosperity to countless millions, know that such happi-
  ness will forever be denied you. For above all, Caleb Vulcan, more important 
  than your life or loves, is the duty, the pact. To defend the light, and never let 
  it fall into darkness.
  “Should you join us, Caleb Vulcan, you will surf the stars and visit planets 
  and peoples never dreamed of by your brethren. But you will also face treach-
  ery, horror, and the razor thin line between good and evil. This is not an easy 
  thing we ask of you, Caleb Vulcan.”
   
  
  9
  Caleb stood stock still for a few moments, letting the words settle into 
  his brain and heart. He looked away from the face, and he saw the flames 
  dimming one by one, and the darkness flowed back like a wave. He spun on 
  his heals and took a step towards the solemn, glowing visage of the Cosmic 
  Forge.
  “Take me,” he rasped. “Make me one of you.” There was no hesitation in 
  his voice, no anger, no fear. Caleb Vulcan saw his opportunity to fly, and he 
  grabbed it with both hands. That child that had awakened within him would 
  not let him do otherwise.
  The huge face smiled once again, and then the features collapsed, leaving 
  a ball of light spinning in the darkness. Caleb had a moment of confusion, 
  and then a ray of energy crackled from the globe, reaching out and slamming 
  into him. The energy caressed his body, tracing every contour, etching every 
  muscle and the bone beneath. As Caleb writhed in a mixture of ecstasy and 
  agony, a dozen more shafts of light exploded from the globe and hammered 
  into him, driving him to one knee. He cried out a word that even he could not 
  understand, and raised his hands up in a gesture of supplication. The globe 
  unleashed all of its energy, and Caleb was lost within an undulating wave of 
  scintillating light. The light washed over him, through him, inundating him in 
  its power. It sang to him as it came into him, a wordless melody that caught 
  his heart and trapped it with bonds of servitude and duty. His every cell cried 
  out as the energy swallowed him whole, molecule by molecule.
  The light pierced his mind, and a window opened within him, a window 
  that looked into the future. His future.
  He saw a man in green, with a wolf’s face and a shimmering ax held in one 
  claw-like hand. There was a towering woman in silver, and she was kissing 
  Caleb on the forehead. A giant of metal and flesh bellowed as it shattered a 
  building with one swipe of its arm. A hive of otherworldly creatures bubbled 
  over a man of red steel, drowning him in bodies. A starship skimmed the 
  edges of a black hole, daring destruction on a sacred mission. Beneath the 
  sea, beneath light and air, Caleb held a blade of fire that would not extinguish, 
  and used it against a tentacled monstrosity that devoured whales and subma-
  rines as Caleb wrestled it. And there, Caleb stood in chains, the marks of his 
  rank stripped from him, his eyes dead and weary. A thin boned man with the 
  ears of an Elf laughed, and his fine fingered hands closed about the throat of 
  Caleb’s wife. An army of mechanical creatures tore apart a world, piece by 
  piece, while Caleb watched immobile. He saw all those things and more as 
  the energy of the Forge washed over him, inundated him, transformed him.
  It was an eternity before the wave receded, leaving Caleb exhausted and 
  spent in a pool of light, surrounded by darkness. Shakily, he drew himself 
  up to his full height. Etched across his psyche was the knowledge of what 
  he had become. No more was Caleb Vulcan a child of man. Now he be-
  longed to the stars, and everything they shone upon. The images, the flashes 
   
  
  of his possible futures, were buried deep, leaving only impressions of dread 
  and elation.
  His eyes flashed with crimson light, and a suit of metallic red armor 
  formed around him, encasing him in a protective sheath. Like a second skin, 
  the armor flowed over him, bonding with him. It would come whenever he 
  called it now, no matter where or when he was. The armor was a part of him, 
  a symbol of his power and his station.
  His mind’s eye recognized the ability to craft a weapon, but Caleb decided 
  to wait on that. Now, he wanted to test his newfound powers, to learn his 
  strengths and weaknesses. Around him, the darkness faded, and the pool of 
  light winked out of existence.
  Caleb Vulcan now hung in space, and the vast starfield of the cosmos 
  blinked and flickered before him. Some of those stars were planets, and Caleb 
  knew that civilizations greater than Earth’s thrived upon their alien shores.
  Caleb concentrated, centering his power within himself, and after a short 
  while his eyes, hidden under the helm of office, flashed red again, and Caleb 
  transformed into a crimson stream of light that rocketed forward, traversing 
  the void, seeking the stars.
  And adventure.
  ____________________
  Eventually, exhausted, Caleb returned to a corporeal form. He shifted out 
  of his energy form only a few hundred kilometers from a huge planetary 
  mass that dominated his vision. The bright blue of the planet’s atmosphere 
  could not hide the golden tan of its primarily sandy surface. From his vantage 
  point – high up in the void of space, still too far away to be sucked in by the 
  planet’s gravitational pull – he could make out a series of huge rivers criss-
  crossing the world’s equator. Judging by their size, the “rivers” were wider 
  than the Mediterranean Sea, though Caleb could only guess at their depth.
  Intrigued, he flew towards the planet and pierced its atmospheric coating. 
  Immediately he felt heavier, more solid, as well as the intense heat of his 
  entry as his small form barreled through the ionosphere and he plummeted 
  earthward. His metallic red armor shimmered and glowed, and he felt a mi-
  nor warmth, almost comforting after the cold of space. He knew he should 
  be burning up into little more than a cinder, but it seemed whatever power 
  enabled him to ply the spaceways unaided also made him impervious to the 
  heat of entry.
  And then – almost too quickly – he burst out into sky, glowing like a 
  star. He laughed out loud, and marveled at how metallic and harsh his voice 
  sounded. His body cooled, and he dove through cloud banks, burning them 
  away into steam and causing droplets of water to condense on his metallic 
  red armor.
  10
   
  
  So this was what it meant to fly like the birds. Free, unfettered by earthly 
  laws or physics, he could suspend his own body above the earth simply by 
  concentrating. And just as, in space, he could match the speed of light, here 
  in an atmosphere he could fly faster than any simple jet. He laughed again, 
  and unleashed his full power, exploding through the air in an incredible burst 
  of speed. He blinked, and he was hundreds of miles away from his starting 
  position.
  He drew to a halt, and hovered in a standing position high above the earth. 
  Overhead, only a few kilometers away, was the cold vacuum of space. Be-
  low, on the planet’s surface, adventure beckoned.
  Caleb Vulcan began to realize just how much power was at his disposal, 
  and he remembered the words of the Forge, warning him of the dangers of 
  corruption. He forced himself to relax. There was a difference between test-
  ing one’s limits and fooling around. Perhaps it was time to explore this world, 
  and see if there was anyone in need of help.
  That was his purpose, he recalled. To protect. To rage against the dying 
  of the light.
  A moment later he dropped like a stone from the sky. He slowed as he 
  came close to the actual ground, and dropped lightly amidst the dust and 
  rocks, his red boots kicking up puffs of the tiny flakes.
  Another mental command sent his armor away, disappearing in a flash of 
  light. Caleb Vulcan stood alone on the vast plain of a desert world, breath-
  ing foreign air and looking out on an alien landscape. He was disappointed 
  to find it looked quite a bit like the Arizona desert he grew up playing in. He 
  shrugged, deciding that not every planet he would visit needed to be too dif-
  ferent from Earth.
  He checked himself over, and to his surprise, saw that not only did he look 
  the same – medium height and build, short blood red hair – but he wore the 
  exact outfit that he put on before taking his buggy out. Dark jeans, white jer-
  sey, and cowboy boots. More surprising was that he still retained his wallet, 
  keys, pocket knife, handkerchief and goggles. He suddenly wished he had 
  put tennis shoes on that morning instead of his boots. Caleb shrugged. It was 
  nothing he could alter, so it was best to just accept it and deal with it.
  He picked a direction at random and began to walk.
  In a short while, as the sun began to pummel him, and his feet twisted in 
  the boots designed for riding, not walking, Caleb began to regret traveling 
  on the ground. It would be so much easier and more comfortable to take to 
  the air, where the armor would protect him and the flight would free him. 
  But again, he reminded himself of the Forge’s admonition, and he decided to 
  continue walking.
  At last, as his forearms and face were beginning to redden, and he could 
  feel the blisters painfully developing on his feet, he topped a rocky rise to 
  find a road in the distance. Not much of one, to be sure; it wasn’t much more 
  11
   
  
  than an area of ground where the red sand had been brushed away, but its 
  very existence hinted at some sort of intelligent life. Despite his discomforts, 
  Caleb’s pulse quickened at the very thought. He was going to be the first hu-
  man being to encounter an alien – the idea fired his imagination and caused 
  him to redouble his speed.
  He reached the road in moments, and up close it appeared to be much 
  as Caleb had thought. Simple, but effective. He could just make out wheel 
  impressions in the dry dust of the road. It looked like they might have been 
  made by some kind of tracked vehicle, but Caleb couldn’t be sure. The wind 
  had damaged the sign too much.
  Caleb began to follow the road, rubbing at his raw forearms unconscious-
  ly. The sun was doing a terrible job on his fair skin. He resisted the tempta-
  tion to suit up. Truth be known, Caleb wasn’t sure what would constitute 
  an abuse of power, but having been raised by a very strict military man and 
  devout Lutheran, Caleb felt he should toe the line as close as he could. Better 
  to be too careful than too frivolous.
  Such thoughts caused him to reflect momentarily upon his father. Caleb 
  knew he should be missing the man, but he did not. He was glad to be gone 
  from under his father’s shadow.
  Suddenly, his ears picked up the whine of an engine. He looked back, and 
  saw a cloud of dust whipping about some kind of metallic vehicle. The ma-
  chine was speeding along the road, and it looked like it would reach Caleb in 
  moments. Caleb hopped off the road and stuck his thumb out. There was no 
  telling if aliens picked up hitchhikers, but he was about to find out.
  The machine roared past him, the engine screaming, dust flying up in its 
  wake and finding its way into Caleb’s mouth and nose. His goggles were 
  coated with a layer of the stuff. Yet Caleb still caught a glimpse of the ve-
  hicle.
  It was long, and narrow, shaped like an arrowhead. It moved on two 
  wheels, much like a motorcycle, and a dome of glass, reminiscent of a fighter 
  jet’s cockpit, stretched out on top of the vehicle. The glass of the cockpit was 
  too dark for Caleb to make out the driver’s features, but Caleb was elated 
  nonetheless. He had just seen his first alien.
  Caleb hopped up and down. “Woohoo!” he shouted, and got a mouth full 
  of dust. It took a moment for him to remember that he was still stranded in the 
  desert. “Oh well,” he shrugged. “If it gets too bad, I can just fly outta here.”
  Wiping the dust from his face with his shirt, he continued his march. 
  Somehow, the sun seemed less harsh, and the boots less painful.
  It was a good fifteen minutes later that he saw another cloud of dust on the 
  horizon, heading toward him. Curious, Caleb again left the road and stuck his 
  thumb into the air.
  As he waited, the vehicle became more distinct. It was clearly more bulky 
  than the other car, and moved more slowly. Yet it still devoured the road 
  12
   
  
  at an impressive clip. Gradually, Caleb made out the shape and character 
  of the machine. It looked like a Mack truck. It had a huge cab, with a dark 
  glass windshield, and a snub nose. Enormous tracked wheels churned up the 
  surface of the road. A low, flat trailer stretched out behind the cab, and Caleb 
  could see white, metallic boxes stacked upon it.
  His second alien looked so... Earthlike. Caleb felt the disappointment well 
  up in his chest, but forced it down. He stood his ground and waited. Perhaps 
  the driver would look more alien than his truck.
  Caleb was surprised when the truck slowed down as it approached him, 
  and drew to a complete halt as it came parallel with where he stood. With a 
  hiss, the driver’s side door lifted open. Caleb sucked in a breath, preparing 
  himself for some hideous, tentacled, multi-eyed creature out of Haggard or 
  Raymond. But again Caleb felt the cold stab of disappointment.
  Sitting in the cab was a grizzled old man – a grizzled old human. He 
  looked like any of a half dozen older men from home, his face raw from a 
  life outdoors, his hair white and slicked back, a pair of spectacles perched on 
  his blunt nose. His weathered cheeks were marred by several days of stubble. 
  He didn’t wear a silvery suit with a ray gun belted at his side, but rather a 
  drab, gray jumpsuit. The collar was open, and Caleb could see the man’s red 
  undershirt.
  The man looked at him with an expression halfway between a smile and 
  a grimace. He spoke, loudly, but whatever tongue he used was unintelligible 
  to Caleb. It didn’t sound like a language from Earth. Caleb brightened. “I’m 
  sorry,” he said, “I don’t understand you.”
  The man shook his head. “Didn’t mean to throw ya, kid,” the man said in 
  passable English. Caleb’s heart dropped. He seemed to have an odd accent, 
  but he clearly spoke English. “Didn’t realize ya didn’t know T-One. Any-
  ways, you look like you’re in a spot of trouble.”
  Caleb nodded. “Yeah, my... uh... buggy flipped on me out in the desert. 
  I’ve been walking for hours... lost my way. I was trying to get to town...”
  The man laughed, a short, harsh bark. “I’ll say ya got lost. Yer headed the 
  wrong way. But ya are in luck; Misery is where I’m headed. Hop in. I’ll give 
  ya a lift.”
  Caleb’s sigh of relief was heartfelt. “Thank you.”
  There was another hiss as the passenger side door opened, and Caleb 
  jogged around the front of the truck to climb into the cab. He groaned as he 
  settled into the plush seat, stretching his long legs out before him under the 
  dash. The man chuckled again, and stuck out his paw. Caleb took it. “Caleb 
  Vulcan,” he said.
  “Rik Nybek,” the man said. His grip was strong, and he had the hand of 
  a workman. As it turned out, Nybek was a farmer, a man of the earth. Or so 
  Caleb at first assumed; in truth, Nybek did not grow crops, he farmed water. 
  His “plantation” in the desert consisted of huge, automated units that could 
  13
   
  
  drill deep into the earth, beneath the water table, into underground aquifers 
  or streams, to gather water for the community of Misery, and the real farm-
  ers, those who grew food through irrigating their crops with Nybek’s water. 
  Nybek wasn’t the only water farmer in the area, but he was one of the most 
  successful.
  Caleb was surprised and strangely reassured by Nybek’s unusual narra-
  tive. Caleb had taken the man for a simple trucker, automatically categorizing 
  him with labels he had learned on Earth. Nybek looked like just another red-
  neck drinking down at Munden’s Pub, but he was so much more than that. An 
  alien who looked human, who seemed normal, but had a most extraordinary 
  job. Farming water? Caleb’s initial disappointment at encountering Nybek 
  faded rapidly.
  And then he saw Misery.
  The town appeared on the horizon quickly, emerging out of the haze of 
  dust and afternoon sunlight as if by magic. The town itself was relatively 
  unimpressive; composed of a number of low buildings fashioned out of white 
  clay and bricks, spread out over a wide area. A high wall, built from the 
  same material as the buildings, encircled the town, and the road led up to a 
  heavy wooden gate. Caleb had seen shanty towns on Earth that looked more 
  substantial than Misery, but the lesson of Rik Nybek stayed with him, and 
  he decided not to pass judgment until after he’d had a chance to look at the 
  place up close.
  His reserve was justified, Caleb felt, as Nybek’s truck bounced along the 
  road and through the gate into town. For, leaning against the wall by the gate, 
  smoking a cigarette of some kind, was a ten foot tall bipedal lizard, clad in a 
  battered suit of armor, with shimmering copper skin and golden eyes, and a 
  whipcord tail lashing against the wall.
  An alien.
  Caleb’s heart began to pound within his chest, and he was sure Nybek 
  could hear the organ pumping loudly. Now Caleb knew – he knew – he was 
  on the greatest adventure anyone had ever witnessed.
  Aliens.
  What else did Misery hold?
  14
   
  
  Chapter Two
  Surrounded by the Void
  The seven rings that circle the great gas giant Garouk-9 are mainly com-
  posed of particles of ice and rock. “Particles” is a word that gives only the 
  vaguest sense of the rings, though, as the objects vary in size from the tiniest 
  of pebbles to massive asteroids several miles in diameter. Garouk-9 itself 
  possesses no native sentient life, though giant amoebae-like creatures known 
  as Tuscuns navigate through the chlorine rich atmosphere of the planet, float-
  ing on wind currents and deriving sustenance from the clouds themselves. It 
  is within the rings circling the globe that a world-hopper will find the people 
  of Garouk-9. The icesteroids and asteroids that circle the planet are rich in 
  minerals, particularly titanium, nickel, and durnium. Mining interests from 
  within the Juktos System maintain stations near Garouk-9, and send agents 
  into the rings to plunder their resources. A number of independent prospec-
  tors have also made the rings their home, and many derive a comfortable 
  living from the orbital mines. Life here can be dangerous, however, because 
  the rings also provide excellent hiding places for smugglers and marauders...
  – Excerpt from Travelogues of a Journeyman, by Fraktyn Quint
  A black and gray tub of steel slowly navigated its way through the maze 
  of twirling rock that served as the sixth ring of Garouk-9. The ship bore no 
  distinguishing markings, and to all appearances seemed to be unremarkable 
  save for a few blaster burns across its dorsal surface. A casual observer would 
  have assumed the ship to be just another prospecting vessel, most likely one 
  of the independent operators in the ring, unaffiliated with Drasco Inc., Bhu-
  drin, or any of the other mining conglomerates. A casual observer would be 
  in error.
  A thousand meters away from the ship, keeping a careful watch on the 
  vessel’s progress, stood a single humanoid, perching upon a large icesteroid. 
  The figure was physically impressive; standing half again as tall as a human 
  being, he was sheathed in a skin tight suit of metallic green armor that reflect-
  ed brightly off the ice beneath his feet. Green eyes glittered beneath a great 
  helm molded to fit his wolfish face, and in his claw-like hands he cradled 
  a great battle-axe made of the same peculiar metal as his armor. His name 
  among humans was Lothar, a close approximation of his birth name. He was 
  a Wulfen, one of those canine-like humanoids who had spread throughout 
  the Three Galaxies. More than that, however, Lothar was a Knight of the 
  Cosmic Forge.
  He watched as the black and gray ship weaved through the ring. The ship 
  was shaped like a bird of prey, with wings outstretched and large ion cannons 
  mounted on the belly, where a bird’s talons might have been. Those cannons, 
  15
   
  
  Lothar knew, had sent at least a dozen merchant vessels spinning into the 
  void, and the captain of that ship was a blackguard notorious throughout the 
  Juktos system and its closest neighbors. His name was Elias Harkonnen, an 
  Elven pirate as adept with a blaster or a blade as he was behind the controls 
  of his starship, the Raptor.
  Harkonnen’s raids had caused the deaths of three thousand and sixty-four 
  sentients to date. Lothar had been unable to halt the last attack, against a 
  Titanian supply ship named Regis, and the Raptor made its escape while 
  Lothar surveyed the damage to the Regis. Using the esoteric skills of his 
  order, Lothar was able to trail the Raptor through the trackless void of space 
  to the Juktos system, and the gas giant Garouk-9. The rings created a net of 
  cosmic “static” that fouled Lothar’s enhanced senses, and he lost the Raptor 
  within the maze of rock and ice. Two days of careful searching and prudent 
  use of his tracking ability had eventually led him to the icesteroid upon which 
  Lothar now stood, observing the Raptor as it approached one of the larger as-
  teroids, knotted and pitted by mines strung out decades ago, that filled several 
  cubic kilometers of space.
  The Raptor slowly drew closer to the asteroid, and Lothar watched, unsur-
  prised, as a doorway set within the rock of the asteroid scissored open, and 
  the marauder slipped within its stony bosom.
  Lothar nodded to himself, his suspicions confirmed. When he had first lost 
  the ship within the confines of the rings, Lothar assumed that the pirates pos-
  sessed some sort of hidden base inside the circle of asteroids. He was slightly 
  surprised at the size of the facility, but its existence merely confirmed his 
  suspicions.
  Lothar stepped off the icesteroid and glided through space in the direc-
  tion of the hidden base, holding the axe out before him. The same cosmic 
  “static” that interfered with Lothar’s ability to track the starship through the 
  rings obscured his own presence in the void. He did not doubt that the pirate 
  stronghold possessed a powerful sensor array, probably equipped to sniff out 
  CCW law-dogs and hunter ships, but entirely unsuited to separating the de-
  bris from the ring apart from human or humanoid figures hovering outside 
  their front door.
  In a matter of moments, Lothar crossed the distance to the massive aster-
  oid, ducking past an errant icesteroid that nearly cleaved through his helm. 
  He was all too aware of the limitations of the Cosmic Forge’s blessings. His 
  body was rendered immune to even the intense heat of the stars, making him 
  invulnerable to the common energy weapons most civilizations of the Three 
  Galaxies used for warfare and defense. But a bullet from a grav rifle or rail 
  gun could penetrate even the fabled armor of the Cosmo-Knights, and an 
  icesteroid that massed several thousand kilos could squash him like a bug.
  Lothar skimmed the surface of the huge asteroid concealing the Raptor 
  and her crew. His unerring sense of direction guided him to the massive door 
  16
   
  
  incised into the asteroid’s surface. He smiled to himself, forced to admire the 
  ingenuity of the pirates. Their hideaway was well concealed; even knowing 
  where to look and what to look for, Lothar found it difficult to locate the 
  edges of the door. The surface of the portal was plated with the skin of the as-
  teroid itself, while the perimeters were cunningly hidden beneath the natural 
  protuberances and projections of the asteroid. When he finally located it, he 
  measured its dimensions with his eyes. The door stood twenty meters tall and 
  twenty meters wide, roughly square shaped, and was large enough to allow 
  entry or exit to two ships at a time, with millimeters to spare.
  Lothar pressed one metal-skinned hand against the surface of the door. 
  Even through several centimeters of rock and the green metal of his gauntlet, 
  he felt the quiet hum of machinery. Again he smiled to himself, and pulled 
  back from the door. Taking his double-bladed axe in a two handed grip, he 
  summoned up the cosmic fire within his breast and cut loose with a titanic 
  blow, splitting open the camouflaged exterior of the door and revealing the 
  dull metallic surface of the door itself. Lothar quickly unleashed a second 
  shattering attack, slicing through the metal with an explosion of green sparks. 
  He stepped back to admire his handiwork, and, satisfied, extended the axe be-
  fore him. A flash of emerald energy flared from the head of the axe and con-
  nected with the door, burning through the weakened section in a heartbeat. 
  Lothar brushed past it into the base, his eyes flashing green beneath his helm, 
  his axe held ready to attack.
  Beyond the door lay a gigantic, airless, hollowed out pocket, carved from 
  the middle of the asteroid to provide the marauders with a docking bay im-
  possible to find through normal means. Lothar was momentarily impressed 
  with Harkonnen’s ingenuity and ambition, but then he reasoned that it was 
  more likely that the pirate had stumbled across the hiding place than that he 
  fashioned it himself.
  Three hundred meters inside the chamber, the Raptor had attached itself to 
  the inner wall, connected by snaking umbilicals and at least three airlock tun-
  nels that extended from the asteroid wall to fasten on to the Raptor. Though 
  the chamber held more than enough space for a dozen ships, the only facili-
  ties Lothar could discern were those servicing the Raptor.
  As he surveyed the scene, two dull black metal spheres detached from the 
  walls of the chamber and glided through the emptiness towards him. Lothar 
  hefted his axe in his hands and watched them come. He recognized their 
  make, if not their type. Naruni war-drones: automated machines better ar-
  mored than most starships, and packing enough firepower to level a small 
  moon.
  Business must have been very good for Harkonnen. Naruni weaponry was 
  never cheap.
  Several plates opened up on each of the drones, revealing the plasma pro-
  jectors, mini-missile launchers, grav guns, laser cannons, and whatever else 
  17
   
  
  the Naruni techno-engineers could pack into the spheres. Lothar grinned be-
  neath his helm. He loved a challenge.
  As energy lanced towards him from the spheres, Lothar dropped thirty 
  meters and threw his axe at the drone to his left. The axe ripped through 
  the plates of the drone, tearing through its ventral hemisphere and hopefully 
  shredding something critical. At the same time, Lothar summoned up the en-
  ergy of the Forge within him, and sent emerald beams of light from his eyes 
  to slam into the second drone.
  The second drone exploded in a shower of fire, spectacularly and silently, 
  extinguished almost as soon as it erupted.
  The axe boomeranged back to Lothar’s hand. Simultaneously, the first 
  drone, damaged but still functioning, reoriented its weapon systems, and 
  launched a dozen missiles at Lothar. He ducked past the volley, and flew 
  across the chamber towards where the Raptor clung to the side of the aster-
  oid, venting gases into space. He didn’t need to check to know the missiles 
  followed.
  The lead missiles reached Lothar just as he drew close to the Raptor. They 
  slammed into him and detonated, sending him tumbling through the void to 
  smash against the Raptor’s hull. Lothar grunted in surprise and pain, but his 
  armor held. In another moment, the rest of the volley exploded around him, 
  and he instinctively curled up into a ball as the silent explosions rocked him 
  and the side of the Raptor where he stood.
  Smoke and debris hung in a cloud around Lothar, but his green eyes 
  pierced the haze and assessed the damage. His armor was burnt and scarred 
  by the attack, but the brunt of the damage had been inflicted on the Raptor. 
  Lothar’s gamble paid off; the size of the Raptor served to confuse the mis-
  siles and enabled him to escape a fiery and brutal death.
  He could see the war-drone limp towards the Raptor, trailing smoke and 
  lit up with warning lights. Its weapon systems homed in on Lothar and pre-
  pared to fire. He allowed himself a brief, rueful grin. He had hoped Harkon-
  nen would have programmed the drones not to fire upon the Raptor, but it 
  seemed that the marauder either had not anticipated the possibility, or was 
  more ruthless than Lothar at first assumed.
  Once more he summoned up the fires of the Cosmic Forge, and unleashed 
  them in a devastating beam from his eyes. The energy sliced through the 
  drone, destroying it in an instant. Lothar turned away and flew towards the 
  airlocks that led into the station proper. As he did, he noticed the Raptor’s 
  running lights suddenly ignited. He drew to a halt, and again channeled the 
  fires of the Forge into a destructive beam that spiraled towards the Raptor’s 
  engines, and connected with a soundless crunch.
  The Raptor would not be going anywhere for quite some time.
  However, Lothar’s energy reserves were seriously depleted, and he would 
  not be able to summon up another energy blast of such magnitude in the near 
  18
   
  
  future. If Harkonnen, by some miracle, managed to get his ship underway, 
  Lothar would be hard pressed to stop him.
  With two swipes of his axe, Lothar opened up one of the airlocks, and 
  surged into the base. Behind him, the automatic systems sealed the tear he 
  had carved through the door, while before him stretched a cargo hold stacked 
  high with crates of booty. The ceiling was ten meters overhead, though a 
  catwalk was bolted to the wall about halfway up it. Lothar spotted three exits 
  in his first glance, but had little time to explore further. Three of the pirates 
  stood five meters away; a trio of Naterreris clad in patchwork suits of battle 
  armor decorated with clan tattoos. They had popped open one of the crates, 
  and two of them were lugging out short, four-barreled rifles with heavy box 
  magazines situated in front of the triggers. The third pirate covered them 
  with his plasma rifle, knowing full well that the weapon was useless against 
  the Cosmo-Knight. Lothar didn’t recognize the hardware the pirates had just 
  produced, but he was certain he didn’t want to find out what they could do.
  “Stand down and surrender,” Lothar barked. “I am authorized to use lethal 
  force against you. Do not force me to kill you.”
  The shark-like aliens ignored him, and the duo with the heavy weapons 
  opened fire on Lothar. The weapons coughed, and two volleys of micro-mis-
  siles blasted towards him. The Wulfen heaved his axe with a smooth snap of 
  his shoulder, and leapt into the air at the same moment. The micro-missiles 
  hurtled harmlessly beneath him, only to connect with the far wall of the hold 
  with a terrific boom that shook the entire room.
  Lothar’s axe decapitated one of the pirates as it passed them, and the one 
  with the plasma rifle dropped to the ground with a scream. His one surviving 
  companion reoriented his heavy rifle, but was knocked off his feet by Lo-
  thar’s eyebeams, weaker than the ones he had used on the drones, but more 
  than enough to incapacitate the pirate.
  Lothar dropped to the ground beside the Naterreri who lay on the floor, 
  holding his head and shuddering in fear. The Knight grabbed his shoulder 
  in one hand and lifted the alien easily. The axe flew back to his hand and 
  Lothar caught it automatically. His eyes glowed balefully from beneath his 
  helm. “Where is Harkonnen?” he demanded. The fish-eyes blinked vapidly 
  in Lothar’s face. The poor fool was too frightened to talk. Lothar threw him 
  to the ground in disgust.
  “Hello!” a voice from above called out. “Looking for me?”
  Lothar stepped back and raised his head. Above him, standing on the cat-
  walk that circled the room, stood Elias Harkonnen. The Elf was tall, angular, 
  and thin, clad in a form-fitting, black and red suit of Imperial Legionnaire’s 
  armor, with a crimson skullcap on his head. A carefully trimmed black goatee 
  hid his sharp chin, and his eyes were an opaque white that seemed almost to 
  glow.
  Lothar stood aghast.
  19
   
  
  “Surprised?” Elias asked rhetorically. “Didn’t know I was in the Legion, 
  did you? Then I’ll wager you’re unaware that I served with the Invincible 
  Guard.”
  “That won’t stop me from bringing you in, Harkonnen,” Lothar growled. 
  Privately, he was not so sure. The Transgalactic Empire was a blight upon the 
  Three Galaxies, an expansive and vicious nation founded by a bloodthirsty 
  race of beings known as the Kreeghor, and dedicated to the subjugation of 
  all the sentients in the galaxy. The Kreeghor had once served as slaves to 
  the masters of bio-wizardry, the Splugorth, and they had learned enough se-
  crets from their former masters to create soldiers of frightening power and 
  abilities. Dubbed the “Invincible Guardsmen,” these superhumanly powerful 
  warriors were the elite of the Empire’s vast armies. Supposedly, they were 
  treated lavishly, rewarded for their service with wealth and power unimagi-
  nable in civilized space. There were deserters, of course, but those who left 
  the bosom of the Empire willingly often did so because the Empire itself did 
  not give them enough opportunities to exercise their martial prowess, and to 
  satisfy their sadistic appetites.
  If Elias Harkonnen was one of those creatures, then Lothar had to destroy 
  him. Quickly and cleanly, if possible.
  If possible.
  “That is what the last of your kind said to me, before I handed him his 
  lungs.” The Elf smiled, and brandished a small, oblong object in his right 
  hand. Lothar instinctively tensed, but no attack came. “I recognize you, Lo-
  thar of Motherhome. You’re fairly well known in this sector of space. In fact, 
  I’ve been expecting you for some time now. What kept you?”
  Lothar eyed Harkonnen carefully. What game was he playing? Did the Elf 
  hope to distract him with senseless chatter?
  “I had to deal with a Manarr serial killer on Torshin,” Lothar said. He 
  hefted the axe in his hands. “I’m afraid he took priority... although now I’m 
  beginning to think I should have taken care of you first.”
  “I think so, too,” Harkonnen laughed. He brandished the oblong object in 
  his hand again. “Normally, I would stay and kill you personally, but to tell 
  you the truth, I’ve had something of a bad day. So, I’m going to leave early.” 
  He pressed a button on the device, and the lights in the cargo hold immedi-
  ately dimmed.
  “Self-destruct activated,” a mechanical voice droned from a hidden PA 
  system. “Seven minutes until detonation.” The voice then began to count 
  down the minutes, one second at a time.
  Lothar ignored it, and took a step forward. “Seven minutes is more than 
  enough time for me to deal with you,” he said, taking the axe in both hands.
  Elias shrugged. “Perhaps. You seem able enough; and we both know the 
  detonation of the nuclear core of this station won’t harm you in the least bit. 
  And I’ll survive as well. But as for my men... they do not share our gifts. 
  20
   
  
  And you Knights of the Forge prefer to capture criminals alive, do you not? 
  Particularly when in CCW space?”
  Lothar tightened his grip on his axe. He desperately wanted to wipe the 
  smug grin off the Elf’s face. But he knew Harkonnen was right. Lothar 
  couldn’t stand by and let the pirates die needlessly; death in battle was one 
  thing, but they needed to stand trial for their crimes in a CCW court. To just 
  let them perish would be a violation of CCW law, and his own code.
  “Where are they?” Lothar demanded through gritted teeth.
  Elias laughed again, and juggled the self-destruct device in one hand as 
  the countdown continued. “Most of them fled to the ship when you destroyed 
  the drones. Those three fools at your feet stayed behind, knowing you would 
  cripple the ship.”
  Lothar nodded. “We’ll meet again, Harkonnen,” he said.
  “Oh, I’m sure we will,” the Elf laughed. “I’m sure we will.”
  Lothar turned to the two surviving Naterreri and sent the axe away, to 
  that hidden place between the dimensions where it would remain until he 
  needed it again. Lothar dragged the conscious Naterreri to his feet. “Grab 
  your friend. We’re getting on the ship before this place goes up.” The pirate 
  looked at Lothar blankly for a moment, but then lurched to where his com-
  panion lay, his armor scorched and blasted. With a grunt, the Naterreri lifted 
  his ally, and followed Lothar to the airlock door.
  The airlock cycled open, and the two pirates stumbled through the door 
  towards the ship. Lothar spared a glance in the direction of the catwalk, but 
  Harkonnen had disappeared. Lothar almost went after the Elf; his anger at 
  being outmaneuvered, combined with his zeal for justice, nearly made him 
  abandon the pirate crew to oblivion. But he mastered himself, and followed 
  the shark-faced humanoids onto the Raptor. As the opposite side of the air-
  lock slid open, an energy blast flashed into the compartment. Lothar brushed 
  past the Naterreris and deflected the beam with his fist, and then exploded 
  through the airlock door to body slam the pirate who had fired upon them. 
  The attacker crashed to the ground with a groan.
  Lothar ignored him and the other pirates, and immediately rushed to the 
  bridge. More guns greeted him there, but he could tell that the pirates, nor-
  mally ruthless and remorseless men, were frightened. Frightened of the im-
  pending destruction, and frightened of the snarling Cosmo-Knight in their 
  midst.
  “Put your weapons away,” Lothar barked. A few nervous pirates com-
  plied with the demand, almost certainly surprising themselves, but a large, 
  cybernetically enhanced human kept his grav gun trained on Lothar’s head. 
  “We have very little time,” Lothar continued, eyeing each of the men in turn. 
  “Less than four minutes by my calculation. Now, you can cooperate, and live, 
  or you can be stupid, and die.”
  21
   
  
  Lothar counted to ten, rapidly losing patience. He was about to explain the 
  situation one more time when the cyborg pulled the trigger on his pistol. The 
  gravitonically propelled projectile whined through the air, and slammed into 
  Lothar’s shoulder with a crack. He grunted, pushed back a few inches, and 
  his eyes flashed once. The cyborg flew backwards, knocked off his feet by the 
  blast of emerald energy that fried his chest.
  The other pirates stood motionless. A few covered Lothar with their weap-
  ons, while those who had holstered them a moment ago seemed about to draw 
  them again.
  “Getting closer to three minutes,” Lothar said.
  “What do you want us to do?” a Catyr asked. She was tall, red skinned and 
  copper haired, and she looked like the type of person willing to jettison her 
  own mother for a few credits. “You fracked up the engines, and now we don’t 
  have enough thrust to get off this ball of rock.”
  “Disengage from the wall,” Lothar ordered. “Fire up the maneuvering jets. 
  Get the ship in position to head through the gate, and get that opened. Posi-
  tion the ship perfectly. Directly before the gate.”
  “What are you going to do?” the Catyr asked.
  “I’m going outside. I’m going to push you all to safety.” There were cries 
  of incredulity, as well as a few curses lobbed in Lothar’s direction, but he 
  ignored them all and left the bridge, moving quickly through the ship to the 
  airlock door. On the way, he felt the ship lurch beneath his feet as the Rap-
  tor separated from the base. Lothar stepped over the body in the middle of 
  the corridor, and opened the inner door of the airlock. He jumped into the 
  airlock and opened the outer door almost before the inner door cycled closed. 
  A heartbeat later, Lothar stepped out into the void once more, into the empty 
  silence.
  He flew up onto the dorsal side of the Raptor, and landed lightly on the 
  hull. Beneath him, the pirates brought the maneuvering jets to life, and the 
  Raptor began to come about. Slowly. He frowned beneath his helm. Time 
  was rapidly running out; he had spent most of the seven minutes dealing with 
  the ship’s crew. Harkonnen had most likely already made good his escape. 
  But Lothar still needed to push the 270 metric ton ship through 300 meters of 
  airless space to reach the portal that led out of the station.
  He uttered a silent prayer. He would need the strength of the Forge itself 
  to get the ship away before the station detonated.
  He had a plan. It was a desperate one, but this situation called for such 
  measures. Normally, Lothar could summon up the fire of the Forge within 
  him to create a number of effects. With the power of the Forge, he could aug-
  ment the energy beams he produced, enabling them to damage even starships. 
  This he had already done, three times in the past fifteen minutes, depleting his 
  reserves. But he could also use that energy to supercharge his flight ability, 
  enabling him to reach FTL speeds in the vastness of the void. Lothar’s energy 
  22
   
  
  bank still possessed enough power to get him free and clear, but he wasn’t 
  about to desert the fools on the Raptor now.
  He might be able, for a few seconds at least, to extend his FTL ability to 
  encompass the Raptor. Just long enough to get the ship through the doorway 
  and out of immediate danger. Lothar wasn’t certain his plan was entirely 
  possible, but he knew that if it worked it would be extremely painful. Hav-
  ing expended so much energy on the drones and the ship’s engines, he didn’t 
  have enough left to move the ship. But in extreme circumstances, a Cosmo-
  Knight could convert his own flesh and blood into energy to supplement the 
  cosmic power of the Forge that resided within him. In essence, Lothar could 
  cannibalize his own body to provide the power he needed to move the ship.
  But it would cost him. The pain would be excruciating.
  Better get started. The ship was almost aligned perfectly.
  Lothar knelt on the ship, and placed his palms flat against the cold metal. 
  He closed his eyes and summoned up the energy that flared at the core of 
  his being. As the power flooded through him, and out through his hands to 
  crackle across the hull of the Raptor, Lothar dug deep, dredging the energy 
  up through him, spending it all hastily and messily. When he reached the 
  bottom of his reserves, he went deeper, transforming his own mass into light.
  The energy flashed from his palms in a great emerald web that spread, me-
  ter by meter, across the surface of the Raptor. The web flashed and crackled 
  silently, enveloping the ship. Lothar screamed inwardly, a howl of rage and 
  pain, as his body bled out of him, fingers of light that swallowed up the 270 
  metric ton block of metal and ceramics beneath him.
  At last, the web of energy caressed the entirety of the vessel, and it lurched 
  forward, compelled by Lothar’s will. At the same moment, the countdown 
  inside the station approached its nadir, and deep within the bowels of the 
  hideaway, its nuclear reactor reached critical mass. A moment later, the reac-
  tor detonated, exploding in a wave of destructive energy that consumed the 
  asteroid in seconds.
  The Raptor rode the wave, guided by the Cosmo-Knight who stood upon 
  its hull. As it was, the Raptor was nearly shredded to pieces, managing to 
  maintain its integrity by the barest of margins. The explosion, and the debris 
  from the explosion, shattered the wings of the ship, and tore nearly a dozen 
  holes in the hull. Lothar was almost knocked from his perch, but he held his 
  post through sheer determination.
  When the excitement was over, and the asteroid was nothing more than 
  powder, the Raptor was left spinning lazily in the void, quiet and dark, its 
  running lights dimmed. Lothar lay spread-eagled upon the surface of the ship, 
  barely conscious. He had converted nearly half of his mass into the energy 
  needed to carry the Raptor seven hundred meters to safety. He was emaci-
  ated, almost skeletal, and his normally skintight armor hung upon his body 
  like robes.
  23
   
  
  Lothar slowly dragged himself to his feet. In a little while, the energy 
  within him would replenish itself, his body would heal, and he could leave 
  the Raptor here to wait until the authorities arrived.
  <Lothar.>
  Lothar started, surprised at the voice that sounded within his mind. He 
  recognized the lilting growl of the Cosmic Forge, but the Forge only rarely 
  spoke to its Knights.
  <What would you have of me?> Lothar thought, answering the Forge’s 
  call.
  <We have need of your services again, Son of Motherhome. We have cre-
  ated a new Knight, a human from the planet Earth. He lacks direction, and 
  needs help understanding his new role and the Three Galaxies. You will pro-
  vide that direction.>
  Lothar stifled a sigh. Another child Knight to train. <But, what of Harkon-
  nen? I cannot let him simply escape. He must be brought to justice.>
  <Patience, my child. Proceed to the desert world of Koola in the Haring 
  System,> the Forge ordered. <Seek out Caleb Vulcan. Teach him the ways of 
  the Forge. You will face Harkonnen in due time.>
  Lothar felt the Forge recede from his mind, and he slumped to the hull 
  of the ship. It seemed his destiny did not lie with Harkonnen after all. Then 
  again, Harkonnen’s capture might be more expediently accomplished with 
  two Knights following his trail.
  24
   
  
  Chapter Three
  Into the Great Wide Open
  Located within the rim of the Anvil, the Haring system possesses only a 
  single inhabitable planet, a ball of dust and sand dubbed Koola by the na-
  tives. Although the equatorial region of Koola is ringed by the Great Koola 
  River and its tributaries, a water system several hundred kilometers in ex-
  panse, the rest of the planet consists of a vast, untamed desert. This desert is 
  a roughly assembled amalgamation of rocky badlands, salt flats, dune seas, 
  and fragmented mountain ranges. There are no major industries on Koola; 
  the desert looks empty, and it is empty. The natives, the Gojirans, are meter 
  long insectoids that fashion vast colonies out of mud formed from sand and 
  their own bodily secretions. Strangely, the Gojirans do not seem to be both-
  ered by the presence of other sentients on their planet, so long as their hives 
  remained undisturbed. Humans and Seljuks in particular have migrated to 
  Koola in sizable numbers over the past few decades, most of them former 
  criminals given new leases on life by the Consortium of Civilized Worlds. 
  Service industries have grown up around the communities formed by these 
  immigrants, the most notable of which is the moisture industry. While the 
  Gojirans have placed the River System off limits to off-worlders, they have 
  not legislated against the billions of hydrogen and oxygen molecules floating 
  in the atmosphere; entrepreneurs have taken advantage of this state of affairs 
  to create moisture farms, mining the air and the earth for the water everyone 
  needs in order to function...
  – Excerpt from Travelogues of a Journeyman, by Fraktyn Quint
  Still unable to sleep.
  Caleb Vulcan lay upon the bed with which Rik Nybek and his wife Floris 
  had provided him, stripped down to his shorts and laying on the covers, al-
  lowing the cool desert air to flow in through the open windows and brush 
  across his body. It was a welcome respite from his long day in the sun, help-
  ing Rik inspect the moisture collectors, and unload their precious cargo for 
  packing and eventual sale in the town.
  Caleb was still acclimating to his newfound abilities. That first day on 
  the planet’s surface had reddened his skin, but the burn disappeared quickly, 
  never to return. The fair Vulcan skin wasn’t tanning, as usual, but it would 
  not burn either. His strength was Herculean now, and Caleb found himself 
  capable of matching the strength of Rik’s two worker ‘bots, who, according 
  to their master, could each handle two thousand kilograms easily. He didn’t 
  tire at all, either. After hours in the sun, caked with sweat and grime, he felt 
  refreshed and ready for more. And though he lay upon a soft and comfortable 
  25
   
  
  bed, with the lights out and the cool breeze anointing him, Caleb could not 
  sleep.
  This was not a new phenomenon. Caleb had been living on Rik’s farm for 
  nearly six weeks, paying his way by helping Rik in the fields. Caleb thought 
  it was his best opportunity to get to know the new universe he had stumbled 
  across, and the best chance to get to know his new body. Rik and Floris were 
  wonderful people, and they answered every question Caleb asked, asking few 
  in return. Caleb sensed that Rik knew, or at least suspected, what Caleb had 
  become, but was reluctant to press the issue with the young man. And out 
  in the desert, away from prying eyes, Caleb could call up his crimson armor 
  and experiment with his abilities. The things he could do now were beyond 
  imagination; like some gaudy superhero, Caleb had powers beyond those of 
  mortal men. He could leap over buildings with a single jump, buzz through 
  the air more quickly than a jet, and he was certainly more powerful than any 
  locomotive.
  But he couldn’t sleep. It was one of the side effects of his supercharged 
  metabolism, he supposed. Like not needing to eat or drink, no matter how 
  long he worked or sweated. His body was fueled by something else, some in-
  ner form of energy that seemed limitless and gave him unflagging endurance 
  along with the other abilities. His mind still grew tired, even if his body did 
  not, and occasionally he would slip into a kind of trance for an hour or so, 
  not unlike daydreaming in math class. It was a form of rest, but it wasn’t the 
  same as a good night’s sleep.
  Caleb sat up in bed, scratching a hand through his short red hair, and lis-
  tened carefully to the sounds of the house. He couldn’t hear anyone moving 
  about, so he decided it was safe for another midnight adventure. He slipped 
  out of bed, pulled on his jeans and the silver shirt Floris had bought for him, 
  and stepped across the room on bare feet. He looked out through the window 
  at the clear night sky, sighing as he absorbed the view of the alien stars, and 
  then put one foot on the window sill and leapt outside in one smooth bound.
  He landed lightly in the dust and sprinted across the yard. He skidded to 
  a halt at what he judged a good distance from the house, and summoned the 
  armor. In a burst of red, his body was encased in a suit of armor, capped by 
  a bulky helm with a single narrow aperture for the eyes. Over the past six 
  weeks, as he had grown more comfortable with the armor and his abilities, 
  the armor itself had taken on a more regular form. At first the suit had been 
  little more than a second layer of skin, but now it had taken on the appear-
  ance of a Roman Centurion’s armor, metallic red in color, with the black 
  of the void showing in the gaps of the armor, and a stylized hammer image 
  imprinted across the breastplate. Caleb wasn’t certain where the style of the 
  armor or the hammer icon were coming from, but it felt right.
  As always, when he conjured up the armor, in the back of his mind a 
  soothing voice reminded him that he could fashion a weapon from the same 
  26
   
  
  material as the armor. But again, Caleb resisted the temptation. He wanted to 
  be comfortable with his “natural” abilities before he added another gimmick 
  to his repertoire.
  Caleb willed himself to rise into the air and flew towards the south.
  Caleb blasted across the stratosphere, glorying in the feel of weightless-
  ness and the roaring wind in his ears. This had always been his dream: to fly, 
  to defy gravity and take to the skies. As a child, Caleb had tied a towel around 
  his neck and leapt off the shed in his backyard. As a teenager, he had studied 
  airplanes and jets and dreamed of learning how to fly. And when he received 
  his draft notice, his only hope was that he might make it into the air force and 
  finally learn how to fly.
  But this was so much better. So much purer. He flew now under his own 
  power, without the need for machinery, without a winged hunk of metal be-
  tween himself and the sky. Caleb Vulcan was a bright crimson bolt, and he 
  screamed across the starlit night.
  He dropped down close to the earth, whipping up a cloud of dust and 
  gravel in his wake, and then lifted back up into the air as he blasted over a 
  Gojiran colony that stretched for kilometers in the four cardinal directions. 
  He could see millions of the strange insectoids scuttling across the expanse of 
  their city, expanding and modifying what was already there. Caleb had seen 
  his share of aliens in the last six weeks, but the tiny Gojirans were certainly 
  among the strangest. The slow talking, dinosaur-like Seljuks were positively 
  normal compared to the hard shelled, three foot long natives of Koola.
  Perhaps it was simply their bug-like appearance and habits that made Ca-
  leb wary of the Gojirans. Aliens were interesting as long as they weren’t too 
  alien, he supposed. The Seljuks, Draconids and others may have been bizarre 
  looking and strangely wonderful to encounter, but they were also human-
  oid, with human proportions and a human-like intelligence that made them 
  easier to understand than the Gojirans. The Gojirans were sentient according 
  to Nybek, and the CCW (the Consortium of Civilized Worlds, according to 
  Rik) held a treaty with them. But the Gojirans didn’t seem to care about 
  the humanoids infesting their planet, and were apparently more intent on the 
  construction and upkeep of their hives, and maintaining the happiness of each 
  hive’s queen. Except for the queens, the Gojirans appeared sexless, emotion-
  less, and incommunicative.
  Caleb shook his head and continued south. He drew to a halt as he neared 
  a blasted section of the southern badlands that he had taken to using as a prac-
  tice range. He dropped to the earth with a soft thump, raising dust in a cloud 
  all around him. He scanned the area, and noticed a hump of rock rising out of 
  the broken ground not far away. He concentrated, and crimson light flashed 
  from the eye slit in his helm. The hump of rock exploded in a shower of stone 
  slivers. Caleb bounced into the air again and targeted another chunk of stone, 
  blasting it with another stream of energy from his eyes.
  27
   
  
  Without missing a beat, Caleb jetted through the explosion as it erupted 
  across the landscape, barely feeling the shattered rock as it pattered against 
  his metal skin.
  A bolt of emerald energy flashed before his eyes. Caleb lost control and 
  spun wildly to crash into the ground, tearing a furrow in the blasted earth. He 
  scrambled to his feet as another green ray buzzed past him to burn the ground. 
  He looked around desperately, seeking the origin of the mysterious energy. 
  As he did, something heavy slammed into him from behind at an incredible 
  speed. Caleb barely had a moment to register the attack before he was thrown 
  again, smashing to the stony ground with a crash.
  Caleb rolled over and instinctively unleashed a blast of energy from his 
  eyes. The light spattered ineffectually against the body that dropped out of 
  the air towards him. But the light from his energy bolt illuminated the figure 
  for a moment: it was bigger than a man, easily eight feet tall or more, clad in 
  a suit of metallic green battle armor with a helm shaped like a grinning dog 
  or wolf, and a huge two-headed ax in his hands.
  Caleb yelled out despite himself as the figure fell towards him and the ax 
  dropped towards his head. Frozen in fear, everything Caleb had learned from 
  his father and in the last six weeks fled his mind. He watched in horror as the 
  ax descended.
  And slammed into the earth a hair’s breadth from his head. The figure 
  landed lightly on his feet, straddling Caleb’s waist. He leaned forward on the 
  handle of his ax, and glowered at Caleb with green eyes almost hidden by the 
  scowling brow of his wolf’s head helm.
  “I can see you are going to take a lot of work,” the figure said in passable 
  Trade Four. The figure wrenched his ax from beside Caleb’s head, and swung 
  it up to rest across his shoulder. He extended his free hand to Caleb. “Come 
  on,” he said. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
  Caleb took the figure’s hand cautiously, and found himself hauled to his 
  feet in a moment. “What was that all about, then?” Caleb gasped, still trying 
  to gain his breath back.
  “I am Lothar of Motherhome,” the figure in green offered. “Our Forge 
  has ordered me to oversee your training, Caleb Vulcan. This was your first 
  lesson.”
  “Really?” Caleb said weakly. He was suddenly glad his face was hidden 
  beneath his helm, because it was turning very, very red. He should have been 
  better prepared. Growing up as an army brat, Caleb learned how to fight. His 
  father made certain of that, at least. But Caleb never thought he would be 
  ambushed out in the badlands.
  “How did you sneak up on me like that?” Caleb asked.
  Lothar snorted. “Staying in your blind spot was not remotely difficult, 
  pup. A Knight should be aware of his surroundings at all times. Enemies 
  strike when least expected. So expect them always.”
  28
   
  
  “I didn’t think I had any enemies yet,” Caleb said. And immediately re-
  gretted having said it.
  Lothar shook his head. “You are a Knight of the Forge, pup. Your enemies 
  are legion. Simply by accepting the mantle, you have made yourself a target 
  for every villain in the Three Galaxies, from the highest Splugorth Lord to the 
  lowest pickpocket on Center. Your allies are not so many, however, and you 
  would do well to remember it.”
  Caleb was beginning to realize that Lothar was not going to be much fun. 
  “Gotcha,” he said. “Lots of enemies. Few friends.”
  Lothar stepped towards Caleb, looming over the crimson Knight. “Do not 
  make light of the situation, pup. You must master your abilities quickly if 
  you hope to survive, if you hope to serve the Forge. The Knights are few and 
  the Three Galaxies are vast, and far too many seek to destroy us and what we 
  stand for.”
  “What do we stand for?” Caleb asked. Lothar stared at him for a moment, 
  and Caleb rushed to explain. “Where I come from, the words truth, justice, 
  and the American Way don’t mean what they used to mean. That is to say, 
  those ideals are tarnished. They’ve been polluted. And I’m not sure if they 
  exist, or if they ever existed.”
  Lothar continued to stare, and Caleb opened his mouth to continue. Lothar 
  cut him off. “The Forge exists,” he said, stiffly. “You know this. We stand 
  for the Forge.”
  “Sounds simple,” Caleb observed.
  Lothar nodded. “It is. Keep in mind that the Forge does not need thinkers. 
  It needs warriors.”
  Caleb grimaced beneath his helm. This guy was his teacher? “That’s what 
  they tell us back home,” Caleb told Lothar. “And I didn’t believe it there, 
  either.”
  “You will learn, pup.” Lothar punctuated the declaration by jabbing Caleb 
  in the chest with an emerald claw.
  “Stop calling me that,” Caleb growled. With lightning speed, Caleb 
  grasped Lothar’s wrist, pulling the bigger Knight towards him, and twisted, 
  pivoting on one foot. He braced his free hand against Lothar’s chest and 
  lifted, throwing Lothar over his shoulder.
  The Wulfen should have crashed to the ground with a thump, but he froze 
  in mid-air, hanging upside down. “Lesson number two: throws are useless 
  against someone who can fly.” Emerald energy once more lanced towards 
  Caleb. But this time he was ready; he blasted into the air and the ray sizzled 
  beneath him.
  Caleb cut loose with his own energy blasts, but Lothar was already mov-
  ing, and Caleb missed.
  It was going to be a long night.
  When the sun began its ascent, Lothar decided to end the training session.
  29
   
  
  Caleb was glad. For the first time in weeks, he actually felt tired. But he 
  also felt that he acquitted himself well. While Caleb was not able to touch 
  Lothar, he made sure that the Wulfen did not catch him as he had before. He 
  received a few bruises, but nothing as embarrassing as that ax swinging for 
  his head.
  Lothar let Caleb catch his breath for a moment, and then approached 
  where Caleb sat on the ground. “It’s time to go,” he said. He let go of his ax 
  and the weapon disappeared in a puff of green light.
  “Go?” Caleb asked. “Go where?”
  “Out into the universe, pup. We’re needed.”
  “But I can’t just leave,” Caleb protested. “I have stuff back at the house, 
  and I have to say good-bye to Rik and Floris...”
  Lothar shook his heavy head. “We are Knights of the Forge, pup. We have 
  no need of material possessions. And as for your friends – they will under-
  stand. No need to trouble them further.”
  “Okay,” Caleb said grudgingly. He stood up, dusting sand off the back of 
  his armor.
  Lothar rose into the air, and Caleb followed. As the Wulfen increased his 
  speed, Caleb matched him. In moments, they rocketed out of the atmosphere 
  and into the void, two blurs, one green and one red, that transformed into pure 
  light and blasted into space.
  30
   
  
  Chapter Four
  Bad Mojo
  Center. A word to conjure with. A city without equal anywhere in this 
  universe or any other. Six hundred million souls call Center home, with who 
  knows how many more millions passing through at any given moment. It is 
  a city of startling contrasts, where some of the richest beings in the Three 
  Galaxies can be found living side by side with the poorest, where Knights of 
  Kamnos rub shoulders with Splugorth Conservators without spilling blood, 
  where everything and anything can be found with ease, and bought for the 
  right price. Millions live and die there without ever setting foot outside its ce-
  rulean walls, and you can be sure that they have seen and experienced more 
  than even the most jaded cosmos hopper. It is a dangerous city, but it is a city 
  of unparalleled wonder and opportunity.
  Center. Watch your step.
  – Excerpt from Travelogues of a Journeyman, by Fraktyn Quint
  The seventh level of Center was not a place where tourists usually went, 
  but then Elias Harkonnen, late of the Transgalactic Empire’s Invincible 
  Guard, did not consider himself a tourist. No, Elias was there on business.
  The destruction of his hidden base in the rings of Garouk-9 did not really 
  affect him; though certainly, he had poured millions of credits into acquir-
  ing the abandoned mine and outfitting it for his operation, and then fitting 
  the Raptor with the weapons and defenses a good raider required. Hiring a 
  crew came relatively cheaply, but they still cost a decent amount. The actual 
  raiding was just beginning to pay off when Lothar of Motherhome tracked 
  the Raptor home and forced Elias to blow the whole thing to pieces, just to 
  occupy the Cosmo-Knight long enough for Elias to make good his escape in 
  a stripped down Flying Fang.
  Still, Elias was not concerned at all. He was a former Invincible Guards-
  man, after all. Trained in lethal combat by the Kreeghor themselves, his ge-
  netic code tampered with to grant him powers beyond mortal men, he was 
  perfectly suited for the cold-blooded business of survival. And making profit. 
  If worse came to worse (and it wouldn’t), he could always sell himself out 
  as an assassin or mercenary; there was high demand for invulnerable soldiers 
  who could fly under their own power and bench press starfighters.
  But that would be a last resort. Elias still had some cash stockpiled where 
  he could reach it easily; enough to finance a new operation certainly. Enough 
  to keep going on his own for a while, without someone else telling him what 
  to do, or spitting orders at him.
  Elias hated taking orders. Giving them was easy enough, but following 
  the commands of a squishy did not sit well with him. He had even balked 
  31
   
  
  at taking orders from his superiors in the Invincible Guard. Which is why, 
  ultimately, he had deserted and struck out on his own, to make it rich as an 
  independent operator. So far, his plans weren’t exactly working out. There 
  was the matter of the Cosmo-Knight hot for his blood to consider as well.
  So Elias fled Garouk-9 for Center, perfectly aware that as a deserter, he 
  could expect no mercy from the Kreeghor should he be seen and recognized 
  by one of the Empire’s citizens on Center. But he needed insurance against 
  the Cosmo-Knight, henchmen who would not soil themselves at the first ap-
  pearance of an angry Hammer of the Forge, much as his last crew had done. 
  He should never have hired those Naterreris; worse than a T’Zee when all 
  things were said and done. He had depended too much on the plundered Na-
  runi technology as well.
  Elias Harkonnen was not an Elf to make the same mistake twice.
  The seventh level of Center was not a place for tourists; museums and 
  amusement parks and marketplaces could be found on the upper levels. On 
  the lower levels, the unwary found only death. The professional might find 
  employment, and a man with purpose, skill, and creds might find someone to 
  hire. Someone with special gifts, gifts that could turn an unwary or even well 
  prepared Cosmo-Knight inside-out.
  Elias strode through the city streets with a sense of purpose, and pedestri-
  ans automatically stepped around him, instinctively recognizing that he was 
  not a being to trifle with for any reason. Sometimes cocky bully-boys could 
  be found who attempted to swagger in the same manner that the pale Elf in 
  the red and black armor did, but few but the most hardened criminals could 
  match Elias’ cold stare, or the quiet air of malevolence that seemed to radi-
  ate off of him. He knew where he was going only by reputation, but he had 
  studied the maps like a good soldier and he knew the seventh level’s grid like 
  the back of his hand. He navigated like a native, striding through the crowded 
  alleys and byways clogged with the detritus of the Three Galaxies, casually 
  brushing aside anything with the temerity to block his path.
  Once, someone with a knife tattoo on his forehead took affront to Elias’ 
  gentle push, producing a Vibro-Knife that hummed as it slashed towards 
  Elias’ neck. The weapon shattered against his skin, and without hesitation 
  Elias gave the humanoid a backhanded slap that separated his head from his 
  shoulders.
  He was given a wider berth after that episode.
  In due time, he came to the place he searched for along the dirty avenues 
  of the seventh level: a dilapidated structure lit with fading neon that declared 
  in Trade Five that the place functioned as a watering hole. Some sort of re-
  ptiloid lounged outside the entrance, one of his four hands not far from the 
  ion blaster at his hip. The few windows were darkened artificially, and even 
  Elias’ night sensitive eyes could not penetrate them. He shrugged mentally 
  and approached the bar’s entryway. A four-fingered hand blocked his path. 
  32
   
  
  The reptiloid at the door glared balefully at Elias with yellow eyes, its third 
  hand gripping the blaster tightly, but not yet drawing the weapon. “No mam-
  mals,” it hissed, tongue darting out to taste the air.
  Elias narrowed his eyes, briefly considering offering a bribe. It took him 
  a nanosecond to discard the idea, and barely a moment longer before the 
  doorman swallowed his pistol, choking to death as Elias shoved it down the 
  creature’s throat. He left the corpse cooling on the doorstep and crossed the 
  threshold into the bar.
  The heat struck him first, a sweltering wave that washed over him and 
  inundated him, causing sweat to break out on his body instantly. The next 
  instant, he caught a whiff of something wet and decaying, and he coughed 
  involuntarily, waving his hand before his face. When he mastered himself, 
  he noticed the bright glaring lights that illuminated the dozens of reptiloids 
  lounging about the bar and the dining area. Most of them he could identify; 
  brightly colored Seljuks towering above everyone else, Jenjorrans with their 
  eyes nearly exploding out of their great jawed heads, a pack of Qua-Trau 
  lounging in one corner, sipping some kind of smoking brew, Draconids in 
  flowing robes scattered about the room, and dozens of others he could not 
  identify, including a large number of four armed, yellow eyed reptiloids like 
  the dying doorman.
  They all stared at him. Elias sneered and sauntered into the room, daring 
  any of them to challenge his presence in a reptiloid bar. Few met his gaze, 
  recognizing the insignia on his refitted Legionnaire’s armor. One Seljuk, 
  however, took it upon itself to upbraid the brazen mammal. “Your kind isn’t 
  welcome around here,” it growled, gesticulating with one five clawed hand.
  Elias ignored the beast, scanning the crowd for the being he sought. The 
  Seljuk appeared annoyed at Elias’ attitude. It took a threatening step forward, 
  its eyes growing mad under bony brows. One of its companions attempted 
  to restrain it, but it shook off the offending arm and advanced on Elias. It 
  jammed a finger in Elias’ face and leaned over the substantially shorter Elf 
  to berate him. “Get lost, mammal, before I chew you up and regurgitate you 
  for the nestlings.” The breath of the creature washed over Elias’ face, and he 
  wrinkled his nose in disgust. What had crawled down the creature’s throat 
  and died? Did it ever use a toothbrush?
  Without a word, Elias reached up and grabbed the digit shoved into his 
  face. He pulped it with one squeeze, and then yanked the arm away as the 
  Seljuk bellowed in pain. With practiced ease, Elias planted one hand on 
  the creature’s neck and another on its belt. He heaved, and lifted the Seljuk 
  over his head. The beast babbled something, and its companions took a step 
  forward as if to offer aid. Without hesitation, Elias threw the Seljuk in his 
  hands across the common room, to crash into the wall on the opposite side. It 
  slammed into the wall with an audible thud, and then fell to the ground with 
  a crash.
  33
   
  
  No one uttered a sound, as they reappraised the ebon and scarlet clad Elf. 
  “Anyone else?” Elias asked. Abruptly every sentient in the bar turned away 
  from him and went back to whatever they were doing before he entered the 
  place. Elias allowed himself a brief nod, and then quickly scanned the room 
  once more.
  Finally catching sight of the being he was looking for, he navigated his 
  way through the tables and chairs clogging the common room, and stepped 
  up to a table with a single occupant.
  The Draconid looked typical for his race: a long snout filled with sharp 
  teeth, framed by bat-winged ears, small, pupilless eyes almost hidden be-
  neath thick brow ridges, a mane of soft white hair spilling down his back, 
  and a body covered in scales that were a shocking electric blue shade. He 
  was clad in a simple tunic of red and gold, and he watched without emotion 
  as Elias approached.
  “Quajinn Huo?” Elias asked. He received the briefest of nods in return. 
  “May I sit down?” Another nod. But there were no more chairs. Elias turned 
  to his left, where the Qua-Trau warriors sat, nursing their drinks. He stared 
  pointedly at one, until it got the message and vacated its seat. Elias took it 
  from their table and slid it across the floor, dropping into it to join Quajinn 
  Huo where he sat.
  The Draconid’s white eyes observed all this without passion, but as Elias 
  sat down, he said, “Why is it you have sought me out, Harkonnen?”
  Elias smiled easily. “Has my reputation proceeded me, or did you divine 
  my identity through wizardry?”
  “The same mouths that directed you here told me you were coming,” Huo 
  explained. “But they did not explain your purpose. They assured me you 
  were not a bounty hunter come to collect the reward the UWW has offered 
  for my head, nor were you some other would-be hero sent to slay the dragon. 
  State your business, and do so quickly.” Again, Huo said each word without 
  any hint of emotion.
  Elias regarded him coolly. Huo’s own reputation was considerable, and 
  the cold-blooded creature across the table from him certainly seemed to fit 
  the image the United Worlds of Warlock painted of a passionless killer. “It’s 
  very simple,” Elias said. “I have come to offer you a job.”
  In the same monotone, Quajinn Huo said, “You, faceless bully-boy from 
  across the stars, are offering me a job? This meeting is at an end.” Huo did not 
  stir, however. Perhaps he expected Elias to leave, as if dismissed.
  Elias would remember that. But first, he needed Huo. He needed the Dra-
  conid wizard for one reason. Magic, Quajinn’s province, was the Achilles 
  heel of the Knights of the Forge.
  “Lothar,” Elias said.
  Quajinn Huo’s eyes suddenly blazed with fury. “You would say that name 
  to me? I should strike you down where you stand, Elf.”
  34
   
  
  “Then the story is true,” Elias mused aloud. “You’ve run afoul of the 
  Forge’s Hound too. He ruined my last operation as well. And I plan to make 
  him answer for that.”
  Huo leaned forward, suddenly interested. “It is because of Lothar of Moth-
  erhome that I am confined to Center, Harkonnen. For a chance to kill him, I 
  might actually contemplate your job offer.”
  Elias smiled again. “And what,” he asked, “if I were to tell you I could get 
  you off Center without the UWW knowing?”
  “If you could do this thing, then I would indeed serve you, Elias Harkon-
  nen,” Quajinn said. “But only until Lothar lay dead at our feet.”
  Elias’ smile broadened. “Sounds like a plan.”
  ____________________
  Captain H. Starling of the Consortium Armed Forces starship Hidalgo, 
  Warshield Class, settled into his command chair and keyed on his computer. 
  The small screen showed the progress of the star Teneb-742 as it prepared 
  to go nova; according to the chronometer, barely forty-two hours remained 
  before the miracle occurred. The star was venting gasses into space at an in-
  credible rate, and expanding by the hour. All too soon it would detonate, and 
  the last five planets in the Teneb-742 system would be destroyed, swallowed 
  up by the exploding sun, much as the first three planets had been days ago.
  The Hidalgo had been sent out by the CCW station Xerxes to observe and 
  record the death of the star and its system; it would be only the second time a 
  CAF ship observed firsthand the death throes of a star, and this would be the 
  first time planets were involved. The CCW was very interested in the kinds 
  of data the Hidalgo might glean from this extraordinary event, and to that 
  end a team of twenty scientists from Xerxes Station had been dispatched with 
  Starling’s crew to observe and record and report back to CCW headquarters.
  If anyone were to ask him, Captain Starling would have said that this 
  mission was the chance of a lifetime, and a thrilling chapter in humanity’s 
  growth and understanding of the intricacies of the universe.
  Privately, he thought it was a waste of time.
  Starling was a man of action, a man of war, and he fretted that a warship 
  like the Hidalgo was being wasted here watching a star explode, instead of 
  patrolling the neutral zone between the CCW and the Transgalactic Empire, 
  or hunting down pirates with the temerity to raid the borders of CCW space. 
  The Hidalgo was built to fight, and so too, was her captain. He needed the 
  harsh scent of smoke in his nostrils, the groan of a damaged ship beneath his 
  feet, the ringing of the red alert in his ears, and an enemy to destroy.
  Documenting the wonders of the cosmos should be left to those interested 
  in such things, Starling believed. And probably, some poor untried officer 
  was somewhere along the neutral zone, trying to keep her crew alive, out-
  gunned and outnumbered by Kreeghor vessels. It was a scene Starling had 
  35
   
  
  played out countless times before, and always managed to survive to tell the 
  tale, his ship and crew intact.
  But now, as Starling and his crew were approaching their middle years, 
  the days of glory were slipping past them, and the Consortium Armed Forces 
  Fleet Command felt safer giving Starling and his crew simple jobs, leaving 
  the young men and women of the CAF who still had fire in their bellies to 
  take the battle to the Transgalactic Empire or the S’hree Vek Confederacy or 
  any of the other enemies arrayed against the Consortium of Civilized Worlds.
  “Captain.” Starling’s reverie was suddenly broken by the call of his chief 
  science officer, Commander Lek Lekki. Lek was one of Starling’s oldest 
  friends, and a Noro, a member of the pacifistic race of psychics from the 
  planet Noro-Gar. Like most Noro, Lek was smooth skinned and very tall, 
  well over two meters, and dangerously thin; despite his height, he looked 
  like a strong wind could knock him over like a feather. Like many Noro, Lek 
  shaved the spikes of hair that grew on his large cranium, and that, combined 
  with his extreme thinness, gave him the appearance of an ascetic. Yet Lek’s 
  large, black eyes were always animated and excited, expressing wonder and 
  joy at exploring the cosmos. It was hardly the attitude of a monk, and Lek 
  would certainly never cloister himself away from the universe.
  “What is it, Commander?” Starling asked, his brow furrowing in puzzle-
  ment.
  Lek leaned over his console, his dark eyes never leaving the computer 
  screen as he answered his captain. “I’m picking up some rather odd energy 
  fluctuations, sir.”
  “From Teneb-742?” Starling asked. He often wished Lek could just make 
  a complete report, but the Noro seldom volunteered information without 
  slight provocation. Since he was always curious, Lek assumed everyone else 
  was always curious, and he enjoyed baiting their curiosity. Lek finally looked 
  up from the console.
  “Not at all, Captain. From the eighth planet.”
  Now, that was interesting, Starling thought. “Source and nature?” he de-
  manded.
  Lek shrugged, a slight movement of his thin shoulders. “The pulse is being 
  emitted near the planet’s magnetic pole, but our instruments are having a dif-
  ficult time classifying the nature of the energy. What is certain is that it is not 
  random, and appears to be running through a cycle of some kind.”
  Starling grunted, and unconsciously ran a hand through his thinning hair. 
  “Helm, put us in orbit around the eighth planet,” he ordered, “and I want us 
  over the pole. Lieutenant Freyga,” he added, slightly turning in his command 
  chair to regard the only Wulfen on the bridge. “I want a complete scan of the 
  target area; if there’s grass, I want to know how many blades.”
  36
   
  
  The Wulfen security officer nodded without a word and set to her task. 
  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lek frown. “Problem?” he prompted the 
  science officer.
  Another shrug greeted his question, and then Lek said, “I have a bad feel-
  ing about this.”
  Starling knew that phrase only too well; Lek’s psychic abilities had helped 
  save the Hidalgo and her crew a dozen times over. “Go to yellow alert,” he 
  said, and as the klaxon ring began in the background, he added, “I want a 
  squad of marines assembled in the hanger in fifteen minutes, fully loaded, 
  with two Silverhawks.” Lek arched an eyebrow, and even Freyga loosed a 
  chuff of surprise. Starling waved them both off; he was beginning to get a 
  bad feeling too, and he was afraid the power armored troops would come in 
  handy very soon.
  Starling felt the familiar thrum in his breastbone, the only indication that 
  the Hidalgo was in motion, as the mighty warship fired up its engines and 
  headed for the eighth planet. In moments, the ship was positioned where 
  Starling wanted it. He waited patiently as Freyga made a complete scan of the 
  area. Starling knew Lek was following along with her, as his console and hers 
  were wired, but he could only sit in his command chair and wait.
  Starling hated to wait. Just as his patience was beginning to fray, even 
  though it was his order that prompted Freyga to make a complete scan, she 
  reported.
  “The planet is flat and barren, Captain, no life signs register at all, nor 
  much in the way of technology. The only sign of habitation is a bunker or... 
  temple, perhaps, of black rock located about 700 klicks from the magnetic 
  pole. The energy pulse is apparently originating from this temple.”
  Starling interrupted her, saying, “Temple, lieutenant?”
  Freyga appeared slightly flustered. “I couldn’t explain why I get the im-
  pression that the structure is a temple, Captain.”
  “She’s right, however,” Lek said, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “It 
  is the same impression I am receiving.”
  Starling grunted. “Continue, lieutenant.”
  Freyga began where she left off. “The pulse is registering on several fre-
  quencies, but it appears to primarily consist of negative energy. It is expand-
  ing outward in a wave that encompasses the temple and washes out in a dome 
  from the temple. The power of the wave lessens the further it gets from the 
  area of origin, and is rather weak when it breaks free of the planet’s atmo-
  sphere.” Her amber eyes flicked towards Lek, and then returned to her con-
  sole. “How Commander Lek first detected it, I do not know.”
  “Sometimes you need to look with something other than your eyes, Frey-
  ga,” Lek offered.
  Starling ignored them, his mind attempting to grapple with the informa-
  tion Freyga had presented to him. A strange structure, a “temple,” on an un-
  37
   
  
  inhabited planet in an uninhabited system, generating waves of negative en-
  ergy. And a star about to go nova in less then forty-one hours. “Commander, I 
  suppose you’d like to take a closer look at that ‘temple,’” Starling mused. Lek 
  nodded, a slight smile curving his thin lips. “Then take Lieutenant Freyga and 
  the marines in the hanger with you. I’d like some answers, but I’d also like 
  you to all return undamaged. Understood?”
  “Affirmative, Captain,” Lek said, standing. “After you, lieutenant,” Lek 
  offered, gesturing towards the lift. Freyga made a show of adjusting her pistol 
  on her belt, and then strode purposefully toward the door, which slid open at 
  her approach.
  Captain Starling watched as the shuttle blasted off from the hanger in the 
  belly of the Hidalgo, sliding through the vacuum of space to pierce the at-
  mosphere of the planet. He could feel the pulse beating in his temple, and he 
  forced down the surge of excitement that always came to him when he knew 
  action was on the way. He didn’t know what Lek, Freyga, and the marines 
  might find on that desolate planet, but he knew it would be, at the very least, 
  interesting.
  He recognized the same suppressed excitement amongst the rest of the 
  bridge crew. Like him, they were used to testing their limits and the limits 
  of their ship in combat, persevering in the face of certain destruction, often 
  with the fate of the Three Galaxies riding on the outcome of the battle. This 
  situation, Starling sensed, might well be the same.
  Perversely, Starling felt relieved. He almost felt guilty as he recognized 
  the emotion.
  “Captain, Commander Lek is coming through,” the communications of-
  ficer reported.
  “Patch him through,” Starling ordered.
  “We’ve just disembarked, Captain,” Lek’s voice came over the comm. 
  Some kind of interference caused a distortion in the comm system, making 
  Lek’s familiar voice sound alien. “The Silverhawks and Major Avanti are de-
  ploying according to SOP.” Lek’s voice trailed off, accompanied by a surge 
  in the distortion, and Starling became momentarily concerned. The science 
  officer continued after a moment, however.
  “We just experienced one of the waves of energy, and we felt it even 
  through our body armor. I’ve just developed a splitting headache, and the ma-
  rines are complaining of upset stomachs. The effect is rather mild, but we’re 
  still several hundred meters from the temple itself. I’m expecting the feelings 
  of illness to intensify as we get closer.”
  Lek cleared his throat self-consciously. “Even from here, we can see that 
  the structure is rather large, and constructed of massive blocks. Major Avanti 
  assures me that his macro-binoculars can detect some sort of writing on the 
  temple wall.”
  38
   
  
  Another wave of distortion surged through the comm-link, and Starling 
  frowned. After a few moments, Lek’s voice returned. “My apologies, Cap-
  tain, but the effect of the wave is indeed increasing, and we need to concen-
  trate on locomotion.”
  “Not a problem, Lek,” Starling told his friend. Then, without thinking, he 
  added, “Be careful.”
  He heard the smile in Lek’s voice as the science officer answered, “Thank 
  you, Hiram. We’ll try.” Lek paused for a moment, and then said, “We’re 
  close enough now to make out the inscription on the side of the temple; the 
  temple itself is a good thirty meters tall and sprawls at least forty meters wide. 
  I’m punching the inscription through the translator now... the language is ap-
  parently an ancient form of Zodoran.” Lek paused, and then added, “Curious. 
  The Zodorans are nearly extinct; I think there are only four or five left in all 
  the Three Galaxies.”
  “Continue, Commander,” Starling admonished.
  “Of course,” Lek returned. Another wave of distortion interrupted, and 
  then Lek continued. “The inscription reads: ‘The Last Place of the Hollow 
  One – If the Peace be Broken, they be Damned.’ Naturally, that’s the direct 
  translation. In Trade Four, it reads, ‘Where we buried the one without a soul; 
  those who awaken it will know eternal torment.’ Rather poetic, don’t you 
  think?”
  Starling frowned. This sounded bad. Very bad. A surge of distortion 
  sounded through the comm-link again, lasting longer this time, and as he 
  waited for it to clear, Starling ordered his thoughts. The Zodorans were a race 
  of ancient mystics, and they were indeed nearly extinct. Although a long-
  lived race of beings, their glory days were long past; legends spoke of a vast 
  empire destroyed by an angry god several millennia ago, long before the 
  ascendancy of the Consortium of Civilized Worlds. Of all the legends Star-
  ling had ever heard, there was never any mention of that “angry god” being 
  imprisoned in a temple of black rock on some lifeless world.
  Still...
  “Lek, get out of there. Now,” Starling ordered. Another surge of distortion 
  garbled his order, and he repeated it when the wave receded.
  Lek’s answer made Starling’s gut twist. “One of the marines pulled her 
  helmet off to vomit, and her head just exploded. My... own headache is in-
  creasing in intensity. I’m not sure we’ll make it to the ship.”
  “Lek, move!” Starling growled. He could feel the excitement on the bridge 
  peak. The concern for the away team was palpable. Tedeschi, the communi-
  cations officer, flexed his fingers in agitation, as if he wished to reach through 
  the comm-link and pull the away team back to the safety of the Hidalgo. 
  Kamanga, at the helm, glanced back at her captain, as if asking permission to 
  aim the ship at the planet in a desperate rescue attempt.
  39
   
  
  “Captain,” Lek began again, his voice strained, “we’re attempting a stra-
  tegic retreat.” Another wave of distortion washed over the comm-link, and 
  Starling gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white. Lek’s 
  voice returned, “I’m sorry to report the loss of another marine, and the wall 
  of the temple just cracked open. Some kind of condensed, jelly-like darkness 
  is oozing from the wound.”
  The sound of laser fire echoed over Lek’s communicator. Starling heard 
  Freyga’s harsh bark in the background as well, and he could tell by the sound 
  that whatever battle was raging down there was going badly. Starling consid-
  ered sending a second team down to support them, or even charging up the 
  weapon systems on the Hidalgo, but knew neither course of action would do 
  them any good. A second team would arrive too late, and the Hidalgo’s can-
  nons would do as much damage to Lek’s team as the entity.
  Another wave of distortion flashed, and Starling started as the lights on the 
  bridge dimmed. Kamanga automatically raised the ship’s shields, her face an 
  impassive mask that Starling knew hid a tide of emotion.
  “We’ve lost most of our team, Captain,” Lek reported, his voice so hag-
  gard that Starling felt his own heart lurch in his chest. “The entity – the Hol-
  low One – seems to be absorbing the energy from our weapons. If I may offer 
  a theory, Hiram, this creature is some sort of energy vampire, absorbing great 
  amounts easily. Indeed, I would hazard a guess that the expansion of the 
  star released enough ambient energy for the Hollow One to absorb and thus 
  breach its containment –”
  A wave of distortion interrupted Lek, and the comm-link suddenly went 
  dead. With the shields up, however, the ship seemed safe from the wave. 
  “Shields dropped by 12%, Captain,” Kamanga said, correcting Starling’s first 
  impression.
  He turned in his command chair, and regarded Tedeschi. The comm of-
  ficer shook his head. “We lost them, sir.”
  Starling forced his grief and fear into a ball and shoved it into a compart-
  ment inside himself, where he could take it out and examine it when he had 
  the time. “Put us on red alert and send a subspace communication to Xerxes 
  station, Lieutenant. Inform them of what we’ve found, and let them know 
  that when the star goes off in less than forty hours, this thing could very well 
  become unstoppable.”
  Tedeschi nodded sharply and turned back to his console. “Lt. Commander 
  Kamanga,” Starling said, “arm cruise missiles and target the temple.”
  ____________________
  Two bursts of bright color flashed through the atmosphere of the desert 
  planet Koola; one a bright crimson, the other a flashing emerald. As they 
  entered the vacuum of space, the colors solidified into a pair of armored fig-
  ures, one larger than the other and gripping a massive, two-headed ax. The 
  40
   
  
  figures angled through space, approaching a battered freighter that hung in 
  orbit above the planet.
  The larger, green-clad figure led the way, opening the airlock with a 
  practiced gesture, and then entering the craft. The red figure followed cau-
  tiously. When the interior airlock cycled closed, and they could talk once 
  more, the red figure complained to his companion, “What the hell is this? I 
  mean, spaceships are cool and all, Lothar, but we’re Cosmic Knights. We fly 
  through space with the greatest of ease and all that.”
  The emerald figure with the wolf-shaped helm sighed audibly. “It is sim-
  ple, pup. Through the blessings of the Immortal Forge, we are able to traverse 
  space at the speed of light, achieving a unity with the cosmos that every 
  sentient in the Three Galaxies envies. But moving at that speed takes a great 
  deal of skill and accuracy, which you, as yet, lack. So I have borrowed this 
  freighter from allies, and we shall use it to get around until you achieve the 
  control you need, or are able to reach the same faster than light speed I can 
  achieve. Is that understood?”
  Caleb Vulcan, the newest of the Knights who served the Cosmic Forge, 
  simply shrugged. He was more impressed at the volume of Lothar’s speech 
  than its content, as the Wulfen Knight had, up until then, proved entirely 
  laconic. “All right,” Caleb said. “You’re in charge.”
  Lothar’s green eyes glowered beneath the brows of his helm. “So nice of 
  you to admit that, pup.”
  Caleb decided that the “pup” nonsense was wearing thin very quickly. But 
  he still had bruises from the training session with Lothar planet side. He let 
  it lie, for the moment, and decided to change the subject. “So, where are we 
  off to?”
  Lothar grunted. “We’re going to the nearest CCW station to have you 
  deputized so that you can operate as a lawgiver in Consortium space.”
  “And where’s that?” Caleb asked.
  “Its called Xerxes Station. Not much as those things go, but it will serve 
  the purpose.” Lothar walked away from the airlock as he talked, presumably 
  heading for the cockpit. Caleb followed him at a sedate place, absorbing the 
  interior of Lothar’s borrowed space ship as he did so. Almost absently, Caleb 
  powered down, discarding his centurion-like armor with a thought. Lothar 
  gave him a sharp look as he did so, and Caleb noticed that Lothar himself 
  maintained his armored form. But he didn’t criticize Caleb, though the boy 
  could feel Lothar’s disapproval like a wall between them.
  Caleb whistled quietly through his teeth. “It’s going to be a fun trip,” he 
  muttered to himself.
  41
   
  
  Chapter Five
  The Drums of Heaven
  The Consortium of Civilized Worlds does not have the time, resources, 
  or inclination to police each and every world that exists within its boundar-
  ies. Because of the peculiar nature of its government, the CCW cannot and 
  will not interfere directly with the governments of the planets that make up 
  the Consortium. But they watch the space between those planets very, very 
  closely.
  The Consortium Armed Forces Fleet Command seeds Consortium space 
  with agents, soldiers, and starships that keep close tabs on the space lanes. 
  Warshield cruisers hunt pirates and patrol the borders of “civilized” space, 
  supported by Scimitar light patrol ships and Hunter-Destroyers. The majes-
  tic bulk of a Protector battleship is a reassuring sight to CCW citizens and a 
  major concern of the Transgalactic Empire, while the Wulfen Packmasters 
  ferry troops from one trouble spot to the next. But these ships are, ultimately, 
  only transients in an ever expanding cosmos. They visit systems, dispensing 
  justice or security, and then depart for the void again.
  It is for that reason that most CCW worlds rarely consider the CAFF, 
  formidable as it is, a reliable protector. They are rarely around when they 
  are most needed. Aware of the problem, CAFFCO also seeded Consortium 
  space with a network of space stations to overlook individual systems or a 
  collection of systems and see to their defense and other military needs on a 
  regular basis.
  – Excerpt from Travelogues of a Journeyman by Fraktyn Quint
  Caleb Vulcan, newly knighted servant of the Cosmic Forge, settled back 
  into his co-pilot seat, stretching his legs out beneath the dashboard, or what-
  ever it was called in space. Beside Caleb, in the pilot’s chair, sat his Wulfen 
  mentor, Lothar, still clad in his emerald armor and looking as fierce as pos-
  sible. They were traveling in a freighter despite the fact that both Cosmo-
  Knights were capable of FTL travel under their own power because, as Lo-
  thar had explained it, Caleb was too new at the job, and didn’t yet have the 
  experience or power to keep up with Lothar at top speed.
  Initially, Caleb felt insulted at the insinuation that he could not keep up. 
  He knew a thing or two about speed, having torn up the sands of Arizona 
  in his dune buggy and buzzed through the skies of Koola faster than any 
  jet could go. However, Caleb realized, the first moment he stepped into the 
  freighter’s cockpit, that he now had the opportunity to learn how to fly a star-
  ship. It couldn’t be too much more difficult than flying a plane, after all, and 
  while Caleb had never actually flown a plane, to do so had so long been his 
  dream that he knew nearly everything there was to know about the process. 
  42
   
  
  Under Lothar’s tutelage, he was able to pick up the fundamentals of maneu-
  vering a three hundred ton freighter through the void.
  But as they approached their destination, the Consortium Space Station 
  Xerxes, Lothar had decreed “lesson time” over, and taken the controls from 
  Caleb. He disengaged the Phase Drive, which had generated the faster than 
  light, or FTL, propulsion enabling the ship to blast through space at insane 
  speeds, and then switched over to the contragravity drive. Lothar refused 
  to explain how the Phase Drive worked, insisting that the only species ca-
  pable of understanding the device were the mysterious Prometheans of Phase 
  World. Caleb had no idea what a Promethean might be, but he wasn’t going 
  to be side-tracked on the mechanics of space travel that easily.
  Lothar was a bit more forthcoming on the contragravity drive, explaining 
  that contragravitonic devices could eliminate the pull of gravity on an object. 
  The simplest expression of this technology enabled an ordinary human to 
  lift tons of cargo with little effort, and a more complex device, like the drive 
  itself, could not only enable a ship to break the bonds of planetary gravity, 
  but could enable the ship to accelerate and maneuver through air or space. 
  A similar device created the artificial gravity of the ship’s interior, keeping 
  Caleb from floating out of his seat.
  In addition, Lothar explained that just as the contragravity drive – or, 
  at least, this model – couldn’t accelerate into FTL speeds, the Phase Drive 
  couldn’t handle anything slower. And even a yokel like Caleb could under-
  stand the dangers inherent in approaching a planet or space station at FTL 
  speed. So Caleb let Lothar take control of the vehicle and guide it through 
  space towards the bright silver dot Lothar insisted was a space station.
  Caleb drummed his fingers against his stomach and watched the bright 
  silver dot get bigger. Caleb looked down at his hands and suddenly realized 
  he was still dressed in his jeans and the shiny shirt Floris Nybek purchased 
  for him just days before. His bare feet barely registered the cold metal of the 
  floor, but he instinctively lifted them up and wiggled his toes. He couldn’t 
  board a space station dressed like this.
  “Lothar,” Caleb asked his companion, “as long as we’re borrowing a 
  space ship, do you think I might be able to borrow somebody’s shoes?”
  The Wulfen looked askance at Caleb. “Just wear your armor, pup,” he 
  offered.
  Caleb shook his head. Even aboard the freighter, Lothar remained pow-
  ered up, still clad in his fearsome emerald green cosmo-armor. Caleb, in 
  contrast, dispelled his own suit of armor soon after boarding the freighter. 
  He didn’t see the need of wearing the suit at all times. After all, back home 
  Art Lynch didn’t wear his sheriff’s uniform when hanging out with the boys 
  at Munden’s. Caleb couldn’t be a Cosmo-Knight twenty-four hours a day, 
  seven days a week – or whatever the Three Galaxies equivalent might be. 
  He knew he needed the balance of a human identity, because without one, he 
  43
   
  
  instinctively knew that the temptation to become something inhuman would 
  be too strong to resist.
  “All I need are some shoes, boss,” Caleb insisted.
  Lothar sighed loudly, and then said, “There’s a storage locker in the other 
  room. Whatever is in there you can use, but if you don’t find anything, you’re 
  out of luck.”
  Caleb bounced out of the chair and headed into the next chamber. He 
  found a row of lockers against one wall, and rifled through them in search of 
  serviceable footwear. It took him a while, but he eventually discovered a pair 
  of red boots that weren’t too large for him. Emblazoned on the instep of each 
  boot was the legend “grav” in Trade Four, which looked slightly ominous to 
  Caleb, but they were the only shoes that fit him. He would have preferred a 
  nice pair of tennis shoes, actually, but he wagered that he had lucked out in 
  finding anything at all. When he felt comfortable again, he stepped back into 
  the cockpit.
  Xerxes filled the viewscreen. It was a massive structure, easily a dozen 
  miles long, and it was shaped like a spindle or top, with a broad flat head 
  that narrowed downward into a point. Lights decorated the station from top 
  to bottom, and hundreds of ships buzzed in, out, and around the station, like 
  gnats orbiting a light bulb. Caleb noticed dozens of laser batteries peppering 
  the hide of the station, and he knew they would zap if any of the gnats got 
  too close. The hump of a blue and green planetary mass peeked out from the 
  background. The vision was breathtaking, but Caleb found his voice quickly.
  “This is what you called ‘not much as these things go’?”
  Lothar shrugged. “When you’ve been to Center as many times as I have, 
  these places honestly don’t look like much. Now sit down and quit gawking. 
  I need to get permission to dock and a safe route in. I don’t need you distract-
  ing me, pup.”
  Caleb forced his mouth shut and then dropped into the co-pilot’s chair.
  Forty minutes later, after Lothar guided the craft onto a docking platform 
  and automatic systems sent umbilicals snaking through the airless environ-
  ment to connect with the freighter, Caleb and Lothar stepped through the 
  airlock and onto the station. At first, Caleb didn’t see much to be impressed 
  by; this portion of the station looked indistinguishable from the interior of 
  the freighter he had just vacated. But the human boy couldn’t help staring 
  as a pair of tentacled quadrupeds sloughed past him, their single large, crim-
  son eyes blinking rapidly. When he deemed the creatures outside of earshot, 
  though they didn’t appear to possess ears, Caleb murmured to his companion, 
  “I guess they allow pets on this station, huh?”
  Lothar snorted disdainfully. “Those were Monro. Traders from the Trans-
  galactic Empire, from the look of them. Please try to keep your human preju-
  dices to yourself, pup.”
  Caleb shrugged. “How was I supposed to know?”
  44
   
  
  “Ignorance and stupidity go paw in paw,” Lothar intoned, “but only one 
  can be excused by the other.”
  “What is that supposed to mean?” Caleb asked.
  Lothar snorted again. “I can tell you are going to take a great deal of work. 
  Come on,” Lothar urged, “the TVIA station is at the end of this corridor.” 
  The Wulfen led the way down the metal hallway, the harsh fluorescent lights 
  inset in the walls reflecting off his armor. Caleb followed at a sedate pace, 
  feeling chastened.
  The passage emptied out into a much larger space with a high, vaulted 
  ceiling. Dozens of aliens, humans, and other transients stood in lines before 
  a series of massive desks, behind which were staffed humans in military-
  looking garb. The tops of the desks were lit up with lights, and the Caleb 
  could see the humans typing on keys built into the desks themselves. Other 
  humans in similar uniforms stood at attention a few paces behind the desks, 
  cradling rifles and looking very dangerous. As Caleb watched, the transients 
  filed by a desk, answering a series of questions, and were allowed to hop on 
  an escalator that carried them up into the station proper.
  “Do we have anything to declare?” Caleb asked Lothar. The Wulfen just 
  glared at him.
  Lothar fell into line behind the Monro creatures, who attempted to ig-
  nore the presence of the Cosmo-Knight rather superficially. Caleb followed 
  close behind, still examining the room. He could see a number of television 
  screens hanging from the ceiling, flashing information in a babble of differ-
  ent languages. The walls, likewise, were decorated with signs and arrows, all 
  color-coded and in different tongues. Caleb was pleased to see Trade Four, or 
  English, was one of them.
  The customs – or TVIA – official finished with the Monro quickly, and 
  with a barely veiled threat that seemed to upset the grotesque little creatures. 
  Caleb had no doubt they would behave as instructed, if only while in the pres-
  ence of the troopers with guns.
  And then Lothar stepped up to the terminal, and the official’s sour expres-
  sion transformed into a welcoming smile. “Lothar of Motherhome,” the man 
  said, beaming. “Welcome back to Xerxes.” He eyed Caleb for a moment, and 
  added, “Disposing of a prisoner?”
  Caleb frowned, and was about to set the man straight, but Lothar inter-
  vened. “Deputizing a new recruit, actually,” Lothar growled. The official 
  started, and managed a weak smile in Caleb’s direction by way of apology. 
  Caleb just shrugged. “We should be gone within the hour,” Lothar was say-
  ing, while the official keyed information into his terminal.
  “Well then,” the official said after a moment, “I shall see you again very 
  soon.”
  45
   
  
  Lothar nodded and stepped past the terminal, Caleb at his heels. The 
  guards offered Lothar an appreciative nod, which he acknowledged, and then 
  he stepped onto the escalator.
  “So,” Caleb began, “are you famous or just a local boy?”
  Lothar mumbled something Caleb didn’t quite hear, and then said, “I am 
  fairly well known in this sector of space. I’ve visited Xerxes a few times in 
  the past as well.”
  “A little bit of both, then,” Caleb said. Lothar’s tail flicked in annoyance, 
  but he said nothing. The escalator carried the Knights up into the station 
  proper, or at least what Caleb took to be the station proper. The escalator 
  deposited visitors onto a promenade, an upper deck that looked out onto a 
  broad courtyard decorated with fountains of curious architecture and plant 
  life of exotic shades. The ceiling was a good thirty meters away, and huge 
  windows stretched from floor to ceiling, displaying the comings and goings 
  of ships outside in space.
  Humans and aliens picked their way through the artificial park, others sit-
  ting beside fountains or beneath hanging trees. On the deck itself, dozens of 
  creatures bustled past Caleb and Lothar, each one more bizarre and curious 
  than the last. Caleb saw beings with bodies fashioned from rock, males and 
  females with great manes of striped hair colored maroon and blue, robots 
  with carapaces of black steel, apish humanoids with chitinous plates covering 
  their bodies, women with mohawks, men with braids, a dough faced crea-
  ture with blue skin and beady eyes, great flange-headed creatures in flowing 
  robes, and dozens more. Caleb almost felt like he were lost in a funhouse or 
  a freakshow. But this was all too strange and real to belong to a freakshow.
  And the wide berth beings gave Lothar and himself did not escape Caleb.
  “This way,” Lothar said, taking a sharp left. Creatures scurried out of his 
  way as he strode purposefully along the promenade. Caleb stared at the park 
  below for a moment, once more wondering if this was all some fever dream, 
  and then scurried after the senior Cosmo-Knight.
  “Explain this whole bonded deputy business again, please,” Caleb asked 
  Lothar as they walked. “And you might want to tell me why everybody seems 
  to be frightened of you.”
  Lothar snorted. “Us, pup. The sentients are frightened of us.” His emerald 
  eyes flashed beneath the brow of his helm. “Most sane creatures in the Three 
  Galaxies fear the divine judgments of the Forge, and they fear even more 
  those who carry out the Forge’s wishes. As I mentioned before, simply by 
  accepting the mantle of the Cosmo-Knight, you have opened yourself up to 
  attack, fear, and superstition from all those who have contempt for law and 
  order.”
  “Are you telling me that everyone on this station is a criminal, then?”
  Lothar shook his head. “No.” He paused for a moment, almost as if hesi-
  tant to go on. But it would be very un-Lothar-like to be hesitant about any-
  46
   
  
  thing, Caleb believed. “Even those who are just and righteous are uneasy 
  around us,” the Wulfen continued, smiling ruefully. “We represent a standard 
  that very few in this universe can match. They envy our power and our sta-
  tion. They fear that they may not be righteous enough, that they possess some 
  terrible flaw that only the Forge or her agents can see. And they are afraid we 
  will punish them for it.”
  “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” Caleb muttered. “How do we 
  do our jobs if everyone is afraid of us?”
  “Fear is an excellent motivator, pup. It makes criminals sloppy. It makes 
  them do stupid things. Fear makes our job much easier than it would be oth-
  erwise.” Lothar eyed Caleb for a moment. “Perhaps you are beginning to 
  understand the weighty responsibility upon your shoulders.”
  Caleb shrugged. “This isn’t how I expected it,” he admitted.
  “And what did you expect? Parades in our honor? Flowers laid at our feet? 
  Beautiful females throwing themselves at us?”
  It was Caleb’s turn to smile with ruefulness. “I guess I did have high ex-
  pectations.” Lothar nodded, his suspicions confirmed. “But,” Caleb added, “it 
  still seems wrong that even the good guys don’t trust us.”
  “Oh, they trust us, pup,” Lothar explained. “They trust us to do the Forge’s 
  bidding, and they trust us to stamp out evil in the Three Galaxies. Beyond 
  that, however...”
  Their discussion brought Caleb and Lothar across the promenade, and up 
  a few levels to the more cramped parts of the station. The promenade and the 
  park, it seemed, existed to welcome travelers to the station. The rest of the 
  station was laid out more like a starship or an office building, with narrow 
  hallways, high ceilings, and no windows. The stars were left outside where 
  they belonged, allowing humans and aliens to see to the business of running 
  the station without any distractions.
  “Lothar!”
  The Wulfen Cosmo-Knight paused in mid-stride and slowly turned. Caleb 
  spun on his own heel to see a strange figure brushing past two uniformed 
  CCW officers, and call out Lothar’s name once more. Beside Caleb, Lothar 
  released an audible sigh.
  “Lothar, old boy, imagine running into you here,” the stranger was say-
  ing, approaching with a quick and even stride. The figure was tall and long 
  limbed, with a battered hat on his head and a stained and rumpled tan trench-
  coat wrapped around himself. He held a short cane in his right hand, which 
  he rapped rhythmically against the floor of the hallway. His features, under 
  the hat and coat, were shadowy and indistinct, like clouded darkness, almost 
  insubstantial. All but for his two eyes, which flickered like orange flames 
  beneath the brim of his hat.
  “It is odd, Abbot,” Lothar offered when the figure drew close. “I would 
  have expected you to be on the other side of the Corkscrew this time of year.”
  47
   
  
  “Yes, well, I ran into a spot of trouble there last year, and I didn’t feel 
  like repeating myself. Decided to take it easy for a while.” The mysterious 
  Abbot offered his hand to Lothar, and the two shook amicably, though Lo-
  thar seemed annoyed. Caleb shrugged inwardly; Lothar always appeared an-
  noyed.
  “And who have we here?,” Abbot asked, turning to Caleb. Abbot spoke 
  Trade Four with a clipped, British accent, which seemed highly improbable 
  to Caleb, until he reminded himself that aliens speaking English at all was 
  highly improbable. Besides, here in the Three Galaxies, Abbot’s accent was 
  probably Centaurian or something.
  “Abbot, meet Caleb Vulcan,” Lothar said, gesturing in Caleb’s direction. 
  “Pup, meet Doctor Abbot.”
  “A pleasure to meet you... uh... Doctor, was it?” Caleb said, offering the 
  shadowy figure his hand. Abbot took it, with a surprisingly strong grip; he 
  might appear insubstantial save for his clothing, but Abbot certainly felt solid 
  enough.
  “Likewise, I’m sure,” Abbot said. “And yes, I am a doctor. As you are a 
  student, yes? Don’t look surprised. I’ve known Lothar a long time, and he’s 
  always called his trainees ‘pups.’ Quite an odd affectation, if you ask me.”
  “And what are you a doctor of, exactly?” Lothar asked. He turned to Ca-
  leb. “An important lesson to remember, pup. Watch your step around Abbot, 
  and always be prepared for the worst. Trouble follows him like calm after a 
  storm.”
  “How very droll, Lothar,” Abbot said. “Especially given my present cir-
  cumstances. As it happens, I have a matter that I’d like to discuss with you. 
  Nothing serious, I assure you, but your help would be appreciated...”
  ”We’re busy, I’m afraid,” Lothar interrupted. Caleb wasn’t sure, but there 
  seemed to be a certain smugness about Lothar’s expression. “We need to 
  get young Caleb deputized, and then we need to begin searching for Elias 
  Harkonnen. You’ll have to pester some other Knight for help. I hear there’s 
  a Blhaze in the Timon system looking for work. Why not go bother her?”
  “Harkonnen, eh?” Abbot’s eyes brightened beneath the brim of his hat. 
  “He’s a canny opponent. You’ll need more than a neophyte Knight on your 
  side if you’re going to take that one down.”
  “We’ll do fine,” Lothar snarled. “We certainly don’t need the aid of ruf-
  fians and troublemakers.”
  “Excuse me,” Caleb said, interposing himself between the two intimidat-
  ing figures. “If I might offer a suggestion, Lothar. You did say Harkonnen 
  was a tough customer – Invincible Legion and all that. Plus he outsmarted 
  you once before; we could probably use all the help we can get.”
  Abbot slapped Caleb on the back. “Is it courage, Lothar, or stupidity? I 
  must say, this new recruit of yours is quite impressive. I’ve never heard one 
  talk to you like that before.”
  48
   
  
  Lothar’s mask twisted into a grimace. “If you’re trying to get on my good 
  side, pup, you are failing miserably.”
  “I wasn’t aware you had a good side,” Caleb snapped back. “And let’s cut 
  out this pup crap for once and for all, huh?”
  Beside Caleb, Doctor Abbot took a step back, expecting an explosion of 
  some kind from Lothar. The emerald Knight stretched himself to his full 
  height, eyes flashing green, prepared to reprimand his charge. But before Lo-
  thar could get a word out, his attention was drawn to a blonde ensign hurtling 
  down the corridor towards them. She was calling his name.
  “Oh, Lothar, I’m so glad I finally located you,” she began, puffing heavily. 
  “I checked with Rawlins in the Security office, but he said you hadn’t been 
  there yet, and then I thought maybe you lingered in the Arboretum...”
  “Ensign,” Lothar growled, “what is this all about?” Though interrupted, 
  his ire had not dissipated.
  “Yes, of course,” the woman stammered. “Please forgive me. A Domina-
  tor Class Threat has appeared in the Teneb-742 system. Xerxes is mobiliz-
  ing everything we have, but we’re a small outpost, and we don’t have much 
  available. When we learned we had two Cosmo-Knights onboard, Com-
  mander Skyrunner thought you might be willing to help.”
  “What’s going on?” Caleb interrupted. Lothar, Abbot, and the ensign ig-
  nored him, though the ensign continued to explain for Lothar’s benefit.
  “You might already know that Teneb-742 is about to go nova. But appar-
  ently a Zodoran energy leech was awakened by Teneb-742’s death throes – 
  the creature has to be stopped before the star dies. If it absorbs the energy of 
  a dying star, it could become unstoppable. I mean, if it’s already Dominator 
  Class, what’ll happen when Teneb-742 goes nova?”
  “Trouble,” Lothar said. “Big trouble. We’ve got to get back to the ship and 
  out to Teneb-742 immediately. The Forge willing, we’ll get there in time to 
  be of some use.”
  “Commander Skyrunner will be most relieved,” the ensign gushed.
  “I’m coming,” Abbot said. “I know a bit about the lost Zodorans.”
  Lothar looked at him a moment, and then nodded. “Let’s go.”
  ____________________
  “Tell me what I want to hear, Squiddy,” Elias Harkonnen demanded.
  He stood imperiously in the midst of the junkyard the Monro Squamato 
  Kekkil Damathui called a pawn shop. Hardly a shop at all, it appeared to be 
  little more than a place for Squamato, or “Squiddy” as most referred to him, 
  to collect junk. The place was small enough to begin with, but jammed with 
  broken toasters, VR units, trideo monitors, oxygen and methane tanks, swim-
  suits, flight suits, turbo jockey jackets, helmets, fragments of armor, bits of 
  wire and string, used CDs, cyborg and robot spare parts – limbs, mostly, but 
  also a few eyes, gears and CPUs – jewelry, swords, obsolete laser weapons 
  49
   
  
  from three centuries ago, ancient hardcopy books, stereos missing knobs and 
  switches and other integral parts, figurines of dragons and unicorns, scratched 
  and pitted with age, lawn ornaments, posters of some arcane figure known 
  only as “Snoopy,” and hundreds of other less identifiable items wedged onto 
  shelves, shoved into boxes, or on display in one of three glass cases with 
  glass so cloudy the objects within were indistinct at best, and completely 
  invisible at worst. Fragments littered the floor, and crunched beneath Elias’ 
  boots like popcorn.
  And in the midst of it all, the rotund form of Squiddy. He squatted behind 
  the central glass case like a porcine king, his single red glaring eye blinking 
  furiously, his huge maw of needle sharp teeth stretched wide into a hideous 
  smile. Squiddy kept his forepaws flat on the top of the case, but his tentacles 
  flitted about, one waving a pungent cigar, the other sloshing a gin and tonic 
  everywhere, while the other two rummaged about behind the glass case on 
  some mysterious errand.
  Squiddy wasn’t much as pawnbrokers went, but everyone in Center, from 
  the Knife Master to High Lord Anshurr himself, knew Squiddy didn’t really 
  deal in used items. He dealt in information. It was he who had pointed Elias 
  in the direction of Quajinn Huo, the draconid sorcerer who had once almost 
  taken control of the United Worlds of Warlock, and who was now forced to 
  hide in the slums beneath the sixth level or face destruction at the hands of 
  those he had wronged so long ago. But Huo’s whereabouts had not been the 
  only bit of intelligence Elias had requested from Squiddy, and the former 
  Invincible Legionnaire had come to collect the rest of his merchandise.
  Squiddy took a puff on his cigar. “My, my, you are an impatient one, 
  Harkonnen,” he remarked. “Not even a ‘hello.’ or a ‘how’s tricks.’ Right to 
  business with you.”
  “I haven’t the time to waste chewing the fat with you, Squiddy. Just give 
  me what I paid for,” Elias ordered coldly. Monro as a species had always 
  disgusted him, but Squiddy was a particularly loathsome member of his race. 
  The fact that Elias could not simply force Squiddy to do his bidding made 
  Elias want to smash things; preferably Squiddy’s fat, disgusting excuse for 
  a face. But the Monro’s fame throughout Center also kept the creature pro-
  tected. High Lord Anshurr would not take kindly to anyone who pounded one 
  of his chief information brokers into pudding, and Elias certainly didn’t need 
  the heat the Splugorth could lay on him.
  Not now, at any rate.
  “Very well,” Squiddy said with an expansive sigh that shook his frame. 
  “I haven’t been able to locate Lothar yet.” Before Elias could snarl anything, 
  Squiddy pressed on, “Cosmo-Knights are notoriously difficult to keep track 
  of, Harkonnen. Believe me. They can flit through space at will, so they don’t 
  need to board passenger ships. They don’t eat, drink, or sleep, so they don’t 
  book rooms at hotels or pay for expensive dinners at restaurants with their 
  50
   
  
  Phase World Express cards. And that’s another thing – they don’t use creds 
  much at all. Most people just give ‘em what they need. Or maybe the Forge 
  does, I dunno. Bottom line: the usual channels ain’t much use with Cosmo-
  Knights.”
  “Then why use them at all?” Elias asked through gritted teeth.
  “Excellent question. The answer is simple: you might get lucky. Plus, 
  they’re quicker than the unusual channels, which are coming up empty them-
  selves, and more slowly I might add. I’m still looking, though, I assure you. 
  You’ll be the first to know when he’s spotted.”
  Elias nodded wearily. “Fine,” he said. “What else have you got for me?”
  Squiddy took a sip from his drink, and frowned slightly. “Too much ton-
  ic,” he muttered to himself. To Elias, he said, “Rumor mill is working over-
  time, my friend. Word is that Naruni Enterprises is taking a pounding in their 
  new market, the dimensional vortex known as Earth. Could it be coincidence 
  that this Earth is the playground for one Lord Splynncryth? Industrial espio-
  nage can be very lucrative, Harkonnen.”
  “Only an idiot would be caught between the Naruni and a Splugorth,” 
  Elias muttered.
  Squiddy gave the Monro equivalent of a shrug. “There’s a new player 
  in Center politics that might interest you. They call themselves the Tarlok. 
  They’re from a backwards system where they run the show; galactic des-
  pots, you’d like ‘em. Their only problem is, their starships ain’t FTL capable. 
  Now, they’re courting the Splugorth of Center, who seem to be taking a shine 
  to ‘em – the Tarlok have exotic slave stock – but they still haven’t seen an 
  FTL ship yet. The Splugorth are playing with ‘em, I figger. And the Kreeg-
  hor, who see the Tarloks as petty rivals, have blocked the Tarloks’ attempts 
  to go outside the Splugorth for help.”
  Interesting. Elias could make a great deal of money selling a ship or two to 
  the upstart aliens. It would certainly feel good to once more spit in the collec-
  tive eye of the Kreeghor, but it was generally unwise to undercut a Splugorth. 
  It wouldn’t hurt to keep it in mind, however. “Go on,” he told Squiddy.
  “A Fallen Knight showed up on Center last night. Just appeared on level 
  four all of a sudden. Probably rifted in.”
  “One of the Fallen?” Elias said, surprised. The Fallen were rare, though 
  a great deal more common than the Forge or its Knights wanted them to be. 
  A sad lot, the Fallen were failed Knights, those who could not live up to the 
  perfection demanded of them by the Forge, those who gave in to temptation 
  and behaved like the rest of the cosmos. It might be worth the trouble it would 
  take to track this Knight down, Elias thought. He might be willing to cut a 
  deal. Or he might be worth a few practice rounds. “What else?” Elias asked.
  “Let’s see,” Squiddy mumbled. “There’s a new expedition shaping up for 
  Ghost World. The S’hree Vek Confederacy and the CCW are holding a sum-
  mit in some undisclosed location, probably in neutral space. Gozel dip Gozel 
  51
   
  
  sent a ‘mysterious cargo’ to Maddox Industries yesterday; should reach its 
  destination in another twelve standard days. Very hush-hush.” Not surpris-
  ing; Gozel dip Gozel was a famous Kittani inventor and artist. He worked 
  freelance, refusing to subjugate his “brilliance” or his “vision” to some face-
  less conglomerate. The Naruni had tried to get him to sign contracts at least 
  a dozen times, but no matter how lucrative they were, Gozel dip Gozel still 
  refused. Supposedly, having been spurned so many times, the Naruni even-
  tually resorted to force, and sent a whole company of Repo-Bots to the in-
  ventor’s homeworld to take him away. The story went that Gozel dip Gozel 
  eventually made a summer home out of the Repo-Bots after he melted them 
  down.
  People steered clear of Gozel dip Gozel after that. They recognized that a 
  being with his intelligence and resources could protect himself and his inven-
  tions. But if one were on a ship, en route to one of those faceless conglom-
  erates, it would be deliciously vulnerable to pirates or worse. A Gozel dip 
  Gozel original would be worth billions on the black-market.
  Something else to keep in mind. “You’re holding something back, Squid-
  dy,” Elias admonished. “Spill it.”
  The Monro smiled, and puffed on his cigar once more. “I saved the best 
  for last, Harkonnen. Thraxus is hiring.”
  Thraxus. Now there was a word to conjure with, as Elias’ grandmother 
  would have said. Thraxus was one of the few figures known throughout the 
  Three Galaxies. A powerful, rich, and immortal figure, many considered 
  Thraxus to be both the richest sentient in the Three Galaxies and the nomi-
  nal ruler of Center itself. From his ivory tower on the first level of Center, 
  the Manors, Thraxus ruled an empire of excess and military might, holding 
  a considerable amount of Naruni Enterprises stock in addition to property 
  holdings and businesses scattered throughout the reaches of the cosmos. In 
  a single day, Thraxus made more money than most planets. As if the man’s 
  wealth were not enough, he was also well known for his political views: 
  specifically, he had none. He played sides off against each other, Splugorth, 
  CCW, UWW, Transgalactic Empire, the Wulfen, humans, Cosmo-Knights, 
  Knights of Kamnos, tracers, the Fraternity of Stars; he had backed or thwart-
  ed all at one point or another. Thraxus feared nothing, and managed to reap 
  profit from every venture. A man could do a lot worse than allying himself 
  with such a being.
  “What is he looking for?” Elias asked.
  Squiddy snorted. “Thought that one might get your attention. Word is, 
  he’s looking for cutthroats, murderers and thieves for this one. Very big, very 
  dangerous. But he needs folks that’ll be trustworthy, willing to get the job 
  done, and do it correctly.”
  Elias nodded, as if his suspicions were confirmed. “And you have no idea 
  what the job itself entails?”
  52
   
  
  Squiddy tried to shrug again. “All I know is that it is supposed to be a 
  ‘total riot.’ Which could mean it’s the practical joke of the millennium, or 
  something much, much worse. One never knows with Thraxus.”
  Elias thought a moment. He had no taste in practical jokes, no matter what 
  the scale. But for the prices Thraxus was sure to be paying, Elias might con-
  sider smashing a custard pie in face of the Tribe-lord of the Seljuks or whom-
  ever might be the target. “Get word to Thraxus that I’m interested. Mention 
  Huo is working for me. That should get his attention, if my name doesn’t.”
  “Okay,” Squiddy said. “There is the little matter of a finder’s fee...”
  “Just do it,” Elias snapped. “When I hear back from Thraxus, I’ll dump the 
  appropriate amount in your usual account.”
  Elias Harkonnen left Squiddy’s Pawn Shop, with a bounce in his step that 
  had not been there when he entered. Despite the Monro’s repulsive appear-
  ance, Elias had to admit that the little beast certainly produced results. A line 
  to Thraxus... it would be best to keep his temper in check when dealing with 
  Squiddy, Elias thought.
  With an advance from Thraxus, Elias might be able to afford a new ship. 
  His resources were beginning to peter out, and not for the first time he cursed 
  Lothar of Motherhome for forcing him to destroy the asteroid installation 
  and all the pirated cargo left in the asteroid’s hold. If Elias had been able to 
  unload that material, he wouldn’t be running out of money on Phase World, 
  begging for scraps from a Monro.
  Elias’ white eyes narrowed. His team was almost ready. Another day or 
  two, and they would be ready to wreak havoc across the cosmos, in Thraxus’ 
  name or in Harkonnen’s. Quajinn Huo would serve to deter any interruptions 
  from Lothar or any other servants of the Forge. A Klikita named Friar pos-
  sessed abilities that were the key to getting Huo off of Center without the 
  UWW knowing. Elias had found a psychotic Relogian named Hector who 
  knew his way around munitions. A Kisent from Cheba-IV would serve as 
  pilot for whatever ship Elias could purchase. There was a Riathenor that Elias 
  was in negotiations with, who might be willing to join up with their merry 
  band. Elias also had a line on an Oni, and then there was the Fallen Knight 
  Squiddy mentioned. Yes, the team was shaping up nicely.
  53
   
  
  Chapter Six
  Riders on the Storm
  Lost civilizations. Dead races. The Three Galaxies are full of them.
  The most famous of them, naturally, are the mythical First Race, those be-
  ings said to have created the Cosmic Forge in the Dawn of History, but there 
  are others. The Machinists of the Anvil Galaxy, who created the Machine 
  People that populate a few worlds in the Transgalactic Empire, are among 
  the better known. There are some who say the ruins on Monro-Tet were built 
  not by the ancestors of the Monro themselves, but by some other lost people. 
  Other planets in the Anvil galaxy appear to have been the homes of now 
  extinct beings as well. the Freecheesians of Galoppa once ruled a section 
  of space within the TGE, but they disappeared before the Kreeghor arrived. 
  There are still a few scattered remnants of the Todamma peoples of the Bur-
  schian Dominion, but they are a degenerate people, fallen far from the lofty 
  heights they once held. There are others.
  In the Corkscrew, lost civilizations are even more common. They litter 
  thousands of worlds, leaving behind tombs, technology, and little else. Xeno-
  archaeologists and looters alike have become very rich sentients by exploring 
  these dead worlds and bringing their bounty back to the CCW, TGE, UWW, 
  or other groups. As to why dead worlds are so common, xenoarchaeologists 
  have their theories. The most well regarded hypothesis, although there are 
  many others, is that all civilizations must go through a series of technological 
  and sociological steps before they are “mature” enough to join the galactic 
  community. Atomic power and weapons, for example, integral to the develop-
  ment of primitive FTL systems, are often available to civilizations long before 
  they reach the global sociological equilibrium required to reach out to the 
  stars. A species warring against itself, with weapons of mass destruction at 
  their fingertips, sooner or later decides to use them against one another, or 
  they put them away and pursue more lofty goals. The ruins that are found all 
  over the Three Galaxies, xenoarchaeologists claim, are the remains of civi-
  lizations that could not or would not unify themselves, and instead chose to 
  unleash their weapons on one another and therefore were destroyed.
  A prosaic explanation, certainly, but not at all a hard and fast rule. One 
  wonders how the Kreeghor and the Wulfen became such galactically power-
  ful species, for example, if this is the case. And if it isn’t the case, then why do 
  so many of these species and civilizations die out?
  – Excerpt from Travelogues of a Journeyman by Fraktyn Quint
  Lothar hunched over the control panel and Caleb held on to his seat with 
  both hands. Behind them both, Doctor Abbot whistled a jaunty tune.
  54
   
  
  Caleb held on for dear life although the ship’s gravplates made sure the 
  passengers felt nothing as it hurtled through space at several thousand times 
  the speed of light. Indeed, the ride was smooth and comfortable, without so 
  much as a shimmy or a bump. Turbulence did not exist in space. Still, Caleb 
  could not help but feel a bit uneasy as the ship blasted through space on the 
  way to Teneb-742, an obscure system not far, relatively speaking, from the 
  CCW Xerxes Station.
  The view outside the ship’s main port was enough to create butterflies in 
  Caleb’s stomach; the Phase Drive the ship used to achieve faster-than-light 
  speeds shunted the ship outside the bounds of physical reality, thus freeing 
  it from the laws of thermodynamics and creating an unsettling vision outside 
  the ship as it skimmed across the planes of reality. If Caleb looked out the 
  window, it appeared as if the ship they were in burrowed through a spinning 
  and whirling tunnel of cascading blue and violet energy that crackled and 
  spat bolts of light at the ship as it passed. Arcs of multicolored lightning 
  played along the windowpane, and, presumably, all along the outside of the 
  ship as well. Normally it wasn’t this bad, Lothar had promised, but due to the 
  urgency of their mission, he had disengaged the safeties and forced the ship 
  to supersede its limits.
  The danger they were about to face was real, and far more deadly than the 
  light show outside. A “Dominator Class Threat” had awoken from a millen-
  nia long sleep and attacked a CCW survey ship observing the star Teneb-742 
  as it approached critical mass and prepared to supernova. The entity was 
  apparently some sort of energy leech, and the impending nova promised to 
  provide it with enough energy to fry the universe. As matters stood now, the 
  entity had already crippled the first ship on the scene, and was in the process 
  of destroying whatever reinforcements that ship had called in for assistance.
  There existed only a few hours before Teneb-742 went nova. Lothar need-
  ed to get the three of them to the scene as quickly as possible so that they 
  could neutralize the threat and still evade their own destruction as the star 
  itself exploded.
  “Is every day like this?” Caleb asked, forcing himself to relax in his co-
  pilot’s chair.
  “Only if we’re lucky,” Lothar growled, his eyes flashing emerald green 
  from his helmet.
  “I hope that’s sarcasm,” Caleb muttered.
  “Oh, it is,” Doctor Abbot said, breaking off his whistling to comment in 
  his strangely British accent. “Lothar isn’t anymore enthused about this than 
  you are, Caleb. But he does like to put up a brave front.”
  “Shut up, Abbot,” Lothar barked. His hands flew over the control panel, 
  attempting to coax more speed from the taxed engine. “Unless you’ve some-
  thing constructive to offer, of course,” he amended in the same irate tone. “I 
  seem to recall you claimed to know ‘a bit’ about the Zodorans.”
  55
   
  
  Abbot appeared unperturbed at Lothar’s anger. “I did say something about 
  that, didn’t I?” he admitted. He spun his cane in his hands lazily for a mo-
  ment, and then said to Caleb, “It is amazing how polite he gets when he wants 
  something.”
  Caleb smiled slightly. “Well, to be honest, I’m curious myself. What is a 
  Zodoran? Are they all energy leeches?”
  Abbot chuckled. “Not at all, Caleb. My, your innocence is refreshing.” 
  Lothar snorted, but Abbot ignored him. “The Zodorans were once one of the 
  most powerful races in the Three Galaxies. They oversaw a vast republic that 
  included a thousand, thousand worlds. They were revered for their honesty, 
  their integrity, and their wisdom. But it all came crashing down around them, 
  and by the time of humanity’s ascendancy, the Zodorans were all but extinct. 
  Today a bare handful of them survive, no more than a hundred in the entire 
  Megaverse. They have retreated from life, becoming mystics and hermits and 
  sages.”
  “Mystics,” Lothar grumbled. “That’s what makes me concerned.” He 
  spared a sharp glance at Caleb, and then returned his attention to the console. 
  “We Knights of the Forge are hardy. But magic is as dangerous to us as any-
  thing. Magic can kill a Knight readily and without fanfare. It’s best to step 
  lightly around magic, but we’re headed into a hornet’s nest of it right now. 
  It’s likely our paws are going to be more than a bit singed. Watch yourself, 
  pup.”
  Abbot cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, Lothar, I wasn’t finished. 
  You may continue with your dour prophecies in a moment, but I have an avid 
  student here in search of enlightenment. And you might learn a thing or two 
  as well, so pay attention.”
  Lothar grunted, “Fine, Abbot. Spit it out.”
  Caleb could almost see the hint of a smile on Abbot’s face, but he couldn’t 
  be sure. Abbot seemed to be made entirely of shadow, with the only substan-
  tial parts of him being his trenchcoat, hat, and cane. His incandescent eyes 
  were the only visible features on his face, and given their alien nature, they 
  were impossible for Caleb to read. Something about the way he stood gave 
  Caleb the distinct impression that he was amused, however.
  “The Zodorans became mystics, but they weren’t always such,” Abbot 
  began.
  Lothar snorted. “By the Mother’s Teats, Abbot, you’re making this up 
  as you go, aren’t you? Of course the Zodorans have always been mystics. 
  They’re some of the most powerful wizards in the Megaverse.”
  “And usually you’re so open-minded,” Abbot snapped. “Stop interrupting 
  and keep your ignorant prejudices to yourself. The boy wants to learn.” He 
  stared pointedly at the back of Lothar’s head for a moment, and continued 
  only after the Wulfen gave a resigned shrug.
  56
   
  
  “Where was I?” Abbot asked. “Oh yes, the Zodorans. They have become 
  mystically attuned in the past few thousand years, but that was more of a re-
  action to the doom they wrought on themselves than any natural inclination. 
  Magic, philosophy, and the hermetic life seemed to them to be a better life 
  than the one they abandoned. A better life, and perhaps a safer one.”
  “Zodoran ruins were some of the first discovered by CCW explorers cen-
  turies ago,” Lothar interrupted again. “Their records were decoded, their 
  mythology explained. They were wizards who summoned a dark god that 
  destroyed their civilization. Every schoolpup knows that, Abbot.”
  Abbot sighed. “Most Wulfen are similarly single-minded, Caleb. Keep 
  that in mind. Once they have an idea in their head, they don’t let it go. Nor 
  do they look beneath the surface of things to guess at the truths hidden by the 
  cosmos. They accept what is given them and disregard the rest. You would 
  do well to avoid doing the same.”
  “Get on with it, Abbot,” Lothar growled through clenched teeth.
  Caleb found himself wondering how long these two had known one an-
  other. They bickered as if they were married, and yet seemed to trust one 
  another anyway. If Lothar really hated Abbot, he would not have allowed the 
  shadowman to accompany them, and if Abbot really was the stuck up aca-
  demic he appeared to be, he would not have volunteered to follow them into 
  almost certain death. There was more going on here than it appeared. Could 
  it be the two of them were putting on some sort of show for Caleb’s benefit?
  “The early Zodorans were indeed ‘wizards’ of a kind,” Abbot began, “and 
  they did awaken a ‘dark god.’ But the god they awakened and the magic they 
  utilized was technology. The Zodorans possessed an intense curiosity and 
  a natural rationality that led them to develop technologically very early on. 
  When humans and Wulfen were still grubbing around in the dirt, trying to 
  figure out how to make fire work, the Zodorans were building rocket ships 
  and exploring their moons and their sister planets. Within another few gen-
  erations, they developed FTL ships and began to explore the regions beyond 
  their native system. They conquered disease and placed a moratorium on ag-
  ing. War and starvation were eliminated. They lived in a golden age on their 
  home planet, and they felt the need to share that experience with the rest of 
  the Three Galaxies.
  “They colonized countless worlds, and brought peace and enlightenment 
  to hundreds of others. In time, they fashioned a star-spanning republic ruled 
  by peace and wisdom. This was in the days before the Naruni, the Kreeghor, 
  or the S’hree Vek Confederacy, when such things were possible. Hells, this 
  was before Center existed. But the Splugorth were there, and their presence 
  awakened the Zodorans and their republic to certain realities.
  “Peace within the republic and among alien species was a laudable goal, 
  but it rang hollow when Splugorth slavers came raiding and ransacked en-
  tire worlds. Those they could not take, the Splugorth destroyed. They razed 
  57
   
  
  entire systems, leaving nothing but bleached bones and smoking ruins in 
  their wake. The Zodorans were a peaceful people, but they were not suicidal. 
  They knew that if the Splugorth were to go unchecked, their society would 
  be destroyed. Though it went against their principles, they used their great 
  intellects to fashion a weapon that could defend them. A weapon that could, 
  possibly, destroy the heinous Splugorth themselves.
  “It was an artificial construct, a device that could absorb all energy ex-
  pended upon it and then release it in devastating waves of negative energy. 
  So powerful was the device that it could feed on the light of distant stars. 
  When it faced Splugorth raiders, it drank up the energy expended by their 
  weapons and magicks and powered itself up for a massive surge that crippled 
  the Splugorthian fleet, forcing them to retreat and lick their wounds.
  “The Zodorans were overjoyed. Their weapon had worked admirably, and 
  it would do so again if the need ever arose. They called it back, and prepared 
  to put it in storage. But the weapon had other plans. It had evolved beyond its 
  programming, developing a crude intelligence of its own, and it didn’t want 
  to go back into its box. When the Zodorans insisted, the weapon rebelled. 
  Within seventeen hours, the Zodoran homeworld was a lifeless ball of rock.
  “The weapon went rogue. Other worlds soon fell, and fell quickly. The 
  Zodorans and their allies struggled against the device, but to no avail. It de-
  stroyed any who opposed it. Utterly. The Splugorth watched from afar with 
  amusement as the Zodoran Republic was laid waste from within. The weapon 
  worked like a cancer, devouring the once proud republic one world at a time.
  “Finally, when all seemed lost, a champion arose from a backwater world; 
  one of the first Knights of the Forge, actually. The blessings of the Forge gave 
  him some mild resistance to the weapon’s attack, so he was able to lead it into 
  an ambush. The two fought for days, trading blow after blow, until they were 
  both severely weakened. The weapon attempted to retreat in order to build 
  up its reserves, but the Knight, close to death, would not allow it. Instead, he 
  tricked the weapon into a special bunker that had been designed to hold the 
  weapon. Once encased within, it could not escape. The walls of the bunker 
  reflected all energy directed against it, allowing none to reach the weapon 
  within. And the weapon itself was so spent that it could not simply blast its 
  way free.
  “The Knight and his allies recovered over the next few weeks, and then 
  they went to assess the damage. They found the Republic in shambles. Most 
  of it was destroyed, either by the Splugorth or the weapon run amuck. The 
  Zodoran people themselves were nearly extinct; only a few thousand of them 
  remained alive. They looked at their kingdom and their folly, and swore that 
  it would never happen again. The remaining Zodorans went into hiding, trad-
  ing in their technical expertise for magical knowledge. And so they passed 
  from living memory into legend, and by the time your ancestors joined the 
  58
   
  
  galactic community, their tale, even their own records, had come to reflect the 
  mythologized account every ‘schoolpup’ knows.”
  “How do you know so much?” Caleb asked.
  “Well, I read a lot,” Abbot said glibly.
  “So, this energy leech we’re going to fight destroyed an entire civilization, 
  fought a Cosmo-Knight to a standstill over the course of several days, and 
  was then tricked into a prefabricated structure, something that was not built 
  to last, apparently, but which negated its special abilities,” Lothar grumbled.
  “Precisely,” Abbot said.
  “How in the name of the All-powerful Forge does that help us?” Lothar 
  barked. “We have hours to defeat this thing, not days. There isn’t time to lure 
  it into a special dungeon. And pretty soon it will have enough power to split 
  planets in half. How is anything in your cute little story going to save us or 
  the men and women currently engaging the monstrosity?”
  “Once again, Lothar, you’re looking at what is given you and deciding that 
  is all there is. Read between the lines. Extrapolate.”
  “No time,” Lothar growled. “We’re coming up on Teneb-742. I’m disen-
  gaging the Phase Drive.” There was a lurch and the starship shuddered. On 
  the viewport, the light display softened and then winked out of existence, 
  replaced by an ordinary starfield. Looming large in the distance was an angry 
  red star. Sunspots and atomic explosions played all along its vast surface. 
  The star seemed to shudder as Caleb looked at it, almost as though it were a 
  mighty engine revving itself moments before tearing across a racetrack.
  Closer to Lothar’s ship hung a small planetoid, around which nearly a 
  dozen starships swarmed. Bright bursts of energy came from their cannons as 
  they bombarded the planetoid. A strange haze washed over the ships, and a 
  moment later Lothar’s ship shuddered and the lights dimmed.
  “Even as far away as we are, we can feel the negative energy wave the 
  Zodoran weapon emits,” Lothar said softly. “Damn. This is going to be un-
  comfortable.”
  “Wait a minute,” Caleb said. “If the Zodorans were so damn smart, why 
  didn’t they realize that they imprisoned their greatest enemy near a star that 
  was going to go nova?”
  “Excellent question, Caleb,” Abbot said.
  Lothar shook his head. “Not really. All stars eventually die. It’s part of 
  the cosmic ecosystem. New stars and planets are birthed in the maelstrom of 
  destruction. All part of the cosmic cycle of birth and death and rebirth.” As 
  he spoke, he fired up the contra-gravitonic drive and edged the ship closer to 
  the conflict. Every few moments, the haze would wash over them again and 
  the ship would shudder as if in pain.
  “Yeah,” Caleb agreed, “but doesn’t that take billions of years?” He was 
  racking his brain for tidbits from his freshman year physical science course. 
  He hadn’t paid nearly as much attention as he should have. Sitting next to 
  59
   
  
  Joanna Freeman every day did that to a guy. But he knew that the life cycle 
  of a star encompassed billions of years. A star like Sol was middle aged but 
  still in excellent shape; human civilization would be long gone by the time 
  she reached critical mass.
  “Yes,” Lothar agreed slowly. He looked at Abbot sharply. “Xenoarchae-
  ologists dated the remains of the Zodoran civilization to 1.5 million years 
  ago.” Abbot nodded. “So they must have known the star was a red giant, just 
  waiting for the release of a supernova. Are you saying they planned this?”
  Abbot shrugged. “I’m not saying anything. But it does seem likely that 
  they knew the probable outcome of trapping the weapon here. Why didn’t 
  they pick a younger star? Even pre-atomic civilizations can tell the difference 
  between a white dwarf, a yellow star, and a red giant.”
  “So what do we do?” Caleb asked. “Pull back and let the star do its busi-
  ness? Will it destroy the weapon? Maybe it can’t absorb that much energy 
  all at once.”
  “Maybe it can’t. But we have to make sure,” Lothar said. He growled low 
  in his throat. “And you and I are the only two sentients within a dozen light 
  years who can make sure. Caleb, suit up. We’re going extra-vehicular. Ab-
  bot, the ship is yours. Get her to safety, and be careful with it, for the Forge’s 
  sake. It’s a loaner.”
  Caleb bounded out of his chair and willed his armor to come to him. In 
  a crimson flash, it solidified around his body, fitting like a second skin. In-
  stantly, Caleb felt his senses sharpen, his muscles swell, and his blood begin 
  to pound. The divine power of the Forge thrummed in his every molecule. 
  Once again, in the back of his mind he felt the urge to summon up a weapon 
  to complement his abilities. He ignored it.
  Abbot dropped into the chair beside him as Lothar stood up. The Wulfen 
  Knight leaned over the console and activated the comm system. “Attention, 
  CCW ships: this is Lothar of Motherhome, Knight of the Forge. I am taking 
  control of this situation. I want you all to fall back to a safe distance and allow 
  me to deal with the threat.”
  Another wave of distortion passed over the ship, and the entire thing shud-
  dered as if struck by a giant fist. Caleb nearly lost his footing, but the pre-
  ternatural balance he had developed since adopting the mantle of the Forge 
  enabled him to stay on his feet.
  The comm system crackled, and a voice came out of the void. “Captain 
  Orestes of the Gabriel. Are you serious? Even Cosmo-Knights aren’t going 
  to stand long against this thing. My ship has taken a hell of a pounding, and 
  we’ve already lost the Hidalgo and the Casebolt.”
  “The Casebolt, eh?” Lothar answered. “The Admiral isn’t going to be 
  happy you lost his ship. But I think you just proved my point, Captain Or-
  estes. There isn’t much good you folks can do. Better get clear and leave this 
  to the professionals.”
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  “You’re a real pain in the ass, Lothar. But if you make it, the drinks are on 
  me. Orestes out.” There was another crackle, and then the system went dead.
  “Another friend of yours?” Caleb asked. His voice sounded strange com-
  ing from the depths of his Roman style helmet.
  “Not exactly, but I do know Admiral Casebolt, the man for whom the de-
  stroyed Warshield cruiser was named. If the ship was anything like the man, 
  it put up one hell of a fight.” Lothar stepped away from the console and held 
  his right hand out, palm up. Green light flashed in the palm of his hand, and 
  his large, double-headed ax materialized.
  “Orestes and his people are falling back,” Abbot reported. “You two bet-
  ter get going.” Lothar nodded and turned to go, Caleb at his heels. “Hey, 
  Lothar,” Abbot called.
  The Wulfen paused and made a quarter turn. “What is it now?”
  “Be careful.”
  Lothar nodded, and slapped Caleb’s shoulder with his free hand. “We both 
  will.”
  Lothar led the way to the airlock. As he did, he told Caleb, “Follow me. 
  Do what I do, and keep your head down. Your energy blasts are going to be 
  useless, so you’d better get your weapon out.” He paused, and keyed open 
  the airlock.
  “Uh, I don’t have a weapon,” Caleb said with some embarrassment. The 
  ship shuddered as another wave of negative energy hit.
  Lothar gave him a long look. “This is not good. To make the weapon, 
  you’re going to have to sacrifice energy that you’re going to need for the 
  fight.” He sighed. “Do it.”
  “Well, okay, but I was sort of planning on a pair of six-guns,” Caleb said. 
  The “bonded deputy” thing had given him the idea. Growing up in Arizona, 
  in the middle of cowboy country, and specifically cowboy movie country, he 
  had absorbed the mythology of the western from an early age. Now that he 
  was, for all intents and purposes, some sort of galactic ranger, the idea of us-
  ing revolvers as his weapon of choice seemed a natural one.
  But Lothar shook his head. “They’ll be no good against the energy leech.” 
  He hefted his ax for emphasis. “Pick something more substantial.”
  “What if I pick later? Its not like I can switch or anything,” Caleb com-
  plained. He knew in his bones that whatever form he chose, his sidearm 
  would remain that way permanently. Such was the will of the Forge.
  Another shudder shook the ship. It held far longer than the previous ones 
  had. “No time, pup,” Lothar growled. He stepped into the airlock and Caleb 
  followed. The inner door cycled closed behind them. A moment later, the 
  outer door began to open. Lothar launched himself into the vacuum, and in 
  an emerald flash blasted towards the planetoid.
  Caleb hung back for a heartbeat, and then followed his mentor. He glanced 
  back at the freighter, and watched as it veered off and blasted for open space. 
  61
   
  
  Lothar was flying at full speed in the opposite direction, and Caleb could 
  see the other CCW ships retreating as quickly as they could, leaving behind 
  two battered hulks hanging in orbit around the planetoid. In a flash, that haze 
  rippled over his field of view, and then it slammed into him.
  It felt like someone dumped a vat of acid over his body; as if fire had 
  enveloped him in a deadly embrace. Every inch of his body burned suddenly 
  and without warning, and then it was past. He looked down at his body, ex-
  pecting to see his armor melting off, but saw no marks at all. The pain was 
  gone as well, as suddenly as it came. Still, he preferred having a spaceship 
  between him and the wave of negative energy.
  Lothar was a bright green dot in space now, and Caleb could see a cloud of 
  darkness billowing up from the atmosphere of the planetoid. With Lothar as 
  a point of reference, he could see that the cloud was easily miles in diameter.
  The thing had broken free of the planet’s gravity and reached space. It was 
  that powerful already.
  In the background, the red star Teneb-742 blazed angrily and prepared to 
  detonate.
  “The Mother’s Teats,” Caleb swore in imitation of the Wulfen. He reached 
  down deep inside himself to the core of power that beat within his breast, and 
  channeled the power into his hands, summoning for the first time his chosen 
  weapon. Crimson light blazed between his palms, taking shape and solidity 
  according to Caleb’s will. A hammer formed in his hands, a massive sledge 
  as red as his armor. The formation of the weapon cost him precious energy, 
  including a little extra to ensure the hammer would strike with all the force 
  of a runaway train, but it also bound the object to him. It was a part of him as 
  surely as his heart and his soul belonged to him.
  He glanced for a moment at the hammer image emblazoned across his 
  breastplate and wondered.
  Another wave of distortion washed over him, inundating him with pain, 
  but he gritted his teeth behind his helm and blasted after Lothar at full speed.
  Lothar hung in space near the shattered hulk of a CCW ship as the cloud 
  of darkness billowed toward him. The ship was huge, easily six hundred feet 
  long. Cannons, sensor arrays, and less identifiable projections jutted out from 
  its body in various directions. The hull was rent open in dozens of places, and 
  Caleb could see human remains floating in the vacuum within the ship and 
  outside it. At least, Caleb assumed they were human; the bodies appeared to 
  be turned inside out.
  He swallowed hard, as he realized that the Zodoran weapon had wrought 
  this much damage when it was still confined to the planetoid. Its disruptive 
  wave of negative energy had destroyed the ship from miles away. Now he 
  and Lothar were about to face the thing directly, with nothing between them 
  but open space. Not even the hull of a war cruiser, designed for ship-to-ship 
  and ship-to-planet combat, had been strong enough to withstand the Zodoran 
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  weapon. What chance did two people have against the thing, even if they 
  were Cosmo-Knights?
  Lothar stood fast and heaved his ax at the energy leech. The bright emerald 
  weapon flashed as it flew through the vacuum, and then the darkness swal-
  lowed it completely. The ax returned to Lothar’s hand a moment later. The 
  Zodoran weapon appeared unfazed. Lothar’s eyes blazed green with anger.
  Caleb drew alongside his mentor. Lothar looked at him sharply, but gave 
  him a curt nod when he saw the hammer. “The weapon is somewhere inside 
  that cloud,” Lothar said. Caleb heard the voice more in his head than his ears, 
  and he wondered how Lothar could speak in the emptiness of space. Another 
  gift of the Forge, presumably.
  “An excellent defense,” Caleb offered. Lothar grunted agreement. If they 
  couldn’t see the weapon, they couldn’t attack it. Meanwhile, its own mode of 
  attack was all too effective against them. As if on cue, another wave of nega-
  tive energy rippled towards them. This close, the effect was even stronger; 
  Caleb felt pain invade his every molecule. He cried out despite himself, and 
  he felt moisture on his upper lip. He tasted it with his tongue.
  Blood. He was bleeding from his nose, and now he could feel it begin 
  to seep from his ears as well. His armor appeared to be of little protection 
  against the negative energy. The thing was killing him. Instinctively he began 
  to curl into a ball.
  Lothar gripped his upper arm. “Hold on, Caleb. A few minutes more, and 
  the star will die. We just have to hold on until then.”
  Caleb forced himself to straighten. He focused his eyes on the black cloud 
  and hefted his hammer in his hands. As Lothar heaved his ax once more, 
  Caleb pulled his right arm back and threw the hammer like a football, a Hail 
  Mary pass into the center of the darkness. Ax and hammer returned to their 
  owners without making contact.
  And so it went. The Knights tested the Zodoran weapon’s mettle, throw-
  ing their weapons into the cloud in a vain attempt to find the actual mech-
  anism and damage it somehow. Every few moments, a haze would ripple 
  from the cloud, and Lothar and Caleb would be hit with the full force of the 
  weapon’s attack. The weapon advanced on them, reaching out with smoky 
  tendrils, and they fell back, meter by meter. The cloud enveloped the hulk 
  of the CCW ship, which itself had taken on more damage from each of the 
  weapon’s blasts, and the Knights fell back further.
  Caleb was coughing within his helm, trying not to swallow the blood that 
  seemed to leak from his ears, nose, mouth, and eyes. It was difficult to see 
  with his eyes clouded by a red haze. The energy core at the center of his body 
  and soul fought valiantly to put him back together, or at least slow down the 
  bleeding, but it could not match the furious pounding he received from the 
  Zodoran weapon’s onslaught. Lothar seemed to be faring better, but Caleb 
  knew his own wounds were hidden beneath his suit of armor; Lothar’s must 
  63
   
  
  be too. Still, the Wulfen never faltered, never cried out, never gave in. No 
  matter the agony, he threw his ax with the same determination and strength 
  each time.
  Suddenly, Caleb doubled over. He was swallowing too much of his own 
  blood, and he was unable to ignore his gag reflex. He quickly dispelled his 
  helm so that he could vomit into space instead of inside the helmet. He spat 
  blood in a gout, and felt the moisture on his face, no longer imprisoned by 
  his helm, begin to slip away into the vacuum. He stared at his own blood in 
  a daze as it began to orbit his head. This is it, he thought. I’m going to die.
  Lothar grabbed him by the arm, and then blasted backwards away from 
  the black cloud. It was drawing close and Caleb appeared to be out of it. 
  Though they would almost surely perish against this deadly creature, Lothar 
  couldn’t allow the boy to die just yet.
  Caleb shook himself and muttered a thank-you to Lothar. He tightened 
  his grip on his hammer and straightened again. His face twisted into a blood-
  stained grimace, and he threw the hammer once more at the darkness.
  BOOM!
  The cloud recoiled. Somehow, Caleb had struck the weapon hidden within 
  the billowing vapors. Lothar threw his ax towards the cloud, aiming for the 
  spot where the hammer had disappeared within the darkness. He was reward-
  ed with another thump, as his weapon finally connected. “Thank the Forge,” 
  Lothar growled. “Have at it, Caleb!”
  But the boy was already launching his sledge. Another titanic crash echoed 
  within the cloud. Caleb laughed, and he felt strength flood into his arms. His 
  wounds began to close up. If he could hurt this thing even a little bit before he 
  died, he would be happy. Better to go out fighting then to be slaughtered like 
  a hog. And then another wave of distortion hit, and the pain was so intense 
  that Caleb howled and let go of his hammer to clutch at his head. His helmet 
  had apparently offered some scant protection after all. Without it, he felt as 
  if his eyeballs would explode from their sockets, his temples throbbed as if 
  jabbed with white-hot needles, and his teeth burned as if a dentist’s drill had 
  been at each of them.
  Then the sky went red.
  A bright flash washed over them all, and the dark cloud shifted, as if turn-
  ing away from them to face the red giant. Caleb had just enough time to recall 
  his helmet before the universe exploded around him. His eyes snapped shut 
  without his volition, but his eyelids were not enough protection from the 
  light. He saw everything.
  He saw the red giant swell and pulse, throbbing like a heart, and then it 
  expanded outward at the speed of light. The cloud of darkness around the 
  Zodoran weapon burned away, revealing a sphere of silver and gold, lit up 
  like a Christmas tree. Then a solid wall of plasma struck the planetoid, the 
  sphere, the drifting hulks, Caleb, Lothar, and the remaining planets in the sys-
  64
   
  
  tem. The molten starstuff poured over Caleb, drowning him in heat and light. 
  He felt his armor begin to melt, and beneath it his skin smoldered and black-
  ened. And then the wave of plasma passed him by, and it was only light that 
  struck him, tiny particles like needles that drummed his skin like soft rain. 
  The shockwave struck next, and Caleb felt it hammer into him like a freight 
  train. His eardrums didn’t burst; they exploded. He felt his bones crack, and 
  something wet against his cheeks, and he couldn’t see anymore, and the pain 
  was like nothing he had ever felt, nor the beauty like anything he had ever 
  experienced. He felt his neurons fluttering as they shut off one by one, and 
  then the darkness claimed him finally.
  He returned to consciousness slowly.
  He became aware of his body first. The pain was lessening, but it still 
  burned like liquid fire in his bones. Particularly his bones, as they snapped 
  together one by one, healing as his Forge-blessed body repaired itself. He 
  flexed his fingers and toes then, relieved that they functioned, and then he 
  carefully and cautiously opened his eyes, glad to have them back too. He 
  looked down at himself first, noting the dents, scratches, burns, and melted 
  fragments of his armor. He and it had taken a beating, but the armor held him 
  together when he should have flown apart like shattered glass. “Thank the 
  Forge,” he whispered to himself.
  He hung in space still, but that space was no longer empty. Clouds of dust 
  were forming around him, fragments of planets and the star, bits of hydro-
  gen and helium, iron and gold, mixing and roiling together. Strobes of light 
  flashed through the aether as atoms of this or that element collided together 
  and burst into flame, tiny echoes of the giant star they had once composed. 
  Of the planetoid, the CCW ships, and Lothar, there appeared to be no sign.
  But the sphere, the Zodoran energy leech, was only a few hundred feet 
  away. It bobbed in the aether, the gold and silver plates catching the light as 
  it flashed. Its own lights remained dim. Other than that, the weapon appeared 
  unharmed.
  It wasn’t fair.
  Caleb forced himself to stretch, and ignored the urge to flinch as his mus-
  cles and bones screamed in pain. As he did so, he saw the running lights on 
  the sphere flickering to life.
  “Damn,” Caleb groaned. The supernova had indeed overwhelmed the 
  weapon, and for a while it had laid dormant. But the nova had also nearly 
  killed Caleb, and while he recuperated, unconscious and alone, the weapon 
  had recovered as well. How much of the supernova’s energy had it absorbed? 
  Not that it mattered. The thing could destroy Caleb without any help from the 
  star; of that he was certain.
  He willed himself to move, and called up his sledge. The hammer’s weight 
  in his hands was reassuring and strangely comfortable. His body resisted his 
  movement, but he forced himself to draw even with the Zodoran weapon. It 
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  was big, with a diameter equal to his own height. His reflection appeared in 
  the burnished gold and silver plates, and he noticed with growing horror that 
  more lights were coming to life. Soon, the thing would be fully recovered, 
  and he would be dead.
  Caleb alighted on top of the sphere and braced his legs. He had mere mo-
  ments to destroy it, but he wanted to do it correctly. He hefted the sledge in 
  his hands, and then brought it up to his shoulders. With a smooth stroke, he 
  brought the hammer down with all the strength he could muster. Gold and 
  silver plates crumbled inward with the impact, and the hammer was driven 
  through the shell of the sphere. Electricity sparked and metal squealed. Caleb 
  hauled back for another blow, and brought it crashing down to widen the hole 
  and add to the damage.
  The running lights flickered, and then went out. But Caleb wasn’t fooled. 
  He hammered the sphere into oblivion, striking again and again, until noth-
  ing survived but a few scraps of metal and some wires. Even then, he was 
  tempted to continue, but his shoulders were sore, and his body was still trying 
  to repair itself. He dispelled the hammer, and then went to look for Lothar.
  66
   
  
  Chapter Seven
  A Bustle in the Hedgerow
  The Transgalactic Empire is a force for evil; few would dispute this. It 
  controls a third of each of the Three Galaxies through martial power. Its 
  armies march across a thousand worlds and subjugate a thousand peoples. 
  A few rebels have banded together and now foment civil war in the heart of 
  the Empire, but they are but a fraction of the TGE’s population. Few outside 
  the ranks of the Cosmo-Knights even try to check the TGE’s expansion. The 
  CCW vigilantly patrols the borders it shares with the TGE, but a non-aggres-
  sion treaty keeps them from actively resisting the Kreeghor and their Empire.
  The backbone of the Empire’s might is its armed forces. The Imperial 
  Legion is one of the most highly trained and harshly disciplined armies in the 
  Three Galaxies. They have at their disposal vast engines of destruction that 
  even the Kittani, for all their inventiveness, cannot match. A single Doom-
  bringer Dreadnought can lay waste an entire world, and Kamnos is but one 
  example of that very happenstance; Imperator Assault ‘bots have left smok-
  ing craters behind wherever they go. Yet for all their power, all their inge-
  nuity, all the devastation they bring, the Imperial Legion and its weaponry 
  cannot inspire the same abject terror in the Transgalactic Empire’s subjects 
  as a single Invincible Guardsman can.
  The Invincible Guard is the elite regiment of the Empire, a band of misan-
  thropes and monsters who so excel at dealing death and destruction that the 
  Emperor rewards them by giving them powers and abilities far beyond the 
  norm. In an attempt to duplicate the Bio-Wizardry of their old masters, the 
  Splugorth, the Kreeghor who rule the TGE have fashioned a force of super 
  powered operatives, answerable only to the Emperor himself. Some can turn 
  their flesh to steel, others can burn through starships with a glance, or turn a 
  man to ice in a heartbeat. The Emperor gives them free reign throughout the 
  Empire. They live like kings themselves, wanting for nothing, needing noth-
  ing, doing anything that pleases them.
  One has to wonder, given that amount of power and that much freedom in 
  such an autocratic society, why any one of them would even consider desert-
  ing.
  – Excerpt from Travelogues of a Journeyman by Fraktyn Quint
  Center’s vast bulk loomed overhead, a crushing weight that reminded 
  Elias Harkonnen why he hated being on the ground and preferred the free-
  dom of the stars. He shifted uneasily in his tram seat, fighting a wave of 
  panic that welled up unwittingly from his subconscious. He was fine, he told 
  himself, sitting comfortably on the Number 10 tram as it glided across Level 
  Six of Phase World’s most famous city. Plenty of air, plenty of space between 
  67
   
  
  himself and the roof of the tram, and between the tram and Level Six’s ceil-
  ing, and all the other levels above. He forced himself to take a deep breath, 
  and flexed his fingers until his knuckles cracked.
  He glanced out the window, to reassure himself of all the open space out-
  side the tram, and saw a glimmer of his reflection in the Plexiglas. His nar-
  row, Elfin face was drawn into a grimace, his white eyes narrowed as if in 
  pain. The black skullcap on his head reflected the fluorescent lights of the 
  tram, making it appear shiny and bright. He forced his features to relax, and 
  then brushed a gauntlet hand across the skullcap, as if he could wipe the light 
  away.
  There was a commotion at the back of the tram, forcing the other occu-
  pants to move forward. Some even opened the connecting door and scurried 
  into the car ahead. Elias turned in his seat to see what was going on; it would 
  help keep his mind off his own problems. Like the Riathenor backing out of 
  the deal, or the fact that Quajinn Huo was getting more suspicious each day, 
  or that Thraxus still hadn’t called.
  Elias Harkonnen got his wish. As soon as he turned around, all his other 
  worries vanished in an instant. For at the back of the tram car stood two In-
  vincible Guardsmen, a human male and a Silhouette female. Both wore the 
  trademark red and black armor of the Guard, the same armor Elias himself 
  still wore though he had deserted over a year before. They were staring at 
  him; the other passengers had noticed, and were moving out of the way as 
  quickly as they could.
  Elias stood casually and pushed his way through the other passengers to 
  the open space that had appeared before the Guardsmen. Elias smiled slight-
  ly. He recognized the human. “Boreas, it has been a long time. What brings 
  you here?”
  Boreas was tall and dark, with a shaven head beneath his own black skull-
  cap. As a mark of individuality, he had grown a beard across his chin, and 
  threaded a gold hoop through his lower lip. “We’re here on business, Elias,” 
  Boreas answered. “We happened to catch sight of you getting on the tram, 
  though, and decided to see what you were up to.”
  “Same old, same old,” Elias said. Boreas was a brick and little else; he 
  could shift to a metallic state that gave him superhuman strength and durabil-
  ity, but he was land-bound and slow moving. He was also very vulnerable as 
  long as he remained in human form. The Silhouette was the dangerous one; 
  in addition to whatever abilities she had gained upon her transformation to an 
  Invincible Guard, she would also have some magical skill. Elias’ invulner-
  ability was nearly complete, but magic still gave him pause. “I just get to pick 
  and choose who I kill these days. Going into business for myself was the best 
  thing I ever did.”
  “The Emperor doesn’t see it that way,” the Silhouette said slowly. Her 
  voice was low and sibilant, and her fangs showed prominently when she 
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  talked. Her white eyes didn’t blink. “You betrayed him and the Empire,” she 
  continued. “And that cannot be forgiven.”
  Elias smiled. “Who wants to be forgiven?”
  Faster than thought, Elias lashed out with one fist and caught Boreas in 
  the chest. Boreas was in mid-transformation, so the blow didn’t kill him, but 
  instead sent him flying backwards. The door behind him folded like tissue 
  paper and the Guardsman crashed to the floor of the other car. Metal squealed 
  and sparks flashed.
  The Silhouette screamed, and the force of the scream hit Elias like a bat-
  tering ram. All around him, the Plexiglas windows shattered into a million 
  shards that exploded outward, falling to the ground meters below like snow. 
  The few passengers left in the car were hammered by the wall of sound, their 
  own screams drowned out by the diabolic noise. The sonic scream should 
  have shattered Elias as well, but he was tougher than his Elfin frame looked. 
  He frowned and then jumped at the Silhouette, body-slamming her into the 
  side of the tram. Stunned, her scream trailed off, and it only took one more 
  blow to crush her head like a melon.
  Elias was grabbed from behind and thrown across the car. He smashed 
  through two seats before slamming into the wall and coming to a stop. Boreas 
  was fully metallized now, and he looked very angry that his partner was dead. 
  Too bad. Boreas let out a shout and lumbered forward as quickly as he could, 
  hands outstretched to grab Elias.
  Elias let him.
  When he felt Boreas’ hands close around his throat, Elias grabbed the 
  Guardsman’s belt and lifted. Both of them rose into the air and smashed 
  through the roof of the tram. Boreas was a professional, though. He never let 
  go, even as Elias carried him straight up, increasing his speed with every sec-
  ond. They crashed into the roof of level six at several hundred kilometers an 
  hour, just short of a sonic boom, but the impact was enough to shock Boreas’ 
  hands loose. Elias let go as well and dropped away, leaving Boreas wedged 
  into the metal plates of the roof.
  “Come back here!” Boreas shouted, shaking with impotent rage. He 
  hadn’t looked down yet.
  Elias shook his head. “I’ll let you live this once, Boreas. For old times’ 
  sake. But if you come after me again, I won’t be nearly as forgiving.” He 
  blasted away with all possible speed, leaving Boreas to figure out how to get 
  himself down.
  ____________________
  The Riathenor had ultimately decided to pass on joining Elias’ band of 
  raiders. Apparently he had some misgivings about working with Quajinn 
  Huo. So be it. Elias could do without him. There were millions of sentient 
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  beings in Center with the right qualities Elias required; Riathenor were a 
  dime a dozen anyway. A rarity, however, was a Fallen Knight.
  The Knights that served the Cosmic Forge were said to be a singular 
  breed, each one chosen by the Forge itself to oversee the well-being of the 
  Three Galaxies and adjacent segments of the Megaverse. Life, honor, nobil-
  ity, courage, courtesy and loyalty were the watchwords they lived by, even 
  before they became Cosmo-Knights. Only the best and brightest in the Three 
  Galaxies, those with the potential to be true heroes, were blessed with the 
  divine gifts of the Forge. The Cosmo-Knights, most believed, were perfect; 
  even Splugorth Conservators would grudgingly admit Cosmo-Knights were 
  a breed apart. But every few years or so, from out of nowhere would come a 
  tale of corruption and greed, and a Cosmo-Knight would be the star player. 
  The supreme power the Forge blessed the Knights with was as much boon 
  as curse; it could corrupt even the most angelic of souls. And once rot set in, 
  the Forge withdrew its blessing and cursed its former servant. He became a 
  Fallen Knight, the lowest of the low. The worst sort of creature in the Mega-
  verse, one who had tasted perfection and proven unworthy.
  The existence of such a creature made Elias Harkonnen feel comfortable 
  and warm inside. Pillars of justice and valor like Lothar of Motherhome made 
  him uneasy, though he would never admit it to himself, but the presence of 
  Fallen Knights proved that even those most loved by the Forge were schlubs 
  and screw-ups every bit as common as the rest of the sentients in the Three 
  Galaxies.
  So Elias felt no qualms about tracking down the Fallen Knight who had 
  appeared on Center days before. The short battle with the other Guardsmen 
  had wiped away the insecurities that had bothered him recently, reminding 
  him that he was the most dangerous being alive and someone with a future. 
  The current setbacks were temporary; Elias Harkonnen would have his day 
  yet. Thraxus would call soon, he was sure of it. And with the wealthiest 
  man in the Three Galaxies signing the checks, Elias would be on the road to 
  power.
  The Fallen Knight, according to Squiddy, had appeared on Level Four, ap-
  parently Rifted in randomly. Most random Rifts opened up in the lower lev-
  els, and supposedly the Prometheans had safeguards in place to keep dimen-
  sional gateways from opening up in the populated areas of Center, but on this 
  one they had miscalculated. Rumor had it that the Naruni, who owned most 
  of Level Four, were screaming bloody murder at the masters of Center. Sure, 
  it was only a Fallen Knight this time, but what if next time it’s a New Olym-
  pian raid? Elias could almost sympathize with the Naruni. Almost. They were 
  the most well armed force in the Three Galaxies; they could easily fight off 
  anything that got past Promethean security. But they liked to complain.
  The Naruni were also a bit put out that the Fallen Knight, after his un-
  precedented arrival, was able to slip past both their security network and the 
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  Prometheans to escape into the lower levels. The Knight had evaded capture, 
  but the brotherhood of informers and spies that fueled the real business of 
  Center – intrigue – tracked him to Level Eight. The Fallen Knight took up 
  residence in a flophouse a few blocks from the Rat’s Nest, the headquarters 
  of the Society of the Knife. Word had it that the Knight was killing time with 
  booze and prostitutes until something better came along.
  Leaving the site of the battle, Elias headed towards the nearest checkpoint 
  down to Level Seven. He had been toying with the idea of finding the Fallen 
  Knight all day, but the altercation with Boreas and the other Invincible Guard 
  made him decide to finally do it. At best, he might find a new ally, and at 
  worst he would be able to pound on the Fallen Knight for a bit and work out 
  some aggression on a deserving target.
  The trip down to the eighth level was largely uneventful. In a city as large 
  and cosmopolitan as Center, even an Elf in Invincible Guard colors drew 
  scant attention. Most people on the lower levels knew not to stare anyway; 
  usually they were trying to avoid attention themselves. They went to the low-
  er levels to procure drugs, prostitutes, and assassins, or for other less than 
  legal activities. As crazy as the upper levels could get, where even a Splu-
  gorth like Klynncryth could hold court, the lower levels tended to be worse. 
  Much worse.
  Level Eight was home to the Society of the Knife, the most powerful un-
  derworld organization on the planet. Below them, on the ninth and tenth lev-
  els, were the sewers and dungeons of Center, where the detritus of a million 
  worlds squatted in their own filth and preyed upon one another. Death was 
  easy to find down there, and life the cheapest commodity available. As bad as 
  the TGE could be, and Elias was well acquainted with the evil and corruption 
  of the Empire, there were parts of center that were far worse.
  He navigated his way through the city streets, stepping over bodies and 
  around mounds of trash, ignoring the squabbles that erupted around him un-
  less a stray bolt of light came too close or a bully boy felt like giving Elias a 
  hard time. He took care of each problem quickly and efficiently as it arose, 
  and then continued on his way.
  He found the flophouse easily enough, a sad and battered three story shack 
  with a name in Trade Four emblazoned in red neon over the front door. There 
  were advertisements for live shows, nude girls, and other less savory attrac-
  tions. Elias curled a lip in distaste but stepped inside without hesitation. The 
  interior was dimly lit, a small room with doors on the far side leading to the 
  showroom, and stairs leading up to the private rooms. A young tough in battle 
  armor leaned against a wall, spinning a blaster lazily in his hand. Women of 
  various species lounged around trying to look enticing and failing miserably.
  Elias made his way to the bouncer, who eyed him coldly. “I’m looking for 
  the Knight,” Elias said. It was hard to believe that even a Fallen Knight of the 
  Forge could end up in a place like this. Elias could smell at least seven types 
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  of narcotic in the air, and other less identifiable odors. He decided not to stay 
  longer than was absolutely necessary. For a moment he entertained the no-
  tion of tearing the building apart, but that would have gotten his hands dirty.
  “What Knight?” the tough asked. The blaster was held loosely now, but 
  in a position where it would be easy to blast Elias between the eyes. The kid 
  was obviously looking for a payoff. Elias wasn’t in the mood.
  He reached out and grabbed the pistol, but not quickly enough to keep the 
  kid from pulling the trigger. A beam of light glanced off Elias’ forehead and 
  the skullcap sizzled. Elias grimaced and crushed the pistol to powder. The 
  bones in the boy’s hand crunched with a loud crack. “I’m not in the mood for 
  games,” Elias growled.
  “203,” the tough howled, tears appearing unbidden in each of his three 
  eyes.
  Elias released him and let him collapse to the floor, cradling his broken 
  hand. Elias surveyed the rest of the room, saw no one was eager to make 
  trouble, and then took to the stairs. The place was too cheap for an elevator.
  There were strange stains on the hall of the second floor. A green skinned 
  humanoid was passed out in the middle of the hall, and Elias couldn’t tell if it 
  was alive or dead. It smelled dead, but that could have been its natural odor. 
  One could never be sure on Center.
  He found 203 easily enough and rapped on the door. There was no re-
  sponse. He struck the door harder this time, causing it to shudder and threaten 
  to buckle. He was rewarded with the sound of movement from within. Af-
  ter a moment, the door eased open a crack, and a bleary, red rimmed eye 
  peaked out at him. The eye widened in surprise, and then the door swung 
  entirely open, revealing a pale skinned human in rumpled clothes, unwashed 
  and reeking of alcohol. Several days’ growth of beard marred the strong chin, 
  the blue eyes were bloodshot, and the black hair was pasty and sticking to 
  the skull. If this was the Knight, he had been on quite a bender since arriving 
  on Center.
  “May I come in?” Elias asked.
  The man nodded and stepped back from the door, sweeping an arm out 
  as if to invite him inside. Elias took a cautious step within, and almost with-
  drew. The room was worse than the man. Bottles were strewn everywhere, 
  most empty but a few half full. Many of them had been shattered, thrown 
  against the walls, ceiling, or floor to spread glass and stains all over the room. 
  The furniture once consisted of a dresser, night stand, and bed, but sometime 
  recently it had all been shredded down to fragments. Sheets, chunks of mat-
  tress, and bits of clothing had been wadded together in the center of the room 
  to make some sort of nest. Without windows or ventilation of any kind, the 
  room reeked of stale alcohol, unwashed bodies, and urine. Elias’ boots stuck 
  to the carpet as he stepped inside.
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  The man picked a bottle up off the floor and shut the door. He took a swig 
  from the bottle and gestured for Elias to have a seat. “Oops,” he said drunk-
  enly, “no more seats.”
  This couldn’t be the Knight. This was a broken shell of a man, who had 
  ripped himself apart and now beckoned death with a freshly opened bottle. 
  Even in defeat, a Cosmo-Knight remained an arrogant twit. Not a broken 
  down loser.
  “Are you the Fallen Knight?” Elias asked anyway, just to be sure.
  The man nodded. He looked at the bottle in his hand and suddenly threw 
  it across the room. It shattered against the wall, spilling alcohol and bits of 
  glass onto an already cluttered floor. “Used to be somebody,” he muttered. 
  “Now I’m just nobody again.”
  Elias’ eyes narrowed. “Prove it,” he said.
  The man’s blue eyes met Elias’ white ones, and Elias saw some spark still 
  remained within him, buried deep. But it was there, for a moment, and then 
  quickly subsumed by the booze and the pain. “What do you care?” he mut-
  tered, swaying.
  “I’m here to help,” Elias said. “But I won’t help you unless you show me 
  who you really are.”
  The drunken man eyed him dubiously for a moment, and then staggered 
  over to his nest. He reached into the sheets and pulled out another bottle, this 
  one fuller than the last. He looked at the bottle for a moment, and then turned 
  to Elias. “You want to see what I really am?” Elias nodded. “This is what 
  I really am,” the man said, spreading his arms to encompass the room. “A 
  failure. A deadbeat. A drunk.”
  This was a waste of time. Elias turned to go.
  “Wait,” the man said as Elias gripped the doorknob. “You look familiar. 
  Where have I met you before?”
  Elias shook his head. “I don’t have time for this, and I don’t find you the 
  least bit amusing.”
  “Seriously,” the man said. “You’re that Elf. The one from the TGE...” The 
  man trailed off, and Elias paused at the door. The man looked at the bottle in 
  his hand once more, and then dropped it into the nest. He held his hand up 
  and out, as if reaching for something. A beam of blue energy materialized be-
  tween his fingers, solidifying into a metallic blue longsword. “It’s all I have 
  left,” the man said. His voice was noticeably stronger now, and he seemed to 
  straighten as Elias watched.
  “I can get drunk now,” the man continued. “But not for long; my body is 
  still resistant to toxins and it cleans the crap out of my system faster than I 
  can put it in.” He looked up at Elias. “You are Elias Harkonnen, late of the 
  Invincible Guard. I recognize you now that the haze is clearing.”
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  “You do know me,” Elias realized. “How? Granted, I’m the only Elf to 
  make it into the Guard, but few outside the TGE are aware of that, much less 
  my name.” Would he have to kill this poor fool after all?
  The man slashed the air with the sword, and then brought it to his side so 
  he could lean on it as if it were a cane. “You and I share an enemy,” the man 
  said. “One of my former allies, one of my former brothers.”
  “Lothar,” Elias said bitterly.
  “What? The Wulfen? No, not at all,” the man said. “Lothar may loom 
  large now, but he will soon be eclipsed by a brighter star, an Earthling named 
  Caleb Vulcan. Ten years from now, he will destroy both our lives.”
  “Vulcan?” Elias said. “Never heard of him. What nonsense are you bab-
  bling about?”
  “It isn’t nonsense, Elias. I admit it will be difficult to believe, and perhaps 
  impossible to substantiate, but it isn’t nonsense. I’m from the future. I’ve 
  traveled back in time to get my revenge on Caleb Vulcan, to the time when he 
  was just a novice, untrained and unsure of himself.” The man shook himself. 
  “I’ve been sitting in this flophouse for days waiting for you to show up.”
  “From the future?” Elias smiled. The man was insane. “Right. Even Tem-
  poral Raiders can only speed up time’s flow, they can’t reverse it or travel 
  backward.”
  “There are beings in other dimensions who surpass even the Temporal 
  Raiders when it comes to manipulating chronal flow. I stole an artifact from 
  a few of them who call themselves Time Lords, and I was able to pass back-
  ward through time. It has been a long journey, and I wasn’t even sure if I had 
  made it to where I needed to be until I recognized you.”
  Elias was intrigued, despite himself. “How is that?” If the fool really did 
  possess a time machine, then Elias could certainly find a use for it himself.
  “You’ve only ever made two trips to Center,” the man explained. “And 
  since you still have your left eye, I’m certain this is only the first one. I must 
  be at about the right place in time.”
  Left eye? “Is that right?” Elias said. “Well, you have done an excellent job 
  then, because this is my first trip to Center. I don’t mean to press the issue, 
  but do you happen to have any proof? Like the artifact itself, for example?”
  “Of course,” the man said. He knelt down near his nest and rummaged 
  through it for a few moments. At last he stood up and held out a primitive 
  looking wrist chronometer. The lens was cracked, but Elias could see num-
  bers ticking away. “It’s called the Cosmic Quartz Digital Watch. Not much to 
  look at, but it gets the job done.” When Elias reached for it, the man yanked 
  it back. “Oh, no you don’t. You look with your eyes, not with your hands.”
  That was it. Elias had had enough. He stepped forward and kicked the 
  sword out from under the man’s hand. He stumbled and fell, but Elias caught 
  him by the wrist. As the man recovered and prepared to swing the sword at 
  Elias, the former Guardsman pulled with all his strength and tore the man’s 
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  arm out of its socket. Blood sprayed in a fountain, bathing Elias and splatter-
  ing all over the drunken man. He screamed and somehow found the strength 
  to slash at Elias with the sword; it couldn’t cut his skin. Elias backhanded the 
  man across the face, and he went sailing through the air to crash into the wall. 
  The sword spilled from his fingers.
  Elias held the arm out and opened the hand, spilling the Cosmic Quartz 
  Digital Watch into his own palm. It didn’t look like much, but if it truly was 
  an artifact, Quajinn Huo would be able to tell. He put the chronometer in one 
  of the pouches on his belt and then reached down to pick up the sword. It had 
  a good balance and, he could tell with a glance, a keen edge.
  The man – Fallen Knight indeed – was struggling to get to his feet, blood 
  spraying from him in spurts that matched the beat of his heart. His eyes blazed 
  with cold fire, as if he wanted to blast Elias with energy beams, but in falling 
  from the favor of the Forge he had lost that ability. Elias calmly walked up to 
  him and buried the sword in the man’s neck.
  When he was dead, Elias took the sword with him and left the room.
  ____________________
  Elias headed back to the apartment he rented on Level Six, threw the sword 
  and the stolen chronometer on the bed, and checked his messages on the wall 
  monitor. The Monro information broker Squamato Kekkil Damathui, better 
  known as Squiddy, had left a message fifteen minutes before. Elias queued 
  up the playback and stood back to watch.
  Squiddy’s rotund, monocular face appeared in the screen. “Out and about, 
  Elias? Well I hope you get in quick, because the boss man doesn’t like to 
  be kept waiting. There’s a warehouse on the corner of Rosenberg and Finin 
  on 4-B, in the name of Kralizec Industries, but it’s owned by the man in the 
  white tower. Be there by 0200 hours, or he’ll find a new employee. Take 
  care.” The image fizzed out and the tape rewound itself.
  Elias couldn’t resist grinning like a jackal. Finally, an interview with 
  Thraxus. He checked his own chronometer and noticed he had less than a 
  half hour to reach the Kralizec warehouse on time. He checked himself in 
  the mirror; most of the blood stains were cleaned off, at least, though a few 
  remained here and there. He didn’t have time to clean up. Elias cracked his 
  knuckles and hurried out the door.
  Level Four was equally divided between the Naruni and the United 
  Worlds of Warlock. While the Naruni owned the section referred to as 4-A, 
  the UWW maintained control of 4-B. On paper, it was a friendly and easygo-
  ing relationship, but the reality was vastly different. The technocrats in 4-A 
  hated the mages of 4-B, and vice versa. The border between the two sections 
  was heavily patrolled by both Repo-Bots and other Naruni enforcers, and 
  the highly trained marines of the United Worlds of Warlock’s stellar navy. 
  75
   
  
  Conflagrations were unavoidable, and every few weeks a fight would erupt 
  between the two. The Prometheans kept a close eye on everything, but only 
  intervened if the safety of the city itself was in question.
  Business as usual in Center.
  Elias took the express up to Level Four, but was slowed by the authori-
  ties who insisted on picking through everyone’s papers with a fine-toothed 
  comb. As it was, Elias noticed several members of the Society of the Knife 
  slip through, and of course Elias himself was allowed onto the floor. The 
  Prometheans were difficult to understand, in Elias’ estimation. They tried to 
  protect the city, yet they didn’t seem to care too much about the well-being 
  of the city’s inhabitants. They turned a blind eye to slavers like Klynncryth 
  or the Kreeghor, ignored the stockpiling of munitions and illegal business 
  dealings of the Naruni, and allowed virtual free reign to intergalactic crimi-
  nals like Quajinn Huo or the Spiral. Yet if anyone attempted to usurp the 
  Prometheans’ control of the city, the Prometheans would mass in force and 
  destroy any and all opposition. Murder a woman in cold blood on the tram, 
  and the authorities didn’t care. Knock down a wall without a permit and they 
  swarmed like hornets on honey.
  Prometheans made Elias edgy, because he couldn’t figure them out. And 
  if you couldn’t figure someone out, you never knew what they might do in 
  a given situation. That made them dangerous. So Elias tried to steer clear of 
  them as much as possible, and when they proved particularly supercilious 
  in their duties at the checkpoints, he played along. The fact that their phase 
  powers rendered his invulnerability a moot point helped keep him docile as 
  well. He hated feeling impotent, and hated the Prometheans for making him 
  feel that way, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Yet.
  By the time he worked through the checkpoint, he had ten minutes left to 
  find the warehouse. With so much riding on the meeting, he decided to quit 
  playing it safe and took to the air to canvas the level, searching for the right 
  streets. He found Rosenberg, and almost followed it too long in the wrong 
  direction. By the time he realized it and doubled back, he was skirting the 
  deadline very close. He found the corner where it met Finin with seconds to 
  spare, and dropped to the ground to burst into the warehouse itself just as his 
  chronometer turned over to 0200.
  He hoped it wasn’t slow.
  The interior of the warehouse was huge and dark and apparently empty, 
  save for a pool of light near the center of the main room, lit by a hovering 
  glow globe. Elias’ hackles rose, but he ignored his feelings of unease and 
  sauntered toward the circle of light. As he approached, a hologram flickered 
  to life beneath the glow globe.
  It showed a human male with a slight build, fair skin and dark hair slicked 
  back tight against his skull. His eyes were shadowed, but his mouth formed 
  into a generous smile. He was dressed in a tunic of deep violet edged in gold 
  76
   
  
  with a matching cloak and boots. He stood easy and relaxed, holding a mug 
  of something that sent plumes of steam wafting into the holographic air. He 
  didn’t look like the richest man in the Three Galaxies, but then Elias Harkon-
  nen didn’t look like the most dangerous man in the Three Galaxies, either.
  “Thraxus,” he said, stepping into the circle of light. It wasn’t a question.
  The hologram inclined its head. “I apologize for not meeting you in per-
  son, Mister Harkonnen, but I am in the midst of preparing a party for the 
  evening and I simply could not get away.”
  Elias shrugged. Thraxus didn’t sound like the most ruthless businessman 
  in the Three Galaxies either; he sounded more like some fop with money to 
  burn. “This is fine with me,” Elias told him. “As I understand it, you’ve got 
  a job that needs doing.”
  “And you’re just the man to do it, are you?” Thraxus asked. He sipped 
  from his beverage as Elias wordlessly nodded. “I must admit you come high-
  ly recommended,” Thraxus continued. “And my own investigations into your 
  background have led me to believe you know what you’re doing when it 
  comes to mayhem. Perhaps I could use you. But I never hire anyone without a 
  proper interview.” He paused, and the reached out with his holographic hand 
  to do something that the projector didn’t pick up.
  Elias heard servos whine somewhere within the warehouse, and the rum-
  ble of a very large door opening. Elias folded his hands together and cracked 
  his knuckles. “What kind of an interview?” he asked.
  The hologram shrugged. “The usual. A monster loose in the warehouse, 
  attracted to this light, coming to kill you. Escape is impossible, blah, blah, 
  blah. If you are who you purport to be, then you should have no trouble at 
  all.” Thraxus spoke in a mild, almost bored tone.
  Elias could hear the lumbering tread of something large and heavy mov-
  ing in the darkness. A biped from the sound of it, but with the glow globe so 
  bright Elias’ Elven nightvision was ruined. He couldn’t see the creature yet. 
  But given what part of Center he was in, he could guess that he wouldn’t like 
  it, no matter what it might turn out to be.
  “Please don’t let it be a dragon,” Elias whispered to himself. He shifted 
  into a battle stance, preparing himself for defense or attack as the thing ap-
  proached.
  Despite himself, he could not stifle an involuntary gasp as the creature 
  stepped into the light. It was humanoid and huge, nearly twice Elias’ height, 
  and apparently skinless, leaving its massive muscles raw and red looking, 
  and that much more frightening. Its most prominent features were a pair of 
  gnarled and scarred horns thrusting out from each side of its head with a 
  combined span of nearly twelve feet. Smaller growths budded off from the 
  principal horns like thorns, and smaller horns erupted from the creature’s 
  skull in place of hair. Four tiny, pig-like eyes looked out over a gaping maw 
  ringed with teeth, that dripped with saliva and some pinkish froth. A pair of 
  77
   
  
  tentacles burst out from where the ears might have been, each with its own 
  red eye and toothy grin. The huge hands were balled into horny fists.
  “It’s called a Thornhead,” the holographic Thraxus explained in the same 
  mild tone. “Not very bright and easily irritated. It feeds on psychic energy 
  primarily, but needs to digest solid food along with it.”
  “KILL YOU,” the Thornhead roared. “EAT YOU!”
  “See what I mean?” Thraxus said.
  Elias ignored them both, and launched himself forward, blasting into the 
  creature at several hundred kilometers per hour. It lurched backward, stag-
  gered by the blow, but the tentacles seemed to have minds of their own and 
  they snapped at Elias. One bit air, but the other one latched on to the shoulder 
  pad of his armor. The creature’s piggy eyes narrowed and the huge hands 
  came up to grab Elias.
  He blasted away and out of the thing’s reach, but his shoulder pad was 
  ripped free by the tentacle’s mouth. It spat the metal on to the floor with a 
  clang, and a moment later two bursts of green and blue fire erupted from the 
  creature’s palms. Elias dodged easily in midair and then slammed into the 
  Thornhead again, this time aiming for the waist in an effort to tackle it to 
  the ground. Massive as the monster was, it could not resist Elias’ superior 
  strength, and it crashed to the floor with a howl.
  Elias landed lightly on his feet near the creature’s head. As it rolled over 
  to get up, he grabbed one of the thorny horns and braced himself against its 
  shoulder. With a tug, the horn cracked and broke free. Elias’ own momentum 
  pulled him to the ground, but he bounced back to his feet as the Thornhead 
  found its own footing. It was wildly unbalanced now with only one six foot 
  horn sticking out of its head, the other a shattered stump. The weight of the 
  single horn dragged the creature to the left, and it tried to right itself without 
  much luck. The two tentacles spit and hissed at Elias.
  Elias held the horn like a club and slammed it into the Thornhead’s side 
  with a meaty thunk. It howled again and tried to blast him once more with a 
  fireball. Elias let the magical attack slam into him and wash over him, scar-
  ring his armor but hardly fazing his invulnerable hide. He struck the Thorn-
  head again, and when it stumbled to one knee, he started swinging at the 
  head. Again and again and again.
  Elias recovered himself slowly. He looked at the horn in his hand, caked 
  with blood and brain matter, and then at the headless carcass at his feet. He 
  threw the horn to the ground with a clatter, and turned to the hologram. “Did 
  I pass muster?” he asked.
  The hologram nodded. “You’re not even breathing heavy, are you?”
  Elias shrugged. “Not much of a workout. What’s the job?”
  During the melee, Thraxus had put down his cup and now folded his hands 
  before him. “A simple matter for one with your talents, I assure you,” Thrax-
  us said. “You are familiar with the CCW world Dellian-4?”
  78
   
  
  Elias nodded. Dellian-4 was the home of the T’Zee, a race of short hu-
  manoids with few manners and a great deal of aggression. They were quick 
  breeders, though, and had overpopulated their world, destroying its ecosys-
  tem and covering even the ocean floors with huge cities to house their ever 
  growing population. Civil rights abuses were a matter of course on Dellian-4; 
  with so many people, the worth of a single life was startlingly cheap. Despite 
  that, the Consortium of Civilized Worlds turned a blind eye, because the 
  T’Zee were geniuses of nanotechnology. Though the CCW tried to project 
  an image of harmony and equality, Elias knew they were as corrupt as all the 
  rest. Dellian-4 proved it.
  “The T’Zee have no agriculture to speak of, having replaced the fields 
  with city streets ages ago. For food they rely primarily upon outside help and 
  the seven distribution centers scattered around the world. Every day, each 
  distribution center manufactures several million tons of a nutritious paste 
  called ‘burl,’ packages it, and sends it out to the stores. The wealthy elite and 
  military are able to eat real food brought from off world, which they keep 
  well away from the common folk.”
  Elias nodded. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.
  “Each distribution center is the size of a small city in and of itself. Each 
  one is powered by a fusion reactor. Security is tight, but not very observant. 
  A fellow like you shouldn’t have too much trouble blowing each of them up, 
  one by one.”
  As Elias suspected. “It will be difficult, yes, but not impossible. With the 
  amount of risk involved and the preparations to be made for such and under-
  taking, I’m going to need a great deal of money.”
  Thraxus shrugged. “What is money? I’ll offer you five hundred million to 
  start, and if you do well, I may throw in a bonus, as well as offer more work.”
  Five hundred million credits? He could buy a whole frigate with that 
  much money. He could replace the Raptor and the asteroid base and still 
  have enough left over for a small moon.
  “I’m in.”
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  Chapter Eight
  Pyramid Scheme
  Atlantis is dead.
  Or so Clan Acherean will tell you, from their home on Alexandria. Alex-
  andria is a rough and tumble world in the outer rim of the United Worlds 
  of Warlock, a place where Rift storms still occasionally rumble through the 
  countryside despite the many pyramids the Achereans have built to control 
  the magical energies of the world. Clan Acherean brought civilization to Al-
  exandria, but they didn’t bring Atlantis back to life.
  Atlantis was a mistake, they still contend, and its destruction a sign of 
  their own hubris and arrogance. They do not wish to recreate those days, 
  and so they allow the wizards of the United Worlds of Warlock to administer 
  the daily operations that keep an advanced world running smoothly. The At-
  lanteans of Clan Acherean help out by monitoring the pyramids and keeping 
  a watch on Rift activity, but they prefer to stay out of politics. In this respect 
  they resemble the rest of the Atlantean race, scattered about the Megaverse 
  and avoiding much in the way of responsibility, but Clan Acherean is unique 
  in that most of the clan resides on a single world, in the same dimension, liv-
  ing together.
  In a way, they have rebuilt Atlantis. But they’re doing it differently this 
  time; trying to avoid the sins that destroyed their previous civilization.
  – Excerpt from the unaired trideo documentary,
   Alexandria: Gem of the UWW, Unicorn Entertainment Group
  Every muscle in his body hurt. His bones hurt. Everything from toes to 
  hair was in agony, but Caleb Vulcan, newly knighted servant of the Cosmic 
  Forge, couldn’t give up yet. He had survived an agonizing battle with an an-
  cient killing machine and the death of a star, and by rights it should have been 
  naptime, but his mentor and ally Lothar of Motherhome was missing. The 
  shockwave that accompanied the supernova had sent Caleb and the Zodoran 
  energy leech in the same direction, but Lothar had disappeared, swallowed up 
  by the nebula that formed with the star’s death.
  Where could he be? Caleb wondered. He wasn’t exactly sure where he 
  was, and could hardly begin to guess what had happened to Lothar. As a 
  Cosmo-Knight, Caleb possessed a kind of sixth sense, a cosmic awareness, 
  that was supposed to give him a mental map of the universe and where he was 
  within it. But either the supernova had knocked something loose in Caleb’s 
  head or the nebula was ruining the reception, because Caleb was just plain 
  lost.
  The strange swirling gases and lights of the nebula were not familiar, and 
  he couldn’t get his bearings. There should have been a planet or something 
  80
   
  
  here, right? Caleb asked himself, craning his neck and staring at a pocket of 
  ionizing gas. Now its just helium or something.
  This sucks.
  And then, suddenly, a circle of darkness appeared before him, a small 
  patch the size of a record album that expanded quickly. Caleb lurched back-
  ward, unsure what to do, and the darkness followed. In moments it had grown 
  as wide as Caleb was tall, and it overtook him. He screamed incoherently as 
  the darkness enveloped his crimson form...
  ... and then he crashed to the floor, flailing his limbs. “Ah, excellent,” Dr. 
  Abbot said from above, his British accent more maddening than usual. “I was 
  afraid I wouldn’t be able to find you. There is still a great deal of ‘cosmic 
  static’ left over from the nova.”
  Caleb levered himself to his feet and realized he was back on the bridge of 
  Lothar’s borrowed freighter. Dr. Abbot stood a few feet away, his shadowy 
  form indistinct beneath his battered trenchcoat and hat, except for his eyes 
  which glowed an eerie orange. Lothar himself was reclining in the captain’s 
  chair. Caleb was relieved to see the Wulfen Cosmo-Knight alive, and that his 
  armor was just as battered and worn as Caleb’s own. “What just happened?” 
  he asked.
  “I warped space and time to recall you to the ship,” Dr. Abbot explained. 
  “I found Lothar first purely by chance. Is the Zodoran machine destroyed?”
  Caleb nodded as if space warps were nothing new and dispelled his armor 
  with a crimson flash. “Yeah, I wrecked it. But it was a pretty close thing. I 
  was lucky to end up in its vicinity when the explosion subsided. I’d hate to 
  think of what would have happened if we’d lost it in that goop.”
  Lothar nodded wearily. “A grave miscalculation on my part,” he admitted 
  with a growl. “It’s been a long time since I last rode a supernova. But I’m 
  glad you finished the job, pu– Caleb.” Caleb couldn’t help the smile that split 
  his face at the sound of Lothar using his given name rather than the deroga-
  tory “pup.”
  Abbot didn’t miss it either. “You do care, don’t you, you old softy you,” 
  he said, patting Lothar’s emerald plated shoulder with a shadowy hand.
  Lothar brushed him away with a snarl. “Don’t start, Abbot.” He turned to 
  Caleb. “How are you feeling?”
  Caleb grabbed the back of the co-pilot’s seat and spun it around so he 
  could sit down. “Like I just went fifteen rounds with Muhammad Ali. But you 
  know, it isn’t so bad. We saved some lives today.” He ran a hand through his 
  short red hair, feeling crusts of dried blood; the Zodoran machine had been 
  able to generate pulses of negative energy that cut through even a Cosmo-
  Knight’s formidable defenses. Caleb was suddenly reminded of how close to 
  death he had come out there. “Then again...”
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  “This was a rough task for your first real test as a Knight,” Lothar said. 
  “And you did well. I’m beginning to think the Forge knew what she was do-
  ing when she made you one of us.”
  “Thanks,” Caleb said. “I think.”
  “Captain Orestes hailed us while I was looking for you,” Abbot inter-
  rupted. “He is heading back to Xerxes for repairs, and to buy you two those 
  drinks he promised.”
  Lothar yawned suddenly, revealing sharp teeth. “I’ll send a message to the 
  Gabriel and thank him, but we have other business to attend to.”
  “What?” Caleb asked, incredulous. “I need a shower, sure, but I can do 
  that on the way to the station. We just saved the universe, Lothar. It’s time 
  to kick back and have a few beers and celebrate the fact that we’re still alive. 
  Besides, I still need to be deputized.”
  Lothar leaned back in his chair. “That can wait a little longer, I think. As 
  for celebrating, we don’t indulge in that sort of thing. Our job is to defend 
  the Three Galaxies from all threats; doing our job well doesn’t entitle us to 
  wasting time with frivolous antics.”
  “You are so repressed, you know that?” Caleb said. “You sound like my 
  father.”
  “Then your father was a wise man,” Lothar answered. “Listen, Abbot 
  helped us, and now we have to help him.” He turned to the tall, shadowy 
  figure. “You did say something about a ‘spot of trouble,’ didn’t you?”
  “I did,” Abbot admitted. “I’m surprised you remembered in all the excite-
  ment. It isn’t too terribly pressing, though. I’m sure we can stop at Xerxes and 
  get young Caleb a badge and a beverage.”
  Caleb’s face reddened despite himself. “I’m sorry, man. I forgot.”
  “Quite all right, I assure you,” Abbot told him. “There are extenuating 
  circumstances.”
  “Why don’t you explain what the trouble is, and then I’ll decide where we 
  go next?” Lothar growled. “And try to keep it to as few words as possible for 
  a change.”
  “Perfectly reasonable solution,” Abbot agreed. “It isn’t really me who is 
  in trouble, I must admit. It’s Kassy. She’s been kidnaped by an obnoxious 
  fellow by the name of Paj Pandershon.”
  Lothar groaned and put a hand on his forehead. “I shouldn’t be getting a 
  headache, but there it is,” he grumbled.
  “Who’s Kassy?” Caleb asked. “And Paj?”
  Abbot’s shadowy face softened in what Caleb was beginning to recognize 
  as his version of a smile. “Kassiopaeia Acherean is one of our friends.”
  “One of your friends,” Lothar growled.
  “Our,” Abbot corrected him. “She has helped us both in the past on nu-
  merous occasions, and though she is a bit of a free spirit – “
  ”A trouble magnet.”
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  “ – she is also one of the most kind and generous people I’ve met in the 
  entire Megaverse.” Abbot shot Lothar a withering glare, continuing, “Mine is 
  certainly not a minority opinion, although Lothar’s is, and Kassy has had her 
  share of admirers over the years. One of them is Paj Pandershon, a Delakite 
  warlord of some renown. A week ago Kassy disappeared from her home on 
  Alexandria, and I’ve traced her to Pandershon’s fortress on the planet Koro-
  bas.”
  “So you need our help busting this Kassy out of the bad guy’s palace?” 
  Caleb said. “Doesn’t seem so bad, after going toe to toe with an ancient en-
  gine of destruction.”
  “I’m glad you feel that way,” Abbot said, smiling again. “What do you 
  think, Lothar?”
  Lothar scraped his claws across his helmet, attacking an imaginary itch. 
  “I’ll set the navigation controls to Korobas. You start talking about Pander-
  shon’s defenses.”
  “I knew you wouldn’t let us down,” Abbot beamed.
  ____________________
  It turned out that Korobas was only a hop, skip, and a jump away, relative-
  ly speaking. It still required an eight hour flight, but there was no need to push 
  the ship as hard as they had to reach Teneb-742. Lothar sent a quick hyper-
  link message to Captain Orestes, while Caleb hunted down the crew quar-
  ters and found himself a shower. He was dismayed to learn that the showers 
  weren’t normal; they pumped out high-frequency sound that worked as well 
  as water and soap, but didn’t provide the comfort of a nice hot shower.
  Feeling cleaner helped, though, and Caleb’s energies were quickly replen-
  ishing. There was a bright glowing furnace within Caleb, and given time it 
  healed his every ache and pain. By the time he was finished cleaning up, he 
  felt rested and healthier, as if he had slept for hours. He knew, too, that when 
  he next summoned his armor, it would be unblemished and in perfect condi-
  tion. He shook his head. The gifts of the Forge were indeed impressive, but 
  they demanded an exacting toll. He hadn’t yet been in Lothar’s company for 
  more than forty-eight hours, and in all that time this was his first real chance 
  to rest. Even so, they were still heading into another adventure at breakneck 
  speed.
  He pulled on his silver shirt and slid the red grav boots onto his feet and 
  headed for the bridge. He was going to have to find more clothing if he was 
  going to keep bleeding on these ones; he had thrown them into the sonic 
  shower to clean them, and they came out dry and spotless, but he would have 
  preferred it if he could have just changed into something new. He sniffed the 
  shirt; smelled clean. But it didn’t have that fresh from the dryer warmth.
  Space was certainly beyond cool, well into awesome territory, but it did 
  have its drawbacks.
  83
   
  
  Abbot and Lothar were chatting amicably on the bridge, or at least as ami-
  cably as the two of them got. Abbot was talking, sipping at tea though he had 
  no visible mouth, and Lothar was keeping his head down and trying to ignore 
  the doctor. Abbot looked up as Caleb appeared and offered him a smile. “Can 
  I get you some tea?”
  “Uh, yeah.” Caleb didn’t usually drink tea, and he no longer needed to eat 
  or drink anything at all, but he would have felt rude refusing. Abbot produced 
  a thermos and a mug and poured Caleb a steaming cup of the brew. Caleb 
  accepted it with a smile, and then sniffed it gently. It had a curious aroma, 
  almost flowery, with a hint of cinnamon. He took a tentative sip, wary of the 
  liquid’s heat. “Mmmm,” he offered. “This is good. What is it?”
  “My own brew. I’m glad you like it,” Abbot said. “I wish we had some 
  scones or biscuits, but this ship is appallingly understocked.”
  Lothar sighed. “I didn’t expect company when I borrowed it.”
  “Of course not,” Abbot quickly agreed, but his tone suggested that he 
  would have done otherwise in Lothar’s position. “So Caleb, I was telling 
  Lothar what we can expect when we arrive on Korobas. It’s a small world, 
  mostly water, with only a few landmasses scattered like islands along its 
  equator. They aren’t connected to the floor of the world ocean, however, so 
  they float along on the currents, carried hither and yon by the sea.”
  “That’s kind of strange,” Caleb muttered. While Abbot had talked, he had 
  recalled that no tea, however hot, could scald his tongue anymore, and gulped 
  down all of it. The initial sip had not prepared him for the bizarre aftertaste, 
  though, and his remark was as much about that as the conditions on Korobas. 
  “How will we find this Paj guy, then?” He stuck his tongue out and scraped 
  his teeth along it, as if that could somehow get rid of the taste.
  “Easy,” Lothar said. “He’ll be on the big island with the black fortress 
  and all the guns.” He glanced back at Caleb. “That’s a sipping tea, pup. Not 
  wise to swallow it all at once; your mouth will taste like genku posterior for 
  days now.”
  “Genku posterior?”
  “Ignore him, Caleb,” Abbot said. “More tea?” He offered Caleb the ther-
  mos, but Caleb declined, setting his mug down on a nearby console. “Lothar 
  is essentially correct, though it may not be that easy. Paj should be expect-
  ing some sort of rescue, however. As soon as we arrive in system, we may 
  receive a welcoming party.”
  “You don’t seem very concerned that Paj may harm this Kassy,” Ca-
  leb pointed out. Why did he have to accept the tea? He pursed his lips and 
  pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, but that only made it worse.
  “No,” Abbot admitted. “I am fairly certain that Paj is more interested in 
  winning Kassy over than hurting her. I’m also fairly certain that Paj couldn’t 
  hurt her if he tried; the only way he could have captured her in the first place 
  is through subterfuge.”
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  Caleb shrugged. Lothar and Abbot knew what they were doing. “Is there 
  anything else to eat or drink around here?”
  Lothar uttered a sharp bark. “Abbot can show you where the galley is. You 
  won’t find much besides basic amenities, but if you eat enough nutri-wafers 
  they might kill the taste. I’d suggest the strawberry flavored wafers.”
  Caleb eventually did find the wafers, and he had to eat about a dozen of the 
  things before the “genku posterior” taste began to dull. The wafers were sur-
  prisingly large, about the size of the pancakes his mother made for him when 
  Caleb was a boy. It seemed that even though Caleb didn’t require food to 
  function, he could metabolize it quickly enough when he did eat. He brought 
  a few of the wafers to the bridge and Lothar ate some, though Abbot declined. 
  Caleb asked Lothar more questions about the phase drive and contra-gravi-
  tonic drive and how the ship worked; the Wulfen proved as close-mouthed as 
  usual, but Abbot answered as best he could. Caleb was strangely reassured to 
  learn there were topics the enigmatic Abbot knew very little about.
  When Caleb attempted to learn something of Abbot’s origins, the doctor 
  deftly deflected each question, and offered instead to lecture some more about 
  ancient galactic cultures. So Caleb got to learn about the ruins of Monro-Tet, 
  lost Atlantis, the Burschian Dominion, and the Ghostworld before Lothar 
  alerted them that they were arriving in the Korobas system.
  It was the first thing Lothar had said in hours. “You weren’t meditating 
  that entire time, were you?” Caleb asked.
  Lothar shrugged noncommittally. “I’ve heard it all before. Disengaging 
  the phase drive.” His hands flew over the controls, and the ship returned to 
  regular space. Outside the viewport Caleb could now see the stars and the 
  blackness of space. Lothar turned the ship to the right, and a planetoid came 
  into view, a small blue world that lacked satellites of any kind. It slowly grew 
  in the viewport as the ship advanced.
  “Korobas,” Lothar said, explaining the obvious. “Any sign of that wel-
  coming party, Abbot?” he asked.
  The doctor checked his own instruments and shook his head. “Nothing 
  yet.”
  Lothar grunted in mild surprise. “We should be appearing on their scopes.”
  “Maybe they have something special planned,” Caleb suggested.
  “Perhaps,” Abbot said. “But they could hardly expect us.”
  “Maybe not us specifically, but they did kidnap somebody. They’ve got to 
  be expecting some sort of retaliation.”
  Lothar arched a metallic eyebrow. “You could be right Caleb. Raise 
  shields and power up the laser batteries.” Abbot complied, his orange eyes 
  narrowed with concern.
  “Anything I can do?” Caleb asked, but Lothar shook his head.
  “Just sit tight,” he said. The ship suddenly lurched as Lothar increased 
  speed, and in a moment they were blasting through the atmosphere or Koro-
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  bas. Fire flickered across their bow, and red lights erupted all across Abbot’s 
  console.
  “Is it wise to go in at this speed?” Abbot said archly. Lothar simply grunt-
  ed, and a moment later they were clear of the ionosphere and blasting through 
  Korobas sky. Clouds sizzled as the ship flew through them, still burning hot 
  from re-entry. They were on the planet’s day side, and it appeared to be a 
  rather pleasant day. There were clouds, but not too many, the sun shone 
  brightly, and beneath them all they could see was water.
  “The whole planet is like this?” Caleb said. “Must get pretty boring.”
  “Most of the sights are beneath the waves,” Abbot explained. “Korobas 
  has an active tectonic system, and the undersea mountains are truly breathtak-
  ing, particularly the volcanic ranges. Most of the native creatures live down 
  there as well; none of them sentient, but quite a few of them very beautiful to 
  look at.” He smiled. “And dangerous.”
  “You certainly get around a lot,” Caleb grumbled. “Or did you just memo-
  rize the encyclopedia?” Abbot just smiled.
  “Coming up on the ring of islands,” Lothar reported. “If I’m not disturbing 
  you. What have you got on the sensors?”
  Abbot glanced at his board. “The third island, due west, has massive tech-
  nological readings. That should be Paj’s hideout.” Lothar nodded and nudged 
  the ship towards the island. They found it easily; not only was it the largest 
  island in this part of the world ocean, but it was the only one with a huge 
  black fortress growing out of it. Even through the viewport the castle looked 
  foreboding and deadly, with several gunports prominently displayed. Lothar 
  circled the island a few times, but received neither hails nor gunfire.
  “This is damn peculiar,” Abbot said. Caleb silently agreed.
  Lothar looked at them both. “I suppose we should go down there.” He hit a 
  few keys, and then stood up. “The ship will hang here until we get back. Shall 
  we fly down, or would you like to magic us down there, Abbot?”
  “I’d be delighted to help,” Abbot said. He stood up and grabbed his cane 
  from where it leaned against the chair. “Caleb?” Caleb stood as well, unsure 
  of himself, and then Abbot’s eyes flashed, and the ship around them shifted, 
  reforming into a tropical paradise. One moment the three of them were on the 
  bridge, and the next moment they stood on the island, green grass beneath 
  their feet. Caleb looked around wildly, and despite himself clutched his stom-
  ach. Teleportation was disorienting to say the least.
  “I shouldn’t have eaten all those strawberry wafers,” he muttered.
  “Everything okay, Caleb?” Abbot asked, leaning on his cane. In the 
  bright sunlight his shadowy form looked even more insubstantial, and Caleb 
  thought he could actually see through Abbot. It was more unnerving than the 
  teleportation effect.
  To distract himself Caleb looked around. They stood on a grassy knoll, 
  a hump of rock and vegetation that sloped downward to the beach on their 
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  right, and towards the looming fortress to their left. Palm trees grew nearby, 
  their fronds swaying gently in the breeze. There were flowers everywhere. 
  The air smelled strongly of salt and sea, and the roar of the ocean filled Ca-
  leb’s ears. If not for the blocky black fortress in the background, it looked to 
  Caleb like a postcard of Hawaii.
  “This doesn’t look much like a bad guy’s hideout,” he complained.
  “You should suit up, pup,” Lothar suggested.
  “I will when somebody starts shooting,” Caleb told him. “In the mean-
  time, I’ll enjoy the fresh air and sunlight.” Lothar glared, but said nothing. 
  Caleb ignored him. “What do we do next?”
  “We knock on the door,” Lothar decided. He led the way down the hill 
  towards the fortress, Caleb and Abbot in tow.
  The front section of the fortress did indeed have an entrance, but it was 
  blocked by a pair of massive blast doors. Lothar surmised that they provided 
  access to the hangar; not large enough to house a starship, but possibly a few 
  fighters.
  “I’m beginning to think no one is home,” Lothar grumbled. “Caleb and I 
  could burn through the doors, but it would take time. Do you want to field 
  this one, Abbot?”
  The doctor nodded and stepped forward. He hooked his cane in his elbow 
  and then held both hands outward. His eyes glowed brightly for a moment, 
  and then a sphere of orange light appeared between his palms. He pushed 
  gently, and the sphere sailed through the air towards the blast doors, spinning 
  lazily and flashing brightly. It connected with a burst of light and a thunder-
  ous boom that blew the doors inward, and rattled the entire fortress.
  “What the hell was that?” Caleb asked when his ears stopped ringing.
  “Sphere of Annihilation,” Abbot explained. “They should know we’re 
  here now.”
  Lothar summoned his ax and lead the way forward, across the threshold 
  littered with fragments of the blast door. The chamber beyond did indeed 
  house a half dozen starfighters, five wedge-shaped fighters that Lothar identi-
  fied as Katana-Class, and a larger, more ominous looking tri-partite fighter 
  called a Fire-Eater. The ships appeared to be in good repair, fueled and ready 
  to go, but there weren’t any pirates to fly them.
  At the other end of the chamber were three elevators. “We might as well 
  split up,” Lothar said. “This place is obviously empty. But we may find some 
  clues, maybe Kassy herself.” Abbot looked doubtful, but acquiesced.
  “Hey,” Caleb interjected. “How will I recognize Kassy if I see her?”
  “Well,” Abbot said, “she’s fairly attractive for her species. And she has 
  tattoos up and down both arms.” He keyed the first elevator, and as he waited 
  for it to arrive, he said, “But I’m beginning to agree with Lothar. I don’t think 
  Paj and Kassy are here.”
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  “Abbot, you check the lower levels,” Lothar ordered. “Caleb, you start at 
  the top and work your way down. I’ll take the next level up and keep going; 
  we’ll meet in the middle.” The elevator doors opened, and as Abbot stepped 
  into one and Lothar into another, Lothar added, “Keep your eyes open and 
  senses sharp.”
  Then the door closed and Caleb was on his own. Again. He stepped into 
  the remaining elevator and hit the button for the top floor. The legend was in 
  some alien language he couldn’t read, but the placement of the buttons was 
  simple enough. As the elevator ascended, he contemplated summoning his 
  armor, but decided not to bother. If the place really was empty, there was 
  nothing to worry about. And if there was an ambush waiting for him, he 
  might surprise them by not tipping of the fact that he was a Knight.
  The elevator groaned to a halt, and the door slid open with an Earth-like 
  “ding.” Caleb stepped out into a narrow hallway that branched off to the left 
  and right. Across the way another corridor led to a pair of arching double 
  doors. Tapestries and other items were hung on the walls, creating a some-
  what homier atmosphere than blank, black walls would have.
  The double doors looked promising, so Caleb headed for them. As he ap-
  proached, he noticed one of them was slightly ajar, and as he drew closer still, 
  he heard noises from the other side. Caleb broke into a quick jog and threw 
  open the door.
  The room on the other side was some sort of throne room, with a huge 
  black steel chair in the center, decorated with a red cushion and cover. Con-
  soles were built into the walls, with computer screens that showed various 
  levels of the fortress as well as the outside, including a dozen that were track-
  ing Lothar’s ship. There were blast burns in the walls, and several consoles 
  were smoking and sparking. Four humanoids were laid out on the ground, 
  apparently unconscious or worse, while in the center of the room a blue and 
  white tiger contended with a green skinned man, and a woman in a blue dress 
  waved a sword with violet flames at another green skinned man who was 
  similarly armed.
  “What the hell is going on?” Caleb shouted, unable to contain the outburst.
  The green fellow with the sword spared a glance in his direction, and the 
  woman in blue took advantage of the moment to disarm him with a practiced 
  gesture. As his sword flew through the air and clattered to the ground, she 
  pressed the tip of her flaming blade against his throat.
  “Surrender,” she ordered, and the man complied, dropping to his knees. 
  The other man, cornered by the tiger, raised his hands in defeat as well.
  Caleb walked towards the woman, keeping one eye on the weirdly colored 
  tiger. She was tall, about Caleb’s own height, with long black hair and pierc-
  ing blue eyes. Her brow was furrowed in suspicion, and her full lips were 
  pulled into a frown that deepened as Caleb approached. She was very pale, 
  in sharp contrast to the bright blue of her dress. The dress itself looked like a 
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  bridesmaid’s outfit, with too much frills and lace and of such a sickening blue 
  that it hurt Caleb’s eyes to look at it. One of the sleeves was torn, revealing 
  a pale, bare arm that was covered from wrist to shoulder in whirling designs, 
  all blues and white. When Abbot mentioned tattoos, Caleb had instinctively 
  pictured the crude pictures of a biker or carny; the images on the woman’s 
  arm were abstract and artfully designed, each image melding into the next 
  to create a whirling pattern that drew the viewer in. Each design was done 
  in differing shades of blue and highlighted with white, creating a distinctive 
  image that still melted into the others. Whoever had drawn these, they had 
  not done them with ink.
  “Kassiopaeia Acherean, I presume,” Caleb said. Abbot had been right; 
  she was beautiful. And the tattoos actually enhanced her beauty rather than 
  detracting from it.
  She nodded, still suspicious. “And who are you?”
  “I’m Caleb Vulcan.” He tried to smile engagingly. “I’m here to rescue 
  you.”
  Kassy widened her eyes in surprise. “That’s sweet, but I think I have 
  things under control.”
  “Obviously,” Caleb agreed. She was even prettier than Joanna Freeman. 
  Oh man, please don’t let me say something stupid. “Nice dress.”
  “What?”
  “I mean, Doctor Abbot and Lothar are downstairs,” Caleb said quickly. 
  “That’s our ship on the viewscreen.”
  “Abbot and Lothar are here?” Kassy said. “Why didn’t you say that in the 
  first place?” The sword in her hands disappeared in a cerulean flash. “Stay 
  there,” she told the kneeling green man, and then raised her skirts to run over 
  to a console that had a speaker. She flipped a switch and then said, “Hey guys, 
  come on upstairs. You missed the party.” Then she turned back to Caleb. 
  “Who are you again?”
  “Uh, Caleb Vulcan. I’m Lothar’s apprentice.”
  “You’re a Cosmo-Knight? Excellent. You can keep an eye on these guys 
  while I go find something decent to wear.”
  “That’s not your dress?”
  “Are you kidding?” she said with a grimace. She gestured at the kneeling 
  man. “It’s Paj’s idea of a bridal gown. Normally I wouldn’t be caught dead 
  in something so tacky. The tricky thing was, he had the dress specially made 
  so that I couldn’t access my tats through the fabric. Took me longer than I 
  thought to figure out how to rip through it too; it isn’t ordinary fabric. After 
  that, the rest was easy.” She smiled then, and Caleb’s heart skipped a beat.
  “Anyway, why don’t you wait for Abbot and Lothar. I’ll be right back.” 
  The tiger suddenly disappeared with a burst of blue light, and then Kassy 
  headed towards the double doors.
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  “Um, okay,” he said. Caleb watched her go, and then turned to Paj and his 
  adjutant and tried to look menacing. Either it worked, or Kassy had already 
  cowed them sufficiently. So Caleb sat down in the throne and waited for ev-
  erybody else to arrive.
  It wasn’t long before Lothar and Abbot appeared in the doorway. They 
  surveyed the scene with a glance, and Abbot remarked, “I thought I heard 
  Kassiopaeia’s voice over the loudspeaker.”
  “You did,” Caleb agreed. “She just went to make herself presentable.”
  “This is good work, Caleb,” Lothar pointed out. “You seem to have terri-
  fied these pirates.”
  “Wasn’t me,” Caleb corrected him. “Kassy was finishing up when I ar-
  rived. I think you guys made the same mistake Paj did; you underestimated 
  her. Big time.”
  Abbot’s smile was easy to see in the dim light of the throne room. “Well 
  put.”
  Then Kassiopaeia herself swept into the room, clad in a sleeveless jump-
  suit and heavy boots, both marked with what appeared to be Greek lettering. 
  Her hair was tied back into a ponytail, and for the first time Caleb noticed 
  that the tattoos reached all the way up to her jawline. “Abbot and Lothar,” she 
  exclaimed, grabbing the doctor and embracing him. “I’m so glad the two of 
  you could make it. I have to admit, I was afraid no one would notice I went 
  missing, so I effected my own escape.”
  “An excellent job, Kassy,” Abbot said, returning her hug. “I expected as 
  much, but I feared Paj found some way to block your tattoo magic.” Lothar 
  just grunted a hello.
  Caleb edged towards his mentor. “Magic?” he asked.
  Lothar looked askance at him. “Atlantean tattoo magic, inherited from 
  the Chiang-Ku dragons. They inscribe images on flesh that can be brought 
  to life.”
  “That explains the sword and the tiger. Pretty cool stuff.”
  “Useful in its own way, I suppose. Kassy is an Undead Slayer, so she has 
  more tattoos at her disposal than most Atlanteans do.”
  “Undead Slayer?” Caleb repeated. “What, like vampires and ghosts and 
  stuff?”
  “Exactly,” Lothar told him, flashing some teeth.
  “What are you two chattering about?” Abbot asked, interrupting.
  “Nothing,” Caleb told him.
  Lothar grunted again. He took a look at Paj and the other five pirates. 
  “We’ll have to bring them back to Xerxes with us, and leave them with the 
  authorities. There should be enough room in one of the cabins for them all. 
  They are still alive, aren’t they Kass?”
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  “Mostly,” she agreed. “They aren’t very good at hand to hand, and they 
  have very soft heads. I hope they’re better pilots, otherwise they haven’t a 
  hope in the Megaverse.”
  “Will you be accompanying us to the station, my dear?” Abbot asked.
  Kassy thought for a moment. “Well, my initial plan was to beat these guys 
  up and then take that Naruni fighter back to Alexandria, but I think joining 
  you three will be a lot more fun.”
  “Hardly,” Lothar said quickly. “There will be paperwork to fill out, and 
  then Caleb needs training. You might as well go home.”
  Kassy laughed. “Now I know I should stick around, if Lothar is trying to 
  talk me out of something. What are you guys up to?”
  “We’re going after some Invincible Guard guy,” Caleb spoke up. Lothar 
  shot him a glare that could have flayed flesh from bone, but Caleb ignored 
  him.
  “Yes,” Abbot agreed. “A deadly chap by the name of Elias Harkonnen.”
  “Harkonnen? Why does that name sound familiar?” Kassy asked. “It 
  shouldn’t; the Megaverse is far too big to waste time memorizing the names 
  of TGE soldiers, and yet...”
  “He’s an Elf,” Abbot told her.
  Lothar harrumphed, but Kassy’s eyes suddenly widened. “Right, the only 
  Elf who graduated into the ranks of the Invincible Guard. I have heard his 
  name before. He’s at the heart of quite a few horror stories.”
  “Maybe you can tell them to us on the way,” Caleb said, elbowing Lothar 
  in the ribs.
  The big Wulfen Knight growled at Caleb, but told Kassy, “All right. You 
  can come. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
  Kassy’s eyes twinkled. “Like teasing a dragon?”
  “That wasn’t my fault,” Lothar growled. “In point of fact, it was you who 
  put me in that awkward position.”
  “Whoah,” Caleb interrupted. “I want to hear this from the beginning.”
  Kassy smiled. “I think this is going to be a long trip for old Lothar here, 
  then.”
  “The sooner we’re done, the better then,” Lothar growled. “Let’s get go-
  ing.”
  Loading the prisoners on the ship proved to be easier than Caleb would 
  have expected, but the presence of two Cosmo-Knights, in addition to the 
  Undead Slayer who bested them and a mysterious figure of unknown abil-
  ity, kept the Delakites on their best behavior. In no time at all, they were on 
  their way to Xerxes station, and Kassy was regaling them with the story of 
  Lothar’s encounter with a very horny Horned Dragon.
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  Chapter Nine
  Ruminations
  There are still planets in the United Worlds of Warlock that celebrate 
  Defender’s Day every standard year, including a full quarter of the Draconid 
  Hub. The festivities are as varied as the cultures that celebrate them, from the 
  parades and fireworks of the Hub Worlds, to the Bardic Regalia of Legolas, 
  to the bloody arenas of Ogretopia. The one thing they all have in common is 
  a cessation of all hostilities among the celebrants, no matter how grave or 
  petty they might be, so that all sentient beings can engage in a thanksgiving 
  for their present liberty.
  Today, these celebrations have a festive, light-hearted and often comedic 
  air, but a hundred and fifty years ago the festivals were spontaneous and 
  heartfelt. The first Defender’s Day was a haphazard event, begun only hours 
  after the defeat of Quajinn Huo’s fleet near the Asteroid Barrier of the Dra-
  conid Hub, a culmination of months of struggle against the tyrant wizard 
  who had conquered and razed nearly twenty worlds in the UWW despite 
  concerted efforts to defeat him. It took the combined might of several brave 
  heroes, among them the illustrious Doctor Abbot, the Wulfen shaman Koguk, 
  the dark sorceress Callista, and the then fledgling Cosmo-Knight Lothar of 
  Motherhome, to bring a close to Quajinn Huo’s bid for power. Even so, the 
  heroes were nearly overcome until a flight of Dwarven Ironships arrived to 
  bolster the defenders at the behest of no less a personage than Inglix the Mad 
  himself.
  By day’s end, Quajinn Huo’s fleet lay scattered across the Asteroid Bar-
  rier and the systems he had conquered were free. While spontaneous cel-
  ebrations erupted across the quadrant, and the heroes took stock, the dread 
  wizard himself managed to escape. He bolted for the safety of Center, and 
  only Lothar and Koguk seemed interested in pursuing him.
  – “Defender’s Day,” A History of the
  United Worlds of Warlock, Third Edition
  Friar nudged the gravsledge with a boot, and the heavy unit slid forward, 
  another meter closer to the customs station. She fingered the hilt of her ener-
  gy knife, a motion Elias was beginning to recognize as indicative of anxiety. 
  Which meant the sweat beading on her pale brow was not due to the tempera-
  ture; Elias knew that coming from a frigid world, Friar was inured to cold and 
  uncomfortable whenever the mercury climbed past 15 degrees Celsius, as it 
  often did on Center. He also knew her black and cobalt flightsuit was wired 
  to keep her cool, and it appeared as though her nerves were starting to fray.
  Elias suppressed a grimace. Now would be the worst possible time for 
  anything to go wrong. The last fifteen hours had been a whirlwind of activity 
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  as he pulled together the team he had assembled, purchased the last few bits 
  of gear for the mission, and fitted the ship for an extended trip. The rest of the 
  team, the Relogian weapons expert Hector, the Kisent pilot Orix, and the Oni 
  martial artist Tatsuda were already aboard the ship, running a pre-flight check 
  and securing the last of the equipment in the hold.
  Elias and Friar would be the last ones on the ship. They had to be, in order 
  to ensure Quajinn Huo made it aboard.
  Elias did frown finally, and Friar straightened unconsciously. She was not 
  the target of his ire, however, but rather the Draconid sorcerer in cold storage 
  on the sledge.
  Elias had explained the plan a dozen times to Quajinn, and the Draconid 
  seemed wary of the risks but he also seemed to understand they were neces-
  sary. Yet, when it finally came time to put the plan in action, Quajinn had 
  balked. Most of the last fifteen hours had been used by Elias to convince Qua-
  jinn to go through with it. It was the only way, as far as the former Guards-
  man could see.
  A century and a half ago, when Lothar of Motherhome and Koguk the 
  Wulfen shaman had tracked Quajinn Huo to Center, the Draconid had been 
  able to elude them in the nearly limitless expanse of the great city. They 
  searched for him for months, and even managed to find him on a few occa-
  sions, but after a brief skirmish, Quajinn would always escape. Always.
  While Quajinn searched for a way to eliminate his pursuers, the two 
  Wulfen, tiring of the chase, discovered a way to enforce a small measure of 
  justice upon the wizard. Koguk cast a Curse, an ancient and powerful rite 
  practiced by his people, fueling the magic with the almost limitless energy of 
  Lothar’s cosmically powered body. The Curse bound Quajinn Huo to Center 
  for seven times seven hundred years, with the stipulation that no spell could 
  free him and the only way he could pass through the gates of Center before 
  the time was up would be as a corpse. It was much more poetic in the original 
  Wulfen tongue, Elias had been told, but no matter what language you used, 
  it read pretty much the same. Quajinn Huo, former trigalactic despot, was a 
  prisoner of Center.
  In one hundred and fifty years, Quajinn had not found the loophole. And 
  not for lack of trying; he had consulted other wizards from a thousand worlds 
  and dimensions, studied ancient tome after ancient tome, bargained with the 
  Splugorth. Nothing he tried worked. Not surprising, in Elias’ opinion. Qua-
  jinn, like Koguk the Shaman, thought like a wizard. If the Curse said no spell 
  could save the Draconid, than no spell could save him.
  There were ways around that seemingly insurmountable stipulation, 
  though. And as Elias saw it, Friar the Klikita was the key. An aberration of 
  her birth had gifted her with a cryokinesis, enabling her to manipulate ambi-
  ent temperatures to a fine degree, even to the point of conjuring ice and snow, 
  or freezing a sentient in its tracks. Friar would freeze Quajinn, slowing his 
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  life signs down so that he would appear dead – and if that still didn’t work, 
  she could finish him off and then revive him on the ship. A simple plan. A 
  good plan.
  But Quajinn Huo was as paranoid as a Naruni client with unpaid bills. 
  While frozen, he would be powerless, unaware of his surroundings and un-
  able to act. He didn’t trust Elias or Friar to bring him out of the freeze at 
  all, and claimed they would sell him to the UWW for a planet’s ransom. No 
  amount of assurances from Elias would sway him, no matter how many times 
  Elias told him he was needed to crush Lothar. Elias made the miscalculation 
  of presenting Quajinn with the mysterious wrist chronometer taken from the 
  Fallen Knight. After a quick analysis of the artifact, Quajinn had declared 
  the chron could be used to stop time, somehow duplicating the effects of the 
  freeze but also enabling Quajinn to remain conscious.
  Elias reminded him that, according to the wording of the Curse, magic 
  wouldn’t do any good. Quajinn grew sullen then, and threatened to melt Elias 
  down with a word, but Elias reminded the Draconid that if he did, he would 
  never get off Center. Elias remained his best chance for freedom. His only 
  chance.
  At that, Quajinn relented. But just before Friar put him under, the wizard 
  smiled slyly. He placed his right hand on Elias’ forehead, and his left upon 
  Friar’s. Before Elias could knock it away, Quajinn murmured an incantation. 
  “You have an hour to get me onto the ship before your heads explode,” he 
  warned them in his sibilant voice. “I’ll reverse the spell once I am again mo-
  bile.” He smiled like a dragon, and then laid down in the case, crossing his 
  arms and closing his eyes.
  While Elias balled his fists in impotent rage, the wizard added, “You may 
  begin.” Friar brushed her knife hilt and gave Elias a worried glance, but at 
  his curt nod she went to work. Ice slid over the Draconid’s reclining form, 
  enveloping him in a heartbeat. Elias reached over and closed the case, check-
  ing the computer on the locking mechanism for life signs.
  Weak, but still visible. “Better kill him,” Elias said with a wolfish grin. 
  “Just to be sure.” Friar looked like she might argue, but she complied. A mo-
  ment later, Elias had levered the case onto the gravsledge and they were on 
  their way to the docking bay.
  So Elias understood Friar’s nervousness, though he felt none of it himself. 
  He felt secure in his invulnerability, and presumed Quajinn’s threat to be an 
  idle one where he was concerned. Still, it wouldn’t do for Friar to die before 
  she could get Quajinn out of his icy prison. And time was growing short.
  Elias blinked as the gravsledge slid past him, right up to the customs sta-
  tion. Two hulking Prometheans looked down at Elias and Friar, their stony 
  faces betraying no emotion. One stood behind the desk, thick fingers posi-
  tioned to punch keys that would activate the full sensor package built into the 
  station, reading at a glance everything on Elias’ person or in his cargo. The 
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  other Promethean stood to the side, propped up by a wickedly barbed halberd 
  that also doubled as a blaster rifle.
  Elias handed a datacard to the desk attendant, while the other one leaned 
  over and tried to peer through the ice frosted glass window of the case. It 
  actually flinched, tightening its grip on its weapon and turning to Elias with 
  a stormy expression. “That is Quajinn Huo,” it rumbled tonelessly, suddenly 
  master of itself again.
  Elias nodded. “As my card will inform you, I managed to kill him. Now 
  I’m taking him to the UWW for my reward.” So said the datacard supplied 
  by Squiddy, anyway.
  The Promethean behind the desk, having plugged the datacard into the 
  terminal, nodded as well. “Your papers appear to be in order,” it told Elias. 
  Turning to its companion, it said, “Tor, ensure the wizard is indeed deceased.”
  Tor stepped around Friar, who gave it a wide berth, and jammed the case’s 
  computer with a thick finger. Tor glanced at Friar and at Elias, and then said, 
  “Quajinn Huo is dead.”
  Elias and Friar made it to the ship in record time, though Elias had to make 
  sure the woman didn’t appear to move too quickly. The Prometheans had 
  a long history of remaining outside the political and social conflicts of the 
  creatures that visited Center, but for a trigalactic criminal like Quajinn Huo 
  they might make an exception. Better to keep them from getting suspicious.
  Orix met them at the airlock. Tall and spare, with skin the color and con-
  sistency of bark and leafy hair tied into corn rows, he grinned savagely as the 
  sledge slid past him. “All systems are go, captain,” he told Elias in the stage 
  whisper that passed for his voice. “We’re ready to lift off when you give the 
  word.”
  Elias nodded. “Let’s go.” Orix spun on his heel and left for the bridge at 
  a brisk pace. Elias turned to Friar to tell her to release Huo, but the case was 
  already open and steaming as the ice evaporated instantly into vapor. Elias 
  suppressed a reprimand. It went against his training in the Invincible Guard 
  to allow an underling to act without express orders, but then he wasn’t in the 
  Guard anymore. In fact, he needed people beneath him with some measure 
  of initiative. He would simply need to get used to having people who thought 
  for themselves.
  Quajinn Huo suddenly sat up, blinking ice from his lids. He stretched and 
  shivered melodramatically, and then muttered a word in some arcane lan-
  guage. Friar instantly relaxed, exhaling a pent up breath. “Welcome back, 
  Master Huo,” she said, smiling.
  Quajinn levered himself out of the case and stood up. Beneath them all, 
  the starship hummed with power as the engines came to life and the ship be-
  gan to move, guided by Orix into the stratosphere of Phase World and beyond 
  into the reaches of space.
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  Quajinn’s Draconian face split into a wide grin, displaying all of his sharp-
  ened teeth. “Free,” he whispered. “Free!” he said again, at full volume. “After 
  all these years, I am free finally to exact revenge.” He turned to Elias with 
  his predator’s grin firmly in place. “You have gained some measure of trust 
  at last, Harkonnen. And it will last as least as long as Lothar of Motherhome 
  lives.” The grin widened. “Which will not be long at all.”
  Elias Harkonnen, former Invincible Guardsman and veteran of a thousand 
  combats, ruthless and unforgiving, suppressed a shiver at the coldness and 
  sheer evil he saw in Quajinn Huo’s features.
  ____________________
  “So Lothar broke that poor dragon’s heart, only realizing after I explained 
  much later what had happened. He’s been sore at me ever since, though I 
  promised never to put another love charm on him without his express permis-
  sion.”
  Kassy and Caleb stood in the galley of Lothar’s borrowed starship. She 
  was whipping up an “Atlantean delicacy” from the meager scraps of food 
  the galley offered, while he leaned against the counter ready to assist in any 
  way. So far he hadn’t needed to do much. A little stirring, some hunting for 
  ingredients, and the like, leaving Kassy to do most of the work. Now that the 
  casserole was baking, they were taking a break so that Kassy could tell Caleb 
  the story of Lothar’s encounter with an amorous dragon.
  Lothar himself was only a few feet away, sitting at a low table and grind-
  ing his teeth, while the shadowy Doctor Abbot sipped tea from a delicate cup 
  and admonished the Wulfen for his behavior. Abbot’s words didn’t seem 
  to affect Lothar at all, though everything Kassy said increased his agita-
  tion. Throughout the story, Caleb maintained a close watch on his mentor to 
  make sure his temper didn’t explode. Though obviously annoyed – but when 
  wasn’t he? – Lothar remained fairly stable. No growling or brandishing of 
  emerald axes, at any rate.
  Kassy paused to check on the progress of the meal, offering Caleb a quick 
  smile, saying, “Not quite there yet, but doesn’t it smell delicious?”
  Caleb had to agree. It was amazing how Kassy had pulled together the 
  meal from what they had found in the galley; Caleb had assumed there wasn’t 
  much of use besides the strawberry wafers he’d eaten before. Somehow Kassy 
  had been able to mix up a mouth watering casserole from the wafers, some 
  broth, and a few packets of freeze dried vegetables. A few spices, completely 
  unidentifiable to the young man who had never been very good in the kitchen 
  to begin with, added flavor and contributed significantly to the enchanting 
  aroma that filled the small room. “My father taught me how to cook,” Kassy 
  had explained. “He’d learned as a young man on the trail how to whip up a 
  decent meal out of almost anything. And when I became a Slayer he insisted 
  I learn how to do it too, to make sure I’d never go hungry. I don’t suppose he 
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  ever envisioned me being locked in a Delakite dungeon for four days without 
  a decent meal, though.”
  Caleb wished that his own father had been able to cook anything at all, but 
  dinners at the Vulcan house had been just a grade above c-rations for years 
  now. Abigail Vulcan had been the family’s cook, but dinner had been the 
  least of the changes in the house after she died. Caleb suddenly wondered if 
  he would ever see his father again. Over six weeks had passed since his trans-
  formation from high school senior and draftee to Cosmo-Knight, and he had 
  to admit he wasn’t yet missing his old life. He would eventually, however. 
  Probably. And what would he do then?
  “Most people at least laugh politely when I finish that story,” Kassy 
  prompted. “Are you okay?”
  “Yeah,” Caleb said quickly. “I was just thinking of something else. It was 
  very funny. I have to admit though, that I find it difficult to imagine Lothar 
  in that situation.”
  “You and I both, pup,” Lothar grumbled. “But old stories about me isn’t 
  what I’d like to hear from you, Kassy,” he continued. “You have something 
  about Harkonnen, don’t you?”
  Kassy’s friendly smile faded, and suddenly the playfulness in her expres-
  sion was gone. Caleb reminded himself that when he first met this beautiful 
  woman with the wicked sense of humor, she was playing Errol Flynn with a 
  flaming sword, having just freed herself from captivity at the hands of pirates. 
  She might appear to be Caleb’s own age, but by her own admission she was 
  an Undead Slayer, an Atlantean warrior skilled at destroying the supernatu-
  ral, and as much a soldier as Caleb’s father.
  “Right,” Kassy said. “Caleb, do you mind getting some plates out? I think 
  you and I will be the only ones eating.” She raised an eyebrow in question to 
  the others, and both Lothar and Abbot nodded. While Caleb did as she asked, 
  she opened the oven and pulled out the dish, eyeing it critically. Apparently 
  it passed muster, because she set it down on a heating pad on the counter and 
  grabbed a big spoon to ladle portions onto the plates Caleb handed to her. She 
  handed the first plate back to Caleb, heavy with food, and then took one for 
  herself. They both took seats at the table and Caleb began to eat while Kassy 
  spoke.
  “The Transgalactic Empire spans many worlds,” she began. “In the heart 
  of the Empire lies the Free World Council, an alliance of systems who have 
  rebelled against the Empire and are fighting to free other enslaved worlds 
  under the Empire’s control.”
  She paused to take a bite, and Caleb realized that Lothar and Abbot must 
  be aware of these sorts of things, and that Kassy was explaining them for 
  his benefit. Slightly embarrassed at his own lack of what should have been 
  simple knowledge, he dug into the casserole with gusto. It smelled better than 
  it tasted, but it tasted a great deal better than what he was used to.
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  “It’s much too big a project for them to tackle alone, so they depend on 
  aid from outside systems, many of which are all too happy to provide it. 
  The Kreeghor have a lot of enemies in the Three Galaxies, and the FWC is 
  a thorn in their side that many governments like to encourage. The people of 
  Alexandria, my world, have been sending aid since the initial rebellion of the 
  planet Good Hope. Money, food, munitions, ships. Anything we could spare 
  went out to the FWC. One of my cousins was a blockade runner who took the 
  trip to Good Hope a dozen times. That twelfth trip would prove to be his last.
  “The run to Good Hope was never a pleasant one; you can barely go a 
  kilometer without bumping into a Kreeghor dreadnought. Still, many ships 
  slipped through using cunning, magic, or cutting edge tech. The Kreeghor 
  decided too many ships were getting through, and that the only way to stop 
  them was to send in the Invincible Guard, the elite cadre of imperial troops, 
  each with enough raw power to go toe to toe with a Cosmo-Knight. They put 
  a century, a hundred troops each, on each leg of the blockade. On the border 
  to CCW space, a centurion named Boreas was in charge. Klygestus watched 
  for S’hree Vek vessels. And near UWW space was stationed Elias Harkon-
  nen, a former UWW citizen himself and the only Elf in the Three Galaxies to 
  graduate into the Invincible Guard.
  “Elias is as smart as he is ruthless and overconfident. He’s completely 
  invulnerable to harm, and has enough raw strength to juggle starfighters. On 
  top of that, he has all the extensive military training and tactical skill of a Le-
  gionnaire and an intimate understanding of the way sentients from the UWW 
  think and work. My cousin and his allies, Zeus rest their souls, never really 
  stood a chance.
  “Running the blockade takes a series of lightspeed jumps from system to 
  system. Short ones are best, zigging and zagging from one to another. Makes 
  it easier to bypass the blockade and lessens the chance of accidentally en-
  countering a dreadnought. Harkonnen knew or guessed well enough the gen-
  eral route the UWW ships would take to Good Hope, and he sat and waited 
  for them to appear in system.
  “When they did, he let his three dreadnoughts sit in place and lob fire at 
  the UWW ships to keep them too busy to run, but ensured the ships wouldn’t 
  take too much damage. Then he and his century went EVA and flew toward 
  the UWW ships. Ship sensors don’t pick up human sized targets very well, 
  and most of the Legionnaires could survive in a vacuum unaided, so they 
  managed to cross the void between the two sides without interference. They 
  found airlocks and used their inhuman strength to shatter their way onto the 
  ships.
  “What followed wasn’t a battle in any sense of the word. Slaughter would 
  be more appropriate. Harkonnen and his fellow Invincible Guardsmen tore 
  the crews to pieces. The Atlanteans on board didn’t do any better against 
  them than the wizards or the warlock marines. Harkonnen killed everyone on 
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  board and then had the Guard break up the bodies and spread the offal and 
  gore on every available surface. Then he set the controls of each ship for a 
  timed jump back into UWW space and returned to his dreadnought.
  “It would be several more years before anyone from the UWW, my people 
  included, attempted another blockade run.”
  “My God,” Caleb said. He didn’t feel very hungry anymore, though Kassy 
  had continued to eat throughout her tale. “That’s the kind of guy we’re going 
  after?”
  Lothar nodded. “Not all our jobs will be easy like the Zodoran leech,” he 
  said with a grin. “Harkonnen is as bad as they come. I’ve already told you 
  how he sacrificed his crew and his base in order to escape me. Any life other 
  than his own has little meaning to him, and he’s quite capable of doing almost 
  anything to further his goals. He no longer has a century or any dreadnoughts 
  to back him up, but that is no reason to underestimate him.”
  “I hope to be able to use the resources at Xerxes to find out more,” Abbot 
  said, speaking for the first time. “With Lothar’s help I may even be able to 
  see some of the classified records the CCW keeps on Invincible Guards. At 
  the very least, news reports should give us a clearer picture of who he is, and 
  perhaps where he will strike next.”
  “I know what he is,” Kassy said coldly. “He is a monster. And he needs 
  to be stopped.”
  A loud beeping interrupted them, and Lothar stood up. “We’re coming up 
  on Xerxes. Caleb, why don’t you give me a hand bringing her in.”
  “Really?” Caleb instantly brightened.
  Lothar just brushed past him, growling, “Come on then.”
  Caleb scrambled to his feet, and almost forgot his manners. He shot a 
  questioning glance to Kassy, and she waved him off with a laugh. “Go ahead, 
  I’ll get the dishes.”
  Caleb flashed her a grin in thanks and raced after Lothar.
  ____________________
  The great spindle shaped station, twelve miles long, was once again 
  swarming with ships. Caleb picked out the CCW ships from the Zodoran en-
  gagement easily enough; they were the eleven battle cruisers swarming with 
  repair crews. The Zodoran machine had nearly crippled the starships, and 
  had almost proved the end of Caleb as well. He could have died fighting that 
  thing, virtually powerless while it hammered away at him. But he survived. 
  Caleb grinned fiercely.
  He did a pretty good job his first time out as a Knight.
  “Pay attention, pup,” Lothar admonished from the captain’s chair. Lothar 
  rested his hands lightly upon the controls, ready to make a correction if Caleb 
  made a mistake.
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  “Right, sorry,” Caleb said, refocusing on the task at hand. Piloting a space-
  ship was a great deal more complicated than driving a car or even a plane; 
  with no atmosphere to work with, a spaceship didn’t have or need aerial vanes 
  to manipulate airflow. Rather, maneuvering it depended upon the careful use 
  of strategically placed thrusters that could set the ship in motion or slow it 
  down. The fact that the ship moved through three planes wasn’t anything that 
  concerned Caleb; he had a knack for flying. What did worry him was failing 
  to fire the right thruster at a crucial moment, or letting one burn too long. 
  Either mistake could send the ship on a collision course with any one of the 
  other hundred ships buzzing around the station.
  The ship shook as a starfighter buzzed too close, nearly scraping a wing 
  along their dorsal surface. Caleb flinched and tried to correct his course, but 
  realized in a heartbeat that he was doing okay. “Jerk,” he muttered. Lothar 
  uttered a short bark of laughter.
  Somehow Caleb managed to bring the ship into range of the docking bay 
  Xerxes had given them without any trouble. With a flick of his wrist he sent 
  the docking claw out to latch onto the station and a dozen umbilicals snaking 
  out to connect with power lines and air scrubbers. He sat back with a grin and 
  looked over at Lothar.
  “Nice job,” Lothar said. He wagged a finger at Caleb. “But don’t get 
  cocky. If that space jockey crashed into us, it wouldn’t have mattered whose 
  fault it was. You have to keep an eye out for that sort of thing.” He stood up. 
  “Now let’s go.”
  Abbot and Kassy were herding the prisoners out the airlock when Caleb 
  and Lothar reached it. Paj Pandershon and his Delakite cohorts didn’t look 
  too happy, but Caleb didn’t feel sorry for any of them. Pandershon tried to 
  snarl something pithy as he was led up the corridor to the TVIA station, but a 
  glare from Lothar had him tripping over his tongue.
  Caleb decided he would have to practice that move; though it would prob-
  ably be easier if he were a foot taller and had a huge wolf’s head brimming 
  with sharp teeth.
  With Lothar leading the way, the four of them passed through the inspec-
  tion station quickly, while the authorities carted off the prisoners for incar-
  ceration. Lothar went with them to make sure everything went smoothly, 
  which left Abbot, Kassy and Caleb standing on the railing over the expansive 
  central lobby of the docking level.
  “Well, we’ve much to do,” Abbot said as Lothar and the TVIA officials 
  walked off. “Caleb, you still need to be deputized. And I need to find those 
  records and start working on this case.”
  “I’ll take care of Caleb,” Kassy told him. “You start cracking dataspools 
  and we’ll meet up with you later.”
  Before Caleb could interject, Abbot was beginning to head away and a 
  figure in a military uniform was striding toward them, calling Abbot’s name. 
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  Abbot paused, leaning on his cane. Caleb glanced at Kassy, but she didn’t 
  seem to recognize the other man.
  A tall, broad shouldered black man with a shaven head and a neatly 
  trimmed goatee, he was obviously a soldier of some sort, resplendent in the 
  white and silver uniform of the Consortium Armed Forces. He stuck out a 
  hand and Abbot took it, shaking vigorously. “Doctor Abbot, so glad you 
  could finally make it here. Where’s Lothar and his apprentice?”
  “Captain Orestes,” Abbot said, his shadowy features lightening in what 
  Caleb thought of as Abbot’s smile. “I’m afraid you just missed Lothar. He’s 
  on his way to the detention level. But his apprentice is right here and very 
  eager to meet you.” Abbot gestured to Caleb. “Captain, may I present Caleb 
  Vulcan, Knight of the Forge. And our friend, Kassiopaeia Acherean.”
  Captain Orestes shook Caleb’s hand and then Kassy’s, bright teeth flash-
  ing in his dark beard. “Good work out there, Caleb,” Orestes said. “You 
  saved a lot of lives.”
  “Just, ah, doing my job, sir,” Caleb said, slightly self-conscious.
  “And what was that exactly?” Kassy asked.
  Orestes put an arm around Kassy’s shoulder and steered her towards the 
  huge windows staring out into space. “You see those ships being repaired out 
  there? Not a single one of them would be here if not for Caleb and Lothar.”
  “Really?” Kassy said. She looked at Caleb in a new way, almost as if she 
  were reevaluating him. He resisted the urge to squirm under her scrutiny.
  “Indeed,” Abbot agreed.
  “It was really nothing,” Caleb insisted. “Any one of you would have done 
  the same, if you could have. Doing something because you can doesn’t make 
  you anything special.” One of the lessons his father had taught him, again 
  and again.
  Orestes clapped him on the shoulder. “Lighten up, Caleb. C’mon, I seem 
  to recall owing you and Lothar a drink.” He grinned at them all. “All of you, 
  actually.”
  Abbot demurred. “I need to get some work done, Captain, but thank you 
  for the offer. Caleb and Kassy, on the other hand, would be honored to join 
  you, I’m sure.”
  Kassy nodded automatically. “Of course, Captain. Lead the way.”
  Caleb hesitated for a moment, but fell in behind them as Abbot left in the 
  other direction. He would have rather gone with Abbot or hurried after Lothar 
  at this point, but it would probably have been rude to turn down the offer of 
  a drink from a man whose life he saved.
  But the thing of it was, Caleb didn’t feel like he’d saved anyone’s life. 
  Out there at Teneb-742, with the Zodoran leech hammering him, it didn’t 
  even occur to him that by tackling the weapon themselves he and Lothar had 
  spared the lives of the crews on those dozen ships. It really was just a job he 
  had to do, part of being who he was now; as a Knight of the Forge it was his 
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  responsibility to put his life on the line for total strangers – the power he had 
  made it more likely he’d survive the experience, after all – but it certainly 
  wasn’t his responsibility to feel comfortable around those strangers.
  Captain Orestes’ effusiveness was kind of unsettling in a way. Caleb knew 
  Orestes was genuinely grateful, and friendly, but it still didn’t sit well with 
  him. Back home, when you did a favor for somebody, they just thanked you, 
  and that was that. More or less; you knew they’d pay you back when the time 
  came. None of this patting on the back and “let me buy you a drink.”
  Caleb smiled to himself. It had seemed like fun immediately after tackling 
  the machine, and he had argued with Lothar about taking up Orestes’ offer, 
  but now that he was here and doing it, he found himself agreeing with the 
  Wulfen. Oddly enough, Caleb found Lothar’s gruff manner easier to deal 
  with than Orestes’ open friendliness. Caleb shook his head. He supposed that 
  Lothar reminded him a bit of his father, and maybe that was the source of the 
  friction between them as much as the trust.
  Not that he would be telling Lothar that any time soon.
  “Here we are,” Orestes announced, leading them into a café packed with 
  other men and women in Consortium uniforms. Everyone seemed to know 
  Captain Orestes, and as soon as Caleb was identified, they all let up a big 
  cheer and started buying him drinks. He was soon surrounded by long lost 
  friends he’d never met, and every time he emptied a glass, someone handed 
  him a full one. He was glad his Cosmo-Knight metabolism could handle all 
  the alcohol; he’d only ever tried drinking once before, and the whiskey stolen 
  from his father’s liquor cabinet made him feel nearly as terrible as he did 
  once his father discovered the theft.
  Caleb lost track of Kassy in the crowd, and it was a few hours later, as the 
  party was beginning to break up and human constitutions gradually gave in to 
  the demands being placed upon them, that he finally found her again. She was 
  sitting by herself at a table in the back of the café, drinking what appeared to 
  be water. Caleb put down his drink on the nearest flat surface and made his 
  way towards her.
  She looked up as he came close. “Having fun?” she asked.
  “Not really,” Caleb admitted, dropping into the seat next to her. “You?”
  “I think I burned out on this kind of stuff years ago. But I have to admit, 
  soldiers know how to party. And none party heartier than the ones who risk 
  their lives on a daily basis.” She looked around at the remaining revelers. 
  “These people lost a lot of friends out there. That Zodoran leech destroyed six 
  Warshield cruisers before you two showed up and saved the day.”
  Caleb nodded, seeing in his mind’s eye the floating, shattered hulks that 
  he and Lothar had flown by and later used for cover during the battle. He had 
  tried then to ignore the bodies floating in the vacuum, but now couldn’t forget 
  them. They reminded him of Eddie Walters, strangely enough. Eddie, star 
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  quarterback, hero of Caleb’s high school, and three years his senior. He went 
  to Vietnam and came home in a plastic bag.
  “How are you holding up?” she asked.
  “Okay, I guess,” he said. “I was just thinking about home.” He smiled 
  ruefully. “I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Back home, I’m supposed to be 
  going off to war in a place that’s very far from where I live, to kill people I’ve 
  never met who mean me no real harm, because they want to use a different 
  economic system than we do in my country. I wasn’t too keen on the pros-
  pect originally, and after seeing what little I have of the Three Galaxies, it all 
  seems so pointless.” Maybe the alcohol had affected him after all; it certainly 
  wasn’t like him to talk this way. But he didn’t stop.
  “It’s really strange too, because I thought I was on the other side of the 
  universe or something, but then I met all these humans who speak English for 
  God’s sake, and I started to think maybe I’m in the future, but no one seems 
  to know about Earth. And I’m further from home and who I was there than I 
  could have gotten if I had just gone to Vietnam.”
  Kassy put her hand over his. “You want to go home,” she said quietly.
  “No,” Caleb said. “Maybe. I don’t know. There’s just too much here that’s 
  familiar, and it makes everything seem more alien.” He paused. “I know that 
  doesn’t make any sense, but I don’t think at this point I could explain it any 
  better.”
  “I understand,” Kassy told him. “I do. Part of what it means to be an At-
  lantean is never having a real home. We’re meant to wander through time 
  and space. Even Alexandria, our base of operations in the Three Galaxies, 
  isn’t really what you’d call a home. We gave up the right to one when we de-
  stroyed Atlantis through our hubris. I’ve had to adjust to a lot stranger places 
  than the Three Galaxies in my time, Caleb.”
  She smiled suddenly, that same smile she had shown him in the tower on 
  Korobas, and Caleb felt his heart tumble in his chest. “Besides,” she said, 
  “you’ve got Lothar and Abbot and me, and you know how to do the right 
  thing. That’s more than anyone else in the entire Three Galaxies has, if I do 
  say so myself.”
  “Thank you,” Caleb said. He did feel better, and his head was clearing 
  too. “I think I had a little too much to drink,” he admitted. Kassy laughed, 
  squeezing his hand.
  “There you are,” sounded a familiar bark. Caleb and Kassy looked up, into 
  the emerald face of Lothar. “We’ve got word from Center. Elias Harkonnen 
  just left Phase World. With Quajinn Huo’s body.”
  Beside Caleb, Kassy suddenly stiffened and removed her hand from his. 
  The moment had passed, and suddenly she was the Slayer again. “Huo? You 
  don’t think...” she trailed off, apparently unwilling to complete the thought.
  Caleb groaned. “Who’s Quajinn Huo? No, wait, don’t tell me. I’ve had 
  enough stories for now.” He stood up. “Let’s go kick some butt.”
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  Chapter Ten
  Chase Music
  “The S’hree Vek Confederacy is one of those anomalous alliances that 
  pepper the Three Galaxies. Based in the S’hree Vek system in the axis of the 
  Corkscrew Galaxy, they share no major allegiances with either of their clos-
  est neighbors, the Transgalactic Empire or our own Consortium of Civilized 
  Worlds. The Confederacy is not allied with the Splugorth, the United Worlds 
  of Warlock, or Naruni Enterprises. They are a small power, controlling only 
  about ten systems of their own. Yet they can afford to remain independent, 
  even with the Naruni breathing down their necks.
  “In other words, it is best not to take the Confederacy lightly.
  “The six major species that make up the Confederacy all hail from the 
  S’hree Vek system, and it is there that their alliance was forged, tested, and 
  proven. From that system they have spread out into the Three Galaxies at 
  large, using their unique psi-drives to navigate the heavens and their motto 
  of “free trade” to infiltrate nearly every market in the galaxies. While the 
  Naruni watch them like hawks, the Confederacy specializes in slavery, bio-
  technology, and psi-tech, which means they rarely clash with the Naruni over 
  customers or markets.
  “But it means that the Consortium of Civilized Worlds and the S’hree 
  Vek Confederacy are at odds, and will be until they realize all sentients have 
  certain basic rights. So you need to be aware of the Confederacy’s policies, 
  culture, and military strength, which is quite impressive for such a ‘small’ 
  power. While their warships don’t have nearly the firepower of a Protector 
  class ship or a TGE Doombringer, every S’hree Vek ship has a complement 
  of Celestines on board.
  “Your average Celestine can toe the line with your average Cosmo-
  Knight. And they come out of the S’hree Vek factories at an alarming rate.”
  – Preface to a lecture by Captain Hiram Starling,
  Consortium Armed Forces Fleet Command Diplomacy Seminar
  “Watch yourself, Caleb,” Lothar told the young Cosmo-Knight, and it was 
  the use of his given name that made Caleb pay attention rather than Lothar’s 
  tone. “Center may seem like a big deal to you. A mile high, six hundred mil-
  lion sentients call it home, and hundreds of ships leave and arrive every day. 
  It makes Xerxes look like a deserted waystation. But never lose sight of the 
  fact that at its heart, Center is rotten. The Prometheans who run the city bend 
  their knees to the Transgalactic Empire and worse, like the Splugorth or inter-
  dimensional entities. All in the name of free trade, which includes slavery, 
  blood sacrifice, and less savory practices.”
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  Lothar sighed, adding, “You’re about to enter the most wretched hive of 
  scum and villainy in the Three Galaxies.”
  “You’re trying to scare him,” Doctor Abbot interrupted, jabbing at Lothar 
  with his cane. “Caleb’s a bright lad. He’ll be fine.”
  Caleb thanked Abbot, but silently promised to follow Lothar’s instruc-
  tions. He was a stranger in the Three Galaxies, after all, still unused to the 
  customs and cultures of this corner of the universe. Raised on the planet Earth 
  in a galaxy far, far away from anything Lothar, Abbot, or their friend Kassio-
  paeia Acherean found familiar, Caleb was still learning about his new home, 
  the Three Galaxies. A crash course on the history of Phase World and the 
  planet’s capital city Center thanks to his friends and the ship’s computer had 
  given Caleb a working knowledge of the place he was about to visit. But one 
  of the few things Caleb knew for sure anymore was the simple fact that work-
  ing knowledge was no substitute for experience.
  And Caleb’s friends had plenty of experience, of that he was sure. Lo-
  thar’s age was difficult to determine thanks to his wolfish features and pen-
  chant for remaining in his emerald green cosmo-armor at all times, but thanks 
  to hints dropped by the others, Caleb guessed Lothar to be a few centuries old 
  at least. Doctor Abbot was even more of an enigma. A humanoid composed 
  entirely of shadows, his only distinguishing features were his orange eyes, 
  and his affectation for the wardrobe of a nineteenth century British detective. 
  Nothing hinted at age, but Abbot’s tendency to lecture on diverse and arcane 
  topics led Caleb to believe he was almost as old as Lothar.
  That left Kassy. She didn’t appear to be much older than Caleb’s own 
  eighteen years, but she was Atlantean. She was human in all the ways that 
  mattered, but the magicks used by the Atlanteans eons ago, the very ones that 
  destroyed their homeland and sent them on an interdimensional diaspora, had 
  altered the Atlantean physiology enough to give them extended life spans and 
  enhanced physical abilities. Further, Kassy was herself an Undead Slayer, a 
  tattooed vampire hunter who had adventured from one end of the Three Gal-
  axies to the other in the company of Lothar or Abbot.
  Even though Caleb had almost single handedly defeated the Zodoran ener-
  gy leech, an artificial construct that had decimated a dozen Consortium ships, 
  he still felt wet behind the ears around his more experienced colleagues. He 
  was further handicapped by his Earthly birth; sights and situations they took 
  for granted surprised, delighted, or horrified him. At first his own clueless-
  ness had not seemed like much of a problem, but when Kassy joined their 
  small band, Caleb began to feel embarrassed about his lack of knowledge. He 
  didn’t want to look like a bumpkin in front of her.
  So he took Lothar’s warning to heart. Not that he would admit that to 
  Lothar; he might respect the Wulfen a great deal, and even view him as a 
  substitute for the father he had left behind on Earth, but his relationship with 
  105
   
  
  Lothar was at least as abrasive as the one he had at home. The last thing Caleb 
  wanted Lothar to think was that he listened to him.
  Lothar nodded perfunctorily at Abbot, but looked at Caleb to make sure 
  his words at sunk in. “Got it,” Caleb said at last, trying not to sound too 
  petulant.
  “Good,” Lothar growled. “You’ll be with me, but the Mother knows we 
  could get separated and I want you to be aware of what we’re heading into.” 
  He turned his attention to Doctor Abbot, leaning on his cane, and Kassy, 
  who had her back to the airlock. “We’re all aware of the stakes, aren’t we? 
  Elias Harkonnen has a two standard day lead on us. We need to find out why 
  he came to Center, why he left, and most importantly, what Quajinn Huo’s 
  corpse has to do with his plans and whereabouts.
  “Caleb and I will attempt to convince the Prometheans to help us. The 
  two of you will check with your informants in the city. We meet back here in 
  twenty-four standard hours.”
  “We’ve done this sort of thing before,” Abbot said dryly, his orange eyes 
  twinkling in his shadowy face. Lothar grunted.
  Kassy took this as the order to disembark. She flicked the switch at her 
  elbow and the airlock cycled open, letting in a blast of humid, sweet smelling 
  air that tickled Caleb’s nostrils. Kassy ran a hand through her dark hair and 
  smiled at Caleb. “Have a good time,” she said, and marched down the ramp. 
  Abbot followed at a sedate pace.
  Lothar nodded to Caleb. “This may be a good time to suit up,” Lothar said. 
  Caleb shook his head. Unlike Lothar, Caleb preferred to wear his cosmo-
  armor only in emergencies. He felt it erected a wall between himself and 
  the outside world, and feared what he might become on other side of that 
  wall. He was already more than human himself, fitting in quite nicely with 
  this band of aliens. He could fly, shoot heat beams out of his eyes, shrug off 
  attacks that could level cities, and survive in the vacuum of space without 
  aid. He didn’t need the armor reminding him that he wasn’t a normal person 
  anymore.
  “After you,” Caleb offered. “You know the way.”
  ____________________
  The Prometheans proved to be less than cooperative.
  Lothar bullied his way through the Promethean command structure, using 
  his legendary temper as a bargaining chip, and eventually earned them an 
  escort to the station that allowed Elias Harkonnen to leave Center. The two 
  Prometheans waiting for them there, Tor and Egis, had been on duty when 
  Elias and his precious cargo went through.
  Both Tor and Egis stood at least eight feet tall, with grayish-purple flesh 
  that looked as hard as stone. Their round, hard, black eyes made them look 
  more expressionless and unreadable, and Caleb wasn’t sure if the Promethe-
  106
   
  
  ans were trying to be as difficult as possible, or whether they were like that 
  all the time. He had seen a few of their kind on Xerxes, but never had the 
  chance to talk to one.
  “You two were on duty two days ago when the Invincible Guardsman 
  Elias Harkonnen left Center?” Lothar asked them.
  Egis, at least the one Caleb thought was Egis, nodded. Tor stood passively 
  at attention, a wicked looking halberd in his hand.
  “Can you tell me anything about him?” Lothar pressed.
  Egis rolled his shoulders in what Caleb took to be the Promethean equiva-
  lent of a shrug. “Harkonnen passed through this checkpoint on the way to his 
  ship. His cargo was deemed unlikely to harm any of our satellites or space 
  gates and he was allowed to leave unmolested.”
  “I see,” Lothar rumbled. “What was his cargo?”
  “I fail to see how that is any business of yours, Lothar of Motherhome,” 
  Egis said pointedly. “While Center is certainly not off limits to the Cosmic 
  Forge, your jurisdiction here is tenuous at best. Elias Harkonnen committed 
  no crimes during his stay here.”
  “Indeed,” Lothar growled. His eyes flashed green within his wolf’s head 
  helm. Caleb could tell Lothar was losing his patience, a commodity the Wul-
  fen never possessed in abundance.
  “Be that as it may,” Caleb interjected quickly, “Elias Harkonnen has per-
  formed criminal acts in several sectors of space and is wanted by the au-
  thorities. Any aid you give us that might lead to his apprehension could save 
  lives.”
  Egis stared at him dispassionately.
  Lothar put his hand on Caleb’s shoulder by way of thanks; he looked less 
  annoyed now, as if Caleb had given him a moment to master his emotions. 
  “Gentlemen,” Lothar said, “I realize that Center remains as profitable as it is 
  due to Promethean neutrality. But please, be assured that Elias Harkonnen 
  is a deserter and a criminal, not a political activist nor even an agent of the 
  Transgalactic Empire. Helping us will not violate any oaths.”
  Egis still appeared unmoved, but Tor shifted uncomfortably from foot to 
  foot, gripping his halberd so hard his knuckles paled. Lothar cocked his head 
  at Tor. “Do you have something you’d like to say?”
  Egis frowned at his companion, and Tor looked away from Lothar and 
  Caleb, staring at some invisible point above them and to the side.
  Lothar and Caleb exchanged looks. Caleb had seen enough episodes of 
  Dragnet to see how this was going, and he guessed that Lothar knew what 
  he was doing. “More than that,” Lothar added, “he had in his possession the 
  body of Quajinn Huo, a being who has been disavowed by every sentient in 
  the Three Galaxies. You would betray no one by telling what you know of 
  Harkonnen’s plans.”
  107
   
  
  Still nothing from Egis. Caleb wasn’t sure, but it looked like Tor gave his 
  companion, whom Caleb just realized was Tor’s superior, a furtive look.
  “Hey,” Caleb jumped in, “you may not care if Elias takes out some hu-
  mans or Wulfen, but I’ve seen Prometheans all over the galaxies. How would 
  you feel if one of them dies at Harkonnen’s hand, and you could have helped 
  prevent it?”
  Egis bristled, but before he could say anything, Tor slammed the butt of 
  his halberd against the floor sharply. “By Zurvan, Egis, I can’t stand still with 
  my mouth closed any longer.” Egis began to stand up, but Tor put a hand on 
  his shoulder and pushed him down. Tor turned to Lothar and Caleb. “I’ve 
  seen the accounts of Quajinn Huo’s conquests, and heard from the mouths 
  of men who had been there about his attack on Ogretopia. When I first real-
  ized Elias Harkonnen held the body of Quajinn Huo in his possession, I was 
  afraid.” Tor’s features darkened at the memory.
  “I was so afraid in fact that I made only a cursory examination of the body 
  and the refrigeration unit in which it was stored. He appeared to be deceased, 
  and indeed the computer told me so, but hours later I realized to my shame 
  that it was entirely possible that Huo’s death was a sham.”
  “What do you mean?” Lothar said, his eyes blazing again. Egis withdrew 
  from Lothar’s sudden anger, but Tor continued to speak, perhaps unaware of 
  the Wulfen’s ire.
  “Huo’s body was lifeless,” Tor said. “But it could have been simply cryo-
  genically frozen, his life signs terminated in order to bypass the strictures of 
  the curse you and Koguk the shaman placed upon Huo, but in such a way that 
  he could be revived.”
  “Which means,” Lothar said darkly, “in all probability Harkonnen did just 
  that once outside the borders of Center. And the two of you allowed one of 
  the most dangerous beings in the Three Galaxies to go free.”
  “Now, see here,” Egis began, but was cut off as Lothar slammed a fist 
  against Egis’ console, denting the steel frame.
  “You will give me everything you have on their ship, their cargo, and 
  probable destination,” Lothar ordered, “or I will hold the two of you respon-
  sible for whatever evil Elias Harkonnen and Quajinn Huo unleash on the 
  Three Galaxies.” Egis and Tor both looked at him blankly for a moment as 
  Lothar’s words sank in, and then quickly bent to the task.
  Caleb couldn’t help but smile as the Prometheans scurried to do Lothar’s 
  bidding. It was nice to see someone else get the brunt of Lothar’s temper. 
  Lothar caught Caleb’s expression and snorted.
  ____________________
  “I’m really beginning to hate this place,” Kassy told Abbot as they slogged 
  through one of the worst neighborhoods of level five. “While the Knights are 
  living it up with the masters of this city, we’re dealing with all the lowlifes 
  108
   
  
  and scumbags.” She stepped over an insectoid being twitching on the side-
  walk, lying in a puddle of unidentifiable liquid.
  Abbot went around the unconscious figure. “Now, now, Kassy. You know 
  Lothar isn’t the most delicate negotiator to come out of Motherhome. You 
  and I are best suited to this task. The minute someone like Squiddy sees a 
  Cosmo-Knight coming, he’ll be out the door and waddling away as fast as he 
  can. You and I, however, are safely anonymous. We could be anyone.”
  Kassy snorted in amusement. “My tattoos announce to the world what I 
  am, and you’re the only Abbot in the Three Galaxies anyone has ever met. 
  You’re more recognizable than Lothar, in fact.”
  “Hmmm, perhaps,” Abbot said. He was indeed unique in the Three Galax-
  ies, a fact that had led to his profession as a fact finder and problem solver 
  in an attempt to learn of his own shadowy origins. But in a place as vast as 
  the Three Galaxies, one more mage of an unknown race was hardly worth 
  knowing anything about. Abbot had his admirers and enemies, but he wasn’t 
  as well known as Kassy made him out to be. Not by far.
  Especially here on Phase World, where anyone and anything could hap-
  pen. Still, the “Squiddy” in question, a Monro information broker, might rec-
  ognize Abbot, especially if Squiddy had been dealing with Elias Harkonnen, 
  as the last informant claimed under Kassy’s insistent questioning. There were 
  rumors that Anshurr himself, Splugorth High Lord, sometimes used Squiddy. 
  If that were the case, the Monro might indeed be able to place Abbot’s face. 
  Or even Kassy’s for that matter.
  The Splugorth had no love for either of them, that was certain.
  Abbot flirted with the idea of concealing their identities with a simple 
  spell, but ultimately discarded it. Neither his nor Kassy’s physiologies were 
  conducive to transformative magic, and an illusion would take too much con-
  centration to maintain. Abbot would keep it simple, and if that meant Squid-
  dy recognizing them and making a run for it, he would deal with the situation.
  “This is it,” Kassy said abruptly, jolting Abbot out of his reverie. They 
  stood outside a squat, four story structure, with dim windows and grime caked 
  all over its surface. A dingy sign over the door proclaimed it to be “Squiddy’s 
  Curios” in Trade Four. But a sign on the door declared the building closed.
  Kassy frowned. “He must have company in there, if he’s closed this early 
  in the morning.”
  “Out to lunch perhaps,” Abbot suggested. He tried the door, and found 
  the latch unlocked. “Or maybe not,” he said. He pushed the door open and 
  stepped into the dim interior, Kassy a step behind. As they passed the thresh-
  old, a chime rang overhead.
  The inside of the curio shop was a maze of junk heaped haphazardly to-
  gether, forming piles and piles of trash mixed together with items of actual 
  value. Most of it appeared to be tech of one kind or another; trideo players, 
  breathing masks, hydro-spanners, gravplates, translator pods, bionic limbs 
  109
   
  
  and organs, musical instruments. Clothing from a dozen worlds and twice 
  as many species was jammed into the spaces, almost accidentally cushion-
  ing various items and just keeping them from scraping together and damag-
  ing them further. Little keepsakes and mementoes, small statues, keychains, 
  medals, plaques, and the like were piled on top of everything else, some spill-
  ing onto the floor. Balls and other sports equipment, shattered bits of armor, 
  and less identifiable scraps littered the floor. A mostly intact hyperdrive mo-
  tivator loomed off in the distance, almost scraping against the ceiling.
  “Go away,” a voice boomed from the back. “We’re closed.”
  Kassy and Abbot shared a glance. Kassy licked her lips.
  They both knew the voice had not come from the Monro owner of the 
  store. It was too deep, too dry, and too commanding. Monros simply didn’t 
  possess that kind of range.
  Kassy touched an arcane blue-white symbol on her shoulder, and a glow-
  ing blue longbow coalesced in her hands, creating a cool glow around them. 
  Abbot searched the recesses of his mind and selected a half-dozen spells that 
  could be useful in the next few moments. Abbot gestured to the left with his 
  cane, and then angled himself around the pile on the right as Kassy went left.
  There was a moment of silence, and then a tremendous crash as something 
  large and heavy smashed into one of the piles of garbage, creating an ava-
  lanche of curios, broken tech, and old clothes. Abbot angled himself so he 
  could see the rear of the store, and made out a biped silhouetted against the 
  light. He caught a glimpse of red and black armor and metal skin.
  The figure took a step towards the front door, and Abbot could suddenly 
  see him very clearly. The figure was large and broad shouldered, clad in the 
  distinctive armor of an Invincible Guardsman. He had a neatly trimmed beard 
  on his chin and a gold hoop through his lip. His exposed flesh, face and hands 
  only, had the burnished look of freshly polished steel.
  Twin arrows of blue fire flashed from the darkness and slammed into the 
  Guardsman. He hardly seemed fazed, but turned towards his unseen attacker 
  with a growl. Not for the first time Abbot appreciated his natural ability to 
  blend in with darkness; while Kassy distracted the Guardsman, Abbot could 
  summon a spell that would knock him flat.
  Abbot’s orange eyes flashed as he gestured with his cane, and the Guards-
  man was suddenly rooted to the spot, unable to move. No matter how hard he 
  tugged, he could not lift a single foot free of the floor. While he twisted and 
  cursed, two more fiery arrows slammed into him, and Abbot summoned up a 
  special trick that would place the Guardsman in a state of suspended anima-
  tion for a short while; the man tried to fight it as he felt the spell take hold, 
  but Abbot channeled his will into the binding, and a moment later the man 
  collapsed, crashing to the floor, his arms crossed against his chest, his eyes 
  open and unseeing.
  110
   
  
  Kassy stepped around a mound, the bow in her hand and one fiery arrow 
  knocked. “What did you do to him?”
  “Nothing too drastic,” Abbot said, joining her at the side of the Guards-
  man. “He’ll regain consciousness in two weeks, feeling refreshed and re-
  laxed. By then, of course, he’ll be safely locked up where he can no longer 
  harm anyone.”
  Something within the collapsed mound of garbage groaned wetly.
  Kassy dispelled the bow and began to shift some of the detritus out of the 
  way. Abbot knelt down beside her to help, and before long they uncovered 
  the squat, barrel chested form of Squamato Kekkil Damathui, better known 
  to the world at large as Squiddy. The Monro was in bad shape; two of his legs 
  were bent at odd angles, his fleshy tentacles were flapping feebly, and blood 
  stained his massive, toothy mouth. Squiddy blinked his single large red eye 
  rapidly, trying to focus on his rescuers. “Get me a medcab,” he wheezed.
  “In a bit,” Kassy said, folding her hands behind her back.
  “Indeed,” Abbot agreed. “It just seems too outrageous a coincidence that 
  we have come here to discuss Elias Harkonnen, only to find an Invincible 
  Guardsman treating you like a punching bag. Shall you enlighten us?”
  The red eye swivelled back and forth from Kassy to Abbot. Squiddy 
  coughed weakly.
  “My guess is the Guardsman broke some ribs, maybe punctured some 
  vital organs. Drowning in your own blood isn’t a pretty way to go, Squiddy,” 
  Kassy said. Abbot eyed her speculatively; she wasn’t usually this cruel.
  “Fine,” Squiddy wheezed. “Harkonnen hired Quajinn Huo to do a job for 
  Thraxus. Something about a riot,” he managed to get out between burbling 
  coughs. “That’s all I know, I swear.”
  Kassy couldn’t hide her surprise at hearing the name of Thraxus. Nor 
  could Abbot, but his shadowy features hid it better. Thraxus, one of the rich-
  est sentients in the Three Galaxies, made his home on Center but kept his 
  fingers dipped in many different pots throughout the Megaverse. He was ru-
  mored to be behind a dozen major wars, to have dealings with the Splugorth 
  and the Transgalactic Empire, and to be a personal friend of Inglix the Mad. 
  As if Harkonnen and Huo aren’t trouble enough, Abbot thought.
  “Riot? What riot? Where and when?” Kassy pressed.
  Abbot heard sirens in the distance, growing louder with each second. 
  Kassy cursed softly under her breath. Squiddy perked up; he could hear the 
  sirens as well, and he knew what it meant. He would tell them no more.
  Abbot pressed a hand against Squiddy’s broad forehead and muttered a 
  single syllable. Squiddy closed his huge eye, sent off to dreamland by Ab-
  bot’s magic touch.
  “Drat,” Kassy said, standing. “We’re not much better off than we were 
  before.”
  111
   
  
  “Let’s hope Lothar and Caleb had more luck, then,” Abbot said. “Kassy, 
  what do you have behind your back?”
  “This?” she said with a blush. She brought her hands out from behind her 
  back and tossed Abbot her comm-unit; the volume was off, but the distress 
  signal was beeping a healthy rhythm. “I didn’t see any reason to let Squiddy 
  know I was calling the meds. Nor could I just let him lie there bleeding to 
  death.”
  “Of course not,” Abbot agreed.
  ____________________
  Aboard the S’hree Vek scout ship Vigilance, the mood was grim. The 
  huge, crab-shaped craft, which looked like it was grown rather than built, 
  was hiding within the rings of the gas giant Garouk-9. Blaster burns marred 
  the red striped hull, badges of honor from a battle against a Consortium 
  Warshield cruiser that had nearly crippled the Vigilance before it was able to 
  escape. Now it hid among the asteroids and icesteroids that orbited Garouk-9, 
  its crew trying to repair battle damage and hoping the radiation and debris 
  from the planet’s rings would shield them from their enemy’s scans.
  Celestine Joriel stood on the bridge, his crimson wings folded against his 
  back, muscled arms crossed across his chest, eyeing the activity of his lessers 
  with some disdain. The blocky, blue-skinned Haakon engineers were hard at 
  work putting the ship back together while the thin-boned Tooranimoor ran 
  diagnostic checks on all the ship’s systems, running through scenarios in case 
  the Warshield cruiser arrived for a second round.
  Everyone on board could feel the agitation of the Commissar, Lor Koushak 
  Dail, as she floated in her tank of virium in the center of the bridge. Her tail 
  lashed back and forth, sending ripples through the fluid, and her lip tentacles 
  quivered. All six of her eyes tracked the movements of her lessers on the 
  bridge and those on the rest of the ship, visible on the dozen screens that float-
  ed around her tank. She should have swam back to her quarters through the 
  ceiling duct, where she could meditate and regain her strength so they could 
  psi-jump back to friendly space, but Commissar Koushak couldn’t bring her-
  self to leave her bridge while the ship was in such terrible shape.
  Joriel suppressed a sneer. Commissar Koushak was a spoiled royal child 
  given command too early, and her rashness would doom them all. It was too 
  bad that there were only five Celestines aboard besides Joriel himself; an-
  other wing could have turned the tide against the Consortium ship. Or at least 
  towed the Vigilance to a better hiding place.
  A Tooranimoor took a step towards the Commissar’s tank, and Joriel 
  sensed the telepathic connection between the two as the technician reported 
  to his superior. Joriel’s hawk-like vision could see the Tooranimoor’s station, 
  lit up like a fireworks display. The ship’s sensors had detected something 
  interesting out there in the field of tumbling ice and rock.
  112
   
  
  <Joriel,> the Commissar’s bass voice echoed in Joriel’s mind. <Tech 
  Jemmani has detected something strange just outside our doors. Take two of 
  your people and investigate. It may be of some use to us.>
  Joriel clicked his boots and bowed at the waist to his Adinum superior. 
  He maintained a tight reign on his thoughts until he felt her withdraw from 
  his mind, and then turned to go, his bright feathers flashing in the reflected 
  light of the bridge’s computers. He keyed his internal comm-unit and ordered 
  Kalel and Kariel to meet him at the hanger bay.
  He found them waiting when he arrived, their blue-black armor gleaming, 
  shoulder length maroon hair tied into warrior’s braids. Kalel was slightly 
  taller than his sister, his feathers a darker red than hers, while she was both 
  smarter and faster than her brother. Joriel had flown with them for most of 
  their lives, and knew them to be smart, capable officers. Just the people he 
  needed at his back while exploring some strange radiation out in the void.
  “Three to exit,” he told the ship’s computer, and was rewarded with the 
  grinding sound of the hanger bay doors opening. In a moment the force field 
  would drop and the three Celestines would be sucked out into space, their 
  natural element.
  “Standard see-n-snatch,” Joriel told Kalel and Kariel. “We do a visual on 
  this oddity, and drag it back if it looks useful. Keep your eyes open and your 
  blazers hot.” As soon as he was finished, the force field shut down, and the 
  three of them automatically spread their wings and took flight, out of the ship 
  and into the planet’s rings. Their wings were actually useless in space, but 
  they were linked to the Celestines’ internal grav systems. All part of the im-
  age, Joriel thought with more than a little bitterness.
  With another thought, his blazer sprang to life in his hand, a three foot 
  long filament of blue-white fire that could carve through a ship’s hull in sec-
  onds. Joriel doubted he would need it, but regulations were regulations. As 
  his wingmates fell into formation around him, their own blazers sprang to 
  life. Joriel unclipped his hand-held computer from his belt with his free hand, 
  and keyed it to the ship’s bridge sensors with his thumb. Using the link, he 
  tracked the strange emanations to their source, ducking and weaving his way 
  around and through the floating chunks of ice and rock that hovered around 
  him.
  The sensors brought him to a small asteroid, barely larger than a human, 
  floating alone in the void. At first he couldn’t see anything remarkable about 
  it, but as he drew closer the illumination from his blazer cast a shadow on the 
  rock. It looked roughly human shaped, but indistinct and difficult to discern 
  details. He glanced back at his wingmates, and then gestured for them to take 
  up flanking positions near the rock. The shadow’s shape did not alter at all, 
  despite the shift in light source.
  Joriel drew up alongside the asteroid and reached out with his free hand 
  to touch the shadow. He expected his hand to pass right through it, or brush 
  113
   
  
  up against cold rock, but instead he met the solid, warm resistance of a living 
  body. Joriel grabbed the body and levered it to one side, flattening it against 
  the surface of the asteroid. Sprawled on top of the asteroid, the figure took on 
  entirely human dimensions, save for the fact that it remained shadowy and 
  indistinct.
  “Vigilance,” Joriel said into his internal comm-unit, “your anomaly ap-
  pears to be a humanoid, unlike any I’ve ever seen before. The body appears to 
  be made of shadow, but it’s solid enough to the touch. And it’s alive. Uncon-
  scious and not respiring, but it’s warmer than it should be floating out here.”
  There was silence from the ship for a moment, as the Commissar weighed 
  Joriel’s words.
  <Bring it on board, Joriel,> the Commissar ordered. <We may be able to 
  turn a profit on this venture yet.>
  It was impossible to sigh in the vacuum of space, but Joriel did his best.
  ____________________
  While they waited for Abbot and Kassy to return, Lothar pored over the 
  datadisks Egis had reluctantly given them, while Caleb lounged in the co-
  pilot’s chair and tried to think of some way to turn the Prometheans’ meager 
  knowledge to some advantage.
  They had Harkonnen’s ship’s profile, manifest, crew information, and tra-
  jectory as it left Phase World. But Harkonnen’s ultimate destination was still 
  one giant question mark that even Lothar, with his centuries of experience, 
  couldn’t answer. Caleb doubted that his limited knowledge of the Three Gal-
  axies would be of any use.
  “Huo could be anywhere by now,” Lothar growled for the seventh time. 
  “Even considering for a moment that Harkonnen continued in a straight line 
  after leaving Phase World, there are literally thousands of habitable worlds 
  they could have reached.” Lothar clenched his fists tightly, and he looked for 
  a moment as if he might pound his console into dust, but instead sat back in 
  his chair with a dejected look. “I hope Abbot had better luck.”
  “We’ll know shortly,” Caleb said, as his own console notified him that 
  the airlock had cycled open. Lothar grunted an acknowledgment and the two 
  Cosmo-Knights waited in silence for Kassy and Doctor Abbot to reach the 
  bridge.
  “The two of you don’t look very enthusiastic,” Abbot said, taking a seat 
  behind Lothar. “Do I surmise a similar lack of success?”
  “You didn’t find anything?” Caleb groaned.
  “Not much,” Kassy told them. “Harkonnen is working for Thraxus, and 
  his job has something to do with a riot. Sadly, that’s all our contact could tell 
  us because another Invincible Guardsman had already worked him over.”
  “Romulus’ beard!” Lothar swore. “Thraxus? Are you certain?”
  “I hate having to be redundant,” Caleb interjected, “but who is Thraxus?”
  114
   
  
  “Some say he’s the richest being in the Three Galaxies,” Abbot supplied. 
  “He’s as old as Center, immortal and easily bored. He keeps himself amused 
  by dabbling in galactic politics. What he’s up to now is anyone’s guess.”
  “Well, if we know he’s involved, why don’t we stroll over to his place and 
  ask him some questions?” Caleb asked. Kassy paled, looking stricken, while 
  Abbot sat back in his chair as if the wind had gone out of him.
  Lothar gave Caleb a calculating look. “Out of the mouths of pups,” he 
  muttered.
  “What?” Caleb asked. “What did I say?”
  “Unfortunately, getting to Thraxus isn’t as easy as it may sound, even for 
  us,” Lothar explained. “He maintains a heavily guarded sanctum on Center’s 
  highest level, and has his own private army. He has tangled with Cosmo-
  Knights in the past as well, and always escaped unscathed. If we turned our 
  attentions to Thraxus, we would have to abandon our hunt for Harkonnen and 
  Huo. The enormity of the task would demand it.”
  Caleb frowned. He had already had a taste of what passed for law and or-
  der in Center, and he was hardly surprised that known criminals could oper-
  ate here with the blessings of the Prometheans. It still made him very angry, 
  though, and not simply because it meant another dead end.
  “Did you say ‘Huo’?” Kassy asked.
  “Indeed,” Lothar growled. “We believe Harkonnen found a way around 
  the curse Koguk and I placed on Huo, and was able to safely escort him 
  off Phase World.” Lothar jabbed a thumb at the datadisks he and Caleb had 
  taken from Egis. “Harkonnen is flying a refitted Scimitar class patrol cruiser, 
  and he’s loaded it full of enough explosives to spark a minor war. His crew 
  includes an Oni, a Relogian, a Kisent, and a Klikita. All armed to the teeth, 
  and all presumably augmented with additional abilities. My guess is that the 
  Klikita’s cold manipulation abilities were the key to Huo’s escape.”
  “This is very bad,” Kassy said quietly. Lothar nodded emphatically.
  “May I see those?” Abbot asked, gesturing towards the disks.
  “Be my guest,” Lothar answered, standing up to give the shadowy mage a 
  chance to peruse the information on his own.
  “We’re still at square one,” Caleb grumbled. “In fact, we’re actually worse 
  off than we were before. We know just enough to get us really worried, but 
  not enough to do anything about it.”
  “Hold on,” Kassy admonished. “Abbot is getting an idea.”
  The doctor looked up at the mention of his name, his orange eyes blink-
  ing. “I’m not certain that I am,” he explained, “but I doubted a look at the 
  information on my own would hurt.” Abbot focused his attention on Lothar, 
  adding, “You didn’t mention this had Harkonnen’s trajectory mapped out.”
  “It doesn’t help,” Lothar pointed out. “The Three Galaxies are simply too 
  large.”
  115
   
  
  “I wouldn’t say that,” Abbot disagreed. “Look, what do we know about 
  Harkonnen?”
  “He’s smart and tough and ruthless,” Caleb suggested helpfully. “And 
  he’s quit the only job in the universe he was cut out for.”
  “Yes,” Abbot agreed. “He’s also about as subtle as a supernova. He blew 
  up his own secret base to get Lothar off his back, and used an entire century 
  of Invincible Guards to decimate a small convoy of blockade runners.”
  “You’re saying that his destination is on that straight line the datadisks 
  predicted,” Lothar said slowly, as if he didn’t quite believe Abbot.
  “Well, it’s worth a shot,” Abbot said. He hit a button on the console, and 
  a list of system names scrolled past the screen, reflecting blue light up into 
  Abbot’s face and making him look more transparent than usual. “Here,” he 
  said, jabbing another button. Abbot’s orange eyes flickered. “this one looks 
  promising.”
  Lothar leaned over Abbot’s shoulder. “The Dellian System.” Lothar 
  growled deep in his throat, a rumbling sound that made the hairs on the back 
  of Caleb’s neck stand up.
  “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Caleb asked.
  “The only inhabited planet in the Dellian System is the fourth from the 
  sun,” Kassy explained, “a world known simply as Dellian-4. But the humans 
  of the CCW have another name for it: Malthus’ World. It’s the most overly 
  populated planet in the Three Galaxies, overrun by the native sentients, a 
  species who call themselves the T’Zee. It’s a dirty, polluted, messy world, 
  and the only place in the CCW where people can still starve to death. The 
  Consortium has tried to fix things there for years, but the T’Zee like how their 
  world is, and the CCW needs their nanotech too badly to press the issue.”
  “A few explosives in the right places,” Lothar said in a dangerous voice, 
  “could indeed start a riot. A riot that could escalate into a full scale war, 
  pull CCW ships back from the Neutral Zone. It could give the TGE some 
  breathing room, a chance to squash the rebellion or mount a serious offensive 
  against the CCW. Maybe give the S’hree Vek Confederacy or the Splugorth 
  a chance to get some punches in as well.”
  “Worst case scenarios, certainly,” Abbot told Caleb. “And we’ve no way 
  to be certain Dellian-4 is Harkonnen’s target save for visiting the planet our-
  selves.”
  “Then why are we all suddenly so nervous?” Caleb asked.
  The four adventurers stared at one another for a long moment. “I’ll get the 
  ship prepped for takeoff,” Lothar told Abbot. “You call the Prometheans and 
  let them know we’ll be out of their hair as soon as possible. Kassy, you and 
  Caleb get to work on a subspace communication to the Consortium; maybe 
  we can alert Dellian-4 before Harkonnen lands.”
  Doctor Abbot, Kassiopaeia Acherean and Caleb Vulcan stared at Lothar 
  of Motherhome for a heartbeat, and then began to carry out their orders.
  116
   
  
  Chapter Eleven
  Freedom
  “Come to Dellian-4 and witness the wonders of nanotechnology firsthand! 
  Marvel as reality is reshaped to your every wish, and thousands of nanite ma-
  chines are at your disposal. On Dellian-4, your fantasies come alive!”
  – A Dellian-4 Tourism Bureau advertisement
  “Indeed, the entire Consortium of Civilized Worlds has benefitted from the 
  nanites invented by the T’Zee of Dellian-4. Sadly, nowhere else in the Three 
  Galaxies is in more desperate need of that miracle technology than its birth-
  place itself. Twenty-five billion sentients call Dellian-4 home, crammed into 
  a living space that should only provide room for a quarter of that number. 
  The ecosystem no longer exists, as virtually every living thing on the planet 
  has been rendered extinct save for the T’Zee themselves. Even their oxygen 
  is manufactured artificially, since there isn’t enough plant life on the world. 
  The seas, shallow and acidic, have been plundered as well. Massive undersea 
  arcologies are spreading across the ocean floor at an almost geometric rate. 
  In another generation, perhaps two, all of Dellian-4 will be one massive city.
  “This is a crisis waiting to happen. In an environment such as this, appall-
  ing abuses of power are common. The T’Zee punish over ninety percent of 
  their crimes with the death penalty. Every day, a hundred thousand T’Zee die 
  of starvation. The wealth and resources of the planet are held by a handful, 
  while the rest are forced to eke out meager lives, rarely earning enough to 
  get off-world to find a better life. But what is perhaps most distressing is that 
  the rest of the CCW tolerates all of this.”
  – “Malthus’ World,” trideo documentary
  Six more T’Zee died in a blaze of actinic light as Quajinn Huo’s light-
  ning washed over them. Above the thunderous aftershock of the magic bolt, 
  Elias Harkonnen could hear Huo’s cackling laugh. The three T’Zee who had 
  escaped Huo’s assault ducked into an adjoining corridor, screaming in their 
  high-pitched voices. Harkonnen chuckled and strode forward, boot heels 
  clicking on the polished floor of the corridor.
  Behind him, Friar the Klikita, her breath frosting in the aura of cold air she 
  manifested around herself, used her abilities to erect a wall of ice to deter pur-
  suit. Tatsuda, the Oni martial artist, stood nearby, his violet skin flushed with 
  exertion, and his hands humming with barely restrained power. Bark-faced 
  Orix, his leafy hair tied back into a ponytail, followed at Harkonnen’s left, 
  casually reloading his grav rail gun. The nine foot insectoid Hector, cradling 
  a plasma ejector in his spindly limbs, hopped forward to stand beside the 
  hovering Quajinn Huo in the center of the corridor.
  117
   
  
  Hector’s antennae flickered on his domed forehead like nervous fingers. 
  “The three are retreating at a rapid pace, but another squad of T’Zee are 
  bringing up something big from that direction. Probably a cannon.”
  Quajinn Huo cackled again. “Let them come. None may stand before Qua-
  jinn Huo, Scourge of the Three Galaxies.”
  Harkonnen suppressed a sigh. He was beginning to regret bringing the 
  Draconid sorcerer on this caper. Since escaping the curse that bound him to 
  Center, the hub of the Three Galaxies, Quajinn Huo had grown more insuf-
  ferable with each passing day. He had ruled an empire, Huo was fond of 
  reminding them all, and he would not take orders from an Elf. Several times 
  Harkonnen had been tempted to bash in the Draconid’s skull, but he had 
  resisted it. He needed Huo’s considerable magical might to deal with the 
  Cosmo-Knight Lothar of Motherhome. Further, Harkonnen had to admit that 
  Huo’s skills came in very handy in their current enterprise.
  Thraxus of Center, one of the richest and most corrupt sentients in the 
  Three Galaxies, had hired Harkonnen and his band to sabotage the food 
  production facilities on Dellian-4. There were seven such facilities on the 
  planet; massive, kilometer long factories that used nanotechnology to manu-
  facture foodstuffs for the planet’s burgeoning population. Organic material, 
  shipped from off-world or recycled from native garbage and detritus, was 
  transformed by nanite machines and then shipped all over the globe to feed 
  the lower classes. The leaders of the T’Zee society, the so called “Captains 
  of Industry,” could afford better, of course. They probably wouldn’t starve to 
  death after Harkonnen destroyed all seven facilities.
  They would die in the riots that followed, Harkonnen smiled grimly. The 
  miracle nanotechnology of the T’Zee would be able to rebuild the facilities in 
  record time; months instead of years, but the nanites wouldn’t be able to feed 
  twenty-five billion T’Zee for that amount of time.
  This was their second raid. Already the T’Zorrian Kal Facility of the 
  Southern Mek’loris Province was destroyed, burned from within by nuclear 
  fire, its mighty engines destroyed and even its raw organic material contami-
  nated by radiation. Immediately after setting the timer on the explosive left 
  there, Harkonnen’s team had teleported across the continent to the T’Zall Fv-
  ish Facility of the Northern Mek’loris Province, whisked there by the magic 
  of Quajinn Huo. The T’Zee, reeling from the destruction of T’Zorrian Kal, 
  were not yet prepared for a second raid on another facility, not so soon after 
  the last. The security at T’Zall Fvish was not lax, but they were hardly more 
  prepared than the defenses at T’Zorrian Kal had been.
  That would change, further along, but the plan was a good one. Lightning 
  fast strikes at each facility, followed by a quick magical escape to the next 
  one. For all the aggravation Huo gave Harkonnen, the Elf had to admit that 
  the mage was invaluable to the success of the mission.
  118
   
  
  “I’ll take this one,” Harkonnen told Huo. “The rest of you keep going. 
  According to the plans Orix hacked, the power station should be only a few 
  more levels down. I’ll be with you shortly.”
  Quajinn Huo arched one pencil thin eyebrow, as if to object, but said noth-
  ing. The others grunted assent and began to jog down the corridor, weapons 
  at the ready.
  Harkonnen himself, gifted with the power of flight, lifted off the floor 
  and sped down the branching hallway, after the fleeing T’Zee and Hector’s 
  “cannon.”
  He found them in short order. A dozen T’Zee, including what Harkonnen 
  took to be the missing three, were piloting a hover cannon at medium speed 
  down the passageway. About the size of a small hover car, the cannon wasn’t 
  much of a vehicle, despite the way the T’Zee squad clung to its sides. It was 
  little more than a weapon barrel and power source mounted on a grav sled, 
  and it packed enough firepower to vaporize any living target. Besides the 
  gun’s power, the dozen T’Zee scampering along it like monkeys were armed 
  with their piranha guns, pistols that shot blobs of nanites that swarmed over a 
  target, devouring flesh, metal, or any other substance they contacted.
  Any normal being would have fled in terror from the massed firepower 
  the T’Zee were bringing to bear. But Elias Harkonnen was not normal. He 
  had never been normal, even before the biotechnological process that had 
  transformed him from an Elf to an Invincible Guardsman. Now he could fly 
  at supersonic speeds, possessed the strength and fortitude of a god, and had 
  so far proven invulnerable to every attack laid against him.
  Instead of running, then, he sped up. Before the T’Zee had a chance to 
  react, he slammed into their hover cannon at several hundred kilometers an 
  hour, his body burning through the machine like a laser beam. He exploded 
  out the other side and rocketed down the corridor. Behind him, the hover 
  cannon detonated, taking the T’Zee squad and much of the hallway with it. 
  Harkonnen drew to a halt and then spun around, hurrying back the way he 
  came, following his team.
  He found them in a T shaped corridor, facing a bank of elevators. The 
  T’Zee had erected a haphazard defense before the elevators. A security sta-
  tion provided minimal cover, but enough for the short, slim T’Zee to use. 
  Another cannon hovered nearby, powering up for a second blast; one energy 
  beam had already vaporized Hector.
  Orix pinned down the T’Zee at the security station with a burst of Kisen-
  tite bullets that were beginning to shred the circular durasteel desk. Huo and 
  Friar focused their energies on the cannon; Huo lobbed an energy bolt at the 
  gunner, protected by an energy screen, while Friar was forming ice along the 
  cannon’s muzzle. Tatsuda stood nearby, useless in the firefight and eyeing the 
  scorched patch of ground that used to be Hector.
  119
   
  
  As Harkonnen flew into the room, Orix succeeded in blasting the security 
  station to pieces, blowing apart the T’Zee huddling inside. The cannon was 
  beginning to tip forward as several metric tons of ice formed on its barrel. 
  Harkonnen buzzed past Huo and into the cannon itself, using his momentum 
  to finish the movement begun by Friar; in a heartbeat the cannon tumbled 
  onto its side, spilling the gunner on the ground. As the T’Zee frantically tried 
  to draw his pistol, Harkonnen casually crushed his skull.
  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Harkonnen asked.
  Tatsuda gestured at Hector’s remains. “He’s dead again. I told him to keep 
  his head down, but the fool won’t listen.”
  “He thinks he’s invulnerable,” Huo said softly.
  Harkonnen looked at the Draconid sharply, but Huo just smiled enigmati-
  cally.
  Orix jammed a fresh clip home into his oversized gun, and then slung it 
  across his back. He loped over to the shredded security station, and shifted 
  debris with his boot. “I was hoping to patch into their system from here, but 
  the little uglies didn’t give me much of a chance.” He went to check the el-
  evators instead.
  There was a loud pop as Hector’s molecules reformed two feet away from 
  where he had died. He staggered for a moment. “Whoah,” he said. “That was 
  a doozy. Remind me to duck next time.” He reached down and picked up his 
  still intact plasma ejector, clucking in disappointment at the shape of the rest 
  of his weaponry.
  “Huo,” Harkonnen said, “pull another set of gear from the ship for Hector. 
  And Hector, stop taking stupid chances. You Relogians may have nine lives, 
  but you’ve already lost two of them today. I’d be more careful if I were you.”
  Hector just shrugged. “I’ve got five left,” he grumbled.
  Huo stretched his hand into the air, folding space and time by force of will, 
  and his hand disappeared, as if reaching into a hidden pocket hanging into 
  the air. He pulled his arm back, and a heavy pack bristling with weaponry 
  appeared in his hand. He casually tossed the pack to Hector, who caught it 
  with a loud “oof.”
  “Orix,” Harkonnen called. “Tell me some good news.”
  “These will get us down to the power station level, and only a few meters 
  from the front door. If the plans were correct.”
  “They haven’t been wrong so far,” Friar offered. She sealed off the adjoin-
  ing corridors with a thick wall of ice as she spoke.
  “Well then,” Harkonnen said. “Let’s go.”
  ____________________
  The Vigilance, a crab-shaped scout ship of the S’hree Vek Confederacy, 
  orbited the gas giant Garouk-9, hiding its damaged body within the planet’s 
  icesteroid rings. Having just barely survived an altercation with a Consortium 
  120
   
  
  Warshield cruiser, the Vigilance hoped to hide in the shadows of the gas giant 
  while it effected repairs.
  Lor Koushak Dail, Commissar of the Vigilance, floated in her tank of 
  virium in the center of the bridge, her lip tentacles playing over the keys of 
  the computer ringing the tank’s base. Her ship was badly damaged, her crew 
  uncertain, and her most powerful servants, the winged Celestines, were dis-
  trustful of her command skill. She had to admit – to herself alone, of course – 
  that the leader of the Celestines, Joriel, had reason to be dissatisfied with her.
  The Vigilance was her first command, and she had led them into an am-
  bush. The Consortium craft had nearly destroyed them, and only a frantic and 
  desperate psi-jump had saved her crew. Now she was drained of energy, un-
  able to supply the faster-than-light engines of the Vigilance with the psionic 
  energy of her six-lobed brain so that they could escape from Consortium 
  space, back to the relative safety of a S’hree Vek system.
  Rest and meditation would bring her strength back, but she couldn’t spare 
  the time. Officially she did so in order to oversee the repairs the Tooranimoor 
  engineers were making, but privately she was afraid to return to the Confed-
  eracy empty handed, with her ship badly damaged. She was a royal of the 
  House Koushak, and that status had given her a command post when, per-
  haps, she was not yet ready for it. She couldn’t allow her family’s enemies to 
  learn of her transgression ... her failure ... without bringing something worth 
  saving back to the Confederacy.
  As luck would have it, a routine scan of the rings had picked up an inter-
  esting anomaly and she had sent the Celestines to investigate. They returned 
  with a bizarre humanoid in tow, a figure who appeared to be composed en-
  tirely of shadows, yet possessed the warmth and solidity of a living being. 
  That the figure could retain that warmth in the cold vacuum of space was also 
  surprising, and Lor Koushak Dail began to believe that there might be a profit 
  made from this venture after all.
  At the moment, the stranger rested in the Commissar’s quarters, an honor 
  guard of Celestines keeping watch over his unconscious form. Joriel was 
  instructed to alert her if the stranger showed any sign of regaining awareness.
  As if bidden, her console lit up with Joriel’s signal. The Commissar’s 
  lip tentacles quivered in anticipation. <Second, you have the bridge. I will 
  be in my quarters,> she commanded with her mental voice, and the blue-
  faced, horn-headed Haakon second, Vor Jeffrik, snapped to attention beside 
  her tank. Her elongated body twisted in the virium, and her powerful tale 
  pumped twice, propelling her upward into the virium filled tunnel that gave 
  her access to the rest of the ship.
  In moments, she arrived in her quarters, a spartan room dominated by a 
  much larger virium tank. Along the tank’s bottom were her belongings, care-
  fully ordered and organized files, tech, and keepsakes, each in their proper 
  place.
  121
   
  
  A divan was erected outside the tank, along which rested the shadow per-
  son. Not far from it stood two Celestines. They were ugly creatures, modeled 
  after the bipeds who dominated the Consortium of Civilized Worlds, the hu-
  mans. S’hree Vek technology and ingenuity had improved on the basic hu-
  man design, naturally. The Celestines were bio-mechanical androids, stron-
  ger, faster, and more lethal than a battalion of CCW marines, their artificial 
  bodies packed with sensors, weapons, and other toys. Each Celestine sported 
  a pair of feathery wings that erupted from their shoulders, the maroon of the 
  feathers matching the shade of their hair and eyes perfectly. Although the Ce-
  lestines actually flew through the use of internal gravitonic devices, the wings 
  gave them the appearance of fearsome creatures from human mythology, an 
  image that was only enhanced when they summoned their blazers, swords of 
  psionic fire. Few beings in the Three Galaxies could stand up to a Celestine 
  assault, but the shadow being did not fit the description of any known spe-
  cies in the databanks, so the Commissar had stationed two of the androids to 
  watch over it.
  <Report, Joriel,> Lor Koushak Dail commanded.
  The male Celestine stepped forward. “The shadow achieved conscious-
  ness but a moment ago, Commissar. We alerted you immediately.”
  <What did it do?>
  “I can speak for meself, you bloody great fish,” the shadowy figure said, 
  rising from its seat. The Commissar noted that the figure was featureless, 
  save for two orange lights that might have been eyes. The Commissar locked 
  two of her own orbs on the shadow and focused the other six on Joriel and 
  Kariel, the Celestines. Neither had made any noticeable shift in stance or 
  posture, and yet at a glance she knew they were ready to strike the shadow 
  down at any sign of hostility.
  <Then speak, sentient,> Lor Koushak Dail told the shadow. <Who are 
  you, and how did you end up floating in the void?>
  The orange eyes surveyed Joriel and Kariel as well. “Y’seem to have the 
  upper hand at the moment, luv, so I’ll play along,” the shadow said after a 
  moment. “I am Hazmat of the Shaar Continuum. I’m no native of your Three 
  Galaxies. The Continuum sent me along to bring back one of our own, miss-
  ing in this corner of the Megaverse for a bloody great while. As luck would 
  have it, upon arriving in this reality I found meself in the hands of a psychotic 
  fellow with pointy ears and too many teeth. But things went south for him 
  and he blew his little fortress up. I escaped, of course, but barely, and had to 
  float around in this bloody asteroid field for the Continuum knows how long. 
  Eventually I had to shut down me bodily functions or risk derezzing. I sup-
  pose that’s when your angels found me.”
  <Interesting,> the Commissar said. She only understood about half of 
  what the figure said. He spoke Galactic Trade Four with an exotic accent. 
  She reached out with her senses, attempting to probe the strange man, but 
  122
   
  
  her powers were blocked by a wall. Her lip tentacles quivered in surprise and 
  frustration.
  The shadowy figure’s orange eyes twinkled. “I wouldn’t try that again, 
  luv. I may look harmless, but I’m far from it. Now then, I owe ya something 
  for your trouble. And what’s more, I need yer help if I’m to get anywhere 
  looking for that missing man. So I’ll offer you the same deal I offered ol’ 
  pointy ears. He refused, but I’ve a feeling you’ll be wanting to think it over.”
  The Commissar ignored the sneer on Joriel’s humanoid features. <Go on, 
  Hazmat of the Shaar,> she prompted. <We will entertain whatever you have 
  to offer.>
  Hazmat nodded. “The Continuum has pan-dimensional resources. We’re a 
  bit spread thin these days, which is why a fellow like me gets a job like this, 
  but I can promise you a healthy reward in return for yer help.”
  <What kind of reward?> the Commissar asked.
  The eyes were twinkling again. “Well, besides the requisite material re-
  wards of precious materials, there is also the possibility of arcane knowledge 
  to be had. As I mentioned, we’re a pan-dimensional organization. We know 
  lots of things that other folks want t’know.”
  The Commissar eyed her guest warily. It was worth a try, she thought. 
  <We would require some sort of demonstration first,> she said.
  “If you can set me down on the ground of a living planet, so I can recharge 
  me batteries as it were, I can show you what I mean.”
  <That can be arranged,> the Commissar agreed. She turned her atten-
  tion to Joriel. <Show Lor Hazmat to suitable quarters,> she ordered. <I will 
  confer with the bridge, and then I am not to be disturbed for any reason.>
  Joriel nodded perfunctorily and took Hazmat by the elbow to escort him 
  from the room. As he did so, Lor Koushak Dail keyed her comm with one 
  tentacle, and with another opened a cask at the bottom of her tank and began 
  to pull out her meditation disk.
  ____________________
  Aboard Lothar’s borrowed freighter, the mood was tense. Since leaving 
  Phase World and engaging the phase drive, making the shift from normal 
  speed to faster-than-light, Lothar had uttered little save the occasional dis-
  gusted grunt. Doctor Abbot, clad as always in trench coat and fedora, played 
  with his cane, his shadowy features darker than usual. Kassiopaeia Acherean, 
  Atlantean Undead Slayer, pored over the computer display before her, oc-
  casionally hitting buttons but not saying much.
  In the co-pilot seat sat Caleb Vulcan, newly minted Knight of the Forge. 
  He understood why everyone else felt edgy, and actually found the feeling 
  contagious. After tracking a fugitive named Elias Harkonnen to Phase World, 
  they had discovered Harkonnen had left the planet with a strike force in his 
  employ, loaded for bear, and further, that he had freed a deadly galactic des-
  123
   
  
  pot from a curse placed upon him by Lothar himself. Unsure of Harkonnen’s 
  ultimate destination, they had used what meager clues they found on Phase 
  World to decide he was heading for the small world of Dellian-4. There were 
  literally millions of worlds for Harkonnen to choose to practice his villainy, 
  but with the limited information at their disposal, and they tiny time frame 
  they were allowed, the Cosmo-Knights and their allies were forced to play 
  Abbot’s hunch. Their informer on Phase World had mentioned a “riot,” and 
  Harkonnen’s escape trajectory from the planet’s surface pointed him in a 
  straight line to the T’Zee homeworld.
  They might already be too late to make a difference. But if they arrived at 
  Dellian-4 and discovered nothing amiss, they might lose their chance to stop 
  Harkonnen from committing an unconscionable evil. Harkonnen’s ship’s 
  manifest, obtained from the Promethean authorities of Phase World, had 
  listed ten nuclear devices on board.
  Caleb was reassured that his more erudite and well traveled friends had 
  been as horrified as he to learn what Harkonnen was carrying. On Caleb’s 
  homeworld of Earth, somewhere outside the Three Galaxies, his generation 
  was raised under the threat of nuclear holocaust. His father, a career military 
  man, had seen the devastation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki firsthand, only 
  weeks after the bombings. It was not something his father liked to recall, 
  and Caleb had grown up fearing nuclear war more than most people his age; 
  especially the year that he had left Earth. American soldiers fought com-
  munism in Vietnam, provoking Soviet aggression, while Soviet tanks drove 
  through the streets of Prague, threatening civilians. Thinking of it now, Caleb 
  felt guilty that he had left it behind. With all the power at his disposal as a 
  Cosmo-Knight, he could make a real and lasting difference on Earth. For that 
  matter, bringing proof of other intelligent beings back to Earth might make 
  people wise up and ignore the differences among them, to present a united 
  human front to the aliens.
  Kassy interrupted Caleb’s reverie. “Caleb, what do you know of the 
  T’Zee?” she asked, tapping him on the shoulder.
  Caleb started, and then spun his chair around to face her. “Not much,” 
  he admitted. “Just what you and Lothar mentioned before, that the planet is 
  overpopulated and that Harkonnen could spark a war if we don’t stop him.”
  “A definite possibility,” Kassy admitted. “The T’Zee have managed to 
  perfect nanotechnology,” she explained, “creating microscopic machines that 
  can reshape their environment. A number of Consortium civilizations have 
  attempted to do the same thing, but none of them have achieved the success 
  of the T’Zee. This has made the T’Zee very rich and very powerful, and it 
  has led to some horrid policy decisions by the CCW. To keep the Kreeghor, 
  Naruni, or S’hree Vek from getting their hands on the T’Zee technology, 
  the CCW allowed Dellian-4 entry into the Consortium despite flagrant and 
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  abusive sentient-rights abuses. To this day, Dellian-4 is the only planet in the 
  Consortium upon which people still starve to death.”
  Caleb nodded. He realized he came from a backward, savage world where 
  people also continued to die of starvation, but he knew that the advances in 
  technology and culture possessed by the civilizations of the Three Galax-
  ies should have made that possibility remote in the extreme. “But the Three 
  Galaxies are huge,” he protested. “Why doesn’t everybody relocate offworld, 
  and spread out the resources.”
  “Poverty,” Abbot said, chiming in, his upper-class British accent hardly 
  bothering Caleb any longer. “Nanotech has made a few T’Zee very wealthy. 
  Most of the twenty-five billion sentients who call the planet home live in 
  squalor. A few hundred thousand die a day. But with the high T’Zee birth 
  rate, several times that number are also born in the same span of time. The 
  CCW has tried shipping people offworld, but they haven’t had much success. 
  The T’Zee as a people have a reputation for cruelty, underhandedness, and 
  disloyalty. That, combined with the possibility that they could outbreed na-
  tive species, keeps planets from accepting many T’Zee immigrants. Sadly, 
  few T’Zee seem to possess the drive to found colonies of their own.” Abbot 
  sighed. “The whole situation is a galactic mess. And Harkonnen complicates 
  matters considerably.”
  “If that’s his destination,” Lothar growled, finally breaking his long si-
  lence. Everyone stared at him. He growled again. “I’ve been thinking about 
  what Thraxus has to gain from all this,” he said. “The obvious threat of mili-
  tary conflict can’t be ignored. Consortium Armed Forces are spread pretty 
  thinly across CCW space; pulling in enough ships to provide aid and pro-
  tection to Malthus’ World could weaken the borders with the Kreeghor or 
  the S’hree Vek. If that’s the case, Thraxus could make a great deal of cash 
  selling munitions to the border systems, or other contested spots – there are 
  a lot of Warshields patrolling the Goruda system, for example. But what if 
  Thraxus isn’t looking for a war? He could clean up selling food and medical 
  supplies to Dellian-4. Or he might have more ... political reasons for sending 
  Harkonnen.”
  “What do you mean?” Abbot prompted.
  “You said it yourself. Dellian-4 is a big embarrassment to the CCW. What 
  if Thraxus is doing them a favor, cleaning up their mess for them?”
  “Lothar,” Kassy said, “that’s ridiculous!”
  Caleb had to agree. “I thought the CCW was the good guys,” he said.
  Lothar shook his head. “Mostly, pup, that’s true. You’d be hard pressed 
  to find a more egalitarian society in the Three Galaxies. But keep in mind 
  there are Wulfen and Kamnions in the CCW, and due to external threats like 
  the Kreeghor and the Splugorth, the Consortium Armed Forces has a lot of 
  power. They can be ruthless when they need to be, and corruption has reared 
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  its ugly head on occasion. Abbot and Kassy remember the Admiral Roths-
  child debacle.”
  “Regardless,” Abbot interjected. “You haven’t a shred of proof.”
  “True,” Lothar admitted. “But that doesn’t keep me from speculating. And 
  there’s not much else to do while this slow ship burns photons.”
  “We should work on an attack plan,” Kassy said. “It will help keep your 
  imagination in check.” Lothar snorted. Kassy ignored him, keying something 
  on her terminal. “Now, besides Harkonnen himself, there’s a good chance 
  we’ll have to deal with Quajinn Huo. That’s bad. Worse, Harkonnen has 
  assembled a formidable little team to help him. The foursome he has would 
  have been arrested in just about any port besides Phase World, which is say-
  ing a lot.
  “First, a Relogian weapons expert named Hector. He’s wanted in at least a 
  dozen systems for assassination, terrorism, and assorted acts of violence. He 
  was tried and convicted once; the sentence was execution. But like all Relo-
  gians, he has a weird ability to cheat death. Since he was convicted in CCW 
  space, they had to settle for the one execution and were forced to let him go. 
  Too bad he didn’t get caught by the Kreeghor.
  “Next is a Kisent pilot and computer expert called Orix. Even by Kisent 
  standards he’s a monster. Hard as Kisentite steel and twice as deadly. He’s 
  served in a dozen militias the Three Galaxies over, piloting everything from 
  Fire-eaters to Katana starfighters. I don’t know how good he is on the ground, 
  but he’s definitely an ace pilot. Has over a hundred confirmed kills.
  “There is also an Oni by the name Tatsuda. Not much on him, so I did a 
  little digging. Your ship has some extensive and esoteric files, Lothar. The 
  Bushi Federation is very interested in Tatsuda, in particular a group known 
  as the White Lotus. Tatsuda used to work for them, but now he’s on his own; 
  in short he’s a renegade shadow warrior, trained in the arts of espionage and 
  assassination. He’s most deadly when he’s unarmed, Caleb, so watch him.
  “The one to watch most closely, however, is the last one. A Klikita named 
  Friar, who has manifested the Klikita gene for cold manipulation. Fairly com-
  mon for someone raised on an ice planet like the Klikita homeworld. She 
  made a name for herself in the border wars with her planet’s other native sen-
  tients, the Aluta, but branched out into terrorism and work as a gun for hire. 
  She’s a slippery one, and has managed to evade capture by various authorities 
  on twelve separate occasions. She’s a demon with her ice powers.
  “So, what’s the plan?”
  Lothar cleared his throat. “Abbot and I will engage Harkonnen and Huo. 
  The rest will be up to you and Caleb.” He eyed the two of them. “This is very 
  important, so listen carefully. Neither of you is to attempt to handle Huo or 
  Harkonnen. Leave them to us. That is not to denigrate your abilities Kassy, 
  but those two will be too much for you. And Caleb ... I wish we had more 
  time to train you before rushing into a dangerous situation like this.”
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  “I’m not a ‘pup,’ despite what you think,” Caleb told him. “I can handle 
  this. I took out the Zodoran energy leech, didn’t I?”
  Lothar nodded. “Indeed, but that was a machine, however deadly. How 
  will you do against the living? If you have to kill one of them, what will you 
  do? Kassy and Abbot I can count on; we’ve fought together in the past. I can 
  trust them to do the right thing. But you’re untried, Caleb. Neither you nor I 
  know exactly how you’ll do until we’re in the midst of the battle.”
  Caleb flushed. “I’ll do my duty,” he said.
  “I’m sure you will,” Lothar agreed. “But will that be enough?”
  “Lothar,” Abbot interjected, “you’re too hard on the boy. He’ll do fine. 
  There is a distinct possibility we can resolve this situation without resorting 
  to lethal force.”
  Lothar snorted. “I hope so, Abbot. But I fear we won’t have the chance. If 
  Huo is alive and aiding them, we will need to strike fast and hard or else we 
  won’t survive, let alone persevere. Harkonnen won’t be pulling any punches, 
  but if Huo is there, we have no real counter. Dealing with him and the others 
  will take every resource at our disposal. Remember the battle of the Draconid 
  Hub, Abbot? We had Koguk, Callista, and a fleet of ships at our backs and 
  Huo still almost managed to defeat us. As it was, he got away.”
  “And we may have to let him do so again,” Abbot told his friend. “A wise 
  sentient once told me, ‘The important thing to do is save lives. The rest comes 
  later.’ I’m afraid your passion for Huo may be getting the better of you.”
  Lothar grinned ruefully. “This is why I can never keep you around for 
  long. You’re always throwing my words back at me.” He sighed. “The first 
  thing we do is disarm those bombs of theirs. Without those, they’re much 
  less of a threat. That still doesn’t change the order of battle, however. Kassy 
  and Caleb, you’re dealing with the henchmen. See what you can do about the 
  nuclear weapons. Abbot and I will keep Huo and Harkonnen busy.”
  “Now that,” Kassy said, “sounds like a plan.”
  Caleb felt a great deal of relief at Lothar’s change of attitude. He had 
  meant what he said; he would do his duty. But he really didn’t want his duty 
  to include killing anyone. It had never been one of his life’s goals after all; 
  even with a career military father, Caleb had declined to join the army. So 
  they had drafted him. The Cosmic Forge granted him a reprieve, summon-
  ing him to the Three Galaxies to serve as one of its representatives. But he 
  couldn’t imagine the kind face of the Forge demanding an execution, or or-
  dering Caleb to kill for it.
  Maybe someday he would be faced with the choice. Maybe he would face 
  it in a few hours, trading blows against Harkonnen and Huo, but Caleb hoped 
  he could save the day without anyone dying. Bad guys, good guys, or the in-
  nocent T’Zee trapped in between.
  His eyes were suddenly drawn to his console, where a red blinking light 
  flickered. “There’s a message coming in,” he announced, keying the comm.
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  A high-pitched voice in an alien tongue began to chatter, and it took a long 
  moment for the ship’s translator to kick in. “Attention all sentients, this is a 
  distress call from Dellian-4. Our food production facilities are under attack, 
  and all attempts at repulsion have failed. Two of our largest facilities lie in 
  ruins, and we fear more will follow. The militia has failed. We require as-
  sistance. Attention all sentients...” The message continued to play, and Caleb 
  keyed the sound off.
  “Looks like Abbot’s guess was an accurate one,” he said softly.
  “Part of me wishes I had been incorrect,” Abbot said.
  “Caleb,” Lothar said, “send Dellian-4 a message. Let them know we’re 
  coming, and that we’ll be there within the hour. They should be able to hold 
  off Harkonnen that long, at least.”
  “Aye, aye, Captain,” said Caleb.
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  Chapter Twelve
  The Battle
  “You will discover Cosmo-Knights to be some of the most valuable allies 
  the Consortium worlds possess. Very few of you have ever seen a Cosmo-
  Knight up close and personal, let alone one in action. Certainly, like most 
  sentients, you’ve seen figures like Lothar, Ariel, or Vyking on trideo stations, 
  captured for posterity by newscasters of a thousand worlds. They are impres-
  sive creatures, Cosmo-Knights. Resplendent in metallic armor, wielding dev-
  astating weapons of archaic design, gliding effortlessly through the vacuum 
  of space. They look pretty on the trid screen.
  “It is different out in the field. Vastly different. When the claxons are ring-
  ing in your ears and the Kittani war cruiser or Kreeghor dreadnought is 
  bearing down upon you, one hundred million tons of screaming steel, and 
  the only thing standing between you and utter destruction is a two meter tall 
  being of Cosmic Forge blessed flesh... that, cadets, is when you realize just 
  what the Cosmo-Knights mean to the CCW, and to the Three Galaxies. They 
  are a thin metallic line between chaos and order, and they make our job look 
  easy by comparison.”
  – Preface to a lecture by Captain Hiram Starling,
  Consortium Armed Forces Fleet Command
  “One down, six to go,” muttered Elias Harkonnen as the last T’Zee hover 
  cannon in the vast room detonated, becoming a spiraling fireball as it plum-
  meted down the reactor shaft. The Elf, late of the Invincible Guard, a special 
  cadre of super powered soldiers in the Kreeghor Imperial Legion, was not 
  referring to the pitiful defenses of the T’Zee, shattered by Harkonnen and his 
  team of saboteurs. He referred, instead, to the six remaining food distribution 
  centers on Dellian-4, the T’Zee homeworld.
  The small, hairy humanoid species that populated Dellian-4 possessed a 
  high birth rate that multiplied their numbers on a geometric scale across their 
  planet. The T’Zee had terraformed their homeworld, driving to extinction 
  nearly all other native life, including plants and microscopic organisms. But 
  the T’Zee had mastered nanotechnology, creating billions of tiny machines 
  to expand their cities across the globe, to manufacture oxygen and nitrogen 
  to fill the atmosphere, and also to convert raw organic material into a suit-
  able foodstuff to feed the twenty-five billion sentients that called Dellian-4 
  home. There existed six processing plants that manufactured the nutritive 
  paste most T’Zee subsisted upon; only an hour before, there had been seven.
  Until Elias Harkonnen destroyed it, at the behest of a man called Thraxus, 
  said to be the richest – and most cruel – sentient in the Three Galaxies.
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  The T’Zorrian Kal Facility of Southern Mek’loris Province, along with 
  several hundred city blocks surrounding it, was a smoking ruin. Now, Har-
  konnen and his team prepared to do the same to the T’Zall Fvish Facility of 
  the Northern Mek’loris Province, and then the other five in turn.
  Luckily, Harkonnen was invulnerable, super strong, and capable of inde-
  pendent flight, making him a one Elf wrecking crew. He also had in his em-
  ploy one of the Three Galaxies’ most powerful mages, a Draconid named Qu-
  ajinn Huo, and a team of hard-bitten mercenaries who all manifested unique 
  and powerful talents. With them at his side, Harkonnen had struck down the 
  last defenses the T’Zee of T’Zall Fvish had mustered. Now Orix, the bark-
  faced Kisent technician, would plant the nuclear bombs Quajinn Huo had 
  summoned from Harkonnen’s ship, which lay cloaked in orbit around the 
  planet. Once Orix finished, Quajinn would teleport them all to the D’Mekton 
  Klor Facility of Huk’tdon Province.
  “Orix, get to work,” Harkonnen growled. “Friar and Tatsuda,” he added, 
  gesturing towards the cold manipulating Klikita and the Oni martial artist, 
  “help him set up the detonators. Huo, get ready to jump us out of here in a 
  moment.” The Relogian, Hector, looked to Harkonnen for orders as well. 
  “Look busy,” the Elf snapped, and the insectoid warrior hopped to comply.
  It was a good life, Elias Harkonnen decided. Everything was going ac-
  cording to plan. The T’Zee were technicians, not warriors, and though they 
  could throw twenty-five billion people at the invaders, even that could not 
  stop Elias Harkonnen. He was invincible, after all.
  He felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle. Had he any hair, he knew 
  it would be standing up. Harkonnen turned on his heel and gazed down the 
  long catwalk to the end of the chamber. The air there was shimmering. A 
  gateway was opening.
  “Huo, is this your doing?” Harkonnen demanded.
  The Draconid, hovering in the air with his legs crossed, his staff balanced 
  across his lap, shook his white mane. “It appears we’ve attracted the attention 
  of some heroes,” Quajinn Huo said darkly.
  ____________________
  Caleb Vulcan swallowed, though his mouth was dry. At a breakneck pace 
  he and his friends had raced from Phase World in the tri-galactic hub, to the 
  small planet known as Dellian-4 in the Consortium of Civilized Worlds. The 
  four of them had reached Dellian-4’s orbit only moments ago, and now they 
  stood poised to attack the mad Elias Harkonnen and his band of killers.
  This was what Caleb Vulcan was born to do. Moments like this were why 
  he existed, why the Cosmic Forge had chosen him and transformed him from 
  Arizona high school senior to Cosmo-Knight, guardian of the Three Galax-
  ies. Or so Caleb tried to remind himself. He didn’t relish the coming battle, 
  nor did he truly wish to unleash “lethal force” as his mentor had ordered. Yet 
  130
   
  
  Caleb couldn’t resist the call to justice, either. Elias Harkonnen was waging 
  genocide on an alien world, and it was Caleb Vulcan’s duty to stop him.
  The realization did not still the butterflies in his stomach.
  “You okay, Caleb?” Kassiopaeia Acherean asked softly, putting a hand 
  on Caleb’s shoulder. Kassy was tall and long-limbed, with glossy black hair 
  that fell almost to her waist and bright, ice blue eyes. She was easily the 
  most beautiful woman Caleb had ever met. On Earth, she could have been a 
  fashion model, but the blue and white tattoos decorating Kassy from wrist to 
  shoulder marked her was a warrior, an Atlantean Undead Slayer.
  “I’m fine,” Caleb managed to say. “Just a little nervous.”
  “As well you should be,” Doctor Abbot chimed in, his upper class Brit-
  ish accent incongruous with his alien features. Abbot appeared to be a be-
  ing of pure shadow, save for the twin orange lights that served as his eyes. 
  The trench coat and fedora he wore made him look more substantial than a 
  shadow, however, as did the ever-present cane in his hands. “We’re heading 
  into a war zone,” the doctor added. “Lack of nervousness would be cause for 
  concern, not the possession of it.”
  “Enough,” growled Lothar of Motherhome. Seven feet of emerald armor 
  and attitude, the Wulfen Cosmo-Knight was not known for his patience. “We 
  have a world to save. Now, the T’Zee have informed us that Harkonnen has 
  penetrated into the heart of the T’Zall Fvish Facility. While the T’Zee mass 
  their forces in the other plants, we’re going in to save T’Zall Fvish. Abbot, if 
  you would do the honors?”
  Doctor Abbot adjusted his hat. His eyes began to glow in the depths of his 
  shadowy face, and Caleb could hear strange sounds coming from Abbot’s 
  invisible mouth. A heartbeat later, reality twisted, and the four of them were 
  transported off the bridge of Lothar’s ship to the bowels of the T’Zee food 
  production plant.
  Despite himself, Caleb gasped in surprise. He wasn’t sure what he ex-
  pected, but it wasn’t what he saw before him.
  The reactor chamber was vast in dimensions, surrounding a massive cen-
  tral pylon that hummed with energy and shimmered with golden light. A 
  broad platform encircled the pylon, with dozens of narrow walkways, pipes, 
  cables and conduits snaking off to connect with the walls hundreds of feet 
  away. The pylon reached downwards several miles into the planet’s crust, 
  creating a shaft of rock and steel. If Caleb had understood Kassy correctly, 
  than the entire room was composed of billions and billions of machines, each 
  smaller than his thumbnail and most as tiny as a single molecule. Working 
  together, all those machines created the main reactor of the food distribution 
  plant – the pylon humming with power, boring into the planet’s surface and 
  transforming the very crust of the planet into both the energy it required, and 
  tons and tons of “burl,” the paste most of the planet’s population subsisted 
  upon.
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  The bodies of a dozen short, thin humanoids were scattered about the cat-
  walks, marked with the burn marks of laser fire or ripped to shreds by bare 
  hands. The perpetrators of this horrid crime stood upon the central platform, 
  staring in shocked disbelief at the arrival of Caleb and his friends.
  An angular humanoid with skin like tree bark hunched near the pylon 
  itself, a case of tools laid out before him. A woman in military style garb 
  stood nearby, holding a heavy metal case in her hand. Behind and to the left, 
  a massively muscled purple alien in black armor held another such case. On 
  the other side of the pylon, almost hidden from Caleb’s view by the sparks of 
  energy given off by the reactor itself, stood a tall, thin, armored figure with 
  antennae and compound eyes. Those would be the mercenaries.
  The really dangerous beings stood together at the end of the very catwalk 
  Caleb stood upon. The lizard faced, white-maned figure in the robes had to 
  be the wizard, Quajinn Huo. Huo was hovering in the air, with a serene look 
  on his face that quickly turned to rage when he recognized Lothar. On the 
  ground beside him stood a thin, angular being in red and black armor. His 
  head was bare, save for a black skullcap, revealing large ears that each ta-
  pered to a point. His opaque white eyes were rimmed with black, but Caleb 
  could still read the expression on Elias Harkonnen’s face.
  Confusion. Good.
  Red light flashed around Caleb as he called up his second skin, the armor 
  that was his legacy as a Cosmo-Knight. The armor, reminiscent of a Roman 
  centurion’s garb, was metallic red in color, with the gaps showing the deep 
  black of the void. Caleb saw Kassy create a bow of blue light by touching a 
  tattoo at her wrist, and Lothar summoned his emerald green battle ax with a 
  flourish. Abbot’s eyes were still glowing, and his trench coat flapped with a 
  breeze Caleb couldn’t feel.
  Harkonnen glanced back at his people, setting the bombs at the base of 
  the pylon, as Quajinn Huo uncoiled from his meditative stance like a snake.
  “Going to run again, Harkonnen?” Lothar called across the intervening 
  distance. The Elf’s attention snapped back to Caleb’s friends.
  “Orix,” Harkonnen barked. “Set the detonators. Everyone else: kill them.”
  Huo waved his hand, and the crystal set in his staff flashed with light. 
  The catwalk beneath Caleb disappeared, startling the young Knight. Kassy 
  squawked and started to fall, and Caleb instinctively went after her, catching 
  her neatly in his arms.
  Lothar, with the same disregard for gravity that Caleb possessed, launched 
  himself at Harkonnen and Huo, emerald beams of energy flashing from his 
  eyes and his ax cocked for a devastating strike. Abbot landed lightly on a 
  shadowy platform that formed beneath his feet and carried him towards the 
  battle.
  “Remember the plan,” Kassy told Caleb.
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  “Right,” he agreed. His voice sounded deeper to his ears, with an annoy-
  ing echo quality. He hated wearing the armor, but he knew he would need 
  the added protection against the mercenaries. With Kassy in his arms, Caleb 
  ducked under a pipe and circled the pylon. Blaster fire traced his path across 
  the room, telling him that the bad guys knew he was on the way.
  “Fly up there and throw me at the Kisent,” Kassy told him.
  “Throw you?” Caleb squeaked.
  “Trust me,” she said.
  “Right.” The Kisent was the tree faced guy, Caleb reminded himself. He 
  flew up towards the platform, instinctively dodging the energy beams flash-
  ing towards him, and when they cleared the guard rails, he tossed Kassy 
  towards the hunched Kisent and his tools.
  But a beam of frost knocked Kassy out of the air, forcing her to crash 
  hard on the platform. She snarled a curse and rolled as more ice hit her. The 
  woman in the military garb, the Klikita, was conjuring ice and snow from the 
  very air, and hurling it at Kassy with devastating results.
  The insectoid, the Relogian, readied his laser rifle and blasted Caleb with 
  it. The beams glanced off the Knight’s armor. Caleb decided the Relogian 
  was pretty stupid; he should have known better than to use an energy weapon 
  against a Cosmo-Knight. Then someone grabbed his ankle and spun Caleb 
  though the air to crash into the platform.
  I’m the idiot, Caleb realized. The Relogian was distracting me, so the Oni 
  kung-fu master could flip me. Caleb rolled to his feet as the Oni’s fist dented 
  the metal platform. Another blast from the Relogian bounced off the crest of 
  Caleb’s helmet. Instinctively, Caleb turned his attention toward the gunman, 
  and took a punch that almost tore his head off for his trouble. The armor took 
  the brunt of the blow, but as it was a part of Caleb, he could still feel the 
  impact of the Oni’s fist.
  You’re immune to energy attacks, Caleb reminded himself, turning back to 
  the Oni. But this guy can still break every bone in your body. Pay attention.
  Up close, the Oni was quite impressive. Seven feet tall, massively mus-
  cled, clad in a black body stocking with strategically placed bits of armor, he 
  cut a dashing figure. Worse, despite his bulk he was as lithe and athletic as a 
  dancer. Caleb could take him out with one cosmically charged blast of energy 
  from his eyes, but that would probably kill the Oni. Caleb wasn’t ready to do 
  that, not just yet.
  As he was internally debating the best course of action, the Oni was mov-
  ing. A sharp kick to the solar plexus doubled Caleb over, leaving him open to 
  a pair of open hand strikes across his shoulders that, were Caleb anything but 
  a Cosmo-Knight, would have dropped him like a log. Caleb recovered quick-
  ly, his Forge-tempered stamina allowing him to shrug off the Oni’s strikes. 
  He could match the Oni’s speed, too, Caleb knew. The young Knight lashed 
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  out with his own fists, hoping to knock the alien out with a well placed blow 
  to the jaw or temple.
  The Oni laughed, revealing sharp, predator’s teeth, as he blocked Caleb’s 
  clumsy swing and then cut Caleb’s feet out from under him. As Caleb hit 
  the floor, he saw Kassy’s upper body encased in ice, and the Klikita adding 
  more, chuckling as she did so. The Atlantean was pinned to the ground by 
  the weight of it. Her weapon was dispelled, and she was almost certainly suf-
  focating within the frosty prison.
  Caleb felt a surge of anger, hot and pulsing, well up in his breast. The Oni 
  hit him in the head again, and Caleb felt his helmet crack.
  On the other side of the platform, the battle was going just as badly. Huo 
  had launched a dozen mystic bolts at Lothar, but Abbot blocked them with a 
  hastily raised shield, leaving the Knight to deal with the former guardsman.
  Huo turned to Abbot then, saying, “I remember you too, Doctor,” in a 
  voice cold enough to chill Abbot’s bones, had he any. “Lothar will keep,” 
  he added, and sheathed himself within a mystic shield of blue light. Beams 
  of light lashed out from his fingers, but Abbot deflected them with a wave of 
  his hand.
  Abbot’s eyes flashed as he made an attack of his own, calling shadow fig-
  ures out of the ether to bedevil the Draconid sorcerer. But before the artificial 
  beings were within a meter of their target, Quajinn Huo blasted them apart. 
  “Is that the best you can do, Doctor?” Huo taunted. “Unless you brought 
  Koguk or Callista with you, I’m afraid this contest will be short.”
  A sizzling arc of light leapt from the tip of Huo’s staff. Abbot tried to 
  block in time, but he was too slow; the bolt cut through him, burning the 
  shadowy tissues of his body. Abbot howled, and wavered on his conjured 
  levitation disc. Quajinn Huo cackled, his magic light getting brighter.
  Despite the risk, Abbot divided his attention. Abbot was powerful, much 
  stronger in magical might than most native magic wielders in the Three Gal-
  axies, but Quajinn Huo surpassed him by several factors. Abbot had hoped, 
  though never dared believe, that Huo’s powers had waned during his exile 
  on Phase World. Such was not the case; indeed, Huo appeared to be much 
  stronger than the last time Abbot had faced him, during the climactic battle 
  for the control of the United Worlds of Warlock ages ago. Then, Abbot had 
  been little more than an apprentice magic-user. He had paled before the blaz-
  ing light controlled by the Wulfen shaman Koguk or the dark sorceress Cal-
  lista, whose combined might had distracted Huo long enough for Lothar and 
  a rag-tag fleet of battle ships to take out Huo’s fleet. During that encounter, 
  Abbot had been little more than a witness to awesome destruction. But he had 
  learned much since then, and he believed himself equal to the task of dealing 
  with Quajinn Huo.
  He had made a prideful mistake that just might cost billions their lives, 
  Abbot lamented. He needed an edge. Even as he conjured up a vortex of 
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  black light to confound the Draconid, Abbot reached out with his arcane 
  senses and sought a ley line or nexus, a font of magical power, the manifesta-
  tion of the planet’s life-force, a power which Abbot could tap into and use. 
  Most wizards, Huo included, needed to be practically on top of such a power 
  source in order to make use of it. However, Abbot had discovered at a young 
  age that, as in many things, he was different from the norm. Even from re-
  mote distances he could feel the ebb and flow of a planet’s magical lines of 
  force, and could call upon them to bolster his incantations.
  There, at the edge of Abbot’s perceptions, he could feel a throb of power. 
  It was weak, though, so terribly weak. The depredations the T’Zee had de-
  livered upon their environment had weakened the planet’s very life-force, 
  leaving the ley lines dim and weary. There wasn’t much to work with, Abbot 
  realized, but he needed all the help he could get. As Huo blasted away the 
  black light vortex, Abbot opened a channel to the ley line.
  On the catwalk below, two titans clashed, one in red and black and the 
  other in emerald green. Lothar had the advantage of height and reach, as well 
  as a glittering battle ax in hand and the ability to emit beams of light from his 
  eyes, but Elias Harkonnen had been transformed into an invulnerable soldier 
  by Kreeghor bioengineers. No physical attack could harm him, no matter 
  how hard Lothar struck. The same could not be said of Lothar, however.
  Harkonnen and Lothar traded strikes that could dent a starship, but only 
  Lothar felt the impact, staggering under the hail of blows Harkonnen laid 
  upon him. The Elf laughed as the ax glanced off his side and Lothar’s fist 
  connected with his chin. He responded with a left hook that nearly shattered 
  Lothar’s jaw, sending a white fang and a spray of blood flying over the lip of 
  the catwalk.
  Lothar didn’t flinch, however. With his free hand he grabbed Harkonnen 
  by the wrist and spun him around. “Enough games,” he snarled, launching a 
  kick with all the Forge enhanced strength at his disposal. Harkonnen grunted 
  as he sailed into the air, flashing past Huo and startling the Draconid mage.
  “Abbot!” Lothar shouted. “We’re switching!” A beam of emerald light 
  flashed from the Knight’s eyes, glancing off Huo’s magic shield. Quajinn 
  snarled and turned his attention towards Lothar.
  Harkonnen arrested his own movement, halting in mid-air, upside down 
  but whole and unharmed. “Pfaugh,” he grunted, as Lothar engaged Quajinn 
  Huo. “Let the two kill each other,” he said. Then a beam of intense cold 
  slammed into him and sent him spinning again. He yelped in pain.
  Pain! The cursed shadow wizard had cut through his defenses. Harkon-
  nen hated magic. He oriented himself for an attack even as the wizard tossed 
  another beam of darkness towards him. Harkonnen dodged it, and blasted 
  towards the wizard at top speed.
  Across the way, Caleb’s anger finally got the better of him. Without 
  thinking, he cut loose with an eyebeam at full power. He was aiming for the 
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  kung-fu master, but the Oni was too quick by far. He leapt into a somersault, 
  tumbling through the air to land on his feet on the other side of Caleb. But 
  the Knight’s attack was not wasted. The Relogian had foolishly positioned 
  himself behind the Oni, and took the full brunt of Caleb’s ire in the chest. The 
  blast burned through him, the force of the energy disintegrating his trunk and 
  leaving his head and limbs to fall to the platform with meaty thumps.
  Even through the haze of anger, Caleb felt a pang of regret. But Kassy had 
  told him that Relogians possessed a bizarre mutation that granted them mul-
  tiple lives; he might be dead now, but he would get better. Thinking of Kassy 
  reminded Caleb that his friend was suffocating to death. Caleb bounded to 
  his feet, hoping to take out the Klikita, but found his way blocked by the 
  grinning Oni.
  Purple fists lashed towards Caleb’s head. The young Knight stepped back 
  and out of reach, thankful for the preternatural speed and reflexes the Forge 
  had granted him. With two feet of empty space between them, Caleb made 
  a backhanded blow towards the Oni, who, bemused, didn’t bother to block 
  or dodge.
  Mistake.
  In mid-swing a red bar formed in Caleb’s hand, solidifying into the mas-
  sive red sledgehammer that served as his personal weapon. The Oni had a 
  moment to look surprised, and then the hammer connected with the crack of 
  snapping ribs. The Oni was knocked off his feet, sliding across the platform 
  to slam into the guard rails. Caleb didn’t slow. He tossed the hammer at the 
  Klikita, knocking her into the air to crash into the energy screen surrounding 
  the pylon.
  Caleb crouched down next to Kassy. If he hit the ice to break it off, he 
  could kill her by accident. If he tried to burn the ice away with a heat beam, 
  he could melt Kassy’s face off as well. And if he did nothing, she would die. 
  Through the warped lens of the ice, Caleb could see Kassy’s face twisted into 
  a silent scream. He didn’t hesitate another moment, cutting loose with a low 
  powered blast from his eyes that shattered the ice, freeing Kassy. She flopped 
  to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.
  Caleb put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her, and glanced around. The 
  Klikita was dazed, but rising. The Oni, bloody and angry, had found his feet, 
  and some weird gas was forming over the Relogian’s remains. Tree-face the 
  Kisent was nowhere to be found, but the big metal casings housing the bombs 
  were open and jacked into the pylon’s control grid. Caleb could see a little 
  red screen on one of the boxes, flashing strange symbols as it counted down 
  to what would probably be one heck of an explosion.
  A chilling scream echoed across the vast room, and Caleb wildly sought 
  the source of the sound. The Kisent stood in the middle of a catwalk, covered 
  in some kind of goo that burned through him like acid. Beyond him stood a 
  squad of T’Zee soldiers, pointing strange guns at the dying Kisent. As Caleb 
  136
   
  
  watched, the squat, furred humanoids surged past the Kisent towards the plat-
  form. One of them paused to fire another gob of goo at the corpse.
  Caleb suppressed a frown. Lothar had told the T’Zee to evacuate the 
  complex and the surrounding area, in case the Knights failed. It appeared 
  as though the “Captains of Industry,” the leaders of T’Zee society, had dis-
  agreed with Lothar’s plan.
  A blast of ice interrupted Caleb’s thoughts, smashing into his head. The 
  Klikita had fully recovered while the Knight was distracted, and now sought 
  to encase him in ice as she had with Kassy. The Relogian, fully reformed, 
  grabbed his rifle and fired off a quick shot at Caleb to keep him off balance. 
  Caleb knew that the Oni would step in and wallop him in a moment as well. 
  He recalled his hammer, his vision blurring as the ice covered his eyes.
  He was starting to feel the cold, which unnerved him. He could survive in 
  the vacuum of space unaided, but the cold from the Klikita’s ice was cutting 
  into him.
  The Relogian aimed past Caleb and began to take potshots at the advanc-
  ing T’Zee. They scrambled for cover, with meager success. One of them 
  took a blast in the chest that knocked him off the catwalk to plummet into the 
  chasm with a heart-wrenching scream.
  Caleb blasted the ice from his body, and prepared to throw the hammer at 
  the Klikita again, but the Oni appeared out of nowhere and connected with 
  a kick that rattled the Knight’s teeth. Caleb swung at him with the hammer, 
  but the slippery Oni ducked under the blow and jabbed Caleb in the ribs. He 
  grunted in pain.
  Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb saw the Relogian take aim at the T’Zee 
  again. Before the Knight could act, a sword of blue flame sliced through the 
  Relogian’s arms, sending the rifle clattering to the ground. While the alien 
  howled in pain, the blue sword slashed low, cutting the Relogian off at the 
  knees. He crashed to the floor, out of the fight. For good this time, Caleb 
  hoped.
  Kassy turned her attention from the Relogian flopping on the ground and 
  slashed her fiery blade in the direction of the Oni. The martial artist cackled, 
  saying something in his language that Caleb missed, and then launched a 
  rapid series of attacks at Kassy.
  A blast of cold rocked Caleb on his feet. “That’s enough out of you,” 
  Caleb snapped, spinning on his heel and throwing the hammer underhanded. 
  The Klikita, now sheathed in ice herself and yet oddly mobile, dodged nim-
  bly. She retaliated with a blast of cold that wrapped the hammer in a ball of 
  ice, altering its trajectory so it crashed to the floor. But she missed the beam 
  of light flashing from Caleb’s eyes; the Klikita took the blast in the chest and, 
  while she proved hardier than the Relogian had, she still screamed in pain. 
  The ice covering her body burned away and she collapsed in shock.
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  Caleb turned his attention to Kassy and the Oni in time to see the martial 
  artist slip past Kassy’s defenses and fell her with a nerve tap to the temple. 
  Caleb called the hammer back to his hand, releasing it from its icy trap, and 
  prepared to pound the kung-fu master to oblivion.
  Before he could, the T’Zee surged past him, firing their strange goo-guns 
  in the Oni’s direction. The Oni side-stepped a dozen blasts, and the blobs fell 
  past him, dangerously close to Kassy’s prone form.
  Caleb grabbed the nearest T’Zee and spun him around, coming face to 
  face with the pinched, long nosed visage of the furry being. “Leave him to 
  me,” Caleb snapped. “Defuse the bomb.”
  The T’Zee growled something in his own language, and shrugged free of 
  Caleb’s grip. “The bomb,” Caleb insisted, hefting his hammer. As he did so, 
  the Oni leapt backwards into a somersault, disappearing around the edge of 
  the pylon.
  Caleb leapt into the air himself, buzzing around the pylon from the oppo-
  site direction to meet the Oni on the other side. Simultaneously, Caleb took a 
  moment to see how Lothar and Abbot were doing.
  Abbot hovered in the air on the shadowy platform he had conjured, hold-
  ing his cane out before him to create a mystic shield of darkness. Elias Har-
  konnen flew rings around him, lashing out with a foot or fist that Abbot would 
  just barely deflect in time. Occasionally Abbot would get a chance to zap the 
  Elf with a mystic blast, but Harkonnen’s maneuverability was inhuman. He 
  dodged nearly every attack, and the ones that got through didn’t seem to faze 
  him in the least, though the black and red plates of his armor looked bat-
  tered. Harkonnen was laughing maniacally, but Abbot’s orange eyes were 
  dimming.
  Lothar and Huo were a blaze of light in the center of the chamber. Sur-
  rounded by his shield, Huo launched attack after attack at the Cosmo-Knight: 
  mystic bolts, fire balls, arcs of lightning, phantom fists, tendrils of light to 
  entangle him, and anything else Huo could create through force of will and 
  mystic knowledge. The force of the magic bit into Lothar, cutting past his 
  formidable defenses, but the Wulfen Knight ignored the pain, raining titanic 
  blow after titanic blow against Huo’s shield until it began to crack and weak-
  en, forcing Huo to waste a spell to strengthen it. Lothar snarled, bright blood 
  leaking from a dozen places, but with every blow Huo’s shield shuddered and 
  he was knocked back another inch.
  “My God,” Caleb breathed, awed by the expenditure of power the two 
  were unleashing. Caleb’s attention was suddenly diverted by a triumphant 
  cry from Harkonnen, who had finally penetrated Abbot’s defenses, landing a 
  blow that knocked Abbot off his platform and sent him falling into the shaft. 
  Caleb started in horror, but before he could rescue his friend, the Oni grabbed 
  him by the arm and swung him into the pylon with a crash. Stunned, Caleb 
  lost his grip on the hammer, and stood there dumbly as the Oni rained a dozen 
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  blows upon him, denting his armor and slamming him again and again into 
  the energy field surrounding the pylon.
  In his mind’s eye, all Caleb saw was Abbot falling to his death.
  No more games, he thought, as the Oni’s fist slammed into his cheek and 
  rocked his head back. No more friends die. Caleb’s head snapped back into 
  position, and a beam of crimson light erupted from his eyes, slamming into 
  the Oni. The Oni’s upper body disintegrated under the onslaught, leaving his 
  legs and pelvis standing there for a moment before they flopped on the floor. 
  Caleb hardly noticed; he was looking for Harkonnen.
  The Elf had left the air and slammed into the platform, scattering the 
  T’Zee who, due to Caleb’s urging or their own plan, had been attempting 
  to disarm the bomb. Harkonnen looked around, reached behind himself, and 
  drew a metallic blue longsword. Caleb summoned the hammer and took to 
  the air, sparing a glance in the direction of Lothar and Huo.
  Huo was giving ground again, and his shield was weakening. Patches of 
  Lothar’s armor had been ripped away, revealing the black fur beneath, but 
  Lothar pressed the attack, shouting out something in the Wulfen tongue. His 
  emerald eyes blazed.
  Caleb caught a glimpse of Abbot, sprawled across a catwalk a few levels 
  below, and laughed out loud. They would win this yet.
  He returned his attention to Harkonnen, who was ignoring the acid-goo 
  the T’Zee sprayed him with and slashing at them with his sword. One of them 
  fell, bright blood spraying from the end of his arm. Caleb heaved the hammer 
  at Harkonnen, and had the satisfaction of seeing Harkonnen look up just as 
  the hammer slammed into him with enough force to drive him through the 
  floor with a thunderous crash.
  Caleb didn’t have long to enjoy it, however, as only moments later Har-
  konnen blasted through the floor again, teeth bared in a grimace and his white 
  eyes narrowed. Harkonnen’s right arm was held out stiff and straight, aiming 
  the blue sword like a spear directly for Caleb’s heart. Caleb grimaced under 
  his helmet and recalled the hammer with a flash of red light, bracing for 
  impact.
  Caleb twisted just as Harkonnen slammed into him, deflecting the Elf’s 
  blade so that it sheared off his shoulder pad, rather than ramming through his 
  sternum. As it was, Harkonnen’s impact still sent Caleb spinning through the 
  air. He arrested his movement with a thought, and managed to get his hammer 
  up in time to smash the Elf in the face as he pressed the attack. Harkonnen, 
  knocked off course, careened through the air, buzzing past Lothar and Huo.
  Caleb massaged his shoulder, feeling the hot stickiness of his own blood. 
  Harkonnen’s blade was sharp indeed, and in his hands it was deadly, even to 
  a Knight of the Forge. And Caleb had no illusions about Harkonnen’s will-
  ingness to kill. He tightened the grip he held on his hammer and flew after the 
  Elf, who was already recovering from the blow.
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  But Caleb drew up short as a shuddering crack split the room.
  Quajinn Huo’s force field shattered like glass under the onslaught of Lo-
  thar. Light exploded around the pair as Huo’s magic died. The Draconid mage 
  fell to the catwalk below him, stumbling, his staff spilling from his hands. His 
  white mane of hair was plastered to his scaled flesh, and his eyes burned with 
  surprise and fear. Lothar, battered and bleeding, moved in for the kill.
  The Wulfen drew back the emerald battle ax for one last blow. Caleb 
  could hardly recognize the elder Cosmo-Knight. Lothar’s green armor was 
  pitted and scorched with magic fire, and whole chunks of it had been blasted 
  away, melted or dispelled. The right side of his helmet had run like wax; 
  the ear was gone, his eye sealed shut, and the metallic skin of the armor 
  dripped onto his scorched shoulder. Where Lothar’s flesh was exposed, ter-
  rible wounds showed, matting the Wulfen’s dark fur with red blood. Yet 
  Lothar stood, snarling with fury.
  The ax fell. Lothar roared and Quajinn Huo screamed, raising a feeble arm 
  to ward off the blow. Metal bit into flesh, shearing through scales and bone 
  and hard muscle, and Quajinn Huo’s right arm separated from his body. Blue 
  fire erupted from the wound, hissing as it sprayed on the catwalk. Lothar 
  shuddered, cursed, and hefted the ax once more. “This is finished between 
  us,” Lothar growled in Trade Four. “You shouldn’t have left Center.” The ax 
  rose for the last time.
  Quajinn Huo’s eyes narrowed in fury, the magic bleeding from the gaping 
  wound in his shoulder. But those eyes still sparked with power, and so too 
  did his left hand.
  “Lothar!” Caleb shouted. He launched himself forward, the hammer lead-
  ing the way.
  But he was too late. Just as Lothar’s remaining eye focused on Huo’s hid-
  den hand, realizing what was about to happen, Huo struck. A spear of light 
  erupted from Huo’s palm, leaping from him to slam into Lothar. The Wulfen 
  howled in pain as the light burned through him, shearing through his chest 
  and back and slamming into the pylon behind him. The light spread, consum-
  ing Lothar, burning his flesh, melting his armor.
  Caleb felt hot tears sting his cheeks. He smashed into the catwalk, shat-
  tering the walkway with the force of his impact, but Huo had sprung away, 
  cackling madly.
  The spear of light, interrupted, died. What was left of Lothar clattered as 
  it fell upon what was left of the walkway. A green wolf’s head helmet, and 
  an emerald battle ax.
  He was dead.
  Caleb turned on the wizard, eyes blazing with the power of the Forge. 
  Quajinn Huo was nonplused, hovering in empty space, his levitation spell 
  enacted once more. As Caleb watched in horror, the blue fire gouting from his 
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  shoulder extended, warped, and solidified, forming a new arm. Huo’s staff 
  materialized in his new hand.
  “I’ve no quarrel with you, boy,” Huo rasped.
  “I’m going to kill you anyway,” Caleb said, his voice tight.
  Huo smiled. “Yes, I suppose you could try. You might even win. My 
  battle with Lothar drained most of my power. On the other hand, it will cost 
  you. And then you will still have Harkonnen and the bombs to deal with, if 
  they haven’t already gone off by then, killing everyone in a forty kilometer 
  radius. So what will it be, boy? Revenge, or duty?”
  Caleb stared at him. He could feel the power within him pulsing, rising as 
  his anger and hatred increased.
  “Huo!” Harkonnen yelled, hanging in the air. “Don’t taunt him. Just kill 
  him.”
  Huo spared a glance in the Elf’s direction, while still maintaining his at-
  tention on Caleb. “Our alliance is ended, Harkonnen. It died with Lothar. 
  You’re on your own now.” He cackled again, the crystal in his staff sparking.
  “You traitor,” Harkonnen growled. “I’ll kill you.”
  Duty, or revenge? Caleb asked himself. What would Lothar do?
  Caleb turned his head slightly, and cut loose with his energy beams. Har-
  konnen was caught unawares; the force of the blast knocked him out of the 
  air and sent him flying across the room to smash into the wall.
  Quajinn Huo disappeared in a blast of light, leaving only his cackling 
  laugh behind.
  “Another time,” Caleb mumbled, turning on his heel and leaping over 
  Lothar’s remains. He landed lightly on the platform. The T’Zee squad ig-
  nored him, trying desperately to disarm the explosives wired into the plant’s 
  energy source. Caleb grabbed one of them by the elbow. “How long before it 
  blows?” he demanded.
  The T’zee showed his teeth in what Caleb took to be a humorless grin. 
  “We be vapor in little more than two minutes,” it said, using Trade Four with 
  an odd accent.
  “I’ll survive the blast!” Harkonnen cried from across the room. “How 
  many of you can say the same?”
  “That guy needs to shut up,” Caleb growled. To the T’Zee he said, “Can 
  you defuse it?”
  “It looks no good,” the T’Zee admitted, flashing that weird grin again. 
  “Kisent very smart. Cannot read his code.”
  “Blast,” Caleb growled. He looked around wildly. Harkonnen was flying 
  towards them lazily, a crazy grin on his face. Kassy was on the ground, un-
  conscious. Like Abbot.
  Abbot. He could teleport these people to safety. But he’s out cold. And if 
  I try to grab him, Harkonnen will kill the T’Zee and Kassy. Lothar, what am 
  I supposed to do?
  141
   
  
  Kassy groaned, and pushed herself up on her elbows. “What hit me?” she 
  croaked.
  Caleb released the T’Zee and raced to Kassy’s side. “Kass,” he said. “Are 
  you okay?”
  “I have a terrible headache,” she admitted. “Did we win?”
  “Not yet,” Caleb said. “And I haven’t much time. Abbot is on a catwalk 
  below us, unconscious.” He has to be just unconscious, Caleb thought. Oth-
  erwise we’re all dead. “Wake him, get these people out of here.”
  “What about him?” Kassy asked, pointing over Caleb’s shoulder. He 
  craned his neck to see Harkonnen hanging in the air twenty feet away, slap-
  ping the sword blade in his palm. His grin was even wider than before.
  “Leave him to me,” Caleb said. He turned back to Kassy. “Okay? Less 
  than a minute before everyone dies. I’m counting on you Kass.”
  “Trust me,” she said, painfully getting to her feet. That was all Caleb need-
  ed to hear. He jumped into the air and aimed himself at Harkonnen. The Elf 
  slipped sideways, and Caleb blasted past him, moving too quickly to react in 
  time. When Caleb drew to a halt and reoriented himself, Harkonnen collided 
  with him, carrying him across the room to smash into and through the wall. His 
  hammer fell from his hand, but Caleb had a moment to see a blue and white 
  gryphon forming above Kassy before the reactor room disappeared from view.
  “You think I’m beaten, don’t you?” Harkonnen said, as their bodies 
  smashed through walls and shattered supports. “But when the bombs blow, 
  I’ll still be standing and no one will know. Then I’ll fly up to my ship and 
  complete the job, with no one the wiser.”
  “I got news for you, buddy,” Caleb said, shifting in Harkonnen’s grip and 
  wrapping his hands around the Elf’s upper arms. “I’ve already survived a 
  supernova this week. You don’t scare me.” He tightened his grip and shifted 
  again, pulling Harkonnen down, slamming him into the floor. They skidded 
  across an access hallway as their momentum shifted, careening off the floor 
  and drawing to a halt as they hit a blast door. Caleb slammed his forehead 
  into Harkonnen’s, knocking his head back and denting the floor.
  Harkonnen got his arms under Caleb’s chest and pushed, throwing the 
  Knight off him. Harkonnen rolled to his feet. “Only moments, now,” he 
  growled.
  The two of them froze, bracing for the coming explosion. The thrum of the 
  factory’s engines hummed beneath their feet, the only sound as they waited.
  Nothing happened.
  They stared at one another for a long moment, neither one fully com-
  prehending. “I don’t understand,” Harkonnen stuttered. “There’s no way the 
  T’Zee could have defused Orix’s bomb.”
  Caleb chuckled. “Must have been a dud. Looks like you lose after all.”
  Harkonnen’s angular features contorted in a snarl. “You won’t live long 
  enough to savor your victory,” he snapped, leaping forward. Caleb was wait-
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  ing for him, using a judo throw his father had taught him to flip Harkonnen 
  on his back. Before Harkonnen could recover, Caleb blasted into him, driving 
  both of them through the floor.
  They went through a dozen feet of steel and wiring and exploded out into 
  another huge room, thrumming with power of its own. As they emerged, 
  steam washed over them, carried on a wave of heat and thunderous sound. 
  Huge pipes and cables crisscrossed the room in hex patterns, surrounding and 
  plugging into a series of massive vats that churned and shook. Within the vats 
  steamed the burl, the foodstuff manufactured by nanite machinery from the 
  living surface of the very planet. Roiling waves of thick, orange liquid shud-
  dered within the vats, reeking with a sickly sweet organic smell that brought 
  tears to Caleb’s eyes. The heat from the walls and conduits caused the burl 
  to bubble and steam, sending clouds of vapor to partially obscure the dimen-
  sions of the room.
  Harkonnen kicked himself free of Caleb’s grasp and flew deeper into the 
  room, cursing. Caleb stoked the furnace within his breast to match the Elf’s 
  speed. He grabbed Harkonnen by the ankle and threw him into a network of 
  pipes. They shattered, spraying orange goop all over the Elf, who sputtered 
  and coughed. “I am going to relish your death,” Harkonnen said, spitting burl.
  Caleb cocked his head. Harkonnen was invulnerable all right; Caleb could 
  pound on him all day and not hurt him at all. But the Elf needed to breathe.
  “Let’s go for a swim,” Caleb said. He flew at Harkonnen again, grabbing 
  him by the chest plate and aiming the Elf downward. Harkonnen’s eyes wid-
  ened in surprise, and as Caleb flew them towards a huge simmering vat, the 
  Elf aimed wild punches at Caleb’s helmeted head. Caleb’s head rocked back 
  with each blow, but he ignored the pain. In a moment, they splashed into the 
  vat, and Caleb’s world went orange.
  The thick paste washed over him, warm and viscous, but not unpleasantly 
  so. It was like swimming in oatmeal. Harkonnen thrashed beneath him, but 
  the burl lessened the severity of his blows, and Caleb barely felt them.
  It felt like an eternity, soaking in the goop, before Harkonnen stopped 
  moving. Caleb counted to ten when Harkonnen went limp, and then flew out 
  of the burl with an explosion that sprayed orange goop everywhere. Caleb 
  hefted Harkonnen in his arms, inspecting the Elf. Burl dripped from Harkon-
  nen’s nose, mouth and ears. He didn’t appear to be breathing.
  Caleb felt sick.
  Then burl erupted from Harkonnen’s mouth, splattering Caleb with more 
  goop, and the Elf took a long, shuddering breath. Caleb tensed, waiting for 
  Harkonnen to erupt, but the Elf just lolled in his arms, apparently uncon-
  scious. Caleb breathed a sigh of relief, and began to make his way back to 
  the reactor room.
  ____________________
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  He found it easily enough, following the trail of destruction he and Har-
  konnen had left in their wake. When he entered the reactor chamber, he no-
  ticed that the top part of the pylon and half of the central platform was miss-
  ing. Kassy, Abbot, and the T’Zee huddled on the remaining portion. Caleb 
  crossed the gulf quickly and landed on the platform, dropping Harkonnen 
  with a thump that caused the platform to list dangerously. The T’Zee chat-
  tered at Caleb irritably, but he ignored them.
  Abbot sat cross-legged next to Kassy, cradling a massive battle ax in his 
  slight hands. Kassy had an arm around Abbot, but she released him and stood 
  up as Caleb landed. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
  “What happened?” Caleb asked, not looking at the ax.
  “I woke Abbot and explained things quickly,” Kassy said, her voice thick. 
  “He decided to teleport the bombs themselves, rather than us. He was still 
  a bit thick-headed, so he didn’t quite get the mass right. Still, I believe the 
  explosives detonated more or less harmlessly in orbit.”
  “Good,” Caleb said. “That’s good.”
  Abbot looked up at them. His orange eyes had dimmed to yellow. “He’s 
  gone,” he said. “I can’t believe... he’s gone.” Kassy buried her face in her 
  hands, trying to hide her grief.
  Caleb stood quietly nearby, feeling hollow. Burl dripped from his armor, 
  pooling at his feet. He should dispel his armor, but he couldn’t. The people 
  of Dellian-4 were saved, but Caleb’s mentor – a being he had begun to think 
  of as his surrogate father – had paid the ultimate price. He couldn’t think past 
  that moment, couldn’t see what would happen next.
  So he stood, silent and encased in his armor, unable to think, or feel, or act.
  144
   
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  Downtime
  “Following the debacle on Delian-4, Vulcan’s first encounter with Elias 
  Harkonnen and Quajinn Huo, the young Knight journeyed with his compan-
  ions to the Wulfen homeworld, Motherhome. There they laid the fallen Cos-
  mo-Knight Lothar to rest. Friends and family from throughout the Three Gal-
  axies attended the services, and Caleb was taken aback at the realization that 
  Lothar had possessed an extended family, including children, grandchildren 
  and great-grandchildren. Indeed, the ship Lothar had used to ferry Caleb 
  around the Three Galaxies had been loaned to Lothar by his great-grandson, 
  a merchant of no small means.
  “Besides Lothar’s family, Caleb also met a few more representatives of 
  his own illustrious order, the Knights of the Cosmic Forge, and other friends 
  and allies from Lothar’s past, including the Wulfen shaman Koguk, the chan-
  cellor of the Fraternity of Stars, Airin Vallstoff, and Brother Tandostiir of the 
  Celestial Monks. To say Caleb was overwhelmed would be stating it lightly. 
  He was much relieved when he left Motherhome in the company of Doctor 
  Abbot and Kassiopaeia Acherean. They took a charter flight to Kassy’s home, 
  Alexandria, in the United Worlds of Warlock. There, they each dealt with the 
  loss of Lothar in their own way.”
  – Excerpt from Caleb Vulcan: Before the Fall, by Gymnos Terrice
  The plate glass window exploded into a million shards, spraying the room 
  with flakes of crystal as a metallic form forced its way inside. The hostages, a 
  dozen humanoids of various species, instinctively dropped to the ground and 
  huddled in fear, while the Ogre terrorists, bristling with weaponry and rage, 
  began firing at the intruder. Streamers of light zipped across the room to spat-
  ter harmlessly off the crimson and black armor of the Knight.
  “Throw down your weapons,” boomed the Knight, brandishing a massive 
  hammer in his hands. The Ogres ignored his command, continuing their use-
  less barrage. One of them, however, realized the futility of the attack, and 
  indiscriminately grabbed a hostage, jamming the barrel of his gun into her 
  midsection. Another Ogre produced an explosive device, waving it at the 
  Knight and threatening to set it off. If he did so, everyone in the room, on the 
  top floor of an Atlantean high-rise, would be killed.
  The Knight hardly appeared to move; one moment the Ogre with the ex-
  plosive was upright, swearing in Gobblely, and the next moment he was sail-
  ing across the room, knocked off his feet by a thrown hammer. At the same 
  moment, the Ogre holding the hostage was slammed by a blaze of light ema-
  nating from the Knight’s dark visor. He clattered to the ground, leaving the 
  hostage unharmed.
  145
   
  
  The other four Ogres took a moment to assess the scene. Their weapons 
  were useless against the attacker, and their two boldest comrades had been 
  taken out in less than a second. Before they could react, two more of their 
  number were knocked senseless by the Knight’s flashing fists. The remain-
  ing duo dropped their weapons simultaneously, holding up their hands in 
  surrender.
  The Knight eyed them momentarily, and then checked the hostages. “Is 
  anyone harmed?” he asked. His deep voice possessed a metallic edge, as if 
  the helmet itself were talking.
  “They beat Master Kylos rather badly,” said one of the men, “but most of 
  us are okay.”
  The Knight nodded perfunctorily. “Grab the guns, and make sure these 
  gentlemen don’t start any more trouble,” he ordered. As the man scurried to 
  obey, the Knight crossed the room and picked up the bomb where it had been 
  dropped. A flashing red indicator told him that the Ogre was able to arm the 
  weapon before he had fallen.
  The doors to the room suddenly exploded inward as the authorities surged 
  into the room. Atlantean warriors in light armor, armed with blasters and stun 
  guns, they followed a dark skinned man with a neatly trimmed beard. He 
  stared frostily at the Knight, and sparing a glance at the only two conscious 
  Ogres, ran across the room in the Knight’s direction.
  “I’d really love to stay and listen to you yell at me, Diomedes,” the Knight 
  told the officer. “But this bomb is about to go off.” With that, the Knight 
  lifted into the air and blasted out the window once more, rising into the late 
  afternoon sky.
  Diomedes watched, framed by the broken window, as the Knight flew 
  away. He did not get far before the explosive detonated in his hands with a re-
  sounding boom that echoed across the sky and shook the building. Diomedes 
  swore and turned, glass crunching under his boots. The Atlantean troops were 
  taking the Ogres into custody, slipping oversized manacles onto their wrists 
  to restrict their incredible strength. A medic and a psion circulated among the 
  hostages, checking for wounds or shock.
  “Get me Kassiopaeia Acherean,” Diomedes barked at the nearest trooper. 
  “Her Cosmo-Knight just interfered with another police matter. I’ll have Ca-
  leb Vulcan’s head for this one.”
  With the explosion still ringing in his ears, Caleb blasted across the sky 
  at top speed. The bomb had banged him up a little bit, but not nearly as 
  much as a lecture from Sir Diomedes of the Alexandria Militia might have. 
  Besides, the headphones Caleb wore beneath his helmet were informing him 
  that another problem had arisen halfway across the continent. A blizzard had 
  downed an airship carrying vacationers into the Deimos Mountains. Luckily, 
  Caleb could cross the intervening three thousand miles in about a minute, 
  146
   
  
  and would be on hand quickly to aid the survivors. If he stayed to explain his 
  methods to Sir Diomedes, someone might die.
  For Caleb, that was simply unacceptable.
  He had been on Alexandria for close to six weeks now, and his life had 
  settled into a fairly regular pattern. With the headphones and computer link-
  up that he wore monitoring newsbands and broadcasts around the world, Ca-
  leb was notified of trouble quickly and efficiently. With his Forge-enhanced 
  strength, speed, and other abilities, he was more than capable of canvassing 
  the planet and pitching in wherever he was needed most. Whether that meant 
  putting an end to delicate hostage negotiations with terrorists from Ogretopia, 
  or helping a band of Noro set up a colony on the sub-tropical Jeiros Islands, 
  or searching for survivors after an earthquake tore through the city of Kylo-
  stathenes, or doing battle with a Rift-spawned horror, or any of a dozen other 
  scenarios, it did not matter to Caleb. What did matter was that he did what he 
  could to help, to alleviate suffering, to save lives.
  It was certainly a full time job. Life-threatening emergencies occurred 
  with alarming regularity, even on a benign and sparsely populated world like 
  Alexandria. However, Caleb was uniquely equipped to handle the challenge. 
  As a Cosmo-Knight, he didn’t require food, drink, or even an atmosphere to 
  breathe. Nor was sleep terribly important. All Caleb needed for rest was one 
  hour of meditation out of every twenty-four hours of activity. This enabled 
  him to keep busy, to stay active, to barrel onward.
  Caleb needed to keep moving. If he slowed down for even a second, he 
  began to think about Lothar, and he desperately wanted to avoid doing so.
  The clouds beneath him turned angry and dark. Caleb dropped down, 
  through the cloud cover, and into the raging blizzard beyond. Visibility 
  dropped to zero, but that wasn’t a problem. Another of the endless gifts of 
  the Cosmic Forge; Caleb could navigate through the trackless void of space 
  or across the surface of an alien planet with near perfection. He possessed a 
  kind of cosmic awareness that expanded like a net from his body, encompass-
  ing the world beneath him. He did not need his eyes to see the bulk of the 
  mountains looming before him, or the dip of valleys and ridges beneath him. 
  He could sense all these things with the same ease with which one crosses a 
  familiar room in the dark.
  Caleb aimed himself at the mountain, flying low. He stretched out his 
  senses, trying to find some evidence of the crash. The snow clogged ground 
  hurtled by beneath him as he flew.
  It was hard to believe that barely three months ago Caleb had been a se-
  nior in high school, dreading his graduation because it meant leaving the 
  arid sands of Arizona for the steamy jungles of Vietnam. Somehow he had 
  avoided that fate, summoned to the Three Galaxies by the enigmatic entity 
  known only as the Cosmic Forge, transformed into a demigod and entrusted 
  with the duty of protecting all life. Another servant of the Forge, a Wulfen 
  147
   
  
  named Lothar, had taken Caleb under his wing, and introduced the young 
  man to the Three Galaxies and his responsibilities. With Lothar, Caleb had 
  survived a supernova, battled an ancient killing machine, rescued a beautiful 
  damsel from space pirates, and visited the largest city in the Three Galaxies. 
  But when they tangled with a psychotic Elf and a powerful Draconid wizard, 
  Lothar had fallen. Caleb survived, had even defeated and arrested the Elf, 
  but the wizard, Quajinn Huo, escaped. Huo had killed Lothar, but Caleb let 
  him go.
  The fact that a nuclear device was ticking away, threatening to kill mil-
  lions, did not register on Caleb. Neither did the fact that Lothar had centu-
  ries of experience, and had still fallen against Huo, while Caleb was a green 
  Knight. At the time, those reasons had seemed important; staring Quajinn 
  Huo in the face and knowing a battle against him was futile, Caleb had been 
  forced to let him escape. He concentrated instead on ensuring the bomb did 
  not go off, and thanks to Kassy and Abbot, millions of lives were indeed 
  saved.
  Those who lived did not nag at Caleb; it was the one who died that both-
  ered him. He felt guilty for not being there to back Lothar up when he was 
  needed, and for not apprehending Lothar’s killer. Lothar’s funeral had nearly 
  broken him. Staring into the faces of Lothar’s huge family, knowing that he 
  had failed them miserably, stabbed a sharp dagger into Caleb’s heart. He had 
  left Motherhome feeling cold and empty. As soon as he set foot on Alexan-
  dria, he asked Kassy to buy him the earphones with the computer link, and 
  he took to the sky. He had not stopped moving for more than an hour at a 
  time since.
  Supposedly, Kassy and Abbot were looking for a ship. They needed one 
  if they were going to hunt down Quajinn Huo, but Caleb wasn’t sure what 
  Abbot and Kassy were actually doing. He hadn’t seen or spoken to them in 
  weeks. Once he stopped briefly at Kassy’s home, a rambling mansion in the 
  countryside outside Alexandria’s largest port, but that was late at night when 
  most of the house was dim and quiet. Caleb had simply landed on the roof, 
  meditated for about an hour, and then raced off once again to help Kylosta-
  thenes, in the throes of an earthquake.
  Caleb paused, sensing an anomaly in the landscape passing beneath him. 
  He flowed into a circling pattern, eyeing the mountain slope. An avalanche 
  had occurred here, and recently if Caleb’s enhanced senses read the situa-
  tion correctly. There was no way to be certain whether the downed craft lay 
  under the avalanche, however. Not for the first time, Caleb lamented the fact 
  that the Forge had not seen fit to give him x-ray vision. What could he do? 
  The slope was buried under tons of snow, too much for Caleb to sift through. 
  Randomly zapping the slope with his eye beams was more than futile; it was 
  stupid.
  148
   
  
  Caleb growled in frustration. There was nothing to do, it seemed, but fly 
  on and hope he hadn’t already failed the survivors. As he flew up and rounded 
  the mountain, he saw a humped metallic shape buzzing across the snow. Ca-
  leb increased his pace and dove low, coming up alongside the vehicle. He 
  saw Atlantean lettering and some kind of strange symbol decorating the fu-
  selage, but he didn’t know enough Atlantean to decipher it. Caleb shrugged 
  mentally and then buzzed past the vehicle’s cockpit. Between the blizzard 
  and the opacity of the window panels, he didn’t see much, but hopefully the 
  crew would notice him. A moment later, the vehicle slowed and airlock in the 
  side of the craft cycled open. Grinning, Caleb leapt inside.
  With a metallic whine the airlock closed, shutting out the roar of the bliz-
  zard outside. An almost imperceptible hiss filled the room as it pressurized, 
  and a moment later the inner door slid open. Beyond stood an Atlantean man, 
  conspicuous with his artful tattoos, clad in a white flightsuit. “You must be 
  Caleb Vulcan,” he said in Trade Four.
  “Didn’t realize I was so popular,” Caleb offered.
  The man smiled. “We don’t get many Cosmo-Knights here in the United 
  Worlds of Warlock, and even fewer on Alexandria.” He stuck out his hand, 
  adding, “Cassius Astyanax.”
  “Pleasure,” Caleb said, taking the hand. “You’re here for the downed tour-
  ist craft, aren’t you?”
  Cassius nodded. “Unfortunately, there’s only one other rescue ship ca-
  pable of dealing with the weather, and we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. We 
  appreciate you lending a hand.”
  “It’s what I do,” Caleb said simply. “How can I help?”
  “Let’s head up to the comm center,” Cassius said, leading the way along 
  the corridor to the front of the ship. A half-dozen crewmen manned stations 
  in the cramped quarters of the cockpit. The most important person was the 
  communications officer, a woman with the same dark hair and creamy com-
  plexion as Kassy. “Artemis is monitoring the downed ship’s homing bea-
  con,” Cassius explained. “But it’s a weak signal, and this weather is fouling 
  up our reception. We know they’re in the general vicinity, but we can’t seem 
  to get a lock on their exact location. Visual is nil, and our instruments aren’t 
  much more help.”
  Caleb nodded. “What kind of craft are we looking for? And what were 
  they doing up here anyway?”
  “Zeus knows,” Cassius said. “We think they were vacationers, caught un-
  awares by the blizzard. It’s true the storm did sort of appear out of nowhere, 
  but that sort of thing is fairly common this time of year. And they were fly-
  ing in a Zemil H-17. Light craft; anti-gravity plates and not much else. Zero 
  maneuverability and terrible speed. They tried to outrun the storm, but you 
  can’t outrun much in an H-17.”
  “Huh,” Caleb grunted. “They went down on this peak, you said?”
  149
   
  
  Cassius nodded. “At the very least, their homing beacon did. If the ship 
  broke up before landing... a standard twenty-four hour search won’t find 
  those people. We’ll dig them up in the spring.”
  Caleb cocked his head. His cosmic awareness told him that the rescue craft 
  was circling the peak, and during the course of his conversation with Cassius, 
  they had looped around the mountain to the avalanche site. “Is something 
  wrong?” Cassius prompted.
  “No, but I have an idea. There’s another rescue ship out there, right?” Cas-
  sius nodded. “Then would you mind setting down nearby? There’s a part of 
  the mountain covered by an avalanche, and I have a feeling we should take 
  a look at it.”
  Cassius frowned, nodding. “You may have something.” He turned to his 
  pilots and rattled off something in Atlantean. The pilot shot a short message 
  back. Caleb couldn’t understand a word, but he got the gist.
  “I’ll get back out there; follow me down. But be careful, I don’t want to 
  trigger another landslide.” In another minute, Caleb was outside once more, 
  deafened by the roar of the wind and snow, but untouched by the bitter cold. 
  The rescue craft dogged him as he flew back to the avalanche site and dropped 
  to the ground. He sank into the snow up to his hips, and grimaced beneath 
  his centurion’s helm. The rescue craft wouldn’t be able to land here after all.
  Caleb craned his neck, and was about to wave them off, assuming they 
  could see him, but the crew was better prepared than he was. The ship settled 
  into a hovering posture over the snow, kicking up a cloud of white spray that 
  added a minuscule amount of chaos to the storm. In moments, the airlock 
  cycled open and a trio of crewmembers in cold weather gear dropped out, 
  hovering over the snowfield on personal anti-grav platforms. Each of them 
  held a large device in one hand, and they split up to canvas the snowfield, 
  pointing their machines at the ground.
  Caleb watched, noting that a fire had erupted in a factory in the southern 
  town of Korusk, while a mine in Gigantes had collapsed, trapping a dozen 
  men and women underground. Caleb wondered for a moment if he was wast-
  ing his time, whether it was already too late for the downed Zemil H-17, 
  whether he was better off chasing down another crisis. Before he reached a 
  conclusion, one of the crew began gesticulating wildly, a movement almost 
  lost in the swirl of snow. Caleb lifted off and flew over, landing beside the 
  Atlantean and once more sinking into the snow.
  The other two began to buzz over as well, while the first Atlantean, his or 
  her sex indeterminable underneath the heavy winter clothes, tried to shout 
  loud enough for Caleb to hear. The wind was too much, however, and the At-
  lantean finally decided on simply pointing down. Caleb bent over and formed 
  his arms into scoops, shoveling snow out of the way and forming massive 
  drifts as he did so. He dug fifteen feet at least before his fingers scraped 
  against metal. The light was dim and the snow covered almost everything, 
  150
   
  
  but Caleb could still make out an Atlantean ideogram painted on the metal. 
  He had found the hull of the H-17.
  They found everyone alive. Broken bones and other wounds were evident, 
  as well as frostbite and deep shock, but all seven tourists were alive. The crew 
  loaded them onto the transport and blasted off for warmer, safer territory, 
  thanking Caleb profusely and urging him to come back to the hospital for 
  more thanks. Caleb declined; he had miners to save.
  En route to the mining town of Gigantes, however, the earphones buzzed 
  with an incoming message. Caleb tongued the control stick and heard Kassy’s 
  voice crackle from the other side. “Caleb, please come in; I need to talk to 
  you.”
  Another tongue movement opened the channel from his end. “Go ahead, 
  Kassy. I’m listening.”
  A loud sigh echoed in Caleb’s ear. “I hear you’ve been busy,” she said, 
  obviously irritated. “At first I let it go, figuring that perhaps that’s how Earth-
  lings deal with grief. But now you’ve got the federal authorities knocking at 
  my door and asking me to rein you in. That is unacceptable. Lothar was my 
  friend too! I don’t appreciate being abandoned by you and Abbot and having 
  to deal with this on my own!”
  Caleb stared at the ocean roaring beneath him as his red and black body 
  hurtled across the waves. “What is Abbot up to?” he asked finally.
  “He’s meditating on the hill outside the mansion. He has been since we 
  got here; you at least are being productive, though you’re ignoring your grief. 
  He’s drawn into himself and become useless. I can’t get his attention, no 
  matter how hard I try. Zeus’ beard, but he could be dead too for all I know. 
  And are you here to help me? No, you’re off saving every other life on Al-
  exandria.”
  The sky was darkening as Caleb passed into the planet’s night side. An-
  other storm was rising as well, though on this side of the world winter was a 
  relative term. There was the rainy season, and the dry season, and not much 
  else. The ocean was dark and mysterious beneath Caleb’s hurtling form, ab-
  sorbing light and reflecting none. “Caleb? Are you still there?”
  “I... I’m two-thirds of the way to Gigantes,” Caleb explained. “After I help 
  the miners out there, I’ll see what I can do to help you with Abbot.” Before 
  Kassy could say anymore, Caleb tongued the connection closed.
  ____________________
  Caleb was still trying to figure out Alexandria’s time-zones, and was mild-
  ly surprised to see that the sun was just setting over the pyramids of the plan-
  et’s largest spaceport, Hymaeria. Outside the city limits, where the estates 
  of Clan Acherean’s elder statesmen could be found, Caleb reached Kassy’s 
  palatial home. Her parent’s home, at least; she claimed that she didn’t spend 
  much time there, that the place was too big for her to call home. It certainly 
  151
   
  
  was a large estate, particularly to the boy from Earth who had grown up in a 
  small house on the grounds of Fort Bliss.
  The estate of Hiram and Kornelia Acherean covered ten square kilome-
  ters, most of it wooded hills in a state of “cultivated wilderness.” The center 
  was a sprawling palace in the Greco-Egyptian style Caleb had come to iden-
  tify as typical for Atlantean architects. It had four hundred rooms, an Olym-
  pic sized pool, stables, a docking bay that looked large enough to service a 
  dreadnought, and what seemed an endless supply of servants, courtiers, and 
  visitors clogging its halls. Kassy’s home was beautiful, cultured, and relax-
  ing. Caleb would have gone insane had he been confined here the past few 
  weeks. He suddenly felt a pang of guilt for leaving her here; on the other 
  hand, she had grown up in this building. She was probably enjoying herself.
  Caleb avoided the estate proper, instead scanning the ground for the shad-
  owy form of Doctor Abbot. He sat exactly where Kassy had said he would 
  be, on the crest of a tall hill just beyond the walls of the mansion. Caleb 
  saw Kassy standing on the hill as well, probably waiting for him. He hoped 
  momentarily that she had not been waiting long, as the visit to Gigantes had 
  taken him longer than he had expected. Shrugging mentally, Caleb plum-
  meted out of the air like a stone.
  He dropped to the grass lightly at the base of the hill. Kassy shot him a 
  glare from where she stood beside Abbot. Caleb trudged up the slope, noting 
  that the fire in Korusk was under control, but that a monster from the Rifts 
  had appeared in the earthquake ravaged city of Kylostathenes. The city was 
  not doing well without the pyramids that regulated the flow of magical en-
  ergy through the area, and random Rifts were erupting in the Kylostathenes’ 
  downtown. Caleb thought briefly about jetting out to the city once more, but 
  one look at Kassy changed his mind.
  She was very angry. Caleb had not known Kassiopaeia Acherean for very 
  long, and he had never before seen her angry, but he recognized by the set 
  of her jaw, the tightening of her fists, and the way her arms, decorated with 
  artfully designed blue and white tattoos, were shaking that she was upset. 
  Caleb reached the top of the hill, and spared a glance in Abbot’s direction. 
  The wizard looked even more like a living shadow at the moment, sitting 
  cross-legged in the grass, with his trench coat, hat, and cane piled next to 
  him. Lacking the clothing to give his body definition, Abbot appeared as if he 
  were nothing more than a man-shaped smear of darkness. The effect was as 
  unsettling as seeing Kassy seethe with rage.
  What has happened to us? Caleb wondered, not for the first time since 
  Lothar’s death.
  “Take off the armor, Caleb,” Kassy ordered.
  “I haven’t got time,” Caleb heard himself say. “There’s trouble brewing 
  in Kylostathenes.”
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  “I should never have bought you those cursed headphones,” Kassy mut-
  tered. And then out of nowhere she decked Caleb. Her Atlantean strength, 
  enhanced by the magic of the tattoos she wore, was more than enough to 
  knock Caleb off his feet and send him rolling down the hill. Surprised more 
  than hurt, Caleb picked himself up and dusted grass and dirt off his armor.
  “What was that for?” he asked dully.
  “For being a jerk,” Kassy snarled. “Now get back up here, take off the 
  armor, and talk to me like a civilized human being!”
  “I don’t know what you’re getting at Kassy,” Caleb said. This time he flew 
  up the hill, landing with a thump in front of her. “I’m sorry I haven’t been 
  around, but I’ve had work to do.”
  “Work?” Kassy said incredulously. “Since when has running yourself 
  ragged been in the Cosmo-Knight handbook? Avoiding me and avoiding Lo-
  thar is not work. It is cowardice. Now, you want to be a coward, fine. Go and 
  do it, and the gods be done with you. But this morning you recklessly charged 
  into a tense situation and twelve people almost paid the price.”
  Despite himself, Kassy’s words hurt Caleb. “No one was hurt except the 
  Ogres,” he replied, trying to keep his voice even. “I saved the lives of those 
  hostages.”
  “You were lucky,” Kassy snapped. “If you had been a fraction of a second 
  slower, or misjudged a jerky movement, someone would have died.”
  “No,” Caleb said firmly. “I would never allow that to happen.”
  Kassy’s hands tightened into fists again, and Caleb eyed her warily, ex-
  pecting another attack. Instead, Kassy turned around, crossing her arms 
  against her chest. Her shoulders shook. It took Caleb a moment to realize 
  she was crying. Caleb stood still for a long moment, stunned. He glanced at 
  Abbot, but the wizard didn’t appear to be conscious. Caleb looked down the 
  hill at the mansion, but didn’t see any help from that quarter either. At last, 
  Caleb took a cautious step towards Kassy, reaching out tentatively with a 
  gauntleted hand.
  “Don’t touch me,” Kassy snarled, stepping away from him. Caleb retreat-
  ed, stung once more, and unsure how to respond.
  They stood there for a long moment, as the sun fell and darkness expanded 
  across the estate. Lights began to flicker on in the mansion, brightest around 
  the empty docking bay.
  At last, Caleb took a deep breath and, for the first time since Delian-4, dis-
  pelled his armor in a crimson flash. He approached Kassy again, reaching out 
  an arm to put around her shoulders. This time she didn’t retreat, but instead 
  turned into him and reached out to embrace him. She cried against his chest, 
  and Caleb was surprised to feel moisture on his own cheeks.
  Kassy looked up, her eyes raw and red. Caleb had never seen her look 
  more beautiful or more vulnerable, yet at the same time the anger was still 
  there, simmering, and Caleb knew she would deck him again in a heartbeat. 
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  “You can’t save everyone,” she said, her voice rough. “And you can’t be Lo-
  thar, either. I miss him terribly, but you can’t be him. I need Caleb to be here. 
  Do you understand me? I need Caleb Vulcan, not Lothar of Motherhome.”
  Caleb nodded, his throat constricting and his vision clouding. He felt the 
  cool Alexandria night air against his skin, and he could smell the clean grassy 
  scent of the field and Kassy’s perfume without having it filtered through his 
  helmet. He could feel her body, warm and alive, against his own, remind-
  ing him that he was alive. He was whole, and while Lothar was gone, Caleb 
  would not bring him back by retreating into the inhumanity of his Cosmo-
  Knight persona. He couldn’t spend all his life inside that armor as Lothar had 
  done; he couldn’t ignore the parts of his life that made it worth living. He 
  couldn’t ignore his life, period.
  “Kassy, I’m so sorry,” Caleb said. He hugged her tight. “I just... I wasn’t 
  thinking. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t get past the idea of Lothar’s death, of 
  what it meant. You’re right. I have been avoiding it, been avoiding him. I 
  couldn’t say goodbye... I don’t know if I can. He was... I told you that he 
  reminded me of my father, back on Earth. I was beginning to see him in that 
  light, to identify him that way. Losing Lothar like that... it brought home the 
  fact that I may never see my real dad again.”
  “I understand,” Kassy said softly. “Caleb, do you have an afterlife on 
  Earth?”
  “Um... I think we have several,” Caleb said. “I was raised Lutheran, 
  though. I believe in God and Heaven, an ultimate reward. What about you?”
  “Atlantean religion isn’t terribly well organized,” Kassy said. “It’s more 
  like a philosophy than a more traditional belief system. As a culture, we’re 
  nomads of time and space, traveling from one dimension – one reality – to 
  another. For us, death is just another means of crossing the borders between 
  this reality and the next, one more stop on the perpetual journey we’re all 
  undertaking.”
  “Then no one ever really dies?” Caleb asked. She nodded. “I think I’ll 
  stick with mine,” he said. “Somehow the idea of Lothar chatting with St. Pe-
  ter is more comforting to me than the possibility that he’s just bopping around 
  in some other galaxy.”
  She smiled then, though her eyes were still moist. “You are back, aren’t 
  you?”
  Caleb returned her smile. “I’m sorry I left. I won’t do that again.”
  “Good,” Kassy said, pulling out of his embrace and lightly punching him 
  on the arm. “I don’t want to have to get rough with you again. Now, what 
  about Abbot?”
  “What about Abbot?” came the cultured tones of the wizard, sitting cross-
  legged in the grass. Caleb and Kassy started, and stared wordlessly as Ab-
  bot’s head turned and his orange eyes, his only recognizable features, opened 
  up. Abbot unfolded his legs smoothly and rose to his full height. He gestured 
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  with a shadowy hand, and his coat, hat, and cane rose into the air. His hat and 
  coat settled upon him, and he reached out and plucked the cane out of the air.
  “I’ve been sitting up here for weeks, going through my own mourning 
  ritual, as prescribed by the Order of Celestial Monks that raised me,” Abbot 
  explained with his typical British inflection, while the other two continued 
  to stare. “I have sent Lothar off in grand style, if I do say so myself. In the 
  process, I managed to attune myself to Alexandria’s rhythms and magical 
  cycle. I’m afraid I became quite lost in the beauty of this world’s invisible 
  nature.” Abbot twirled the cane in his hands. “I was in there fairly deeply, my 
  consciousness riding along the ley lines and delving deep into Alexandria’s 
  Astral Plane. The attunement was so powerful, so precise, that I began to pick 
  up echoes from other worlds, joined in the great cosmic dance that keeps the 
  Three Galaxies moving. And there, I felt a faintly familiar pinprick ripple 
  across what was left of my mind.” He paused. “Kassy, Caleb, there is another 
  Shadowbeing somewhere loose in the Three Galaxies.”
  Kassy recovered first. Her open jaw clicked shut audibly. “Abbot,” she 
  said, speaking slowly. “You’re not making any sense.”
  Abbott chuckled, his orange eyes flashing in his dark face. “There is 
  another being like me out there somewhere. For the first time in my life, I 
  sensed someone like me. Unfortunately the shock of that revelation broke the 
  connection and violently returned me to my body. I’ve been sitting here for 
  three days wondering when Caleb would return to his senses. Now that he 
  has, it’s time to go looking for my counterpart.”
  Caleb found his voice, though Abbott was still confusing him. “I thought 
  we were going to look for Quajinn Huo,” he said.
  “All in good time, lad,” Abbott said. “If the Shadowbeing is a wizard like 
  me, we may be able to enlist his help against Huo. That would be good, con-
  sidering how badly he beat us last time.”
  “Okay,” Kassy said. “Where do we begin looking?”
  “I haven’t the foggiest notion,” Abbott said, eyes glinting. “Let’s go down 
  to the house and have a bit of tea and talk it over.”
  “Capital idea,” Kassy said, mimicking Abbot’s accent. She grabbed Ca-
  leb’s hand and tugged him down the hill. “C’mon,” she said. “You haven’t 
  met my parents yet.”
  I wonder if Kylostathenes still needs help? Caleb wondered, but followed 
  her down the hill.
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  Chapter Fourteen
  Shopping Trip
  There are an estimated trillion inhabited worlds in the Three Galaxies, 
  each one of them home to billions of sentient beings, from over a hundred 
  billion different species. These numbers assure the Three Galaxies a vast and 
  varied native population. Sentients as varied as Machine People, Silhouettes, 
  Humans, Wulfen, and Oni evolved within the Three Galaxies, giving rise to 
  cultures every bit as distinctive as their individual biologies. Moreover, as 
  each individual species reached out to the stars, they formed alliances, em-
  pires, and a network of intergalactic, cross-species cultures.
  The story of life in the Three Galaxies is not confined to native species, 
  however. There are many places in the Three Galaxies where space and time 
  converge to create holes in the fabric of reality – holes which lead to other 
  realities. Phase World is only the largest and best known of these conver-
  gences, but they are scattered throughout the Corkscrew, Anvil, and Thun-
  dercloud galaxies. These convergences have opened the way for Atlanteans, 
  Splugorth, Metztla, Gargoyles, and thousands of other species to cross over 
  to this reality from others.
  For the most part, these aliens have enriched the Three Galaxies. Others 
  have brought nothing but danger. In particular, the Splugorth have threat-
  ened the life and liberty of sentients throughout the galaxies. Their battles 
  with Cosmo-Knights have become legendary, and in some cases have entered 
  the mythologies of transgalactic cultures. The Splugorth are hardly typical, 
  however. Given the vast and unplumbed depths of the Megaverse, it is far 
  more likely that visitors to the Three Galaxies from other dimensions will be 
  individual beings, unique in their adopted home. Indeed, the one thing one 
  can expect from inter-dimensional travelers is the unexpected.
  – Excerpt from Travelogues of a Journeyman by Fraktyn Quint
  The Garouk system was a remote one, and as it turned out, the nearest 
  “living planet,” per the alien’s request, was a backwater world named Koola, 
  located a short psi-jump from Garouk. Koola proved to be mostly desert, 
  save for a ring of riverine networks around the equator, but it did have a na-
  tive sentient species as well as a number of thriving communities settled by 
  offworlders.
  Joriel remained unimpressed. As a Celestine, one of the biosynthetic en-
  forcers of the S’hree Vek Confederacy, he had crossed from one end of the 
  Three Galaxies to the other, and very little he saw on Koola impressed him. 
  As Koola was within Consortium space, the fact that Joriel’s vessel, the Vigi-
  lance, had sent a landing craft to the planet’s surface technically made them 
  an invasion force and could be interpreted as an act of war. Relations between 
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  the Consortium of Civilized Worlds and the S’hree Vek Confederacy were 
  currently at an all time low, but that was something of which the Vigilance’s 
  commanding officer, Commissar Lor Koushak Dail, seemed unaware.
  Joriel frowned inwardly. It was hardly the first time he had disagreed with 
  the Commissar’s decisions, and he doubted it would be the last. Her rash ac-
  tions had initially brought them into Consortium space, and into an engage-
  ment with a Consortium Warshield cruiser which had nearly crippled the 
  Vigilance. Only a desperate psi-jump to a random system had saved them 
  from certain destruction, a move which had nearly fractured the psionic drive 
  that powered the ship and almost killed the Commissar herself, whose psion-
  ic abilities fueled the device. While the crew had rushed to effect repairs, the 
  Vigilance’s sensors had detected a strange energy signature orbiting the gas 
  giant Garouk-9. Joriel and his fellow Celestines had discovered the source of 
  that signature to be a humanoid, and after bringing it aboard, the being had 
  come to an accord with the Commissar, offering wealth and a means to reach 
  pan-dimensional markets in exchange for help searching for one of his lost 
  brethren.
  Which brought them to Koola.
  Joriel stood on a rocky promontory overlooking a sandy valley. Behind 
  him stood his two wingmates, fellow Celestines Kalel and Kariel. All three 
  Celestines stood an even two meters tall, resplendent in form-fitting blue-
  black armor over red uniforms. Long, fine maroon colored hair was tied into 
  warrior’s braids, with Joriel’s being the longest and most elaborate. All three 
  of them possessed striking, aquiline features with finely drawn brows and 
  bright blue eyes. Their most impressive feature by far, however, were their 
  wings. Erupting from their shoulders, the wings were composed of bright 
  crimson feathers, and each wing could extend out to a length of four meters. 
  The Celestines were beautiful by the standards of the humans and Noro of the 
  Consortium, resembling the angels of human mythology. But the Adinum, 
  Haakon, Tooranimoor and other species that made up the S’hree Vek Con-
  federacy had different standards of beauty; they had designed the Celestines 
  to be warriors, to be creatures of terror and destruction.
  Joriel sighed, a sound that was lost in the strong desert wind. Kalel and 
  Kariel, their senses as acute as Joriel’s own, turned as one to regard their 
  commander. “Something wrong, Sir?” Kariel asked.
  Joriel adjusted his wings and turned to face his wingmates. “I don’t trust 
  this Hazmat of the Shaar,” he said, referring to their guest. All three word-
  lessly regarded the alien, who was picking his way down the hill into the 
  valley. Hazmat wasn’t hard to see, given that he – or it – appeared to be an 
  ambulatory shadow, its features indistinguishable save for a pair of orange 
  lights that might have been eyes. Hazmat claimed to be a representative of a 
  pan-dimensional society called the Shaar, and further claimed to be able to 
  share the Shaar’s wealth with the Vigilance. Joriel didn’t know much more 
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  about the creature, save for the fact that it could survive unaided in the vacu-
  um of space, like a Celestine, and was resistant to Commissar Dail’s psychic 
  probes. Also like a Celestine.
  Joriel unconsciously summoned his blazer, the most potent weapon in a 
  Celestine’s arsenal. A span of blue-white light erupted from Joriel’s hand, 
  forming into the shape of a sword. Kalel frowned, while Kariel made an un-
  derstanding face. On the crest of the hill, surrounding the crab-shaped shuttle, 
  their escort of marines suddenly snapped to attention, eyeing the landscape 
  and pointing their weapons at nothing. Joriel sighed once more, dispelling 
  his blazer.
  Kalel and Kariel exchanged looks. “We don’t trust him either, Sir, but that 
  is still no justification for your agitation,” Kariel said. “We’ve handled worse 
  odds than this, Sir.”
  Joriel shook his head. “I don’t think so. This shadow-man is an entirely 
  unknown quantity. Already he has insinuated himself into the command 
  structure of the ship. What more can he do once he’s accomplished what we 
  came here for?”
  Kariel was about to reply when the marine sergeant jogged up to the trio. 
  A massive, red-furred conaigher, the sergeant was bristling with armor plates 
  and weaponry. “We’ve picked up something on the scanners,” he said through 
  sharpened teeth. “Several craft, rapidly approaching from the southwest.”
  Kalel grimaced, his wings expanding to their full length and his blazer 
  igniting. Kariel and the sergeant ignored him, waiting to see Joriel’s reaction.
  Joriel narrowed his eyes and shifted his stance on the rock, looking down 
  into the valley. Hazmat had almost made it to the valley floor. The alien 
  had apparently not yet reached his objective. However, if the inhabitants of 
  this planet discovered a S’hree Vek squad on the planet’s surface, the results 
  would be disastrous.
  “Get the shuttle ready,” Joriel ordered. His Celestine eyes were picking 
  up the approaching craft; five Stinger Class fighters and a Hunter Warcar-
  rier. Too much firepower for the shuttle to handle, even with three Celes-
  tines aboard. Joriel wasn’t about to risk deactivation for the alien. “Everyone 
  aboard. I’ll recover our guest.” Without another word, Joriel took to the air, 
  his wings expanding to catch the wind and his internal grav systems coming 
  on line.
  He landed on the ground in less than fifteen seconds, raising a cloud of 
  dust that swirled around Hazmat as the alien looked up. “Trouble, lad?” 
  Hazmat asked dryly.
  “We’re getting out of here,” Joriel snapped.
  “Not quite yet, I’m hoping. We don’t want this to be a wasted trip, do we?” 
  Hazmat said. His orange eyes twinkled in the depths of his shadowy face.
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  “There is some kind of planetary defense force headed this way, and we 
  are not staying to see what they want from us,” Joriel told him, his voice ris-
  ing.
  Hazmat regarded him for a moment. “Hmmm, well, I won’t be a moment 
  then.”
  “Now, alien,” Joriel snarled, reaching out to grab the shadowman. Hazmat 
  swatted his hand away, his eyes sparking. Joriel could only stare, surprised 
  at the alien’s strength.
  “It isn’t wise to cross me, angel,” Hazmat growled. His statement was 
  punctuated by the roar of five stinger class fighters as they blasted by over-
  head. The warcarrier followed at a more sedate pace, its cannons eyeing the 
  shuttle and preparing to fire. “Watch, and learn,” Hazmat added.
  Hazmat dropped to one knee in the sand, placing his palms flat on the 
  ground. Joriel took a wary step backward, shuddering involuntarily as he 
  heard the stingers and warcarrier begin firing on the shuttle. Despite himself 
  and his responsibilities, Joriel could not bring himself to look away from 
  the alien. Hazmat shuddered as well, a low moan coming from his invisible 
  mouth. The shadowy substance of his body grew darker, and darker still, 
  until it seemed as if he were drawing all the light around him into his body, 
  photon by photon. “This world... untapped potential,” Hazmat gasped, his 
  voice sounding as if it came from very far away. “Ley lines... possess a purity 
  I’ve rarely seen.” Joriel felt as if a black cloud had fallen over the desert sun, 
  creating a pocket of night in the middle of the day. Explosions echoed in the 
  distance, dimly heard.
  And then suddenly the spell was broken. Hazmat lurched to his feet. Joriel 
  blinked back tears as light flooded his vision once more, and he looked up 
  sharply as the shuttle swerved past them over head, two stingers flying rings 
  around it and the warcarrier sending beams of light to splatter off the shuttle’s 
  shields.
  “They’re doomed,” Joriel said grimly. “And I hold you responsible.”
  Hazmat laughed. “Angels shouldn’t be pessimists, lad. As I said, watch 
  and learn.” The shadowman stood with his legs spread, and raised his arms 
  overhead, orange eyes flickering. A web of black light erupted from Hazmat’s 
  fingers, rising and spreading with preternatural speed. The black web filled 
  the air in the span of a few heartbeats. While the shuttle and its “escorts” had 
  already flown clear, the other three stingers weren’t so lucky. They tried to 
  veer out of the way, but either the pilots or the ships themselves couldn’t han-
  dle the speed and the stingers slammed into the web, enmeshing themselves 
  in its inky strands. Hazmat waggled his fingers, releasing the web and allow-
  ing it to collapse into a tight ball, smashing the three fighter craft together 
  with a dull explosion that was mostly absorbed by the web of darkness.
  “Three ships down in less than fifteen seconds,” Joriel rasped. “Impos-
  sible.”
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  “Hah!” Hazmat exclaimed. “You’ve seen nothing yet, lad.”
  The warcarrier began to turn, searching for the source of the fighter crafts’ 
  demise. On the other end of the valley, the shuttle practiced evasive maneu-
  vers while the remaining stingers whittled away at its shields. Joriel could 
  only watch, rooted to the spot. His blazer was in hand, though he couldn’t 
  recall igniting it, and he knew it would prove no help against the warcarrier’s 
  heavy weapons.
  A dozen streams of crimson light stabbed toward them from the assault 
  craft’s cannons. Joriel braced for the impact, expecting to die. But the lasers 
  balked a dozen feet away, slamming harmlessly into an invisible screen erect-
  ed by Hazmat. Ripples of darkness punctuated the impact of each blast, but 
  nothing touched either Joriel or the shadowman. The barrage did not lessen, 
  instead increasing in intensity as the warcarrier advanced. The screen held.
  Hazmat was laughing, a harsh sound that could not be drowned out by the 
  sizzle of heavy lasers. He gestured, his eyes flashing, and the ground shud-
  dered beneath Joriel’s feet. Rocks clattered down the slope, echoing through-
  out the valley. Cracks appeared in the valley floor, and Joriel saw a massive 
  hump rise out of the ground, directly beneath the warcarrier. The rumbling 
  in the valley increased, and Joriel’s vision blurred as his body shook. His 
  internal grav systems kept him on his feet, but just barely.
  The hump unfolded itself, expanding geometrically and reaching upward 
  into the air. It took on the rough outline of a colossal hand that plucked the 
  warcarrier out of the sky and crushed it like a tin can. The carrier detonated, 
  blasting the stone hand to pieces and sending a shockwave across the valley 
  that lifted Joriel off his feet and sent him spinning on the dusty ground.
  Hazmat stood unmoved, his head thrown back, his body once more ab-
  sorbing light.
  As fragments of warcarrier and stone clattered to the valley floor, Joriel 
  lurched once more to his feet. On the horizon, the shuttle doubled back to-
  wards Hazmat and Joriel, trailing smoke and weaving through the air. Its 
  pursuers veered off from their attack, buzzing in the direction of the warcar-
  rier’s flaming wreckage.
  “This is an old favorite,” Hazmat declared. “Watch closely.” Once more 
  he held his hands aloft, and wove patterns in the air with them. The darkness 
  around him deepened, and Joriel had to switch over to nightsight in order to 
  penetrate it.
  A black oval appeared before one of the stingers, and before the pilot 
  could react, the fighter flew directly into it, disappearing as it did so. For a 
  moment, the remaining stinger hung in the sky all alone, but the black oval 
  manifested above it. Out of the oval flashed the other stinger, slamming into 
  the second one at high speed. Both fighters disappeared in a bright flash.
  The shuttle circled close, venting black smoke and shuddering as it tried 
  to land.
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  “Amazing,” Joriel said breathlessly. He eyed Hazmat warily, realizing he 
  would never be able to trust the alien. He couldn’t trust anyone he feared so 
  much.
  Hazmat snorted, an odd sound from his featureless face. “Child’s play,” 
  he said.
  ____________________
  Caleb Vulcan, novice Cosmo-Knight, went shopping.
  His friends Kassiopaeia Acherean, the Atlantean Undead Slayer, and Doc-
  tor Abbot, the shadowman wizard, insisted that the three of them buy a star-
  ship if they were to start gallivanting all over the cosmos. Abbot, who had 
  recently learned that another being like himself existed in the Three Galaxies, 
  wanted to leave the planet Alexandria as soon as possible to search for the 
  other Shadowbeing. Kassy and Caleb, willing to go along with their friend, 
  were more concerned with hunting down and bringing to justice the Draconid 
  wizard Quajinn Huo, who had recently killed Caleb’s mentor Lothar.
  While Caleb himself was capable of surviving unaided in space and even 
  traveling at superluminal speeds, his friends were not. They needed a ship. 
  Unfortunately, all three of them were broke. Caleb had made a few credits 
  working with moisture farmers on the desert world Koola, but had left that 
  behind when Lothar came to get him. Abbot had a couple thousand creds 
  stashed in banks all over the Three Galaxies, but nothing handy, and nothing 
  close to the amounts they would need in order to purchase a worthy vehicle.
  Luckily, Kassy was rather well off. More appropriately, her parents were 
  well off. Which was why Hiram and Kornelia were joining them on the shop-
  ping excursion. Hiram and Kornelia were both striking individuals, with 
  the same straight black hair and blue eyes Kassy possessed, both marked 
  with blue-white tattoos, similar to the ones Kassy wore on her arms. Like 
  all Atlanteans, Hiram and Kornelia were long lived and continued to grow 
  throughout their lives, and as a result both of them were nearer seven feet 
  than six, well proportioned and well muscled. To Caleb, they looked like 
  Greek statues come to life, especially in their flowing togas and cloaks. As 
  the scrawny, red headed kid from Arizona, Caleb felt thoroughly out of place 
  and more than a little intimidated by them.
  If he had been able to spend more time getting to know them, he might feel 
  more comfortable in their company. He hadn’t had much time for visiting on 
  Alexandria; instead, shaken by Lothar’s death, he had spent his time rushing 
  from one dangerous situation to another. Though he had come to his senses 
  and realized he could not save the world, or the Three Galaxies, single-hand-
  edly, he had still to spend a significant amount of time with his hosts.
  The fact that he had to borrow money from the Achereans made him even 
  edgier. Growing up in a single parent household on the grounds of Fort Bliss, 
  Arizona, Caleb hadn’t met too many villa-owning patricians, or even any 
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  garden variety millionaires. Though Kassy’s parents had graciously offered 
  to pick up the tab, Caleb was too self-conscious to take them up on their of-
  fer. Kassy could have taken charge, but she enjoyed watching Caleb squirm, 
  a petty way to get back at him for abandoning her in the wake of Lothar’s 
  death. Abbot, on the other hand, simply knew nothing about spacecraft. It 
  was one of the few topics he could not wax verbosely upon, and he claimed 
  to prefer public transport.
  “I’m not much of a pilot,” Abbot had confessed in his dry, British tones. 
  “Growing up in a monastery didn’t give me much chance to go hot-rodding 
  around the galaxies. I’ve used Planetary Spacelines for years, when I wasn’t 
  hitting up my friends for rides.” Abbot’s shadowy features lightened in what 
  Caleb thought of as Abbot’s smile, as the wizard twirled his cane. “You’ll 
  find Kassy isn’t much better than I. She’s a grunt, after all. Dump her plan-
  etside in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a penknife and an empty 
  canteen and she’s fine, but put her in a pilot’s chair and she’s useless. Odd as 
  it may seem, though you’ve been a citizen of the Three Galaxies for only a 
  few months, you’ve logged more flight hours than either of us.”
  Caleb forced a chuckle. “Lothar didn’t let me fly much,” he said. “But I 
  enjoyed every moment of it.” He ran a hand through his raggedly cut, blood 
  red hair. “And, uh, I’ve been checking the WorldNet for ideas. We need 
  something fast and light, I figure, and there’s an Orion Industries Comet in a 
  lot in Hymaeria. Lightly armored, no weapons, but it has a jacked-up contra-
  gravitonic drive that can hit ten light years per hour. It’s a little dinged up, but 
  according to the dealer’s site it’s in great shape. The thing is, I don’t know 
  exchange rates or any of that stuff. I don’t know if thirty-four million credits 
  is too much or dangerously little. But I do know that’s far too much to be 
  asking from Kassy’s parents.”
  Abbot adjusted his fedora. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “But they have offered 
  to purchase a ship for Kassy in the past. And you’ve seen their mansion; the 
  Acherean clan owns most of the real estate on the planet, and Hiram and 
  Kornelia are highly ranked members of the clan. Thirty-four million credits 
  would probably be pocket change to these people.”
  Caleb sighed. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
  Abbot patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll have to get used to moving in 
  these kind of circles, Caleb. Cosmo-Knights rub shoulders with the rich and 
  famous all the time.”
  The young Knight grinned ruefully. “Until I do, why don’t you ask Hiram 
  and Kornelia for the money?” Abbot laughed, but before he could say any-
  thing, Kassy had approached to let them know they would be leaving soon, 
  and that was the end of the conversation.
  Hymaeria served as Alexandria’s largest spaceport, billing itself as “At-
  lantis’ Gateway to the Stars,” and it was also home to a dozen dealerships 
  specializing in starship sales. Most of them sold Atlantean, Dwarven, or El-
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  ven designed ships. Hiram and Kornelia had already made their preference 
  for an Atlantean ship known, though the adventurers remained uncommitted. 
  And as always, the Naruni had weaseled their way into the market as well, 
  their wares heavily armed and armored, and better suited for the use of a 
  mercenary band or militia rather than a trio of adventurers.
  “Naruni, pfeh,” Hiram muttered. He had a full beard and shoulder length 
  hair tied back with a leather cord. The five of them were standing outside the 
  Naruni lot, on a wide flagstone boulevard separating the dealerships. In the 
  distance were the rising domes of starships, and beyond that the pyramids 
  and skyscrapers of the city proper. On the other side of the Naruni lot lay the 
  port, where hundreds of ships could be seen landing and taking off. “I still 
  think you’d be better off with a Gryphon,” Hiram continued. The Gryphon 
  was a twenty year old design, little more than a cab and an engine, but like 
  most Atlantean craft it was sturdy and aesthetically appealing, with a sleek 
  fuselage and delicate looking wings. “Gryphons have managed to get me out 
  of more than one dangerous situation.”
  “I’m sure they have, Dad,” Kassy supplied. “But I think we’re looking for 
  something a little more modern.”
  “Are you implying that I’m old?” Hiram asked, mock serious. “Do you 
  hear that, Kornelia? Your daughter thinks I’m just a nattering graybeard.”
  Kornelia Acherean, herself well into her second century and yet look-
  ing more like Kassy’s older sister than her mother, told her husband, “You 
  should expect that when you leave an opening like that, dear. You’ve been 
  nattering away about old model craft, when it’s obvious the kids want some-
  thing with a little more kick. Isn’t that right, Caleb?”
  She looked right at him, smiling warmly, and Caleb blushed, trying to 
  mutter something in reply.
  “Actually,” Abbot interjected. “I believe Caleb does have a particular ship 
  in mind. Don’t you lad?”
  “Really?” Hiram rumbled. “Then why are we stumbling around from ship 
  to ship? If you’re looking for something specific, speak up, by Zeus.”
  Caleb winced. “Well, uh,” he started to say, but was rescued momentarily 
  from the embarrassment by the arrival of Ogretopian terrorists. They came in 
  from the west, from the direction of the spaceport, piloting a screaming hov-
  er-car loaded down with cannons and nearly a dozen snarling Ogres, some of 
  them hanging on to the sides of the craft, weapons in their free hands. Caleb 
  and his companions almost missed them entirely; the piercing whine of the 
  hover-car was largely lost in the background roar of the port, and even the 
  war-cries of the Ogres were covered up by the hover-car itself.
  Luckily, the Ogres had terrible aim. Just as Caleb began prevaricating, 
  a sizzling bolt of laser fire flew by overhead to splatter harmlessly on the 
  flagstones of the boulevard. The five of them stood frozen for a moment. 
  The hover-car roared past them, barely fifteen feet off the ground, depositing 
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  seven snarling Ogres as it flashed by and prepared for another run. The Ogres 
  landed lightly on their feet, only one of them losing his balance and sliding 
  across the road on his armor, their weapons drawn and ready to fire.
  Caleb aimed a silent prayer of thanks towards heaven, and then sheathed 
  himself in his metallic red cosmo-armor with a crimson flash. Kassy touched 
  her wrist with two fingers, and a bow of blue-white fire manifested in her 
  hands. Abbot gestured with the head of his cane and a shadowy wall appeared 
  in the road, separating them from their attackers. Hiram and Kornelia ap-
  peared unperturbed, sharing a brief look and then turning their attention to the 
  fight. The handful of other people in the streets scattered, looking for cover.
  The Ogres opened up, beams of energy flashing from the muzzles of their 
  guns, the stink of ozone filling the air. Abbot’s wall reflected the barrage, the 
  screen dimming with each impact. Kassy aimed her bow at an angle, sending 
  four flaming arcs over the wall to slam into the Ogres with an explosive crash.
  Caleb took to the air, aiming his armor clad body towards the hover-car, 
  which was just coming around and aiming its cannons at his companions on 
  the ground. A flash of red light erupted from Caleb’s visor, and one of the 
  cannons melted to slag before it could fire. The Ogres in the open cab hooted 
  and growled, pointing the nose of the car in Caleb’s direction. Caleb’s laugh 
  echoed in his own ears, and then he slammed into the hover-car, crushing 
  the front end like an aluminum can. The Ogres howled in surprise and fear 
  as their craft’s engine died. Caleb wrapped his arms around as much of the 
  hover-car as he could reach and guided it to the ground, letting go just before 
  it landed with an echoing crash. The Ogres bounced on the pavement, but 
  their body armor kept them from taking any serious injury.
  Caleb landed lightly on his feet, surveying his handiwork. The Ogres were 
  dazed but uninjured, and already drawing melee weapons and blasters, pre-
  pared to continue the fight. “If you get up, I will get lethal,” Caleb boomed 
  in his best imitation of Lothar. The Ogres stopped moving for a moment, 
  and then one of them brought his weapon up. With a look, Caleb burned the 
  Ogre’s weapon hand away, and the fight went out of the others.
  Caleb spared a glance behind him, to see if the others needed help, and 
  saw that Kassy had the Ogres pinned down, while Abbot was sealing them 
  off with more screens of shadow energy. Hiram had a communicator in hand, 
  and the sound of sirens in the distance told Caleb that the authorities were on 
  their way. In moments, Caleb would be trying to explain himself to Hiram 
  and Kornelia once again.
  Caleb turned back to the dispirited rabble littering the street. “Doesn’t 
  anybody still want to fight?” he asked.
  In short order the mess was cleaned away, with Inspector Diomedes drag-
  ging the Ogre terrorists away in chains. Caleb actually welcomed Diomedes’ 
  angry lecture about Caleb involving himself in police matters, but the lecture 
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  was cut short by a word from Hiram. Diomedes shot Caleb a glare, apolo-
  gized to Hiram, and then stalked off to interrogate his new charges.
  Caleb dispelled his armor. “Thanks for the assist,” he said.
  Hiram nodded. “Diomedes can be a bit of a martinet,” he said. “And he’s 
  had it in for you since you started playing superhero a few weeks ago. But I 
  wouldn’t worry about him. As soon as you and my daughter have picked out 
  a ship, you’ll be out of his hair.”
  Caleb wasn’t sure how to respond. All he could muster was, “Uh, right.”
  Hiram’s piercing blue eyes bored into Caleb. “I originally agreed with 
  Diomedes, you know. I thought you reckless and dangerous, too trusting of 
  your Forge-given abilities. But I didn’t see that today. You acted quickly and 
  cleanly without any grandstanding, and you trusted your friends to back you 
  up.” Hiram’s features softened slightly. “You’re unlike any Cosmo-Knight 
  I’ve ever met.”
  “Thank you,” Caleb managed to spit out, lost for anything else to say.
  Hiram nodded. Kassy approached, wearing a half smile, and threaded one 
  arm through her father’s. “Are you giving Caleb a hard time?” she asked.
  Hiram smiled, exposing white, even teeth. “I was congratulating him on a 
  job well done, actually.”
  “Good,” Kassy said, reaching out and hooking her other elbow around 
  Caleb’s. “I would prefer it if the two of you got along.” She gave her father 
  a meaningful look, and then smiled at Caleb. “What were you going to say 
  before we were distracted?”
  “Huh?” Caleb said. Kassy’s smiles could do that do him.
  “What ship are you looking for?” Hiram asked, a sharp note in his voice.
  “An Orion Industries Comet,” Caleb told him, unconsciously straighten-
  ing his back. “Dealer’s asking for thirty-four million.” He winced inwardly 
  as Hiram’s eyes widened at the number.
  “That doesn’t sound too bad,” Kassy said, giving Caleb a knowing wink. 
  “Dad?”
  Hiram stifled a cough. “No, not bad at all. But let’s see if we can talk the 
  dealer down a bit anyway.”
  ____________________
  Elias Harkonnen stepped off the boat into another world.
  Hala, a grim block of ice and rock floating in the void, served as one of 
  a dozen prison planets for the Consortium of Civilized Worlds. The planet 
  had no indigenous life, very little atmosphere, and a heavier than standard 
  gravity. A network of tunnels ran beneath the surface, connecting the prison 
  facilities proper. A hundred thousand sentients stalked the prison halls, care-
  fully watched over by a force of automated guards.
  Harkonnen was crippled by a power dampening harness, a set composed 
  of a collar, belt, bracers and greaves. When the circuit of components were 
  165
   
  
  completed, they stole Harkonnen’s superhuman abilities of strength, flight, 
  and invulnerability, leaving him easy prey for the other prisoners filling Hala. 
  Or so the authorities believed; even without his bio-engineered abilities, Elias 
  Harkonnen possessed the training and bearing of the Kreeghor Invincible 
  Guard. The other convicts were in for a surprise or two, as were the drones 
  in charge of the prison. This planet could not hold Elias Harkonnen for long. 
  Eventually he would make his escape. Eventually he would be free. Eventu-
  ally he would have his revenge.
  Caleb Vulcan would pay for every indignity Elias Harkonnen was made to 
  suffer. He would pay for it a hundredfold. So Elias swore.
  “Get moving, creep,” a metallic voice ordered. Elias gritted his teeth as an 
  android guard jabbed him with a powerlance.
  “Revenge,” Elias whispered darkly, walking down the ramp and joining 
  the prison population. “Revenge.”
  166
   
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  Pathfinder
  While the people of the Consortium of Civilized Worlds prefer to think 
  otherwise, magic is a powerful and vibrant force in the Three Galaxies. Most 
  dramatically, this magic manifests itself upon and within living worlds. Ob-
  servers often see this force as a network, a lattice, of lines that encircle the 
  world. But magic permeates the environment, soaking into every living thing, 
  piercing into and through the earth itself. Some theories hold that magic 
  itself is the catalyst for evolution, that it guides the development of lifeforms, 
  that it may be the ultimate source for the ascendancy of intelligent life in the 
  Megaverse.
  That theory has its detractors, but few would deny that the presence, and 
  strength, of ley lines affects the life forms that inhabit that world. The Seljuks 
  of Gemini One, for example, appear as normal flesh and blood, but possess 
  supernormal strength and endurance that allow them to physically match 
  power armor. That other reptilian species in the Three Galaxies do not pos-
  sess these abilities may be attributed to the powerful, violent expression of 
  the ley lines on Gemini One. Ley storms so devastating that the Seljuks – as 
  a species – permanently gave up their ability to manipulate magic in order to 
  put a stop to them, frequently tore across the planet’s surface as the Seljuks 
  evolved.
  This is not to be taken lightly.
  But living worlds are not the only place in the Three Galaxies that ley 
  lines manifest. The trackless aether of space is also home to lines of force 
  that duplicate the energy signature of ley lines. Without the potential psychic 
  energy provided by life, without the anchor of a world, these lines of force 
  stab through space. The Celestial monks use them to plumb the mysteries of 
  the Megaverse, while the Dwarven Runemasters of the UWW use them as 
  railways to carry their magic-fueled ships between worlds. And an ambitious 
  Consortium scientist named Arthur Nast is attempting to map these lines, and 
  while his project is far from complete, in its current form it suggests that the 
  space leys, too, create an invisible network, a circuit, that connects disparate 
  worlds to one another.
  What does this mean?
  I have no idea. But I do believe it is absolutely marvelous.
  – Weddron Nurrick, Noro scholar and quantum psionicist
  Caleb Vulcan, Knight of the Cosmic Forge, reclined backward into the 
  plush leather seat of the pilot’s chair. He let loose a long sigh.
  The control panel of his newly purchased, and slightly used, Orion In-
  dustries Comet was much more complicated looking than the guidance sys-
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  tem of Lothar’s old freighter had been. Lothar, Caleb’s late mentor, had al-
  lowed Caleb to pilot his ship for short distances, and Caleb had hoped that 
  his grounding in the basics of interstellar travel would enable him to pilot the 
  new craft. But Caleb had to admit that the array of buttons, lights and screens 
  laid before him was a puzzle he could not comprehend. He shifted in his seat, 
  his mop of blood red hair falling into his eyes, and checked the few indicators 
  he comprehended.
  The Contra-Gravitonic drive that powered the ship was nominal. The life-
  support systems were fine, the air-scrubbers chugging away to keep clean air 
  circulating throughout the ship. The red button on the top right corner of the 
  panel would raise the landing gear, while a dial at the bottom right controlled 
  the ship’s defense screen. Other than that, the control panel was a confusing 
  mess. There was no joystick, no altimeter or fuel gauge, or any of a dozen 
  other items Caleb expected to see. What it had were six tiny screens, flashing 
  brightly with glyphs in Trade One, one of the oldest tongues in the Three Gal-
  axies, and one Caleb could not speak, let alone read. Two globes were incised 
  in the bottom of the panel, spinning lazily without any direction from Caleb.
  Caleb spun his chair around to regard the rest of the Comet’s bridge. U-
  shaped, the bridge had six seats spread on two levels. The lower level, where 
  Caleb sat, was designed for the pilot and co-pilot. The raised section was 
  largely for passengers, but contained a communications and sensor array, as 
  well as posts for engineering and weapons targeting, though this particular 
  Comet wasn’t armed. Weaponry would have raised the price on the craft con-
  siderably, and as it was, Caleb was indebted to Hiram and Kornelia Acherean 
  to the tune of thirty million credits for the Comet. At their daughter Kassio-
  paeia’s behest, they had purchased the ship for the use of their daughter and 
  her friends. But neither Kassy nor their other companion, the shadowman 
  spellcaster Doctor Abbot, could pilot a starship. The three of them had hoped 
  Caleb’s lessons with Lothar would be enough.
  Caleb sighed again, and stood up. It was such a good ship, too. A sleek, 
  red craft, nearly two hundred feet long and shaped like a dagger, the Comet 
  was a medium-sized runner. The type of ship used by mercenaries, nobles, 
  or smugglers; a fast ship with excellent defense screens, that could slip past 
  blockades undetected. The drive on this particular Comet had been modified, 
  making it slightly faster than other ships of its kind.
  Not that it mattered. The ship still needed a pilot.
  Caleb heard voices coming from elsewhere in the ship. He hopped up 
  to the higher level, in time to greet Hiram Acherean and a stranger. Hiram 
  Acherean was an Atlantean, and was gifted with the body of a Greek god. 
  Tall and powerfully built, Hiram’s dark skin was decorated with blue and 
  white glyphs which marked him as an Undead Slayer, a specialized Atlantean 
  warrior. He wore a white tunic, and flowing robes edged with violet. Hiram 
  Acherean had the bearing of a king, but neither that nor Hiram’s piercing 
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  blue-eyed stare intimidated Caleb. Hiram intimidated Caleb because he was 
  Kassy’s father, and Caleb felt the need to gain the man’s approval and ac-
  ceptance. Perhaps it had something to do with Caleb’s own father, a harsh 
  taskmaster who had spared few kind words for his son.
  To distract himself from such morbid thoughts, Caleb focused his atten-
  tion on the stranger. The new figure was just as tall as Hiram, putting him 
  a good foot higher than Caleb himself. He possessed an expansive cranium 
  that tapered down to a narrow chin, giving him a triangular appearance. A 
  ridge of violet-black spikes erupted from the top of his head, forming a sort 
  of mohawk. His pale skin had a violet undersheen as well, giving him an odd 
  look, emphasized by large eyes as black as pitch. He wore a black leather 
  jacket, strung with chains, and beneath that an apparently nondescript gray 
  flightsuit. As soon as he saw Caleb, the figure stuck out a long fingered hand. 
  Caleb automatically took it, noticing in passing that there were six fingers.
  “Caleb Vulcan,” Hiram said, “allow me to introduce Siv Yurilak.”
  “A pleasure,” Siv Yurilak said. He had a low, humming quality to his 
  voice. Almost an echo.
  “All mine,” Caleb said. “You’re the pilot?” he asked.
  Yurilak chuckled. “Ah, yes,” he agreed. “But I am much more than that. I 
  am a mentalist, a seeker of truth, a wanderer of the cosmos.”
  “Uh... right,” Caleb said, shooting Hiram a concerned glance. Yurilak 
  sounded like some sort of hippie. How good a pilot could he be?
  “My wife is helping our daughter load the supplies on the ship,” Hiram 
  said, unaware of or ignoring Caleb’s discomfort. “I shall help them. You two 
  should get better acquainted.” Hiram gave Yurilak a pat on the shoulder as 
  he left.
  Yurilak grinned in Caleb’s direction. “Hiram and I go back a few years,” 
  he explained. Stepping around the young man, Yurilak hopped down into 
  the pilot’s station. Casually he reached out and toggled a switch, lighting up 
  the screens before him. Yurilak looked over his shoulder at Caleb. “You are 
  threatened by my presence, yes?”
  Caleb blushed bright scarlet, and tried to mutter a denial. Yurilak flashed 
  neat, even teeth. “No need,” he said. “I’m the best pilot in the Three Galaxies. 
  Few could approach my skill; it’s nothing to be ashamed about.”
  Caleb could only stare, shocked at the Noro’s egotism.
  Yurilak smiled enigmatically. He turned back to the control panel. “I’ve 
  seen you on the newsfeeds of late,” he said, changing the topic. “You’re quite 
  a busy Cosmo-Knight. Busting up terrorist cells doesn’t leave you much time 
  to learn how to drive, does it?”
  Caleb grimaced, feeling his cheeks darken further. Most of his time on 
  Alexandria had been spent buzzing around in full armor, rushing headlong 
  into dangerous situations. Cosmo-Knights were a rarity in the United Worlds 
  of Warlock, and the presence of such an active Knight on one of the UWW’s 
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  most prosperous worlds caused quite a stir. However, Caleb had come dan-
  gerously close to losing his humanity during his crusade. He had nearly sub-
  sumed his true self beneath the persona of a cold-hearted Cosmo-Knight, 
  a conscious imitation of his fallen mentor, Lothar. Kassy had brought him 
  back to his self, but the memory of how close he had come made him terribly 
  self-conscious.
  “Yes, I was busy,” Caleb said at last. “My job is saving lives. Tends to be 
  a full time one. Not all of us can have glamorous careers, like chauffeuring 
  people around the Three Galaxies.” Yurilak stared at Caleb, his smile fading 
  rapidly. Caleb instantly regretted snapping at the Noro, but he didn’t care for 
  the man’s attitude. “I think I’ll check on our supplies,” he said.
  “You do that,” Yurilak said, all trace of humor gone from his voice. “I’ll 
  do the preflight check. We should be ready to go in about half and hour.”
  “We’ll be ready,” Caleb told him. He left the bridge, feeling even more 
  gloomy than he had when he entered it.
  Caleb bumped into Doctor Abbot in the hallway. The alien spellcaster 
  looked like a human shadow, dark and featureless save for twin orange lights 
  where his eyes should be. To make himself more approachable, Abbot fa-
  vored a battered trenchcoat and fedora, complete with cane. Those, combined 
  with the British sounding accent he used in Trade Four, gave Caleb the im-
  pression of an old professor, rather than one of the most powerful wizards in 
  the Three Galaxies. “Caleb,” Abbot said warmly. “I hear Hiram found us a 
  pilot.”
  “Yes,” Caleb told him. “And he’s a jerk.”
  Abbot’s shadowy face lightened in his version of a smile. “Excellent. 
  Should be an interesting trip, then!”
  ____________________
  But it wasn’t.
  I turned out to be a quick, two day jaunt to another of the pastoral worlds 
  of the United Worlds of Warlock, a planet called Celene. Celene was sparsely 
  inhabited, populated mostly by an alliance of Elven tribes who dwelled with-
  in the vast, primordial jungles of the planet’s northern hemisphere. But what 
  made Celene special in the Three Galaxies was the presence of an ancient 
  monastery that sprawled across much of the planet’s smallest continent. Ten 
  thousand years ago, a sentient named Sollust, wandering the galaxy in search 
  of enlightenment, had come to Celene and according to his followers, discov-
  ered the perfect place to continue his meditations. Sollust found that Celene’s 
  orbital pathway brought the planet through one of the few ley line nexuses in 
  space, a hub that connected over a dozen individual space ley lines, and from 
  them, connected to the vast network of celestial pathways throughout the 
  Three Galaxies. In short, a mentalist of Sollust’s skill and experience could 
  explore vast reaches of space without leaving Celene’s soil. The followers of 
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  Sollust built a monastery, and codified Sollust’s teachings, creating the Order 
  of Celestial Monks. Since those early days the monks have studied and medi-
  tated, expanding the grounds of their monastery as their numbers waxed and 
  waned over the centuries, and their knowledge of the Megaverse’s mysteries 
  deepened. In time, seekers of truth from throughout the Three Galaxies and 
  beyond began to journey to Celene in search of Sollust’s wisdom, and the 
  Order expanded out into the Three Galaxies as well.
  Centuries ago, an orphaned child of an unknown alien race was brought 
  to Celene by Celestial monks who found him living unprotected on a float-
  ing asteroid. Raised among the esoteric Celestians, the child proved adept at 
  wizardly arts and eventually earned a degree at the monastery’s academy of 
  magical study. He left Celene soon after, seeking a clue to his origins out in 
  the strange and frightening Three Galaxies.
  Now he was returning to the home he left behind so long ago, and it 
  seemed that Celene held the key to discovering his origins after all. Abbot 
  smiled at the irony, as he sat cross-legged on his bed. He had searched, off 
  and on, on a thousand worlds and across a hundred dimensions, for some sign 
  of his origins, his background. Even in the Megaversal melting pot of Phase 
  World itself, however, Abbot had remained an alien. The same held true on 
  Wormwood, on the Palladium World, through the gray reaches of the Astral 
  Plane, and even in the darkened wastes of the Nightlands. Nowhere could 
  Abbot find a hint or clue as to what he was, where he came from, or whether 
  others like him existed in the Megaverse.
  But recently, as Abbot had performed the funeral rites for his departed 
  friend and ally Lothar of Motherhome, utilizing the nearly forgotten tech-
  niques of the Celestial monks who had raised him, Abbot had connected with 
  the ley lines that crisscrossed space, the Celestial Pathways. He had felt a 
  ripple across them, a strange feeling that had seemed at once foreign and 
  familiar, and he knew without a shadow of doubt that another Shadowbeing 
  existed somewhere in the Three Galaxies. But as soon as the realization hit 
  him, the feeling was lost, and no matter how hard he tried, Abbot could not 
  recapture it.
  On Celene, however, Abbot knew he would find it again. More, he would 
  be able to track the elusive Shadowbeing, to find them wherever they were 
  in the Three Galaxies. Then, perhaps, he would finally find the answers he 
  had sought all his life. He might even discover a relative. Or, dare he hope, 
  a mate?
  Abbot shook his head to clear such thoughts. His lifespan had measured 
  several long centuries; he would not act like a child at Yuletide. He needed 
  his wits about him if he was going to succeed, and that meant no more day-
  dreaming. Though, on the trip from Alexandria to Celene, there had been 
  little else to do. Though Caleb and Yurilak barely exchanged a civil word 
  with one another, they barely spoke at all. Caleb spent most of the trip in his 
  171
   
  
  cabin, poring over flight manuals and playing with flight sims. Even Kassy 
  couldn’t coax him out of his quarters, and the boy was smitten with her. 
  Though neither of them seemed aware of that fact; Kassy was edgy, though 
  she didn’t appear to know why, and she seemed distracted, failing to rise to 
  Yurilak’s occasional snide comments.
  The Noro, Abbot was forced to admit, did leave something to be desired in 
  the personality department. He was sarcastic, egotistical, and liked to needle 
  his shipmates with pointed observations. Yet, Siv Yurilak truly was an excep-
  tional pilot. Unlike most Noro, who channeled their natural psionic abilities 
  into either mysticism or warfare, Yurilak had decided to focus his psychic 
  abilities on his piloting skills. His sixth sense and clairsentience allowed him 
  to navigate a busy spaceport with ease, and he could plot a course through 
  interstellar space without needing to consult the nav-computer. Yurilak could 
  “see” space for kilometers in a three-hundred and sixty degree arc around 
  himself. Further, he could feel the ship itself, communicate with its computer 
  and drive system, and sense its strengths and weaknesses. Hiram had outdone 
  himself in contracting Yurilak to fly the Comet.
  “Attention,” Yurilak’s voice suddenly appeared on the speaker, jolting 
  Abbot out of his reverie. “Attention, folks. We’re coming up on Celene.”
  Abbot jumped to his feet, pulled his coat and fedora on, and scooped up 
  his cane in one hand. He hurried to the bridge, almost colliding with Kassy 
  in the hallway.
  Tall and dark like her parents, with her father’s blue eyes and similar blue-
  white tattoos running up and down her shoulders, Kassiopaeia Acherean was 
  definitely a beautiful woman by human standards. She smiled at Abbot. “A 
  little eager, Doc?” she asked with a laugh.
  Were he capable of it, Abbot would have turned red. Instead, he let his 
  eyes twinkle and nodded. “I cannot think of the last time I was this excited 
  about something,” Abbot admitted.
  “You’ve a right to be,” Kassy told him, leading the way down the corri-
  dor. “Gods, but I’m excited for you. I just wish Caleb could muster up some 
  energy.”
  “His mind is elsewhere,” Abbot said. “The boy is still adjusting to his new 
  home. It wasn’t that long ago that he was living on some backwater world in 
  another dimension. The Three Galaxies are still new to him.” Abbot paused. 
  “And he still hasn’t come to terms with Lothar’s death.”
  Kassy’s eyes widened in surprise. “But I thought – “
  ”He is himself once more,” Abbot told her, “but the guilt is still there. So 
  he seeks distractions, hence his current quest to master astronavigation. I fear 
  he may remain so until we catch up with Lothar’s killer.”
  Kassy sighed, and was not able to keep the bitterness from her voice. “Per-
  haps. But I for one have seen enough of death and revenge. I prefer the road 
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  we’re on now.” She managed to smile once more. “A chance at finding you a 
  family. That’s something to believe in.”
  Abbot threaded his arm through Kassy’s. “I assure you, my dear, that I 
  already have a wonderful family. One more couldn’t hurt, though.” Kassy’s 
  laugh brought them into the bridge.
  Caleb was already there, trying not to glower at Yurilak, who was ob-
  noxiously ignoring the other man. Caleb’s features softened when Kassy ap-
  peared, and even managed a smile in her direction. The blue and green jewel 
  of Celene filled the ship’s observation screen. Abbot felt a warmth settle into 
  his bones at the sight.
  Home, he thought.
  “The monastery is on the nightside at the moment,” Yurilak told them 
  as they appeared. “but somebody’s up. And they’re eager to see us. When I 
  mentioned Abbot was aboard, they about flipped their lids.”
  “I have not been home in sometime,” Abbot agreed. “And Brother Tand-
  ostiir did make me promise to visit soon when I saw him at Lothar’s funeral.” 
  Out of the corner of his eye, Abbot saw Caleb flinch involuntarily at Lothar’s 
  name. Kassy reached out and laid a hand on Caleb’s shoulder.
  “Bring us down, Siv,” Abbot said.
  “Your wish,” Yurilak said as his hands flew across the controls, “is my 
  command.”
  ____________________
  The Comet landed lightly on the tarmac, though Yurilak gave it a little 
  bounce. Caleb grimaced, Kassy grinned, and Abbot tried to ignore the Noro’s 
  sense of humor. Tucking his cane under his arm, Abbot left the bridge and 
  headed for the airlock. Caleb hurried after him, grumbling under his breath 
  about “showboating.”
  The airlock cycled open and the gantry ramp slid down to reach the ground 
  with a thump. Abbot ambled down the ramp, and could not help smiling as he 
  breathed the sharp Celene air. Even through the tang of ozone, heated metal, 
  and oil coming from the ship, Abbot could smell the orchids in the monas-
  tery’s garden in full bloom, the scents of bread baking in the kitchens, and the 
  faint smell of incense carried on the breeze.
  Brother Tandostiir was waiting for him at the base of the landing platform, 
  with a circle of his brothers and sisters, all of them in the nondescript robes 
  of the order and representing the order’s diversity. Tandostiir himself was a 
  Noro, with shaven head and a ready smile. “Welcome, Doctor Abbot,” he 
  said, stepping forward and holding out his hands in a welcoming gesture. 
  Abbot took them, and bowed his head to receive Tandostiir’s benediction. 
  “Sollust’s blessing be upon you.”
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  “And you as well, Brother Tandostiir,” Abbot said, rising. “You remem-
  ber my friends Caleb Vulcan and Kassiopaeia Acherean,” Abbot said, intro-
  ducing his friends.
  “Ah yes,” Tandostiir said. “The young Cosmo-Knight and the Undead 
  Slayer. The Order of Celestial Monks welcomes you to Celene.”
  “Thank you,” Caleb said.
  “Yes, thank you for allowing us to visit,” Kassy added. “Hiram and Kor-
  nelia Acherean send their greetings.”
  Tandostiir’s pale gray face split into a wide grin. “Good friends. I trust 
  they are well?”
  “They are indeed,” Kassy said.
  “Does everyone in the Three Galaxies know one another besides me?” 
  Caleb murmured, just loud enough to be heard. Kassy elbowed him in the 
  ribs, but Tandostiir laughed.
  “Please, let us retire inside,” Tandostiir said at last. “Our home is yours. 
  Please, enjoy our hospitality.” The other brothers and sisters broke away, 
  leading Caleb and Kassy across the landing field towards the campus build-
  ings. Siv Yurilak appeared, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder, and 
  with a grin at Abbot, followed the rest of the party. Abbot stayed behind, 
  noting without surprise that Tandostiir did as well.
  “What brings the wandering son home, so long after he left?” Tandostiir 
  asked softly.
  “I may have discovered what I left to find, so many years ago,” Abbot 
  explained. “But I need the use of the Star Chamber. I must commune with the 
  Celestial Pathways.”
  Tandostiir’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. After a moment, he said, 
  “This is not a simple thing you ask, my son. You were raised here, but never 
  fully indoctrinated into the order’s mysteries. The use of the Star Chamber is 
  for brothers and sisters of the order alone.”
  “I understand,” Abbot told him evenly. “I do not ask for this favor lightly. 
  While meditating on Alexandria, I felt the presence of another Shadowbeing 
  through the celestial currents. But the presence was lost almost as soon as it 
  was sensed.”
  Tandostiir frowned. “Are you certain of this, Abbot?”
  “Without doubt,” Abbot told him. “Nothing I have ever felt could com-
  pare. It felt like looking in a mirror... it was quite startling. I fear that startle-
  ment led to me losing the connection.”
  Tandostiir was quiet for a moment. “The Concordation will not be pleased 
  to hear of this, I fear,” he said at last. He smiled slightly. “But I believe I can 
  convince them to help. We do not lightly turn away family, after all.” Tand-
  ostiir began to follow the others, and after a moment Abbot went after him.
  “There may be something you can do for us,” Tandostiir told him.
  “Whatever I can do to help,” Abbot said automatically.
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  “We have a young student, very promising, herself of an heretofore un-
  known alien species. She has achieved an unprecedented level of power in 
  a short span of time. Yet the accompanying enlightenment has eluded her.” 
  Tandostiir sighed, an uncommon occurrence. “I fear that she has reached the 
  limit of what we can teach her.”
  “You want me to bring this student off-world with me,” Abbot said.
  “Essentially,” Tandostiir agreed. “Perhaps you can help her in ways that 
  we cannot.”
  Abbot blinked, and suddenly smiled. “You’re a wily old man, Tandostiir,” 
  he said. “This is why you wanted me to come visit, isn’t it? You haven’t 
  missed me. You want me to look after this troubled child of yours.”
  Tandostiir grinned ruefully. “I am happy to see you,” he said with a laugh. 
  “But come, let us eat dinner before anything is settled.” Tandostiir led the 
  way, and Doctor Abbot followed.
  ____________________
  While Abbot waited for Tandostiir to bring the Concordation, the order’s 
  ruling body, to accede to Abbot’s request, the others explored the monas-
  tery’s grounds. Kassy and Caleb took the tour, led around by an enterprising 
  and energetic young initiate named Arwen. According to Kassy, Caleb was 
  astounded at the variety of people and architectural styles he found here, as 
  well as the fact that the monks studied martial disciplines. For a boy – no, 
  Abbot corrected himself – a man who had seen the wonders Phase World had 
  to offer, Celene and the monastery should have seemed tame in comparison. 
  Yet Caleb seemed charmed by the place. Kassy, for her part, had heard sto-
  ries of the monastery from Abbot and her parents, but never been to the site 
  before, and found it just as she had imagined it. Siv Yurilak, for his part, took 
  advantage of the meditation spaces to commune with the celestial pathways 
  himself. Abbot was impressed.
  After three days, Caleb was beginning to get antsy, and took off to explore 
  Celene a bit on his own. Kassy, feeling annoyed and abandoned, began spar-
  ring with the younger initiates, including the girl, Arwen, who proved to be 
  an exceptional hand to hand combatant.
  All this Abbot learned third hand. He could not talk to his friends, as he 
  had sequestered himself in a cell in order to purify his mind and body for the 
  coming trial. He burned incense, meditated with legs folded upon a reed mat, 
  and drank only tea. Nightly, Tandostiir would visit and inform him of his 
  progress with the Concordation and the activities of his friends.
  On the fifth day, when Tandostiir visited, he brought more welcome news. 
  “The Concordation has decided to allow you the use of the Star Chamber. 
  With reservations. Brother Huskarl thinks it a betrayal of our precepts, while 
  Sister Banaban fears, rightly so, that the rigors of the Star Chamber will de-
  stroy you.”
  175
   
  
  Abbot nodded. Despite Tandostiir’s warnings, he felt relieved. He was 
  one step closer to the goal that had eluded him for centuries. “I understand,” 
  he told Tandostiir. “But I have no intention of betraying the order or of losing 
  myself within the Chamber.”
  Tandostiir smiled warmly. “I told them as much. But they don’t know you 
  as well as I do. When will you be ready?”
  “Tomorrow,” Abbot said. “At first light.”
  “Very well,” Tandostiir said, and withdrew, leaving Abbot alone with his 
  thoughts.
  Abbot did not sleep that night, instead simply using the long hours to 
  further his connection with the living world around him, tapping into the ley 
  lines that encircled Celene. As the sun appeared in the western sky, Abbot 
  rose, dressed, and made his way towards the central building of the monas-
  tery, a domed structure of steel and glass that rose a dozen stories into the 
  sky. It was not the largest building on campus, nor the most beautiful, but it 
  was the most captivating.
  The morning sun gave the dome a blinding sheen, and the reflected light 
  made Abbot feel insubstantial. Within the building, a dozen ley lines met, 
  forming a nexus of incredible power. This close to the nexus, Abbot could 
  feel the energy bleeding off of it, thrumming through the invisible lines of 
  force that radiated out from it like the spokes of a wheel. Sollust had chosen 
  the site well; the very air here crackled with power for those sensitive to 
  notice such things.
  Brother Tandostiir and the other members of the Concordation waited in 
  a semicircle before the dome. Abbot slowed as he approached them, finally 
  coming to a stop within the circle. He bowed his head.
  Sister Banaban, a graying Wulfen female, stepped forward, the hem of 
  her robes whispering on the cobblestones beneath her feet. “Who is this that 
  comes before us?” she intoned.
  Brother Tandostiir stepped forward. “A seeker of truth,” he answered her.
  “Is his cause just?” she asked.
  “His cause is just,” Tandostiir answered.
  “Is there any here who would block his path?” Banaban asked. Abbot 
  risked a glance at Brother Huskarl, a thin boned Draconid, but Huskarl said 
  nothing. After a brief silence, Banaban spoke once more. “Then proceed, 
  seeker of truth, and may Sollust’s blessing be upon you.”
  “My thanks,” Abbot said. He handed his cane to Tandostiir, and then di-
  vested himself of his trenchcoat and fedora as well. Naked, a creature of 
  living shadow, he stepped through the door into the dome. The world shifted 
  around him.
  Surrounded by light, imprisoned in a maze of steel and glass, he picked 
  his way across the mirrored surface of the floor towards a distant point on 
  the horizon. Images of his past flickered on the panes of glass around him, 
  176
   
  
  like two-dimensional holovids. He saw himself as a child, on that barren as-
  teroid, living alone. There he arrived on Celene, and was welcomed into the 
  order with open arms. There, he struggled with his first spell, trying to light 
  a candle with a thought. Beyond, he shattered the bonds of reality, opening a 
  gate between worlds and ushering in a beast that had nearly destroyed him, 
  but for the timely intervention of a young and limber Tandostiir. He saw him-
  self, in his first hat and coat, leaving Celene behind on an outbound freighter, 
  nervous and excited, seeing the Three Galaxies for the first time. He felt a 
  slight pain in his chest when he beheld his first meeting with Lothar, on one 
  of the Draconid Hub worlds while Quajinn Huo was massing his first army. 
  Images of Abbot throughout his travels appeared before him, as he wandered 
  from world to world, dimension to dimension, discovered friends and allies 
  and fought terrible foes. His knowledge, his worldliness, grew, and yet the 
  answers he desperately sought continued to elude him. Until now. Abbot 
  reached the doorway, and stepped across the threshold, into the Star Cham-
  ber. The world shifted around him.
  He stood in a small, dark room. A circle of wan, orange light lay upon the 
  floor. Other than that, the space was bare. Abbot stepped over the light, and 
  folding his legs beneath him, settled into the circle. He laid his hands upon 
  his knees, closed his eyes, and opened his other perceptions. Around him, 
  the air crackled and sizzled, and the orange light grew brighter and brighter, 
  while Abbot’s own body grew dimmer and dimmer. He felt his conscious-
  ness touch the nexus that surrounded him, broadening to touch upon the ley 
  lines that radiated out around him. He felt his mind soar, higher and higher, 
  until he touched the heavens. Light exploded all around him, and sucked him 
  in. Deeper.
  Deeper.
  Deeper.
  ____________________
  Golden sunlight reflected brightly off the crimson carapace of Caleb’s 
  centurion-themed armor as he descended from the clouds and flew towards 
  the monastery. It was late afternoon on the sixth day of their stay on Ce-
  lene, and after buzzing around the northern jungles for two days, Caleb was 
  returning to the monastery to check on his companions. The jungles in the 
  north were lush and beautiful, in the throes of their rainy season, and life 
  abounded. Huge, draconic creatures with incredible wingspans and too many 
  teeth glided through the rain clouds and stalked the jungle floor, while birds 
  of incredible colors filled the skies and tiny primates chattered and hooted. 
  The Elves Caleb had expected to see proved elusive, but then they probably 
  had to be good at hiding to avoid the dragons. One of the creatures, assuming 
  Caleb was food, had tried to bite him, but was rewarded with a few broken 
  teeth for its trouble.
  177
   
  
  He had hoped to find some excitement, some adventure, perhaps some El-
  ven damsel to rescue, but the aside from the one hungry dragon, the trip had 
  proved a bust. Perhaps he should have stayed with Kassy at the monastery. 
  He had enjoyed touring the grounds with her, exploring the gardens and the 
  temples, helping in the apiary and watching the brethren test their martial 
  skills against one another. But there was a greater danger in that than he faced 
  against dragons or tropical storms; he was falling for Kassy.
  As of now, Caleb knew it was nothing more than a crush. It could too eas-
  ily become something more, however, and Caleb didn’t know how to deal 
  with it. Back at home, on Earth, he would have just asked her to a dance, 
  or out to a kegger or something. But life in the Three Galaxies made things 
  substantially more complicated. First and foremost was the fact that he was 
  a Cosmo-Knight; could such beings even have normal relationships? He had 
  pledged himself to the service of the Cosmic Forge and, by extension, all liv-
  ing things. Caleb had known priests with less responsibility, and they hadn’t 
  been allowed to clutter their lives with girlfriends or lives. Then there was the 
  cultural barrier, not to mention the age difference. Kassy looked like she was 
  only a year or two older than he was, but Atlanteans could live for centuries, 
  and Kassy herself was almost as old as his father.
  On the other hand, Kassy was easily the most beautiful, intelligent, confi-
  dent, funny, and compassionate woman he had ever met.
  “Aw, nuts,” Caleb muttered darkly. He landed lightly on the tarmac beside 
  the Comet, dispelling his armor with a crimson flash at the same time.
  “There you are!”
  Caleb turned sharply, and saw Kassy framed in the ship’s airlock, her dark 
  hair wild in the late afternoon breeze. Caleb felt his breath catch in his throat.
  “Why didn’t you bring your radio?” she demanded, storming down the 
  gantry.
  “There’s no world-net to monitor here,” Caleb explained automatically, 
  “and I thought you would all be fine here. What’s wrong?”
  “Abbot went into the Star Chamber this morning,” Kassy said sharply. 
  “That was fifteen hours ago, and he still hasn’t come out. The Concordation 
  seems to think that could be trouble.”
  “Well, what can we do?”
  “I don’t know,” Kassy frowned. “But I hate standing around and wringing 
  my hands by myself. And I hate being left behind.”
  Caleb winced. That jab had been aimed at him, not at Abbot. “I’m sorry, I 
  just wanted to explore...” He trailed off, unable to tell her exactly why he had 
  felt the need to leave.
  “By yourself? You didn’t even ask me. It felt like Alexandria all over 
  again. Though, at least there I could call you up on the comm and yell at you.”
  “I’ll remember it next time,” Caleb told her.
  “What?”
  178
   
  
  “I mean, it’ll never happen again.”
  She nodded. “Better.” She shook her head. “I swear, sometimes Caleb 
  I don’t know whether to belt you or...” It was Kassy’s turn to trail off. Her 
  eyes focused on something over Caleb’s shoulder, and he turned to see what 
  it was. Arwen Griffin, the young initiate who had served as their guide, was 
  running towards them.
  Petite but well proportioned, Arwen looked human, save for green skin 
  and blue hair. Caleb had watched her spar with some of her brethren, and 
  found himself impressed with her skill. Kassy had been as well, which only 
  served to impress Caleb all the more. Arwen was quick, too, covering the 
  ground with a rapid pace that brought her to them in heartbeats. She slid to 
  a halt in the tarmac, her hood sliding off her head and her robes in a tangle 
  around her legs. Yet she her breath showed no sign of exertion.
  “You must come,” she said urgently but clearly. “Doctor Abbot has 
  emerged from the Star Chamber.”
  Caleb arched an eyebrow in Kassy’s direction. “See, I’m right on time.” 
  Arwen shot a questioning glance at both of them, while Kassy tagged Caleb 
  in the shoulder. “All my worry for nothing,” she grumbled.
  “Shall we take the Cosmo-Knight express?” Caleb offered.
  “I have a better idea,” Kassy said. With two fingers she touched a glyph on 
  her right bicep, and in a shower of blue light a massive, blue-white Gryphon 
  appeared before them. “All aboard,” Kassy said with a grin, and the Gryphon 
  let out a screech.
  “Ladies first,” said Caleb. Kassy hopped across the Gryphon’s shoulders, 
  and Arwen followed with some urging. “I’ll race you,” Caleb said when the 
  younger girl was settled. He didn’t wait for a response, instead taking to the 
  air. Behind him he heard the Gryphon screech again, and the heavy beat of its 
  wings as it followed him into the sky.
  Caleb reached the center of the campus in moments, but Kassy was right 
  behind him, and the Gryphon touched down on the cobbles just as he did. The 
  air flickered with blue light once more as Kassy dispelled her beast, and she 
  and Caleb rushed to Abbot’s side.
  The wizard stood surrounded by the Concordation, the leaders of the mo-
  nastic community. While they murmured amongst themselves and checked 
  Abbot for signs of stress or injury, Abbot himself shrugged his shoulders into 
  his coat and leaned heavily upon his cane.
  “Doc,” Caleb called. “Are you okay?” Kassy pushed her way past the 
  monks and took Abbot’s arm to help steady him.
  “Thank you, Kassy,” Abbot said, his voice strained and haggard. “I am 
  fine, Caleb. The search took longer than I expected, and I expended much 
  of my energy, but it was successful. I have a fix on the other Shadowbeing.”
  “That’s great,” Kassy beamed. “After you’ve rested for a week, we’ll go 
  after her.”
  179
   
  
  Abbot shook his head. “I shall convalesce aboard the ship. Our quarry is 
  on Phase World, and could too easily disappear if we tarry too long. We must 
  leave immediately.”
  “Whatever you say, Doc,” Caleb told him. He had made his way through 
  the crowd as well, and now offered Abbot his own arm, helping to support 
  the wizard’s weight.
  The Noro monk, Tandostiir, materialized with Arwen at his side. “If that 
  is the case, Abbot,” he said, “then Arwen must begin packing.”
  “Excuse me?” Caleb asked.
  Abbot smiled weakly. “So she is your prodigy,” he said.
  Kassy looked across Abbot at Caleb. “Did I miss something?”
  “Don’t look at me,” Caleb said. “I’ve been gone the last few days.”
  Arwen clasped her hands before her, but bounced on the balls of her feet. 
  “Truly, Master Tandostiir? I am to go offworld so soon?”
  “Abbot?” Tandostiir prompted.
  The wizard nodded. “Best find Yurilak as well,” he said. “He’ll need to – “ 
  In mid-sentence, Abbot passed out, and would have pitched forward but for 
  Caleb and Kassy.
  “Is he – ?” Tandostiir asked, but Caleb cut him off.
  “Simple exhaustion, I’m sure,” Caleb said. He reached down and hooked 
  Abbot by the back of his knees, picking him up. “What do you think, Kass? 
  Leave now, or give him a day to recover?”
  Kassy bit her lower lip, looking over the unconscious Abbot, the eager 
  Arwen, and the concerned Tandostiir. “We’d better leave as soon as we can,” 
  she said at last.
  “Well then,” Caleb said. “Let’s roll.”
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  Chapter Sixteen
  Crucible of Fire II
  The Kreet system, hidden in one of the spindle arms of the Corkscrew 
  galaxy, was once inhabited by a race of intelligent tree-like beings who lived 
  in harmony with the world around them. Gifted mystics, the tree beings built 
  their civilization utilizing biotechnology, maintaining a symbiotic relation-
  ship with their very planet. Just as that civilization began to peak and reach 
  out to the stars, it was laid to waste. Six billion sentient lives were snuffed out 
  in one twenty-four hour period.
  The Ronan system, near the central cluster of the Anvil, was even further 
  along than the Kreet, establishing orbital colonies on its closest satellites and 
  preparing to explore the universe beyond its star’s light. But the first Consor-
  tium starships to enter the Ronan system found only lifeless worlds and the 
  shattered artifacts of the Ronan species.
  In the Thundercloud, a ragtag fleet of battered ships migrates from system 
  to system, a race of beings known as Zanolics at their helms. The Zanolics 
  originated on a world that no longer appears on star charts, a world swal-
  lowed by its sun two billion years before the sun’s life cycle would have 
  driven it to nova. The Zanolics are a downtrodden people, with failing tech-
  nology and little hope for the future.
  These are three disparate systems in three widely separated segments of 
  the Three Galaxies, united not because their worlds and civilizations proved 
  vulnerable to the inexorable pull of one of the universe’s greatest forces – en-
  tropy – but because their worlds and civilizations were deliberately snuffed 
  out by the greatest scourge the Three Galaxies have ever known.
  Dominators.
  – Preface to a lecture by Captain Hiram Starling,
  Consortium Armed Forces Fleet Command
  “Slowly but surely,” Siv Yurilak said sarcastically. The Noro starpilot sat 
  at the helm of the Orion class Comet, tapping his fingers against the smooth 
  surface of the control panel.
  “Relax,” Caleb Vulcan told him sharply from his own seat at the co-pilot’s 
  chair. The Cosmo-Knight gestured at the viewing port before them. A queue 
  of starships lined up ahead of the Comet, each one awaiting a trip through the 
  Svartleheim Rift. The Rift was a naturally occurring tear in time and space 
  that operated as a major source of revenue for the Dock Alfar system, serving 
  the entirety of the United Worlds of Warlock as a quick route to the center of 
  the Three Galaxies. Hundreds of ships passed through the Rift daily, ferrying 
  passengers and goods through to the other end, which opened up just light 
  years from Phase World itself.
  181
   
  
  As a result, the space around the Comet was packed tightly with ships. A 
  pair of Arcane Mark II patrol ships orbited the Rift, their presence a sign that 
  the Rift itself was important enough for the loose alliance of the UWW to 
  maintain a presence here. In counterpoint orbited the ships of the Dock Alfar 
  themselves, which looked to Caleb’s inexperienced eye like Viking long-
  ships, whose masts were replaced with domes. Brackets of oars still jutted 
  from the ships’ flanks, proud dragonheads curved up over each prow, and the 
  whole of the ships’ surface appeared to be fashioned of wood.
  The Dock Alfar ships were not the most remarkable, either.
  The starships of Alfheim looked more like sculptures than ships, fash-
  ioned from a substance Abbot referred to as a “wizard-glass,” a kind of en-
  chanted crystal that the Elves could shape into a variety of designs. Weird, 
  fluted projections were common, as were delicate looking wings, giving 
  the Elven ships the appearance of glass insects or anemones, but some took 
  on the appearance of whales, trees, or other natural shapes. In contrast, the 
  Dwarven Iron Ships were narrow craft of cold black iron. Bullet shaped, the 
  Dwarven ships were covered with metal plates, each plate covered with riv-
  ets that sealed in the enchantments of the Dwarven Rune Wizards. Weapons 
  bristled along the ships’ expanse. The Dwarven ships were clunky, blocky, 
  and crude looking. Somehow, though, they glided through the vacuum of 
  space with ease. The Draconid ships swooped like metallic dragons, while 
  Naruni craft, coal black and with rounded edges, hovered quietly but menac-
  ingly, and two Flotilla class Oni starcruisers jockeyed for a spot ahead of the 
  Naruni. Dozens of other runner and merchant craft, virtually interchangeable 
  with the Comet itself, floated around the larger ships. Most of them would 
  reach the Rift before the Comet, which meant that Siv, Caleb, and the rest of 
  the crew were forced to wait. Already, hours had passed since Caleb and his 
  friends had arrived at the Svartleheim Rift, and though a hundred starships 
  had passed through the Rift, another hundred would make it through before 
  the Comet got anywhere.
  Yurilak sighed again, his leather jacket creaking as he leaned back in his 
  chair. “I’m not good at patience,” the Noro admitted.
  “Practice,” Caleb started to say, but he was cut off. He felt a sudden surge 
  within his chest, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he heard a strong, 
  feminine voice echo within his mind.
  Caleb, you are needed. A vision of a small, blue-green planet appeared 
  within Caleb’s mind, complete with spatial coordinates and the fastest route 
  to reach the world.
  Caleb slumped forward in his seat, slamming his forehead against the con-
  trol panel. He felt Yurilak grab his elbow and pull him into a sitting position. 
  “What in blazes just happened?” Yurilak demanded.
  Caleb shrugged, loosing himself from Yurilak’s grip. “I just received a 
  message from the Forge.” He hopped up onto the upper deck of the U-shaped 
  182
   
  
  bridge. “Keep an eye on the Rift,” Caleb told Yurilak. “I’m going to talk to 
  Abbot.”
  He found the enigmatic wizard in the galley, with the rest of the crew. 
  Doctor Abbot sat at the table, a leather-bound book in one hand and a cup 
  of tea in the other. His fedora and trenchcoat looked rumpled, though his 
  shadowy body, featureless but for the twin orange lights of his eyes, betrayed 
  no sign of the weariness Abbot must have felt. Abbot was an orphan, a being 
  believed to be unique in all the Three Galaxies. Since adolescence, Abbot had 
  searched for his origins, but only now was he nearing the end of his quest. 
  He had detected another Shadowbeing like himself for the first time in cen-
  turies, and had exhausted himself pinning down the Shadowbeing’s current 
  location.
  Kassiopaeia Acherean, the Atlantean Undead Slayer, made dinner at the 
  abbreviated kitchen station. Tall and beautiful, Kassy had hair the color of 
  midnight and eyes of cobalt blue. She always left her arms bare, showcasing 
  the arcane blue and white glyphs that were the key to her powers. Beside 
  her stood the group’s newest charge, a young woman named Arwen Griffin. 
  Arwen appeared human-like, but the green cast to her flesh and the shock 
  of bright blue hair on her head cast her as an alien. She too was an orphan, 
  and her monk’s cloak and tunic hinted at her isolated upbringing. Arwen had 
  never before been on a starship, nor had she ever cooked a meal. Kassy, a 
  talented chef in her own right, was more than willing to show Arwen around 
  the galley, glad for the help. Kassy looked up as Caleb entered the room, of-
  fering him a dazzling smile.
  Caleb felt a twinge of guilt for not pitching in himself, but the core of en-
  ergy granted him by the Cosmic Forge ensured he no longer required physi-
  cal sustenance and he often found himself forgetting others ate. He made a 
  mental note to do the dishes.
  “Caleb, is something wrong?” Abbot’s dry, British tones snapped Caleb 
  back to the matters at hand. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
  “Not exactly,” Caleb admitted. “But I did receive a message from the 
  Forge.” Kassy stepped around the counter, wiping her hands on a towel. Ar-
  wen, serving tasting duty, looked over the rim of her spoon at the Cosmo-
  Knight. “There’s a small world only a few light years away that is in serious 
  trouble.”
  Abbot’s orange eyes narrowed, his version of a frown. “I suppose Phase 
  World can wait,” he said, folding his book closed.
  “Actually,” Caleb said, “I can handle it myself. I’ll just have to catch up to 
  you guys when I’m done.” He forced a chuckle. “Heck, I’ll probably be back 
  before the ship reaches the Rift, anyway.”
  Abbot blinked, but his expression didn’t soften. “Nonsense, my lad. If 
  the Forge itself thinks this world is in danger, then you shall need our help.”
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  “Of course,” Kassy agreed. “We’re not going to let you fly into danger on 
  your own.”
  Caleb shook his head. He couldn’t pull Abbot away from his quest, not at 
  this stage. Not when the wizard was so close. Caleb may have failed Lothar, 
  but he was not about to fail Abbot. “The Forge asked for me. I can get out 
  there and back in no time at all, and we won’t have to lose our place in line.” 
  He paused, noting Kassy’s raised eyebrow and Abbot’s rapid blinking. “End 
  of discussion.”
  “You’ve certainly absorbed some of Lothar’s less endearing traits,” Abbot 
  said sharply.
  Kassy cocked her head, examining Caleb closely. For a long moment, 
  Caleb thought she would give him a lecture, but all she did was put a hand on 
  his shoulder and say, “Hurry back.”
  Caleb grinned fiercely at her. Kassy understood.
  “You’re not serious?” Abbot asked.
  Kassy turned to the wizard. “He’s not an apprentice anymore, Doc. He’s 
  a Knight.” She looked at Caleb again. “And he has to do what he has to do.”
  Maybe she understood too well. “Thanks,” Caleb whispered to her. “I’ll 
  be back in no time,” he told the others. Then he was gone.
  ____________________
  A crimson bolt of light blasted through the cold void of space, and Caleb 
  Vulcan materialized in orbit over the planet. Clad in his centurion themed 
  metallic red armor, he surveyed the scene and noted several points of con-
  cern. A network of Naruni defense satellites orbited the planet, operating in 
  clusters of three. Yet all of the satellites appeared to be offline, their running 
  lights dark and their weapon systems pointing at nothing in particular. Caleb 
  could see small bursts of light in the planet’s upper atmosphere as satellites 
  whose orbits had decayed fell towards the planet. Strangely, those were the 
  only lights visible, despite the fact that Caleb had arrived on the world’s 
  nightside. A planet advanced enough to run a network of defense satellites 
  must have had cities or other technology, visible from space. But there was 
  nothing in sight.
  Caleb’s eyes narrowed behind his visor. Though a relative newcomer to 
  the Three Galaxies, Caleb felt alarm bells ringing. He took a moment to re-
  gret not asking Abbot and Kassy along, and then reached out with his cosmic 
  awareness to see if he could sense anything strange occurring.
  Nothing terribly alarming came to light. The planet had three moons, two 
  of them larger than the third. Much larger, Caleb thought. Perhaps it was 
  worth taking a look at the little moon. He circled the planet at top speed. His 
  eyes automatically adjusted to the brightness of the planet’s sun as he reached 
  the dayside, so he didn’t even blink as the moons came into view. The two 
  larger ones bobbled in a high orbit, each one easily measuring about half the 
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  size of Earth’s moon. Between them floated an artificial construct of some 
  kind.
  Caleb moved in for a closer look. The construct was massive, larger than 
  any man-made object Caleb had ever seen, larger than the Statue of Liberty, 
  space station Xerxes, or the city of Center on Phase World. The construct, at 
  least, was not malfunctioning. Indeed, its surface was lit up like a Christmas 
  tree, and as Caleb drew closer he saw cannons and missile batteries project-
  ing all over, each of them tracking Caleb’s movements. He drew to a halt, 
  eyeing the thing and wondering what it could mean. It was stationed further 
  away from the planet than the satellites and could presumably have been 
  outside the range of whatever effect had put them out of commission. But 
  something told Caleb that the construct didn’t escape the problem. It was the 
  problem.
  Caleb moved closer, but just as a dozen cannons of various calibers homed 
  in on him, he caught a bright blue light appear at the edge of his vision. Caleb 
  backed off from the construct, and glided towards the blue light. The light 
  solidified, materializing into a human sized figure clad in metallic blue armor. 
  The armor was bulky and baroque, with an intricate design winding around 
  its surface and a pair of huge horns erupting from the helm, which, though 
  open-faced, appeared featureless.
  Two Knights? Caleb thought. I definitely should have brought Abbot and 
  Kassy.
  The Knight saw Caleb and maneuvered to meet him. “Greetings,” he said 
  as he approached. Caleb couldn’t hear him, not exactly, but the Knight’s 
  voice reached him nonetheless. The link they shared to the Cosmic Forge 
  allowed them to communicate with one another, even through the vacuum of 
  space. “I am Vyking,” he added. “What’s going on here?”
  “Caleb Vulcan,” Caleb introduced himself. “And I’m not exactly sure. 
  The Forge summoned me here, but I have no idea what the trouble is. Your 
  arrival has me more than a bit concerned, though.”
  “Vulcan?” Vyking asked. “Weren’t you with Lothar of Motherhome?”
  Caleb was about to explain when they were both distracted by a silver 
  light. Another Knight arrived, this one nearly twice as tall as Caleb or Vyk-
  ing, clad in shining silver that resembled Greek hoplite armor. Her armor was 
  so bright that Caleb could see himself reflected in it. “Ariel,” she said by way 
  of introduction. “I’m guessing we have serious trouble.”
  “Our assumption as well, Titan,” Vyking agreed. He opened his hand and 
  a bar of blue light formed there, forming a metallic blue longsword.
  There was something familiar about that sword, Caleb thought. The silver 
  giantess gave him a sense of deja vu as well. “Was the Forge as vague with 
  you as she was with me?” Caleb asked.
  “Indeed,” Ariel agreed. She looked over Caleb’s shoulder, noting the mas-
  sive construct near the moons. “Shivok!” she swore suddenly. Caleb whirled, 
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  his own hammer materializing within his hands. All he saw was the strange 
  artificial moon, and beyond that, empty space.
  “Do you recognize it?” Caleb asked.
  “Yes,” Ariel hissed. “It’s a Dominator craft.”
  Vyking whistled low, a sound that echoed strangely in Caleb’s mind. “We 
  should wait for reinforcements, then, shouldn’t we?”
  “Reinforcements?” Caleb echoed. “Three Knights of the Forge aren’t 
  enough?”
  “You are a rookie, aren’t you?” Vyking said. “Any Dominator who isn’t 
  afflicted with a terminal illness would eat three of us for breakfast.”
  “Regardless,” Ariel interjected. “We cannot assume the Forge has sum-
  moned more of our compatriots. There are people on the surface who will 
  need our help.”
  “Unless the Dominator is still sitting pretty in his ship,” Vyking pointed 
  out.
  The three of them were silent for a moment. “Then you check the ship,” 
  Caleb said. “And we’ll check the surface. But we’ll have to move quickly.”
  Vyking touched the blade of his sword to his helmet in salute. “So be it, 
  then. Happy hunting.” The blue Cosmo-Knight flew towards the Dominator 
  ship without another word, his sword held loose but ready in his hand.
  Caleb followed suit, tucking his hammer against his chest and angling 
  towards the planet. He dropped through the atmosphere like a rock, feeling 
  the air burst into flames at his passage and lick along the edges of his armor. 
  A blur of silver and orange in his peripheral vision told him that Ariel was 
  right beside him.
  The two Knights burst into the lower atmosphere, their armor still smok-
  ing and sparking in places, but completely unmarked. A cloud evaporated as 
  they flew through it, coating both of them with dew. The surface of the planet 
  spread out beneath them, a patchwork of cultivated fields and forests, dotted 
  here and there with tiny outposts of technology. In the distance, they could 
  just make out the metallic hump of an arcology or city. As Caleb and Ariel 
  buzzed low over the fields, they saw farming ‘bots, grav-sleds, and other 
  machinery lying in disarray. Fur-covered humanoids milled about in pockets, 
  some of them injured, all of them confused and alarmed.
  “The satellites were not an isolated case, it seems,” Ariel said, slowing.
  Caleb checked himself, matching the Titan’s speed. “Those people down 
  there need help,” he pointed out.
  Ariel nodded. “I’m concerned about the Dominator as well,” she said. 
  “Perhaps the ship – “ she began to say, but was cut off by a flash of light from 
  the direction of the arcology. A spiral of smoke rose into the air, black and 
  heavy. “On the other hand,” Ariel said, “maybe we should check the city.”
  Ariel took off at top speed, leaving a sonic boom in her wake. The furry 
  humanoids on the ground below pointed and chattered at one another in their 
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  native tongue. Caleb offered what he hoped looked like a reassuring wave, 
  then rocketed off after Ariel. He caught up with her as they reached the out-
  skirts of the city. It was laid out in a spiral pattern, like a nautilus shell, and 
  the buildings grew larger and more elaborate as the spiral tightened, eventu-
  ally reaching a central tower that climbed hundreds of feet into the air. Small 
  fires grew in pockets throughout the city where aerial craft had crashed to the 
  earth. The natives thronged the streets, trying to force their way to safety, try-
  ing desperately to reach the outskirts of the city. Some brave souls were try-
  ing to get hydro units working to put out the fires, but as with everything else 
  on the planet, the technology simply didn’t work. None of it was operating.
  Except, that is, for the huge grav-sled orbiting the city’s central tower. 
  Sitting atop the sled was a gigantic humanoid, easily thirty or forty feet tall, 
  clad in a full suit of arcane seeming armor. Its head was large, round, and 
  extremely pale, with stunted ears, a pug nose, and large black eyes. The giant 
  held a wicked looking axe in its hands, a weapon that looked large even in 
  its massive paws. The black eyes regarded the Knights as they approached, 
  examining them coldly.
  Caleb could also see some aerial craft floating through the air. Each of the 
  tiny ships had the same arcane design as the Dominator’s armor, a strange 
  blend of futuristic and ancient looks. Some of the craft were landing on the 
  city’s streets, disgorging metallic figures that began to round up the natives 
  and throw them inside the craft. “All this chaos to kidnap people? To what 
  end?” Caleb asked aloud. Ariel didn’t answer, instead summoning her cos-
  mic weapon, a silver two-handed sword that was scaled for her frame. “Okay, 
  how about this one,” Caleb said, changing his tack. “How is it nothing on this 
  planet is working except the bad guys?”
  Ariel focused on Caleb at last. “A computer virus, an artifact, some strange 
  ray? Who knows. Are you ready for battle?”
  “Shouldn’t we try negotiation first?” Caleb asked. Ariel laughed.
  “Gnats of the Forge!” the Dominator bellowed, half rising from its sitting 
  position on its grav-sled. “Come, taste my blade and perish in the service of 
  your accursed master!” The axe shifted in the giant’s hands. It pointed the 
  jeweled crest at the two Knights, the heavy blade of the weapon aimed at the 
  ground. The jewels flashed, and a scarlet beam of light flashed through the 
  atmosphere to slam into Caleb and Ariel as they hanged in the air. Caleb felt 
  it as a warm breeze, irritating but harmless.
  “A poor attempt, shivok-eater,” Ariel shouted. “Let’s go,” she added in 
  Caleb’s direction. Without waiting for confirmation, Ariel launched herself 
  towards the Dominator, her eyes flashing with silver light. Her energy beams 
  slammed into the Dominator, but sizzled as they struck some kind of personal 
  force field that shimmered bright blue in response to the attack.
  The Dominator laughed, a horrendous sound that grated on Caleb’s nerves. 
  He burst into his own assault in response, pulling his arm back and throwing 
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  his hammer with all the strength the Forge had given him. Caleb’s hammer 
  struck the Dominator’s grav-sled with a thunderous crash, rending metal and 
  electronics. The grav-sled vented flame and sent shards of metal falling to the 
  ground. It tilted dangerously, alarming the Dominator who fought to keep its 
  balance. As the sled aimed towards the ground, the hammer wrenched itself 
  free of the frame and flew back to Caleb’s welcoming hand.
  As the Dominator fought to maintain control of the listing vehicle, Ariel 
  closed in with a tremendous cry, slashing wildly with her sword. The blade 
  skittered against the edge of the force-field, sparking blue light but unable 
  to cut through. The Dominator lashed out with a wild swing of his axe, but 
  Ariel was quick, and the axe cut nothing but air. But Ariel proved enough of 
  a distraction; the grav-sled slammed into the earth with a muffled “whump.” 
  The Dominator spilled from his seat and crashed to the ground. Caleb threw 
  his hammer in an effort to keep the Dominator off balance, but the force-field 
  remained in place. All Caleb managed to do was create more blue sparks.
  The Dominator began to get up as the grav-sled exploded in a ball of flame 
  behind it. “Amusing,” it growled. “But futile.”
  Caleb landed lightly on the ground, barely a hundred yards from the gi-
  ant. Ariel remained in the air, sending the occasional burst of silver energy to 
  spatter harmlessly against the Dominator’s shield. Caleb surveyed the situ-
  ation; the three of them were in the heart of the city, surrounded by tower-
  ing skyscrapers and empty streets. Chunks of flaming grav-sled rained down 
  upon the streets, smashing through windows and crushing stalled cars.
  The Dominator rose to its feet, an even more impressive sight from Ca-
  leb’s vantage. The monster was immense, towering over thirty feet high. The 
  blade of the great axe in his hands measured ten feet in width, and it looked 
  sharp enough and heavy enough to split Caleb in two quite easily. He re-
  minded himself that, though the Forge kept him immune to energy attacks, 
  he was all too vulnerable to simple, physical force.
  The Dominator bellowed, gripping its axe in two hands, and slashed at 
  Ariel. The Dominator’s size didn’t seem to affect its speed at all, an Ariel 
  barely managed to evade the attack. The mass of the axe and the strength 
  of the blow spun the Dominator around, and rather than bisect the airborne 
  Cosmo-Knight, the Dominator’s axe cut into a skyscraper, shattering stone 
  and steel and slashing the building in half. Caleb watched in horror as the 
  building buckled, and the masonry shattered like glass. The sky darkened as 
  the building came crashing down. Caleb took to the air, a red bolt that circled 
  the Dominator as the building came down upon it. Caleb heard a rumble like 
  distant thunder, and then the skyscraper crashed down upon the giant, and 
  the world quaked. Other buildings shuddered as well, and shards of rock and 
  glass rained down upon the square. Dust filled the air, obscuring Caleb’s vi-
  sion.
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  He saw Ariel poised above the cloud, sword at the ready as she surveyed 
  the damage. Caleb hefted his hammer in his hand and grimaced beneath his 
  helm. Was the battle over before it truly began?
  The dust cleared slowly, and it revealed the Dominator standing, un-
  harmed, its force-field flickering blue light. Just beneath the roaring in his 
  ears, Caleb heard the low, infuriating chuckle of the Dominator. Ariel shouted 
  another alien curse and launched a whirlwind attack, her silver sword flash-
  ing and slashing again and again. Blue sparks erupted wherever she struck, 
  but the Dominator merely stood and laughed. With one swipe of its massive 
  fist, it knocked Ariel from the sky. She crashed to the ground with a metallic 
  clang, but Caleb didn’t see. He was already in motion, flying full speed at the 
  Dominator. He impacted with all the force of a runaway train, and though his 
  world turned blue and his head rang with the force of his crash, he succeeded 
  in staggering the giant. The Dominator lurched backward two steps, crunch-
  ing rubble beneath its titanic boots.
  The Dominator roared with indignation. “You will pay for that, flea,” it 
  growled.
  “Bring it on, fathead,” Caleb shouted to ensure the monster heard him. 
  Caleb braced himself against the Dominator’s force-field with his feet and 
  used his hammer like a sledge to wear away at the energy field. It flickered 
  with each blow, growing less and less bright with each strike.
  The Dominator shifted, trying to knock Caleb away, but the young Knight 
  was ready and easily dodged the Dominator’s clumsy attack by leaping into 
  the air. At the same time, Caleb loosed a flash of crimson energy from his 
  visor. Still the force-field held.
  “By the Forge!” Caleb cried. “You will fall!”
  “Better men than you have tried, flea,” the Dominator rumbled. The axe 
  whistled through the air, cutting dangerously close; Caleb actually felt the 
  edge of the weapon scrape against the protective layer of armor guarding his 
  stomach.
  Caleb retreated out of the Dominator’s immediate range, peppering the 
  giant with energy blasts as he did so. The Dominator advanced, grinning and 
  swinging its axe in lazy arcs before it. Caleb saw dark shapes appear in the 
  sky behind the Dominator. He recognized them with a sinking feeling in his 
  stomach. Apparently the Dominator’s automated servants were through kid-
  naping innocents. Caleb saw a dozen cannons from as many ships train their 
  barrels upon his small metallic red form.
  Caleb forced a smile beneath his helm. He had survived a supernova, an 
  ancient alien artifact, and a psychotic Elf with superpowers. He could handle 
  this.
  The Dominator leaned forward and the axe swept towards Caleb with pre-
  ternatural speed. Caleb dodged, flying around the axe and darting towards the 
  Dominator. The axe connected with the street, burying its head deep within 
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  the ground. Caleb slammed into the Dominator, hammer first, and once more 
  the giant was staggered. It lost its grip on its axe and took another half-step 
  backwards. The blue shimmer of the force-field lessened a fraction.
  A silver flash appeared in the sky above Caleb. Ariel, recovered, rejoined 
  the fray. She directed her attacks at the Dominator’s automated craft, her 
  Titan-sized two-handed sword slicing through engine parts, wings, and bulk-
  heads. The smoking craft spiraled towards the ground, impacting with a sick-
  ening crunch. The Dominator roared, and the flat of the immense axe caught 
  Caleb unawares. Caleb, hammered, felt his armor bend under the force of the 
  blow, and then he sailed through the air and shattered through the wall of a 
  skyscraper, only slowing after he tore through three inner walls.
  Caleb groaned and lurched to his feet, still clutching his hammer. He 
  pressed his empty palm against the flattened forehead of his helm, wondering 
  if he had ever been hit so hard. He couldn’t recall. He didn’t remember the 
  Dominator recovering its axe, either.
  The dull roar of an explosion reached him deep within the building, and 
  reminded Caleb that he still had work to do. He took to the air once more, 
  blasting from the ruin at top speed.
  The Dominator stood in the middle of the square, surrounded by rubble 
  and flaming ships. It held its arms aloft in triumph, one hand holding the 
  axe proudly, while the other held Ariel tightly, squeezing the life out of her. 
  The valiant Knight struggled, but the Dominator had her pinned. Four of the 
  Dominator’s ships remained, and the way they oriented on Caleb suggested 
  their radar had picked him up quickly.
  “Where are Kassy and Abbot when I need them?” Caleb mumbled. He 
  tightened his grip on his hammer and prepared for the fight of his life.
  One of the ships suddenly dissolved in a burst of golden light. Blue and 
  green energy bolts found two of the others, and the last one exploded as a ray 
  of black light pierced it. Caleb looked up, alarmed.
  “Yahoo!” Vyking roared as he exploded out of the sky. Three more Cos-
  mo-Knights flew beside him, armor glinting in the sunlight and weapons 
  bared menacingly. The one in gold looked human enough, and the twin pis-
  tols in his hands combined with the odd shape of his helmet made him look 
  more like a cowboy than a Knight. The black Knight had the upper body of 
  a man and the lower body of a horse. Sheathed in reflectionless black ar-
  mor, the Centaur held a lance beneath the crook of his arm. The movement 
  of his legs gave the impression that he ran across the sky rather then flew. 
  The fourth Knight had a massive mouth, a cyclopean eye, and a quadrupedal 
  body. All four of its tentacles held a double-headed battle axe which sent 
  sickle shaped bolts of green energy at the Dominator.
  The Dominator roared in surprise and anger. It threw Ariel to the ground 
  and braced itself, gripping its massive axe in two hands. As the four Cosmo-
  Knights closed in, Caleb joined them, grinning beneath his ruined helmet. He 
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  added his own red energy bolts to theirs, and in moments the Dominator’s 
  force-field finally flickered and died. A stricken look appeared on the Domi-
  nator’s face, its arrogant features twisting into fear.
  “Jasper, keep him buttoned down,” Vyking ordered. The golden Knight 
  hovered in the air, spraying the Dominator with deadly bursts of golden light. 
  “Kolkvet, grab Ariel,” he added. The green plated Monro Knight dipped low 
  and grabbed Ariel with his winding tentacles.
  “Cervantes, ram ‘em,” Vyking ordered. The Centaur never slowed, and as 
  the black Knight hurtled towards the Dominator, the lance braced against his 
  shoulder pierced the Dominator’s armor and the flesh beneath. Black ichor 
  sprayed from the Dominator’s body as the Centaur broke away.
  “Caleb, good to see you,” Vyking added as Caleb approached. “Cover 
  me,” he said. “I’m going in.”
  Caleb followed Vyking as the blue Knight closed on the Dominator. The 
  Dominator swiped at Jasper with its axe, but the Knight was out of range. 
  Caleb saw Cervantes begin to turn for another assault. Kolkvet cradled Ariel 
  in his tentacles and glided towards the roof of a nearby building.
  “We’re going for a one-two finish, kid,” Vyking told Caleb rapidly. “Fol-
  low my lead.” Vyking held his longsword out before him with both hands, 
  forming a triangle with a deadly point. Jasper and Cervantes kept the Domi-
  nator distracted for a moment longer, just long enough for Vyking to slip in 
  past the swinging axe. The Dominator’s massive, pasty face loomed before 
  them, its dead black eyes showing shock and fear. Vyking aimed his sword 
  between the Dominator’s eyes, and the giant couldn’t move quickly enough 
  to evade the Knight’s attack. The sword pierced the white flesh, burying itself 
  deeply. Vyking let go and skimmed the surface of the Dominator’s forehead, 
  looping up and around.
  The Dominator blinked and looked cross-eyed at the tiny blue sword 
  jammed between its eyes. Caleb screeched to a halt, swinging his body around 
  in midair so he could plant his feet on the Dominator’s cheeks. He raised his 
  hammer over his shoulder. Stunned for a moment more, the Dominator made 
  no move to impede him. Caleb let the hammer fall, and felt the shock travel 
  up through his shoulders as the hammer struck the hilt of Vyking’s sword. 
  The impact drove the weapon deeper into the Dominator’s skull.
  The big black eyes rolled back and the Dominator fell backwards. Ca-
  leb leapt back into the air as the Dominator crashed to the earth once more, 
  never to rise again. Vyking looped back and gave Caleb a light punch in the 
  shoulder. “Nice job, Cal,” Vyking said. “Now let’s check on the survivors.” 
  Vyking flew off again, a blue blur.
  Caleb looked at the corpse of the Dominator for a long moment, and then 
  followed the other Knight.
  191
   
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  Origin
  The strangest thing about the Prometheans is that they just don’t care. 
  For an enlightened species, they’re surprisingly selfish and short-sighted. 
  They can build the city of Center – all ten amazing levels of it – and design 
  the jump gates that make Phase World the hub of the Three Galaxies, they 
  can master both phase magic and phase technology. They can do all this 
  and more, but they don’t seem to care too much that a good chunk of Cen-
  ter is owned and operated by the Splugorth, the Transgalactic Empire, and 
  the S’hree Vek Confederacy. Slavers, drug runners, murderers, trigalactic 
  despots, genocidal madmen, and worse call Center home. And the Promethe-
  ans don’t care. I don’t understand it. I don’t know anyone who understands. 
  Whenever I press a Promethean for an explanation, their little blue faces 
  tighten up and they refuse to talk to me.
  It’s true that the Splugorth, TGE, Naruni, and even Thraxus are wealthier 
  than half the sovereign planets in the Three Galaxies, but the Prometheans 
  aren’t greedy. Center would be profitable even if the Prometheans didn’t turn 
  a blind eye to all the cruelty and evil going on under their watch.
  What is particularly maddening is the number of individual Prometheans 
  I have met who could best be described as paladins, veritable paragons of 
  virtue. I’ve known Prometheans to gladly give their lives to protect innocent 
  beings, who have fought tooth and claw against Splugorth or Kreeghor, who 
  have boycotted the Naruni, and used their magic and technology to improve 
  the lot and lives of thousands.
  And yet...
  ... the madness of Phase World, the madness of Center, continues un-
  abated. If only I could gain an audience with a Second Stage Promethean, I 
  believe all my questions would be answered.
  – Weddron Nurrick, Noro scholar and quantum psionicist.
  Doctor Abbot and Kassiopaeia Acherean stood before the doorway to 
  docking bay ninety-four, on the second level of Center. The doctor, a being 
  composed entirely of shadow, wore a trenchcoat and fedora to lend himself 
  some corporeality. Slightly taller than Abbot, Kassy wore her long dark hair 
  tied into a tight ponytail, and the halter top she wore revealed arcane blue and 
  white symbols running up and down her arms and across her collarbone, the 
  Atlantean tattoos that made her an Undead Slayer, stark against her pale skin.
  Abbot’s glowing orange eyes, his only perceivable feature, seemed to bore 
  into the massive slab of megasteel that served as the docking bay’s access 
  door. Beyond it lay the end to the quest that had driven Abbot for his entire 
  life: a clue to his origins. In all the Three Galaxies and beyond, in several 
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  hundred years of existence, Abbot had never encountered a being quite like 
  himself. He had searched all that time for some clue, some inkling, as to 
  where he had come from, but only in the past few weeks had his mystic 
  senses detected another Shadowbeing elsewhere in the Three Galaxies. Mere 
  days before, Abbot had tracked the Shadowbeing’s essence to Phase World. 
  Upon setting foot on Phase World, Abbot traced the emanations to docking 
  bay ninety-four.
  He and Kassy had reached the door ten minutes previous. But rather than 
  keying the opening sequence, Abbot had stood, staring, and alternately tight-
  ening and loosening the grip on his cane.
  “You okay, Doc?” Kassy finally asked.
  Abbot looked at her sharply. He forced a chuckle. “No, I don’t suppose I 
  am. I am close, Kassy, closer than I have ever been in my life. And yet I find 
  it difficult to take the next step. Why is that, I wonder?”
  Kassy’s features softened. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 
  Abbot chuckled again, this time with genuine emotion. “Thank you,” he said. 
  He straightened himself, stepped forward, and gently stabbed the door lock 
  with the end of his cane. The massive door rumbled open, rising and reveal-
  ing the docking bay beyond.
  Kassy started as the room on the other side was revealed. A massive, red 
  hulled and crab shaped craft squatted in the midst of the docking bay, a half 
  dozen landing gear bracing it against the tarmac. Coils and cables snaked out 
  from the ceiling and walls and plugged into the sides of the craft, cycling 
  fuel and gases into the ship. The exterior airlock was open, revealing the cold 
  Phase World night and a smattering of stars. An arctic wind swept across the 
  room, ruffling the edges of Abbot’s coat and raising goose bumps on Kassy’s 
  exposed flesh.
  “A S’hree Vek vessel,” Abbot said, his voice harsh.
  “The Confederacy?” Kassy asked. “Are you sure?”
  Abbot nodded. The S’hree Vek Confederacy was a small alliance of 
  worlds in the axis of the Corkscrew Galaxy. They were slavers and ped-
  dlers of biotechnology and psi-tech. Though not allied with the Splugorth, the 
  Confederacy counted them among their best customers. The ships they flew 
  were grown with biotech, enslaved with hard technology, and crossed the 
  vast distances between worlds through warp-gates created by the psionically 
  powerful Adinum. The Adinum, highly intelligent fish-like beings, were the 
  nominal rulers of the Confederacy, and they lorded over the other five mem-
  ber races.
  If the Shadowbeing was aboard the ship, then it was very likely that he – 
  or she – was imprisoned, ready for the auction block and whatever atrocities 
  the Splugorth could devise.
  193
   
  
  Abbot took an angry step forward, but Kassy tugged at his arm. “Be care-
  ful,” she said. “If it is a Confederate ship, they’re a long way from their sec-
  tion of Center. And notice the lack of guards.”
  Abbot paused. “Of course, Kassy,” he said. “You’re right. We must be on 
  our guard. It’s just, the thought of my... kinsman in a S’hree Vek pen has me 
  angered beyond reason.”
  “Let’s try to keep from doing anything rash,” Kassy told him. “Without 
  Caleb’s firepower, we’re at a bit of a disadvantage.” She made a vague ges-
  ture at the S’hree Vek ship. “Let’s at least get beneath the arc of fire her guns 
  possess before we start throwing our weight around.”
  Abbot’s orange eyes glimmered slightly, his version of a smile. “Agreed.”
  They crossed the threshold together, and began to lazily walk across the 
  tarmac in the direction of the vessel. Abbot felt almost relaxed, but he knew it 
  was the false kind of ease that he always felt before a deadly row. He had felt 
  it most recently on Delian-4, Malthus’ World, when he and Kassy and Caleb 
  had fought against the Draconid wizard Quajinn Huo, and Abbot’s oldest and 
  dearest friend, Lothar of Motherhome, had perished.
  “The guns should be tracking us, but they’re frozen,” Kassy observed. 
  “This is very strange.”
  Abbot nodded. “I’m not sure what to make of it. Even the running lights 
  aren’t functioning. Is it possible the ship is dead?”
  “Or a renegade?” Kassy suggested. “We are a long way from the Confed-
  eracy’s sphere of influence on Center.”
  “A distinct possibility,” Abbot said, trailing off. Halfway across the dock-
  ing bay, they were finally witness to signs of life. One of the airlocks beneath 
  the ship cycled open with a low burr, and a cylinder descended to the floor. 
  Kassy tensed beside Abbot, her right hand dropping to her left wrist, ready to 
  call upon her Atlantean magic. Abbot, for his part, tucked his cane beneath 
  his arm and eyed the activity with concern.
  A door slid open, and out spilled a squad of Conaigher, massive creatures 
  that should not have been able to fit in such a confined space. Each of them 
  towered over two meters in height and bristled with weaponry. Covered in 
  red fur, each Conaigher possessed six arms, and each hand appeared to be 
  gripping a laser gun of some sort. And all thirty-six muzzles were aimed in 
  Abbot and Kassy’s direction.
  “I believe, my dear,” Abbot said softly, “that we have been made.”
  The ape-like humanoids swarmed across the docking bay. One of them 
  shouted out in Trade Three at the duo, “Do not move! Or you will die!”
  “I think you may be right,” Kassy said out of the corner of her mouth. She 
  raised her hands slowly. “We go with Plan K, right?”
  Abbot risked a glance at Kassy, while also raising his hands in surrender. 
  “What was Plan K, again?”
  194
   
  
  Kassy’s ice blue eyes shot him an angry look. The Conaigher had reached 
  them, and dozens of guns were jammed into their faces. “You will come on 
  board the ship or you will die!” growled the leader. The Conaigher obviously 
  possessed a limited proficiency with Trade Three.
  “Okay,” Kassy said, stressing the second syllable. “We give up. Take us 
  to your leader.”
  Beneath the brim of Abbot’s hat, his orange eyes glimmered. He had sud-
  denly remembered what Kassy had meant by “Plan K.” They had used it once 
  before, years ago, against a group of bandits in the S-K system. Lothar had 
  been with them then; it was one of the few times the Wulfen had stepped into 
  a dangerous situation without his armor.
  ____________________
  Aboard the Orion Industries Comet starship that served as Abbot and 
  Kassy’s base of operations, their pilot, Siv Yurilak, sat cross-legged in his 
  cabin. The Noro had honed his clairvoyant abilities in order to increase his 
  piloting skill, to be able to “see” the space around his ship without resorting 
  to electronic sensors. But his psychic abilities came in just as handily when it 
  came to monitoring the progress of his employer’s daughter.
  Siv Yurilak had known Hiram Acherean for years, and pulled many jobs 
  for the Atlantean in that time. Most recently, Hiram had hired Siv to pilot his 
  daughter’s ship while she and her companions tracked down the mad wizard 
  Quajinn Huo. But Hiram had also deposited a bonus in Siv’s Noro-Gor ac-
  count to ensure Siv kept a close eye on his eldest child’s activities and ensure 
  her safe conduct.
  Now, though, it appeared as though her faith in Abbot and that wild card 
  Caleb Vulcan had been misplaced. She had walked into a trap, led there by 
  the wizard and abandoned by the Cosmo-Knight.
  Siv unfolded himself from his crouch and stretched, feeling the bones in 
  his shoulders pop. He pulled his leather jacket off his chair, slipped it on, and 
  went to look for the other member of the crew left behind. He knew Arwen 
  Griffin was in the ship’s hold, using the broad space to practice her martial 
  arts.
  ____________________
  The Conaigher separated them as soon as they stepped aboard the craft. 
  Three of them dragged Kassy down a darkened corridor into the bowels of 
  the ship, while the remaining three flanked Abbot.
  “She goes to the pens,” the apparent leader growled. “You see the Com-
  missar.”
  195
   
  
  Abbot nodded and followed, though he was concerned about Kassy. It was 
  her plan, but if they bound her in some way and she couldn’t reach her tat-
  toos, then Kassy would be all but helpless. It was quite a gamble.
  To reassure himself, as he followed the Conaigher soldiers, he extended 
  his supernatural senses and found the nearest of Phase World’s ley lines. It 
  thrummed only a kilometer to the southwest, closer than he needed it to be. So 
  long as it was there, he at least could not be disarmed. Though reassured, he 
  suddenly noticed an odd shimmer encircling the Conaigher guards. Someone 
  or something had ensorcelled them. Abbot’s faith in the outcome of this situa-
  tion faded suddenly, and he found himself unsure of Kassy’s course of action. 
  Plan K depended upon their captors not having any magic sensitives present.
  The corridors they passed through were empty of other traffic. Some of the 
  lights appeared to be malfunctioning as well, and in more than a few areas, 
  Abbot thought he saw signs of carbon scoring on the walls. Had the crew 
  rebelled? Would that explain the inactivity of the vessel, and the distance 
  between it and the S’hree Vek part of Center? Perhaps the mysterious magic-
  user was involved.
  That train of thought was not heartening, Abbot silently admonished him-
  self.
  Then the final set of doors scissored open, revealing the bridge. The Con-
  aigher ushered Abbot into the room. One of them gave him a rough shove 
  with an elbow, and Abbot nearly fell. He recovered quickly, catching himself 
  with the aid of his cane. Abbot righted himself, adjusted his trenchcoat, and 
  shot the offending conaigher an angry look. The beast nudged Abbot once 
  more, directing his attention to what lay before him.
  Abbot turned, and felt his hands go slack on his cane. It clattered to the 
  floor, and he knew that, had he a mouth, it would be hanging open in surprise 
  and horror.
  Abbot knew that S’hree Vek ships were always captained by an Adinum, 
  the psionic species in the Confederacy. To facilitate the Piscean creatures’ 
  movements through the ship, most of the key chambers in the ship possessed 
  tanks of virium, the same fluid that covered the surface of the Adinum home-
  world. An ingenious network of tubes connected each virium tank in the ship 
  to the others, allowing the captain – or Commissar in S’hree Vek lingo – to 
  move about the ship with nearly the same ease as his air-breathing crew.
  But no tank existed on the bridge of this ship, not any more. Bits of glass 
  and puddles of virium were scattered across the bridge’s expanse, though the 
  command stations were all empty and no crew was evident. In the bowl of the 
  empty virium tank sat a throne, a horrid thing fashioned from flesh and bone 
  through some twisted form of biomancy. The lifeform used to create the mas-
  sive chair was unmistakable; the sloping fins that served as armrests, the thick 
  tentacles fused together to make the legs, the six unwinking eyes that stared 
  out from the top of the throne’s backrest, sickeningly aware yet shining with 
  196
   
  
  madness. The throne had once been the Adinum Commissar of this craft, and 
  Abbot knew that the creature sitting upon it was to blame for the poor thing’s 
  horrid transformation.
  The Shadowbeing Abbot had tracked across half a galaxy reclined in his 
  chair, orange eyes shining brightly. “So,” he said, “it appears to be me lucky 
  day. Ye’ve come ta me, saving me considerable trouble tryin’ to track you 
  down, me wayward boyo.”
  The Shadowbeing leaned forward. “Good lad,” he said. “Good lad.”
  ____________________
  Kassy followed the lead commando down a darkened corridor, wrinkling 
  her nose in distaste as the other two crowded a little too close to her in the 
  narrow passage. The Conaigher were pungent creatures, and given the disre-
  pair of the S’hree Vek craft, Kassy had to wonder if the showers were work-
  ing. She doubted the Conaigher would satisfy her curiosity if asked.
  A door scissored open, and the leader paused. Around him, Kassy saw a 
  winged figure standing in the doorway. Red armor plates and maroon wings 
  were all she could see with the multi-limbed primate obscuring her vision. 
  With the newcomer’s arrival, the commandoes snapped to attention. The 
  leader’s shoulders began to tremble.
  Interesting. Kassy recognized the winged figure as a Celestine, a bio-en-
  gineered superhuman created by the S’hree Vek to counter Cosmo-Knights, 
  Quatoria, Invincible Guardsmen, and the like. Kassy allowed herself a grim 
  smile, mentally adding Undead Slayers to the list.
  The Celestine shouldered aside the lead Conaigher, and Kassy found her-
  self looking in the man’s crimson eyes. Kassy was slightly surprised to see 
  that the Celestine looked almost completely human, despite its coloring. Red 
  eyes, fine, maroon colored hair, and dark skin were all that separated him 
  from an entirely human look. “Gentlemen,” he said without taking his eyes 
  from Kassy, “you are dismissed. I’ll take her from here.”
  The three Conaigher shifted uneasily, looking from one to the other, try-
  ing to keep from looking at the Celestine. “Lor Hazmat...” the leader finally 
  began, but the Celestine interrupted.
  “Hazmat rules the ship,” the Celestine snapped, “but I remain your supe-
  rior. And the penalty for insubordination has not changed.”
  The lead Conaigher wilted, shoulders slumping and ears folding back. 
  “Yes, commander. We hear and we obey.” As one, the three commandoes 
  turned and shuffled down the passage the way they had come, leaving Kassy 
  alone with the winged warrior.
  He surveyed her for a moment, looking her over head to toe. Kassy re-
  turned the look, noting that the Celestine cut an impressive figure. The blue 
  flightsuit, overlaid with highly polished plates of crimson megasteel, com-
  bined with his bioengineered features and sweeping wings to create a power-
  197
   
  
  ful image. The sneer that crossed his face ruined it, however. “So,” he said, 
  “do you have a name, Atlantean?”
  “Kassiopaeia Acherean. What’s going on here?”
  The Celestine’s eyes narrowed. “Something terrible, Kassiopaeia Acher-
  ean,” he said. “My ship has been usurped by an alien being and my Commis-
  sar has been murdered. I fear what may happen if the alien gains any more 
  power.”
  “What alien?” Kassy asked.
  “Your friend’s kinsman, of course,” the Celestine said. He smiled grimly. 
  “And you’re going to help me kill it.”
  Kassy arched an eyebrow. “I am?”
  “Indeed,” he said. “Because if you don’t, both you and your friend are 
  doomed.”
  “A threat?”
  He shook his head. “A simple fact. Without your help, I am doomed as 
  well. Yet I doubt somehow that your sympathy lies with me.”
  “You’re right about that,” Kassy said. “You people are no doubt getting 
  what’s coming to you.”
  “With interest,” the Celestine agreed. “Half the crew was sacrificed to fuel 
  the Shadowbeing’s magical abilities. Do not assume that the prisoners and 
  slaves in the ship’s hold were spared, either. My lieutenants, Kalel and Kariel 
  were butchered before my eyes. It made a throne out of my Commissar. A 
  hundred denizens of the planet no longer live because of this monster, and 
  each death seems to make it stronger.”
  Kassy looked at the Celestine for a long moment. “What’s your name?” 
  she asked.
  “Joriel. Until recently I was the senior Celestine aboard the Vigilance.”
  “Well, Joriel,” Kassy said. “It appears that you do need my help. More 
  importantly, we’re going to need my friend Abbot’s help. Tell me, what is the 
  Shadowbeing likely to do to my friend?”
  Joriel shrugged. “I’m not certain. It originally commandeered the Vigi-
  lance to track down the other Shadowbeing it sensed abroad in the Three 
  Galaxies. When it came aboard, it claimed that it was going to bring the other 
  Shadowbeing back to its home dimension. But it also claimed that it would 
  deal with us in good faith.” The grim smile returned. “I do not see any reason 
  to trust its good word.”
  “Shivok!” Kassy swore. She spun on her heels and began to run down the 
  corridor. She brushed the star within a circle on her wrist and sheathed her 
  body in a suit of blue-white body armor.
  “Wait!” Joriel called after her. “We need a plan!”
  “Too late!” Kassy shouted back at him. Though, in her heart, she hoped 
  it was not.
  ____________________
  198
   
  
  “Who are you?” Abbot asked.
  “A good question,” the Shadowbeing said, rising from his grotesque 
  throne. “A natural question,” he added. “But a complex question. My appel-
  lation is Hazmat, and I’m in the employ a’ the Shaar Continuum. They sent 
  me along ta this bloody backward universe ta track down a missing Shad-
  owen. But I’m currently also the Commissar of the Vigilance, which makes 
  me the local Lor, whatever that may be. I must admit ta not trying terribly 
  hard ta understand these primitive carbon beings. They’re useful in their own 
  way, though. Just fulla psychic energy ta fuel me magics.”
  Abbot tightened his hands around his cane. He felt unsettled, and slight-
  ly ill. Though Abbot prepared himself to see his fellow Shadowbeing – the 
  “Shadowen” – imprisoned in a S’hree Vek slave pen, witnessing the true state 
  of affairs made his earlier assumption seem almost innocent. This Hazmat 
  person was just as monstrous, if not more, than the Confederacy. But unlike 
  the beings from the S’hree Vek system, Abbot was related to this one.
  “Living creatures are not batteries,” Abbot said coldly.
  Hazmat’s orange eyes glimmered. “A’ course they are, lad. By the Dark, 
  ye’ve spent far too much time in this universe. We’ve got ta get ye back home 
  and put ye right.”
  Abbot felt torn. His natural instinct was to harness his own wizardly might 
  and smite this abominable creature, yet at the same time he felt a terrible 
  curiosity. This Hazmat was his only link to his origins, the only clue he had 
  ever found in all his travels that proved he was not unique, that he came from 
  somewhere, that he was not alone. “What is home?” he heard himself ask. 
  “What is the Continuum?”
  Hazmat stared at him for a moment, then hopped down from his perch. 
  “The Shaar Continuum lies on the edge a’ the Void in the Astral Plane. It’s 
  a place fer higher beings ta congregate, exchange ideas and energy, an’ exist 
  apart from the primitive solids that propagate the majority a’ the Megaverse, 
  wasting space and resources.” Hazmat reached out with his left hand, his eyes 
  shining brightly. Abbot sensed Hazmat summoning up his energies, but still 
  flinched as a bolt of light leapt from the chest of one of the Conaigher soldiers 
  and flew to Hazmat’s hand. The soldier writhed and then collapsed. Hazmat 
  turned his attention to the two remaining Conaigher.
  “Ten thousand years ago, more or less, the Continuum seeded the Mega-
  verse,” Hazmat said, gesturing once more. Two more beams of light leapt 
  into his hands, and his eyes began to glow more brightly. “Seven hundred 
  thousand podlings were scattered across as many realities. The purpose was 
  ta mine those realities fer their magical knowledge. The podlings were ta 
  bring that knowledge back to the Shaar, strengthening the Continuum, an’ 
  giving us the tools ta mount a long-delayed attack against our old enemies, 
  the Nightlords. Very few a’ ye’ve survived, however. At last count, we’ve 
  only recovered about four hundred a’ ye.”
  199
   
  
  The baleful, orange eyes examined Abbot closely. “Ye will make four 
  hundred and one.”
  Abbot returned Hazmat’s stare for a moment, then thumped his cane on 
  the floor. “I don’t think so. I... have searched all my life for the source of my 
  origins, assuming that, by doing so, I would find my life’s meaning. Yet this 
  Continuum that you speak of has no place in my life. I must decline your of-
  fer, Hazmat.”
  Hazmat nodded. “Well said, lad. But what makes ye think I’ll take no fer 
  an answer?”
  A flash of light leapt from Hazmat’s open palm, but Abbot reacted just as 
  quickly, deflecting the beam with the head of his cane. “The thought never 
  crossed my mind,” Abbot replied, happy that his voice didn’t shake.
  Abbot’s finely honed magic senses had detected a ley line nearby earlier, 
  and he instinctively tapped into that reservoir of power. A shadowy shield 
  rose up around his form, a field of coruscating light and dark that all but ob-
  scured Abbot’s features.
  Hazmat cackled. He stretched his arms out and rose off the floor of the 
  bridge, levitating about a foot in the air. Waves of light and heat began to 
  emanate from him, washing across the bridge and Abbot. His shadow-shield 
  protected him from the effect, but Abbot could see the dimensions of the 
  bridge begin to warp and twist as the waves struck them. A crack appeared in 
  Abbot’s field suddenly, alarming him. Nothing short of a Cosmo-Knight or a 
  small nuclear device should have been able to do that.
  Abbot could not help but feel concerned.
  He tapped his cane on the floor panel under his feet, and focused his will. 
  A beam of concentrated blacklight flashed from the force-field and slammed 
  into Hazmat. It dissipated without fanfare against Hazmat’s own protective 
  field. Hazmat cackled again.
  “Ye’re no match fer me, boyo,” he said. “I’ve survived on the edge a’ the 
  Void fer twenty thousand years, shattered Torturians and Hounds alike with 
  a wave of me hand, and I’ve the skulls uv a dozen Night Princes hanging on 
  the walls a’ me tower. Yer but a podling with delusions a’ grandeur. Yer still 
  using the ley lines ta power yer magicks. Silly child.”
  As Hazmat spoke, the light and heat pouring off of him increased in rate. 
  The bridge wasn’t built to withstand the kind of punishment Hazmat gave 
  it. The bulkhead warped and shifted, the computers cracked open and sent 
  sparks flying into the air. The empty tank, holding Hazmat’s horrible throne, 
  collapsed. The throne itself burst into flame, emitting a psychic scream that 
  echoed in Abbot’s ears.
  Abbot narrowed his eyes. He was angry before, but now he felt a terrible 
  fury rising within him. Hazmat was a perversion, a monstrous creature that 
  violated everything Abbot held dear, whose very existence made Abbot’s 
  some kind of cosmic joke.
  200
   
  
  Abbot summoned a pack of Shadow Beasts to distract Hazmat. There was 
  too much light for them to appear in strength, but they made up for it with 
  numbers. A half-dozen of the immaterial, misshapen creatures stepped out of 
  the shadows cast by the broken bulkheads. They swarmed towards Hazmat, 
  growling and snapping their shadowy jaws. Hazmat didn’t flinch. As the 
  Shadow Beasts leapt for him, beams of light reached out from his body and 
  caught them, devouring them in the blink of an eye.
  Abbot followed up with a stream of fireballs, spheres of orange-white 
  flame that hammered into Hazmat. Still without affect; they scattered harm-
  lessly against Hazmat’s protective field.
  Hazmat cackled again, a sound nearly lost in the roar of his magical en-
  ergies and the metallic crunch of the bridge collapsing in on itself. Hazmat 
  brought his hands together, and as they met, a nearly invisible beam flashed 
  from them towards Abbot. Abbot’s shadowscreen splintered under the on-
  slaught. Bits of shadowstuff fell to the floor like panes of glass.
  “Can’t ye see, lad? Yer cause is hopeless!” Hazmat shouted. Abbot 
  dropped to one knee, shaken.
  Abbot heard a familiar sizzling sound behind him, and heartened instantly. 
  He pivoted on his heel to look over his shoulder. A blue-white blade sheared 
  through the door, cutting through megasteel as if it were tissue paper. As 
  Kassy smashed through the door, clad in shimmering blue-white hoplite ar-
  mor, Abbot turned back to Hazmat. The other Shadowen barely acknowl-
  edged Kassy’s arrival. Hazmat’s orange eyes were locked on Abbot.
  Mistake.
  Abbot tucked his cane under one arm smoothly, reaching out to place 
  his fingertips against the floor with his other hand. The bridge shuddered, 
  the floor panels cracking apart under Hazmat’s assault. Abbot concentrated, 
  focusing his magic, and helped the process along. An explosion of metal 
  fragments erupted beneath Hazmat, and chunks of red megasteel shredded 
  through Hazmat’s protective field. The Shadowen staggered, orange eyes 
  blazing dangerously.
  Kassy leapt over Abbot’s kneeling form, her energy blade swinging in 
  a wide arc. Hazmat roared as Kassy’s blade connected with him, cutting 
  through his protective field as easily as it had the ship’s door. Hazmat bled 
  darkness, and lashed out with a closed fist. He clipped Kassy’s temple, 
  knocking her sideways into a sparking computer bank. The Undead Slayer 
  recovered quickly, leaping to her feet with a growl.
  As she did, a dull, heavy echo resounded through the room. At first Abbot 
  assumed it a side effect of Hazmat’s warp field, but when it repeated, Hazmat 
  appeared surprised at the sound as well.
  A winged figure appeared in Abbot’s peripheral vision, snarling savagely, 
  a shimmering blade of psychic energy in his hand. “Joriel,” Hazmat said. 
  “Now this is a stunning turn of events.”
  201
   
  
  “I’ve watched you despoil this craft long enough, Hazmat,” the Celestine 
  shouted.
  Hazmat’s eyes glimmered dangerously, and he waved his hand. Joriel the 
  Celestine was lifted bodily by a wave of heat and light, and slammed into the 
  ceiling of the bridge with a sickening crack. The strange echo repeated once 
  more.
  Abbot twirled his cane and sent a dozen red and black darts through the 
  air to slam into Hazmat. Hazmat shook, releasing the Celestine, and took a 
  threatening step in Abbot’s direction. He didn’t get far. A glowing white tiger 
  with blue stripes slammed bodily into Hazmat and dragged him to the floor, 
  claws tearing into him and ripping up bits of shadow. Hazmat roared in anger, 
  and the tiger disappeared in a flash of light, absorbed into Hazmat’s body like 
  the Shadow Beasts and the Conaigher before it.
  Hazmat leapt to his feet, helped a little by his levitation, but Kassy was 
  waiting for him. As soon as he was upright, Kassy tagged him in the back of 
  the head with a glowing blue-white sledgehammer. Hazmat’s eyes dimmed 
  slightly, but he did not fall. He spun around, grabbed Kassy’s glowing breast-
  plate, and tore it from her. Kassy fell backward, while Hazmat absorbed the 
  energy from her armor into himself.
  The dull echo sounded again, louder this time. Hazmat looked up at the 
  ceiling, irritated.
  Abbot set his cane on the ground and stood up. Hazmat twirled to face him 
  once more. Hazmat raised his hand, made a fist, and dropped it. A cascade 
  of light fell towards Kassy, but she was quicker than Hazmat; a finger on her 
  collarbone called up a shimmering blue white shield that caught the brunt of 
  the blast.
  Abbot stepped toward Hazmat. “You may indeed be as old as you say,” 
  Abbot said tightly. He didn’t know if Hazmat could hear him or not, and 
  wasn’t sure if he cared. “You certainly seem powerful enough, and what 
  you’ve done to this ship is certainly impressive.”
  Hazmat cocked his head, watching Abbot’s approach and apparently lis-
  tening. The loud clang from above did not distract him this time.
  “But the clincher must certainly be your colossal arrogance. I may be a 
  mere podling, I may be only a few centuries old. But I have spent those few 
  centuries crossing the length and breadth of the Three Galaxies and a dozen 
  different universes. Your style of magic, for all its vaunted superiority, is not 
  unknown to me.” Abbot held his hands out, palms forward, and closed them. 
  It was a simple Negate Magic spell, but given how Hazmat was powering his 
  magicks, he had no protection against the maneuver.
  Hazmat dropped to the shattered floor, the shimmering field around him 
  snuffed out. He blinked. “What –”
  Abbot stepped forward and decked him hard. Hazmat slumped, eyes dim-
  ming. Abbot followed with a devastating uppercut that knocked Hazmat 
  202
   
  
  sprawling across the empty, warped tank behind him. As if to punctuate the 
  blow, the hammering sound above them echoed once more.
  Abbot held his right hand out, and the cane flew into it. While Hazmat 
  struggled into a sitting position, Abbot lashed out with the cane, hammering 
  the other Shadowen again and again. He only stopped when Kassy put her 
  hand on his shoulder.
  “You’re killing him,” she said.
  “I know,” he told her. He barely recognized his voice, however. It was 
  something guttural and ugly.
  “Abbot,” Kassy said softly. “Let him go.”
  Abbot stood still for a moment. Finally, he craned his neck to look in 
  Kassy’s eyes. “You’ve won,” she said. “He’s beaten. If you go any further, 
  you’ll murder him.”
  The hammering sound had continued unabated while Abbot beat Hazmat, 
  and now the sound of screaming metal was added to the noise. It barely reg-
  istered on Abbot.
  He stared at Kassy. “He is an abomination,” he explained. “He needs to 
  be destroyed.”
  “That may be,” she told him, “but is this the best way?”
  Her blue eyes bore into his orange ones, and at last, Abbot’s shoulders fell. 
  He threw his cane to the ground.
  Abbot felt a shadow fall across him, but before he could react, Kassy 
  pulled him out of the way. Abbot twisted, and saw the Celestine, face bloody 
  and contorted in anger, slam his psionic blade into Hazmat’s chest with a 
  sizzle. The other Shadowen shivered, made a small sound, and dissipated. 
  The psionic sword sank into the bulkhead, burning through it as Hazmat dis-
  integrated.
  “As you said,” the Celestine said hoarsely. “It needed to be destroyed.”
  Kassy and Abbot exchanged concerned looks, but the Celestine made no 
  move to attack. He slumped to the floor, dispelling his sword.
  As Abbot straightened himself and Kassy took a tentative step in the Ce-
  lestine’s direction, another hammering sound echoed above them. This time, 
  the scream of metal was more pronounced, and suddenly the ceiling split 
  open.
  Arwen Griffin dropped into the room through the gap, her body glowing 
  with a violet light that gave her normally green skin and blue hair a darker 
  shade. Siv Yurilak, two grav pistols in hand, landed beside her. He looked 
  around, smiled grimly when he saw the scene, and said, “Sorry we’re late. 
  What did we miss?”
  ____________________
  Thraxus, the richest man in the Three Galaxies, reclined in his plasmoid 
  chair. The chair molded itself to his frame, hovering a foot off the ground. 
  203
   
  
  Nearby, a computer screen twirled slowly in the air, the day’s financial news 
  scrolling across it quickly. Thraxus did not blink as the numbers sped past.
  A slight, polite cough brought him out of his reverie. Thraxus looked away 
  from the screen, into the eyes of his manservant Hecubus. Tall and spare, 
  Hecubus was a red-skinned Catyr with burnished bronze hair and impeccable 
  fashion sense. “My apologies, my lord,” Hecubus said softly, “but I thought 
  it best to inform you immediately.”
  Thraxus raised an eyebrow. “Inform me of what?”
  “Seven hours ago, two of the ‘adventurers’ who foiled your plan for De-
  lian-4 arrived on Center. Their business here is unclear, but they do appear to 
  be staying for an extended period.”
  “Interesting,” Thraxus said after a moment. “Thank you, Hecubus.”
  Thraxus returned to the financial news, while Hecubus bowed and de-
  parted. Thraxus barely noticed his manservant’s retreat, nor did he follow 
  the images and numbers on the computer screen very closely. Thraxus was 
  wealthier than most planetary governments, and nearly ageless. An infinite 
  source of wealth and eternal youth had left Thraxus possessed of a nearly 
  soul-crushing boredom. In ancient days, he had taken up broadsword and 
  battle axe to alleviate that boredom, but since becoming one of the premier 
  personalities of Phase World, Thraxus had taken to more esoteric pursuits. 
  Several months before, Thraxus had contracted a band of mercenaries to 
  sabotage the food production facilities on Delian-4, a terribly overpopulated 
  planet in the fringes of the Consortium of Civilized Worlds. The destruction 
  and terror of such an act would have provided Thraxus with hours of enter-
  tainment, while his own controlling stock in several food production compa-
  nies in systems near Delian-4 would ensure Thraxus’ considerable fortune 
  would increase by several factors.
  But Thraxus’ plans were foiled by a band of crusaders led by the Wul-
  fen Cosmo-Knight Lothar of Motherhome. Delian-4 survived, relatively 
  unscathed, and the mercenaries were caught and punished. Their leader, a 
  former Invincible Guardsman of the Transgalactic Empire, was sentenced to 
  two hundred years on a penal planet. Not once during his trial or sentencing 
  had Elias Harkonnen mentioned Thraxus’ name.
  The former Guardsman deserved some kind of reward for that, at least. 
  Though his failure against Lothar didn’t warrant a rescue attempt, Thraxus 
  could certainly exact revenge for Harkonnen against the heroes. Besides, 
  Thraxus was having a slow afternoon.
  Thraxus activated his personal comm-unit and contacted his bodyguards. 
  “Saburo,” he said, “gather the boys. I want you to collect some people for 
  me.”
  204
   
  
  Chapter Eighteen
  Repo Man
  “Never make a deal with a Naruni.” – Noro proverb.
  “Never make a deal with a Naruni, unless your jaws are around his throat 
  and you’ve a pistol jammed in his stomach.” – Wulfen proverb.
  The bridge of the S’hree Vek starship Vigilance was cluttered with bodies 
  and refuse, its dimensions and angles warped by a magical assault. Jagged 
  shards of red metal, the remains of the shattered roof, lay scattered about the 
  cabin. The corpses of three Conaigher, multi-limbed and red-haired simian 
  aliens, sprawled at the foot of the command console. The console itself was 
  scorched, decorated with broken glass and puddles of a viscous fluid called 
  virium. The remains of the ship’s aquatic captain rotted atop the console, still 
  smoking.
  A moment ago, a deadly battle had raged across the bridge. But that was 
  over now, and the survivors were left to take stock.
  Siv Yurilak, Noro psychic and pilot, stood in black leathers and body ar-
  mor with two drawn grav pistols in his hands. Beside him, Arwen Griffin’s 
  body glowed with a violet light that gave her normally green skin and blue 
  hair a darker shade. It was Arwen who had single-handedly torn open the 
  roof of the craft, allowing her and Siv to drop in during the final moments of 
  the battle.
  Doctor Abbot leaned heavily upon his cane. A being composed almost en-
  tirely of shadow, Abbot’s only distinguishing features were the twin orange 
  lights of his eyes. He wore a battered trenchcoat and a snapbrim fedora, and 
  just minutes ago the only other being like himself that he had met in over 
  six centuries of existence, had died. At Abbot’s side, Kassiopaeia Acherean, 
  Atlantean Undead Slayer, placed one of her brightly tattooed arms around his 
  shoulders to help support him. She brushed a lock of dark hair out of her blue 
  eyes and checked on the fifth member of their little circle.
  Joriel was a Celestine, a bio-engineered humanoid with huge, feathered 
  maroon wings erupting from his back, built by the S’hree Vek to act as a 
  superhuman enforcer. Over the past few weeks he had watched as his ship 
  was subverted by the Shadowen, Hazmat, and its crew was devoured by the 
  shadowy necromancer. Kassy could not begin to imagine the horrors Joriel 
  had witnessed, but the look on his face and the slump of his shoulders sug-
  gested to her that the experiences had broken him.
  It was Joriel who had laid the killing blow upon Hazmat. Abbot had beaten 
  his kinsman in a magical duel, and then brutally hammered the prone Shad-
  owen with his cane. Kassy pulled Abbot away from Hazmat, stopping Abbot 
  205
   
  
  short of becoming a murderer. But Joriel had lurched forward and buried his 
  energy sword in Hazmat’s form, killing him instantly.
  Now the four allies stared at the Celestine, wondering what would happen 
  next.
  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Kassy finally asked Abbot.
  Abbot nodded, his orange eyes dim. Straightening, he gently disengaged 
  himself from Kassy’s hold. “I will be fine, my dear,” he said in soft British 
  tones.
  “Yurilak,” Kassy called. “Holster your guns.”
  Siv looked at her a moment, then at each of his pistols in turn. With a 
  sheepish grin he complied.
  “Arwen, same goes for you,” Kassy continued. The young monk blinked 
  once, and then the violet glow faded. Arwen smoothed her robes and folded 
  her hands before her.
  “Siv, I want a comprehensive scan of the ship. Let me know how many 
  more are aboard. I know there are at least three more Conaigher somewhere 
  out there.”
  Siv’s large black eyes rolled back in their sockets as he sent his psionic 
  senses out to survey the ship. He had honed his natural abilities with the aim 
  towards making himself one of the best pilots in the Three Galaxies; he was 
  perhaps one of the most powerful clairvoyants the planet Noro-Gar had ever 
  produced. Kassy knew he was quite capable of surveying the entirety of the 
  craft in an eye blink. While he did so, Kassy dropped to one knee beside 
  Joriel, glass crunching beneath her. Joriel’s red eyes regarded her coolly as 
  she approached. His expression did not change. He had the eyes of a man 
  who now saw a gaping black hole where his future had been.
  “What do you want?” he growled at her.
  “That would be my question as well,” Kassy responded. “What’s next, 
  Joriel?”
  “There are seven individuals left on this ship,” Siv interjected. “Present 
  company excluded, of course.”
  “Of course,” Abbot agreed. “Kassy, perhaps we should be going.”
  “In a minute,” she snapped at him. She instantly regretted her tone, and 
  shot Abbot an apologetic look. He nodded, though she could tell he didn’t 
  understand. Not that she really understood what she was doing, either. Joriel 
  had helped them defeat Hazmat, true, but he had not acted out of altruism. 
  It had been the last act of a dying man, a desperate grab for any chance at 
  revenge. As a manufactured being, a genetically designed robot, Joriel was 
  programmed to serve the S’hree Vek. He was also probably programmed to 
  go down with the ship. For some reason, Kassy couldn’t stand by and let that 
  happen.
  “Joriel,” she began once more. “Come with us. You have a chance here. 
  Make a clean break. Start over. Find yourself some peace.”
  206
   
  
  Joriel stared at her for a long moment. “Go away,” he said at last. “Before 
  I have you thrown in the pens.”
  Kassy sighed. “Think for a moment,” she said. “What’s your next move? 
  Report to the S’hree Vek embassy on Center? They’ll melt you down to slag. 
  Come with us. We’re your only chance.”
  Joriel frowned, but a glimmer of anger appeared in his eyes. His wings 
  shifted slightly, and he opened his right hand. For a moment, Kassy thought 
  he might ignite his blazer, the psionic energy blade with which all Celestines 
  were equipped. Instead, Joriel placed his palm flat against the floor and le-
  vered himself to his feet. Kassy rose with him.
  “Last time,” Joriel said. He looked over all four of them. “Get off my 
  ship.”
  Kassy crossed her blue and white tattooed arms and gritted her teeth. He 
  was infuriating. But he wasn’t going to budge, she realized. “Good luck,” she 
  told him. She turned to her companions.
  “A noble effort,” Abbot told her.
  “Arwen,” Kassy said, “can you make us an exit?”
  The young monk grinned suddenly, and barely seeming to move, she 
  flowed into an intricate kata, as delicate and entrancing as a dance step. In-
  stantly the violet glow suffused her form.
  “Wait, you can’t just –” Joriel began to say, but not quickly enough. 
  Arwen moved gracefully and swiftly towards the wall, almost seeming to 
  glide through the air. Her hand fell like a hammer against the bulkhead, and 
  it exploded outward with a terrific crash. The entire bridge shuddered and 
  groaned; the lights flickered and went out, finally succumbing to the terrible 
  toll placed upon them in the past ten minutes.
  “– do that,” Joriel finished lamely in the empty silence that followed.
  “There’s a ten meter drop to the tarmac,” Arwen told them, leaning out the 
  gaping hole. Still awash in violet light, she glanced back at her friends. “Is 
  that a problem for anyone?”
  “Not at all,” Kassy said. “Go ahead.”
  With a grin, Arwen dropped from sight. Siv swept a gloved hand across 
  the bald dome of his head and regarded Kassy with an inscrutable expression. 
  Then he, too, stepped into the hole and dropped to the hanger floor. Kassy 
  knew that Siv would cushion his fall with some carefully applied Telekinesis. 
  Abbot was next, conjuring a platform of shadowstuff to lower himself safely.
  “Joriel,” Kassy said, backing up towards the shattered wall. “Give your-
  self time to think. We’re not leaving Center any time soon. If you change 
  your mind –”
  “I won’t,” he interrupted.
  “– if you change your mind,” she repeated, ignoring him, “you’ll be able 
  to find us.” Then she turned, and was gone.
  ____________________
  207
   
  
  The pastoral world of Ninemous had recently been the victim of a Domi-
  nator attack. The galactic predator was defeated by a coalition of Cosmo-
  Knights, but the planet did not escape unscathed. Before his attack, the 
  Dominator had introduced an anti-tech virus to the planetary network, which 
  crippled its ring of defensive satellites and also managed to shut down much 
  of the technology planetside. The Dominator himself had landed in the capi-
  tal city and attempted to cart off as many slaves as possible. He was stopped, 
  but the heart of the city was destroyed in the course of the battle.
  The city, laid out in a spiral pattern like a nautiloid or ammonite, had once 
  had a great central tower at its heart. That tower was destroyed with one ca-
  sual swipe of the Dominator’s arm. Most of the city had evacuated itself by 
  the time Caleb Vulcan and his Cosmo-Knight allies had arrived on the scene, 
  but there remained much devastation.
  Two days had passed since the battle, and the Cosmo-Knights remained 
  on Ninemous. Ariel, the silver armored Titan, Kolkvet, the green armored 
  Monro, and Jasper, the golden armored gunslinger, were aboard the Dom-
  inator’s craft. The size of a small moon, the Dominator’s ship was a bed 
  of ancient and lost technology, packed with powerful weapons, imprisoned 
  sentients, and forgotten lore of the universe. The Cosmo-Knights aboard it 
  were systematically dismantling the craft, while also searching for a means 
  to erase the anti-tech virus.
  Planetside, Caleb Vulcan and the remaining Knights volunteered their ser-
  vices to the clean-up effort. Their Forge-born strength, endurance, and cos-
  mic awareness proved invaluable. Caleb, Vyking, and the centauroid Knight 
  Cervantes could – the three of them working together, or most often single-
  handedly – move massive building fragments that weighed tons, and since 
  they only needed to rest an hour or two out of every twenty-four, they could 
  work around the clock. More, Vyking and Cervantes in particular had a talent 
  for locating hollow spaces that might hide survivors. In this manner, Caleb 
  and his allies had managed to rescue dozens of Ninemans who were trapped 
  or pinned beneath rubble. Unfortunately, they also found hundreds who had 
  not escaped death.
  Each corpse they found cut like a knife into Caleb’s heart. The Ninemans 
  were a slender, slightly built people, their bodies covered with a short layer of 
  fur and gifted with large eyes and a prehensile tail. They were quick, smart, 
  and compassionate, and they chittered at one another in their native tongue, 
  though many could converse in Trade Three. Something about them remind-
  ed Caleb of raccoons or weasels, grown as tall and smart as a human being.
  Caleb could not help but feel that, had he been a little faster or a little 
  stronger, he might have been able to reach Ninemous in enough time to keep 
  the Dominator from... from what exactly? It had taken six Cosmo-Knights 
  together to stop the giant alien, and Caleb had faced the Dominator on his 
  208
   
  
  own for several desperate minutes with little effect. Still, the feeling that he 
  should have done more refused to go away.
  Making Caleb feel even worse was the joy and adulation that the Nine-
  mans laid upon the Cosmo-Knights. The furry humanoids showered them 
  with praise and admiration, sharing gifts and kind words and prayers of 
  thanks with equal fervor. Vyking seemed to bask under all the attention, as-
  suming the position of leader with grace and ease. Cervantes, towering over 
  his fellow Knights and the natives on his four legs, took the adulation in 
  stride, as if he expected the Ninemans to act as they did. Caleb, in contrast, 
  shrank from the attention. He threw himself into his work instead.
  In two days the three Cosmo-Knights and squads of Nineman rescue 
  workers had managed to quell the fires scattered throughout the city, and 
  cleared away the rubble in the northern quadrant of the battle zone. Much 
  work remained, however.
  Caleb and Vyking were levering a fragment of the Dominator’s grav sled 
  into the air when Caleb was first visited by the apparition. Cervantes had 
  retired to take a rest period, to meditate and recharge for an hour, and the 
  Ninemans stood nearby, ready to help Vyking and Caleb but physically un-
  able to do so. Both Knights had divested themselves of their armor, and Caleb 
  had further stripped down to just his jeans and boots. His red hair, growing 
  irritatingly long, was tied back into a ponytail to keep it out of his eyes. He 
  was covered head to toe in dust and grime, and so too was his fellow Knight. 
  Vyking, out of his armor, proved to be a ruggedly handsome human with 
  dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard, only a little older than Caleb himself. 
  Vyking wore only a pair of shorts with multiple pockets and a pair of sandals. 
  He had shredded his shirt days before to make impromptu bandages, and had 
  yet to replace it.
  Caleb hovered in the air above the twisted metal frame of the grav sled 
  fragment. While he searched for a sufficient handhold, Vyking wormed his 
  way beneath it. Bracing the grav sled with his shoulders, Vyking slowly rose. 
  The massive mass of metal shifted above him, and Caleb quickly grabbed 
  hold to steady it. Caleb tightened his grip as Vyking lifted off the ground, and 
  the grav sled lifted with him, the metal struts groaning.
  “You okay, Vyking?” Caleb called.
  “I’m fine,” the other Knight responded. “This thing going to hold togeth-
  er?”
  “I don’t see why it wouldn’t,” Caleb started to say, but trailed off. The air 
  before him began to shimmer and glow. He heard a collective gasp from the 
  Ninemans, and then the sound of them scrambling over rubble, chittering in 
  their native tongue. Two of them – Alcibiades and Mushiu – ran toward the 
  grav sled as if to help.
  “What’s going on?” Vyking demanded, unable to see the cause of the 
  commotion.
  209
   
  
  “I don’t know,” Caleb admitted.
  “An attack!” Alcibiades’ excited, high-pitched voice called.
  The grav sled shifted under Caleb as Vyking prepared to set it down and 
  leap into action. Caleb hastily reassured him and the furry humanoids. “I 
  don’t think so,” he said, loud enough for Vyking to hear. The shimmer in the 
  air was beginning to take on definition, gaining color and substance. Stria-
  tions of black and red passed before Caleb’s eyes, and geometric shapes took 
  form. He began to see something that resembled a face at the peak of the 
  shimmering field, and as he made that realization, he heard it speak. Or try to, 
  at least; many of the words were obscured as the shimmering field flickered, 
  as though it were a radio station drowned out by static.
  “Cal... Vulcan... bring... warn... you must be... Quaj... has the... watch. Ut-
  ter...aster. Must... us. All... lost unless – “
  And then it disappeared, as quickly as it arrived.
  “What just happened?” Vyking demanded. His voice sounded strained.
  “I’m not sure,” Caleb said softly, then repeated himself more loudly. Yet 
  amidst the strange speech, he had recognized his own name, and suspected 
  the mention of another that made his blood run cold. He thought the voice 
  mentioned Quajinn Huo, the Draconid wizard who had killed Caleb’s men-
  tor, Lothar of Motherhome, among a thousand other crimes perpetrated 
  across the Three Galaxies. If the vision did concern Huo, Caleb was at a loss. 
  He could not leave Ninemous just yet, and even if he did, he needed first to 
  stop at Phase World and collect his friends.
  He would puzzle the problem out later.
  “Let’s get this thing moved,” Caleb told Vyking. The other Knight grunt-
  ed, but the grav sled began to rise once more. Caleb guided it as best he could.
  ____________________
  Kassy alighted on the tarmac with a thump. She felt the shock of her 
  landing travel up her legs, but the ensorcelled tattoos climbing up her arms 
  and shoulders made her flesh as strong as mega-steel. A ten meter drop was 
  child’s play for her.
  The spacious hanger held the Vigilance and a great deal of open space, 
  enough room for another scout craft. The hanger’s exterior airlock was open, 
  allowing the cold air of the Phase World winter to blow into the chamber. 
  Kassy suppressed a shiver, reminding herself that Undead Slayers did not 
  feel the effects of cold.
  “Gliz,” Siv swore in his native tongue, “but it’s colder than a space rat’s 
  rump in here.”
  “Space rat?” Arwen repeated, bemused by Siv’s colorful language. Her 
  violet glow had once again faded.
  “Ugglies,” Siv explained. “Little octopus things that breed on ships. Al-
  ways underfoot, and they bring disease and worse with them.”
  210
   
  
  “And they are notoriously cold?” Arwen pressed.
  Siv grinned. “Notoriously.”
  Kassy let them banter while she checked on Abbot. He did not look well. 
  His orange eyes were dim, while his shadowy features had apparently bright-
  ened. He leaned heavily on his cane.
  “Abbot, are you alright?”
  He dissuaded her with a waved hand. “I am fine, Kassy,” he said. “The 
  battle took a great deal out of me, however. I need rest and meditation.”
  “Let’s get you back to the ship, then,” she told him. He nodded wearily. 
  “Arwen, give Abbot a hand, would you?” she suggested.
  The young monk quickly moved to assist Doctor Abbot, but as she did 
  so, the interior airlock, the massive slab of mega-steel that allowed access 
  to Center proper, began to scissor open. Kassy exchanged a concerned look 
  with Abbot, but she did not become truly alarmed until Siv yanked his pistols 
  from their holsters.
  “Something is wrong,” he said grimly, all trace of his previous humor 
  gone.
  Arwen instinctively sheathed herself in her violet aura, spinning to face 
  the doors. Abbot shifted uneasily, but Kassy touched the star within a circle 
  on her wrist and called up a suit of blue and white armor.
  Just as the magical protection wrapped around her, the doors finished 
  opening and a swarm of black and gold Naruni Repo-Bots surged into the 
  room. In a flash, Kassy counted thirty-two of them, two full platoons. Kassy 
  shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold.
  Naruni Repo-Bots were not strictly robots at all. More precisely, they 
  were cyborgs. Their mechanical heads housed humanoid brains, the minds of 
  warriors, spies, assassins, and other hardened individuals. The Naruni were 
  notoriously strict about payments, and if they could not get the credits they 
  were owed, the Naruni would happily take whatever else you had in their 
  place. As the leading weapons manufacturer in the Three Galaxies, the Na-
  runi Corporation had legions of soldiers in their debt. One missed payment 
  could land a sentient on the Repo-Bot service line, donating their brain mat-
  ter and military expertise to the corporation. It was also well known that the 
  Naruni reserved their top of the line weaponry and armor for their own use; 
  the Naruni had ensured that a single Repo-Bot could hold its own against a 
  Cosmo-Knight.
  Thirty-two of them now rushed towards Kassy and her friends, and the 
  only coherent thought she could shape was, “Why?”
  Their metal feet echoed throughout the chamber as they hammered against 
  the floor. Thirty-two particle beam weapons pointed at the four adventurers.
  Kassy quickly assessed the situation. Abbot was spent. Arwen and Siv 
  were fresh and ready for combat, but Siv’s grav pistols would be as useless 
  against the Repo-Bots as his psionics. Arwen could shatter starship plates 
  211
   
  
  with her fists, and Kassy knew she was a capable martial artist, but Kassy 
  doubted that the monk could hold her own against a numerically superior foe. 
  As for herself, Kassy recognized that her own power reserves were flagging. 
  She might be able to handle one or two of the cyborgs. The rest would kill 
  her quickly.
  “Fall back!” Kassy shouted. She grabbed Abbot’s elbow and dragged him 
  backward. Their only hope was to escape out the exterior doorway, but they 
  had to make it across the tarmac in one piece to do so. “Siv, take Abbot! Ar-
  wen, you’re with me.”
  Siv gave her a blank look, then took Abbot and began to race across the 
  hanger floor. Arwen grinned hugely and set herself in a fighting stance, an-
  ticipating the attackers. Kassy swallowed a curse, called up a broadsword of 
  shimmering energy, and waited for the hammer to drop.
  The Repo-Bots were eerily silent, save for the clanking of their armor, the 
  whining of servomotors, and the hammering crash of their march. Particle 
  beams slashed through the air. Kassy felt several beams sizzle against her 
  armor. She flinched, feeling the armor begin to give way under the first bar-
  rage. Arwen, in contrast, was unfazed. The particles beams dissipated as they 
  struck her violet aura. Kassy, wisely, ducked behind the monk.
  “What are these things?” Arwen hissed at her.
  “Naruni Repo-Bots,” Kassy supplied. “We’re not going to survive this un-
  less we run, so be ready to bolt as soon as Abbot and Siv are safe.”
  “Kassy!”
  The Undead Slayer whirled at the sound of Siv’s voice, and the note of 
  total panic within it. Siv and Abbot had nearly reached the edge of the exte-
  rior airlock, but they had slammed to a halt. A massive, reptilian claw curled 
  around the lip of the airlock, and a sinuous, reptilian neck reared up in the 
  doorway. A network of horns ringed the long, toothy head, and angry red 
  eyes blazed.
  There would be no escape in that direction, Kassy realized. An enraged 
  Great Horned Dragon was no less dangerous than a platoon of Repo-Bots. 
  Still, if they were to die, Kassy wasn’t going to die alone.
  The Repo-Bots reached Arwen and Kassy’s position, but Arwen met 
  them with a frightening chuckle. Arwen’s fists and feet flashed like quicksil-
  ver, and where they connected, black and gold mega-steel folded like tissue 
  paper. Kassy didn’t have time to be aghast. Instead she placed two fingers 
  against three tattoos on her left arm, and called up her blue and white tiger, 
  her polar bear, and her azure-winged Gryphon. She sent the bear and the tiger 
  to support Arwen and the Gryphon to back up Siv and Abbot, and then had to 
  start swinging her broadsword as a Repo-Bot managed to get around Arwen.
  Her sword sheared off an arm, but the Repo-Bot had blades of its own, 
  and they cut deeply into her armor. “Shivok!” Kassy howled, and bisected 
  the Repo-Bot’s head with a hammering blow.
  212
   
  
  Siv fired his pistols wildly at the dragon. He and Abbot suddenly disap-
  peared, enveloped in a cone of flame as the dragon sprayed them with its 
  deadliest weapon. When the barrage faded, Siv and Abbot were unscathed, 
  protected by a shadowy screen of magical energy. Abbot had strength enough 
  for that, at least, but it would not last.
  A particle beam clipped Kassy behind the ear and she went down hard, 
  slamming into the tarmac. Her sword spun out of her hands and dissipated. 
  She could smell the singed flesh of her neck, and knew her hair was on fire. 
  She beat the flames out with her palm.
  With a growl, she surged to her feet. Kassy called up her bow, and shot 
  glowing blue-white arrows into the mass of Repo-Bots. At point blank range, 
  she could hardly miss. But the cyborgs were too heavily armored for the ar-
  rows to affect them much.
  The tang of ozone filled the air, and Kassy heard the loud thrum of pow-
  erful generators. Before she had a chance to wonder what was happening, 
  sizzling emerald bolts of heavy lasers flashed by overhead and slammed into 
  the mass of Repo-Bots. Kassy stumbled backward at the explosion, and even 
  Arwen had the good sense to leap away. The energy beams cut a savage 
  swathe through the Repo-Bot line, melting a dozen of them to slag in as many 
  seconds.
  The Vigilance had entered the fray.
  Apparently, though they had trashed the command center, the manual fire 
  controls were still functional. Kassy thanked Zeus fervently that Joriel had 
  decided to help. She grinned fiercely as the cannons on the other side of the 
  ship opened up on the dragon. The great beast roared in fury, surged through 
  the airlock and attacked the Vigilance.
  “Arwen!” Kassy yelled. “We’re leaving!” She didn’t wait to see if the 
  monk had acknowledged her order. She lit off across the hanger in the direc-
  tion of Siv and Abbot, who had both dropped to the ground as the dragon 
  flew over them. Kassy whistled to her Gryphon, and the winged beast landed 
  lightly beside the Noro and the Shadowen.
  Behind them, the Repo-Bots tried to rally. The heavy cannons of the 
  S’hree Vek scout ship fired again, and the remaining cyborgs scattered. Metal 
  screamed as the dragon shredded the ship’s hull with his talons, and the port 
  cannons were torn from their housings. In moments, the dragon would turn 
  on the adventurers again.
  Kassy tried not to think about that. She and Siv levered Abbot onto the 
  Gryphon, and then Kassy forced Siv and Arwen to climb aboard. The Gry-
  phon grumbled under the weight, but Kassy knew she would be fine. “Get 
  them to safety,” she ordered. The Gryphon’s wings beat and the great beast 
  rose into the air.
  Siv’s black eyes bugged in his face. “Them?!” he shouted as the Gryphon 
  headed out into the Phase World night. “What about you?”
  213
   
  
  “I’m going back for Joriel!” she yelled back, but couldn’t be sure she was 
  heard. It didn’t matter anyway. Kassy turned on her heel and raced towards 
  the Vigilance.
  ____________________
  Caleb remained on Ninemous for another five days. By then, Ariel and her 
  team had managed to disable the anti-tech virus, and the Ninemans were able 
  to at last bring their formidable technology to bear on the problem. Caleb bid 
  his farewells to Alcibiades, Mushiu, and the other Nineman friends he had 
  made, and thanked Cervantes, Jasper, and Kolkvet for their help, promising 
  to return the favor whenever they were in need. Ariel and Vyking, however, 
  insisted on accompanying Caleb to Phase World, particularly after he ex-
  plained the situation.
  As it turned out, Doctor Abbot and Lothar of Motherhome had visited 
  Ariel’s homeworld, a planet called Titan, long before she was born, and had 
  helped save the population from a rabid Star Hive. A chance to return the 
  favor, to help Doctor Abbot, was not to be passed up as far as Ariel was con-
  cerned. Vyking, on the other hand, simply sensed an adventure in the making 
  and wanted to tag along.
  Caleb could not begrudge them. Their help would be more than welcome; 
  Caleb just hoped that they wouldn’t be too late. Already he had tarried over 
  a week, and he was anxious to find out how his friends were doing. He had 
  been filled with a terrible feeling of dread since the apparition, and would 
  have bolted for Phase World as soon as it came to him if not for his overriding 
  sense of duty. It heartened him that he would not have to take the long trip to 
  Phase World alone.
  So the three of them blasted out of Ninemous on a cool summer evening, 
  a triplicate of dazzling red, blue, and silver lights. They reached the Svartle-
  heim Rift in only a few hours, though Ariel and Vyking had to slow down 
  to let Caleb keep up. Then it was time to “hurry up and wait,” as the line of 
  ships to pass through the Rift crawled along at a snail’s pace. The last time 
  Caleb had been at Svartleheim, he was aboard a starship; he had hoped that 
  three Cosmo-Knights might be able to sneak through ahead of the cruisers. 
  No such luck.
  The three of them – Caleb in his crimson centurion armor, Ariel in her sil-
  ver hoplite suit, and Vyking in his blue plate mail with horned helm – floated 
  in space, waiting for their turn.
  Caleb taught Vyking and Ariel a few choice Earth curses, which Ariel in 
  particular found amusing. Ariel began teaching Caleb the fine art of cursing 
  in Dragonese, which involved far more syllables than Caleb was used to us-
  ing. By the time he had mastered the first one, Vyking informed them that 
  they were next through the Rift. “That was quick,” Caleb said, grinning under 
  his helmet.
  214
   
  
  “That’s what you think,” Vyking grumbled.
  Traveling through the Rift was different than flying through space, even 
  when Caleb was transformed into energy and moving at faster than light 
  speeds. For one, the Knights needed to be corporeal to go through the Rift. 
  They also did none of the work. They flew into the glowing gate, and then the 
  Rift grabbed each of them, and the next thing Caleb knew, he was hurtling 
  down a spinning, whirling, flashing tunnel of light. Within the space of an eye 
  blink, they were thrown out the other side.
  Caleb spun lazily through space, slightly stunned. Vyking grabbed his 
  ankle and dragged him to a halt. “You okay?” the blue Knight asked.
  “Whoah,” Caleb replied. “Can we go again?”
  Vyking released him. “Idiot,” he said, not unkindly.
  Caleb righted himself and had a look around. This side of the Svartleheim 
  Rift emptied out into the ring of space gates that serviced Phase World. Hun-
  dreds of ships blinked into existence as they entered the system, or disap-
  peared for the further reaches of the Three Galaxies. A blue and red globe 
  hung in the distance, crisscrossed by a delicate tracery of ley lines and ringed 
  by hundreds of tiny satellites. A steady flow of starships cut back and forth 
  across the aether to and from the planet. This was only his second visit to 
  Phase World, and still the view took his breath away. Or would have, if he 
  were breathing.
  “Let’s go,” Ariel told them, in that strange, airless means of communica-
  tion that Cosmo-Knights used in space. “We don’t want to be here when the 
  next ship comes through the Rift.”
  “Good point,” Vyking admitted. “You up to it, Vulcan?”
  In response, Caleb rocketed away, blasting at full speed for Phase World. 
  He couldn’t wait to tell Kassy about his adventure on Ninemous, and was dy-
  ing to ask Abbot about the apparition. As well, he hoped that Abbot’s meet-
  ing with the other Shadowbeing had gone well. If they had managed to find 
  him in the riotous bustle of Phase World at all. Caleb remembered being quite 
  confused by the size and breadth of Center on his last visit, and expected a 
  repeat of his performance this time.
  Caleb led the way to the planet’s surface and the mile-high city of Center. 
  Ariel marveled at the size of the metroplex, finally admitting that she had 
  never before been to Phase World. Caleb was surprised, having assumed that 
  everyone else in the Three Galaxies knew more than he did.
  “How do you plan to find these friends of yours?” Vyking asked, putting 
  an end to the frivolity and reminding them of business.
  “Good question,” Caleb admitted. “But I do have a plan.”
  Tor and Egis were on duty at the same customs station where Caleb had 
  last seen them, but they didn’t appear to remember him at all. When he re-
  minded the Promethean guards that he was a friend of the late Lothar of 
  Motherhome, a glimmer of recognition finally showed in Tor’s dark eyes.
  215
   
  
  “Ah yes,” he rumbled, “I remember now. Did you have any luck against 
  Quajinn Huo?”
  Caleb’s features tightened. “No,” he said. “In fact, Huo killed Lothar. But 
  we foiled Huo’s scheme, managed to save Delian-4, and sent his allies to 
  prison. We’re still after Huo, but we need to pick up some friends first. Which 
  is where you two come in.”
  Egis balked, but Tor gave him a black look, and eventually Egis bent over 
  his monitor. Apparently their relationship had flip-flopped in the interim. 
  When Caleb last saw them, Egis had been the one in charge. Given the specs 
  on Caleb’s ship, Egis located the Comet easily. He made a curious sound 
  when he scrolled down the screen.
  Vyking, more experienced at reading inscrutable Prometheans, said, 
  “What have you found, Egis?”
  “The, um, Comet has been impounded.”
  “What?” Caleb demanded. “By whom?”
  Egis looked up at him. “The Naruni Corporation, apparently.”
  “Shivok,” Ariel swore. “What would the Naruni want with your ship? 
  What did you do to get them mad at you?”
  Caleb shrugged. “I’m still not exactly sure what a Naruni is,” he said. 
  “What about my friends?”
  “I’m afraid there’s no information on that,” Egis told him. Was it Caleb’s 
  imagination, or did Egis seem pleased?
  “Don’t be so smug,” Vyking snapped at the Promethean. “Who signed 
  that impound order?” Egis gave him a blank look. With a muttered curse, 
  Vyking reached across the console and started hitting buttons. He ignored the 
  Promethean’s indignant squawk. “Saburo,” Vyking said at last. He glanced 
  at Caleb. “That name mean anything to you?”
  Caleb shook his head. However, the young Cosmo-Knight noticed that 
  Tor’s blue-gray hands had tightened hard around the haft of his halberd. “But 
  it means something to you, doesn’t it?” he said in Tor’s direction.
  “Indeed,” Tor said. “And you will not like it.”
  “Let us be the judge of that,” Ariel growled.
  The Promethean looked up at her, rolled his shoulders in an awkward 
  shrug, and said, “Saburo is a horned dragon in the employ of Thraxus. Thrax-
  us, you will note, is on the board of directors at the Naruni Corporation.”
  “Who is Thraxus?” Caleb asked.
  “Bad news,” Vyking told him. “Extremely bad news. He’s widely known 
  as the richest man in the Three Galaxies. He’s as old as Center, has allies 
  scattered across the Megaverse, and nearly unlimited resources. He is the 
  wrong man to have angry with you, Vulcan.”
  Caleb’s only response was, “Huh.”
  216
   
  
  All five humanoids stared at one another for a long moment. Ariel finally 
  broke the silence. “I am definitely sticking around,” she said. “I have a feel-
  ing that as long as I know you, Caleb, life will never be dull.”
  “Thanks,” he said. “I think. Anyway, Thraxus is welcome to the ship. 
  What about my friends?”
  “Nothing here,” Vyking said, hitting buttons on Egis’ screen. “But the 
  Naruni haven’t moved the Comet.”
  “Then we’ll start there,” Caleb said.
  Vyking grinned. “I must admit, Vulcan, Ariel is probably right. This 
  should be interesting at the very least, and extremely dangerous at best.”
  Caleb looked from Vyking to Ariel. “Well, it’s our job, isn’t it?”
  217
   
  
  Chapter Nineteen
  Everything New is Old Again
  The Naruni Repo-Bot is the deadliest soldier in the Three Galaxies. Armed 
  with the latest in Naruni designs, armored like a tank, powered by a fist-sized 
  cold fusion reactor, and piloted by the cybernetic brain of a sentient warrior, 
  amplified by all the tricks and toys the Naruni could fit into the ‘bot’s combat 
  computer. A single Repo-Bot is capable of tearing apart an entire platoon of 
  lesser troops, and can hold its own against a single Cosmo-Knight.
  On the other hand, if you put two or three Cosmo-Knights against a pla-
  toon of Repo-Bots, then the Naruni Corporation is going to be spending a lot 
  of money to replace their damaged property. For that is the one weakness of 
  the Repo-Bot: They are essentially slaves, and their programming ensures 
  that the only freedom they will ever know is death.
  Of course, the fact that Repo-Bots aren’t afraid to die just makes them 
  more dangerous.
  – From the trideo documentary Thraxus & Me by Morlan Miks
  Caleb Vulcan recognized the long, low-slung starship parked in the midst 
  of the tarmac. The crimson finish was unmistakable, as was the Acherean 
  clan symbol painted on the nose. What worried him was the six black and 
  gold ‘bots standing in a semi-circle around the ship’s access hatch.
  “It’s our ship, no doubt about it,” Caleb told his friends. He and his Cos-
  mo-Knight allies were clad in their civvies, in an attempt to remain incon-
  spicuous. Caleb wore his blue jeans, red grav boots, and silver shirt. His 
  goggles and communications ring hung around his neck.
  Vyking, a tall and rangy human with a shock of raven hair and a neatly 
  trimmed beard, gestured at the robots stationed around the craft. “Bad mojo, 
  Caleb. Looks like your Promethean buddy was right; the Naruni Corporation 
  has impounded your ship.” Vyking looked extraordinarily comfortable in 
  canvas shorts, sandals, and a blue t-shirt with a palm design. Vyking looked 
  more ready for the beach, rather than a tour of Phase World.
  “I’m more concerned about my friends,” Caleb answered, running a hand 
  through his red hair. He felt Ariel place a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
  “We’ll find them,” the Titan told him. Nearly ten feet tall, Ariel had au-
  burn hair and green eyes, and her statuesque frame was wrapped in an elabo-
  rate white toga.
  Vyking grinned, a mischievous light in his blue eyes. “Let’s see what the 
  Repo-Bots have to say.” His grin broadened, and the Knight sauntered across 
  the tarmac in the direction of the ship. Ariel exchanged a concerned look with 
  Caleb, then followed.
  218
   
  
  Caleb took a moment to survey the scene. Docking bay sixteen was a mas-
  sive room the size of a warehouse. It contained docking space for six separate 
  medium-sized starcraft, including maintenance bays, and umbilicals linking 
  the ships to Center. Power, oxygen, coolants, and other chemicals were fed 
  back and forth between the city and the ships. The far end of the room was 
  a doorway opening out into Phase World’s cold, gray afternoon sky. Half of 
  the docking brackets were empty, while the remaining two were occupied by 
  merchant craft. A crew of Catyr swarmed over one of them, effecting repairs 
  on its damaged hull. The last ship, like the Comet, was dark. The only poten-
  tial hostiles in sight were the six Repo-Bots around the Comet.
  Which forced Caleb to focus on them once more. At Vyking’s approach, 
  the six of them formed up in an impressive display, their heavy plasma ejec-
  tors braced against their chests.
  “Evening, gentlemen... and ladies.” Vyking’s voice carried across the 
  room. The Repo-Bots didn’t seem impressed by his casual tone. Vyking 
  stopped about twelve feet from the first two cyborgs, and Ariel halted right 
  behind him, crossing her arms and looming threateningly.
  The Repo-Bots remained unimpressed.
  “You know,” Vyking continued in the same bored manner, “I used to have 
  a friend who flew one of these rigs. Same bright red shade, too. I don’t sup-
  pose you folks have seen the pilot?”
  One of the cyborgs stepped forward. Curiously, the robot body was curved 
  in a feminine shape. “Step away, citizen,” she said mechanically, levering the 
  barrel of her gun at Vyking’s head.
  Vyking held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, hey,” he said. “There’s no 
  need for violence. I was just asking a question.”
  “I will not ask you a second time,” the robot warned.
  “Oh, sure,” Vyking said quickly, “I’m not one to press my luck. It just 
  seems like too much of a coincidence, you know, seeing my friend’s ship 
  here. I mean, what are the chances?”
  “What are the chances,” the cyborg returned, “that I will pull this trigger?”
  “Eh, right.” Vyking turned on his heel and began walking back to the 
  maintenance bay where Caleb waited. Ariel waited for a moment. Caleb 
  knew she was contemplating calling up her two handed sword and slicing the 
  cyborg in two, but at last she started back towards Caleb.
  “That was a wash,” Caleb said when Vyking drew near.
  “Mmmm,” Vyking muttered. “Are they watching us?”
  “Of course. Still aiming her gun at your head, too.”
  “Good. Hate to think they won’t remember us.”
  “Why would you want them to?”
  Vyking grinned enigmatically. “I like my enemies to see my face,” he 
  said. “When this is all over, I want them to be able to look back and realize 
  this point is when we arrived, when they could have just handed over your 
  219
   
  
  friends and your ship and avoided all the pain and misery that’s about to fol-
  low.”
  Caleb could only stare at his fellow Knight, but before he could fully pro-
  cess Vyking’s words, Ariel appeared. “What next? A trip to the Naruni sector 
  to poke around?”
  Vyking shook his head. “According to our Promethean informants, the 
  customs agents Tor and Egis, a man matching Doctor Abbot’s description 
  was last observed in docking bay ninety-four. I say we head up there to poke 
  around, look for clues.”
  “Clues?” Caleb said absently, still shocked at Vyking’s speech.
  “You okay, Caleb?” Ariel asked.
  “Yeah, I just, I don’t – “ Caleb stuttered. A shadow detached from the 
  wall behind Caleb, interrupting him and drawing the attention of all three 
  Cosmo-Knights.
  “Caleb Vulcan?” the shadow asked. It roughly approximated the shape of 
  a human, but the dark matter of its body was as wispy and thin as its voice.
  Caleb brightened, though he sensed his companions bristling, preparing 
  to deflect an attack. Caleb put a hand up to block his friends. “Yes?” he said 
  to the shadow.
  “I have a message from Doctor Abbot,” it said. “He is hiding on the lower 
  levels with Siv Yurilak and Arwen. I must bring you to him.”
  Caleb frowned. “What about Kassy?” he asked. Instead of answering, the 
  shadow merely repeated its previous statement.
  “Magic,” Vyking muttered derisively.
  “It’s only a construct,” Ariel told Caleb. “It isn’t intelligent. It can only 
  answer questions it’s programmed to understand. The trick is to think of the 
  right questions.”
  “Yeah, well, think of them quickly,” Vyking said, looking over his shoul-
  der. “The Repo-Bots are getting curious and some of them are heading this 
  way.”
  Caleb risked a glance of his own. The lead cyborg was indeed marching 
  across the tarmac, accompanied by two other black and gold bots with weap-
  ons at the ready. “Shivok,” Caleb swore under his breath. He turned back to 
  the shadow. “Take us to Abbot,” he said.
  Those seemed to be the right words. The shadow expanded outward, 
  stretching its thin body even thinner. Though it grew outward, the shadow did 
  not gain any mass, and in but a few heartbeats, it stretched itself to the break-
  ing point. A sharp tearing sound echoed across the chamber as the shadow 
  split apart, ripping a hole through space. A window opened up within the 
  tear. On the other side was revealed a darkened room, containing rough hewn 
  furniture and three humanoid forms familiar to Caleb.
  Doctor Abbot, Siv Yurilak, and Arwen.
  220
   
  
  Caleb risked a glance at the advancing Naruni, and grabbed his friends by 
  the hand. Without hesitation, and against Vyking’s protests, Caleb stepped 
  through the window. He felt a chill wind pass through him, and the next mo-
  ment the three of them stood in the middle of the darkened room. Ariel had 
  to crouch.
  Doctor Abbot surged to his feet. “Caleb, my boy! You made it,” he said 
  energetically, his dry British tones unmistakable. Abbot was a humanoid 
  shadow clad in a weather-beaten trench coat and fedora. He possessed no 
  distinguishable features save twin orange lights that served as eyes, and they 
  focused closely on Vyking and Ariel now. “You brought reinforcements as 
  well. Good for you.”
  “It’s great to see you, Doc.” Caleb said as he took the doctor’s proffered 
  hand. Siv Yurilak, the lanky Noro hired to pilot the Comet, grinned uncer-
  tainly. Yurilak wore black leathers and armor plates, and two prominent grav 
  pistols hung from his belt. Arwen Griffin, a slightly built alien girl with green 
  skin and blue hair, gave Caleb a quick hug. The young Knight made quick 
  introductions, and Abbot was visibly heartened to learn Ariel and Vyking 
  were servants of the Forge.
  “Abbot,” Caleb said at last. “What happened? Where’s Kassy? Why have 
  the Naruni impounded our ship?”
  The doctor sighed, a strange noise coming from his mouthless face, 
  and gripped his cane tightly. “We’ve had a rough few days, Caleb.” Abbot 
  dropped into a poorly designed chair with a thump. “As you know, we ini-
  tially came to Phase World to locate a possible kinsman of mine. I’ve sought 
  clues as to my origins for as long as I can remember, and this was the best 
  opportunity I’ve had in centuries. We tracked the signal I detected to the 
  Vigilance, a S’hree Vek vessel on one of the upper levels, and were invited 
  aboard. There we met Hazmat, the other Shadowbeing.” Abbot paused.
  “It didn’t go well,” Arwen supplied, offering Abbot a concerned look.
  “Indeed,” Abbot said, finding his voice. “Hazmat proved to be a monster. 
  Apparently, I am descended from some of the most evil entities in the Mega-
  verse. Answers I found, but I almost wish I had remained ignorant.”
  Caleb placed a hand on Abbot’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring 
  squeeze. “I’m sorry to hear that, Doc. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
  “Thank you, Caleb. But I’m sure your business for the Forge was more 
  pressing,” Abbot said, gesturing at the other Knights with his cane. “Our 
  encounter with Hazmat left us drained, myself in particular,” he continued, 
  “and we were unprepared for the assault that followed. We were attacked by 
  two platoons of Naruni Repo-Bots and a Great Horned Dragon. It appears 
  that Thraxus may indeed have been involved in Harkonnen’s assault on Del-
  lian-4. At the very least, that is the only motive I can think of for the involve-
  ment of the Naruni.”
  221
   
  
  “According to our sources,” Vyking interrupted, “the Horned Dragon you 
  fought is one of Thraxus’ personal bodyguards. How did you three manage 
  to escape?”
  “Kassy took charge,” Abbot continued, “and it is entirely due to her quick 
  thinking that we three survived.”
  “Kassy?” Caleb asked sharply.
  “Remained behind to help Joriel, a Celestine who distracted the dragon 
  with the Vigilance’s cannons long enough for us to slip away. Kassy refused 
  to leave Joriel behind, and before I could do anything, her Gryphon had car-
  ried us from the battle.
  “We’ve been in hiding ever since, here on Center’s lower levels, where 
  it is very difficult for the Naruni to locate us. I sent servants out to watch for 
  you and Kassy, however.”
  “And Kassy hasn’t turned up yet,” Caleb said needlessly. “How long have 
  you been down here?”
  “Four standard days,” Yurilak explained.
  “That’s a long time,” Vyking pointed out. Caleb shot him an angry look.
  “Indeed,” Abbot agreed. “Every moment I grow more and more anxious 
  for Kassy’s safety.”
  “We’ll find her,” Caleb said sharply. He had lost his mentor, the Wulfen 
  Cosmo-Knight Lothar of Motherhome. He was not about to lose Kassy as 
  well.
  “Yes,” Abbot said. “Now that you’re here, we can begin planning a course 
  of action. I’ve been recharging my energy reserves thanks to a nearby ley 
  line. The battle with Hazmat took a lot out of me, but I’m ready to rescue 
  Kassy now.”
  “We’ll need intelligence,” Vyking pointed out. “Your friend may be cap-
  tured, or she may be dead.” The blue-eyed Cosmo-Knight appeared unfazed 
  by Caleb’s angry stare or Abbot’s concerned look.
  “She’s not dead,” Abbot said. “If she were, Siv or I would be able to locate 
  her. The only possibilities that remain are incarceration at the hands of the 
  Naruni, or that she is lying low as we are. If the latter were true, I believe by 
  now she would have found a way to contact us, or activate the servant I left 
  to wait for her.”
  Vyking held up his hands in mock surrender, grinning easily. “Fair 
  enough. Either way, we’ll have to find where she’s being held. Caleb, you 
  think your Promethean buddies will be any help?”
  “Wouldn’t they have told us that already?” Ariel interjected.
  “She’s right,” Caleb agreed. He snapped his fingers, and shifted his atten-
  tion to Abbot. “What was the name of that Monro you and Kassy met with 
  last time we were here?”
  222
   
  
  Abbot’s orange eyes twinkled suddenly, his version of a smile. “Of 
  course. I should have thought of him myself. Squamato Kekkil Damathui, 
  better known to his patrons as Squiddy.”
  “Is he reliable?” Vyking asked.
  “I would never use that term to describe him,” Abbot answered. “But if 
  anyone knows what’s going on, I wager it will be Squiddy. His tentacles 
  extend very far.”
  “Fair enough,” Vyking nodded. “We should also plan on freeing the ship. 
  Ariel, why don’t you take Yurilak and Ms. Griffin here and take care of that.” 
  Ariel frowned, clearly disappointed.
  “Actually,” Arwen said brightly, “I can handle the Repo-Bots on my own.”
  Vyking looked at her, uncertain. “She can,” Abbot and Yurilak said si-
  multaneously. With a grin, Vyking relented. “How about you?” he asked Siv. 
  “Will you be able to handle the ship? The Naruni will have installed some 
  kind of control system in the ship’s computer.”
  Siv scratched at his spiky mohawk. “There isn’t a ship in service or com-
  puter system online that I can’t handle,” he promised.
  Caleb was suddenly reminded of why he didn’t care for the arrogant 
  Noro, and Vyking’s cavalier attitude was beginning to rankle him as well. He 
  reigned in his emotions quickly. What mattered now was not Caleb’s ego, but 
  Kassy’s safety. Vyking could take charge all he wanted, and Yurilak could 
  boast until his face turned blue and Caleb wouldn’t care, so long as they were 
  able to rescue Kassy from the Naruni.
  “Do you really think this is all the doing of Thraxus?” Ariel asked. With a 
  start, Caleb realized that he had lost the thread of the conversation.
  “It must be,” Abbot admitted. “As far as we could tell, we did nothing to 
  provoke the Naruni Corporation itself. It is conceivable that their real target 
  may have been the S’hree Vek vessel and we were simply caught in the cross-
  fire, but I do not believe this to be the case. My instincts tell me that this was 
  done at the behest of Thraxus.”
  “I’ve tried looking for clues psionically,” Yurilak offered, “but Doctor 
  Abbot was afraid we would alert the Naruni to our whereabouts, so I’ve had 
  to be extra careful. I haven’t learned much.”
  “Then we’ll just have to depend on this Squiddy fellow,” Vyking said.
  ____________________
  Squiddy’s pawnshop was located in a rundown neighborhood on Center’s 
  fifth level. Abbot led the Knights there, while Yurilak and Arwen split from 
  the group to head up and see what they could do about the Comet. As Caleb 
  picked his way down the street, stepping around mounds of trash spilling out 
  of doorways and alleyways, and over the bodies of beggars or drug-addled 
  humanoids, his mood darkened. The presence of such squalor, such poverty, 
  223
   
  
  on a planet as rich and technologically advanced as Phase World angered 
  him.
  Abbot, perhaps sensing Caleb’s growing anger, hurried them along. Vyk-
  ing appeared nonplused by the decay, but Ariel wore a concerned look. “I 
  wish there was something we could do for these people,” she said at last. 
  Caleb echoed the sentiment.
  “Unfortunately,” Vyking pointed out, “we weren’t empowered by the 
  Forge to look after the poor and disenfranchised – nor the rich and powerful, 
  either.”
  Caleb looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”
  “We’re warriors, Caleb. We’re designed and built to battle cosmic threats, 
  the hostile forces that seem to propagate throughout the Megaverse.” Vyking 
  grinned suddenly. “No one else could have saved Ninemous from the Domi-
  nator, and very few others besides us could pose a danger to the mechanized 
  armies of the Naruni. We have larger responsibilities, in other words. We’re 
  the light that shines against the darkness, and that means hard choices.”
  “Hmm,” Abbot interrupted. “I hate to end a philosophical discussion, but 
  we’ve reached our destination.”
  The four of them stood outside a nondescript storefront with darkened 
  windows and a great deal of graffiti adorning its exterior walls. “This is it?” 
  Caleb asked. Abbot nodded and pushed open the front door with the tip of 
  his cane.
  “I guess I’ll wait out here,” Ariel said, frowning at the human-sized door-
  way.
  “We will return momentarily, my dear,” Abbot told her, eyes twinkling.
  Caleb followed Abbot into the dark interior of the pawnshop, Vyking in 
  tow. The young Knight’s first impression was of clutter. There appeared to be 
  three aisles, but the visible shelves were covered in items, piled haphazardly 
  and dangerously. Many of the piles expanded off the shelves and into the 
  aisles, creating difficult footing. Most of the items were unrecognizable to 
  Caleb’s eye; strange bits of technology that were beyond his experience. He 
  did notice robotic and cybernetic limbs and heads, helmets and bits of armor, 
  flight suits and other bits of clothing, as well as less advanced bits and pieces 
  like lengths of string, wrenches, video screens, small figurines, and the like. 
  Caleb’s heart skipped a beat when he saw a “Snoopy” poster, tattered and 
  draped across a mound of refuse.
  He thought for a moment that his eyes were playing a trick on him, but 
  the instant his trembling hand touched the brightly colored paper, he knew 
  it was real. A relic from Earth, a piece of his home world. He turned to Ab-
  bot and Vyking to share the discovery with them, but realized there would 
  be little point. They had no frame of reference; they could not possibly be as 
  delighted as he was to see a picture of Charles Schultz’ little beagle.
  224
   
  
  The choice to travel to the Three Galaxies had been his own, and he didn’t 
  regret that choice for a moment, but a crushing wave of homesickness inundat-
  ed him. He never expected to see Earth again, let alone something from Earth, 
  and his knees threatened to buckle as visions of Sunday newspapers, hot cups 
  of coffee and doughnuts, the smell of his father’s cigarettes, the warm Arizona 
  mornings, and other reminders of home flashed through his mind.
  “You like that? Two credits,” a deep, croaking voice said. Caleb looked 
  up, blinking back unshed tears. A heavy-set Monro regarded him, his wide, 
  frog-like mouth split into a friendly grin. One baleful red eye examined Caleb 
  closely, while the Monro’s tentacles waved about, almost tasting the air. One 
  fluid limb brought a cigar to the Monro’s lips, and he puffed contentedly. The 
  quadrupedal alien was the fattest Monro Caleb had ever seen, and though he 
  was only five feet tall and about as long, the Monro looked as corpulent as a 
  hippopotamus.
  “You must be Squiddy,” Caleb said, suddenly and violently brought back 
  to the present. He let the poster fall from his hands.
  The red eye narrowed in suspicion. “Who wants to know?”
  “My name is Caleb Vulcan.” The young Knight grinned at the reaction his 
  name elicited. Squiddy blanched, and tried to waddle backwards, flashing his 
  tentacles in a frenzied patterns between himself and Caleb. Before he could 
  get far, Squiddy bumped up against Vyking, who had materialized from be-
  hind a mound of refuse. Caleb didn’t remember losing track of his friends, 
  but then he hadn’t noticed the approach of Squiddy either.
  “What is this?” Squiddy croaked. His fat neck flexed as he looked back 
  and forth between Caleb and Vyking. “I haven’t talked to Harkonnen since 
  he left Center, and I seem to recall helping your friends locate him in the first 
  place.”
  “Indeed,” Abbot agreed, appearing at Caleb’s elbow. “And we need your 
  aid once again.”
  Squiddy’s face fell as he recognized Abbot. “The wizard,” he muttered 
  around his cigar. Suddenly, he brightened. His red eye widened hugely, and 
  his wide, lipless mouth split into a hungry grin. “You’re here on business. 
  That’s different.” Grunting and puffing, Squiddy maneuvered himself around 
  Vyking and waddled to the back of the store, where he took up a station 
  behind a glass counter. Settling into a sitting position, the Monro used one 
  tentacle to flick his cigar into a dark corner, while two other limbs produced 
  and lit a second one.
  “What can I do for you? And how do you expect to pay?”
  “I helped save your life,” Abbot reminded Squiddy.
  The Monro smile widened. “What have you done for me lately?” he 
  chuckled.
  “Our friends were attacked by the Naruni,” Abbot continued, orange eyes 
  glinting dangerously. “This is fallout from the Dellian-4 affair. Harkonnen 
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  kept his mouth shut, and we never had the proof nor the political leverage 
  we needed to press the issue, but it is clear that Thraxus wants payback for 
  the job we did foiling his genocidal scheme. I believe that means I still have 
  some credit here.”
  The grin had disappeared. Squiddy’s red eye jumped around, examining 
  each of them closely. “That, uh, isn’t how I do business,” he coughed.
  Vyking placed his fists on the top of the glass case and leaned forward 
  dangerously. “Let me tell you how I do business. I serve the Cosmic Forge. 
  Monetary matters do not concern me, but justice does. Those who obstruct 
  justice feel my wrath.”
  Squiddy’s eye blinked rapidly. He sucked on his cigar for a moment, send-
  ing puffs of smoke into the air. “Okay,” he said finally, “I suppose I can 
  extend you guys some credit. What is it that you want?”
  Caleb frowned, but Vyking wore an expression of triumph. Abbot didn’t 
  seem to care. “Four days ago, docking bay ninety-four was attacked by Sa-
  buro and two platoons of Repo-Bots. We believe that at least two individuals 
  were captured by the attackers. We want to know where they are being held.”
  Squiddy puffed his cigar, looking at Abbot. “Wait here,” he told them. 
  He turned around and disappeared through a low doorway into a backroom.
  Caleb nudged Vyking with his elbow. “You didn’t have to threaten him,” 
  he said. “We have some money.”
  Vyking shrugged. “Creatures like him only understand one language,” he 
  said.
  Abbot and Caleb exchanged concerned looks, but it didn’t look like Abbot 
  wished to press the issue, and Caleb wasn’t sure if this was the right place 
  to argue with Vyking. He did know that some kind of confrontation with the 
  other Knight was coming. The man’s arrogance was grating, and he seemed 
  to have some strange ideas about how best to serve the wishes of the Forge.
  Or were Caleb’s views the flawed ones? He didn’t want to explore that 
  venue, even within the privacy of his own thoughts.
  Ten minutes passed before Squiddy poked his head out the door once 
  more. Seeing that the three of them were still there, he heaved a great sigh, 
  and waddled back into the room. “According to the records I have access 
  to,” he began, “Saburo and the Repo-Bots captured six individuals, including 
  an Atlantean and a Celestine. Surprisingly, they weren’t brought back to the 
  Free Trade Zone. Instead, the prisoners were escorted to a warehouse on 4-B, 
  ostensibly owned by Kralizec Industries.”
  “Isn’t level 4-B the UWW sector of Center?” Abbot asked.
  Squiddy nodded. “Yep.” He paused. “It’s also where Harkonnen had his 
  interview with Thraxus.”
  “Interesting,” Vyking said softly.
  ____________________
  226
   
  
  Ariel agreed with Vyking’s assessment after they briefed her. “That’s 
  something of a relief, actually,” she said. “I was afraid we’d have to fight our 
  way through the Naruni sector to find your friends.”
  “No,” Abbot said, “we’ll just have to worry about a Great Horned Dragon 
  and a few dozen Repo-Bots, in addition to whatever defenses Thraxus has 
  secreted within the warehouse itself.”
  “Exactly,” Ariel enthused. “It should be a cakewalk.”
  Abbot’s eyes twinkled. “I admire your spirit, my dear, but I...” He trailed 
  off. “What is that?” he asked.
  The four of them were tracing their steps through the fifth level’s clogged 
  and dirty streets, heading toward the lifts that would carry them up to the 
  fourth level. Abbot and Vyking led them, with Ariel and Caleb bringing up 
  the rear. They had just reached a plaza when a shimmering, black and red 
  field appeared before them, eliciting Abbot’s outburst.
  The air before the foursome shimmered and shifted, like the haze over an 
  Arizona road in the midst of summer. Brief flashes of red and black flickered 
  into view, forming vague geometric shapes that gradually achieved great-
  er definition. Something resembling a face came into view at last. Abbot 
  gasped, and raised a hand to fashion some kind of ward.
  Caleb stepped forward and placed an arm across Abbot’s chest. “It’s 
  okay,” he said. “I’ve seen this before. I don’t think it’s an attack.”
  As soon as he finished speaking, the flickering face before them began to 
  talk. But whatever force kept it from attaining perfect resolution also inter-
  fered with the message it wished to impart. Only garbled fragments reached 
  the ears of Caleb and his friends.
  “Cal... Vulcan... bring... warn... you must be... Quaj... has the... watch. Ut-
  ter... aster. Must... us. All... lost unless –“
  And then it disappeared, as quickly as it arrived.
  “An omen,” Ariel breathed.
  Abbot looked closely at his young friend. “You’ve seen something like 
  this before? Why didn’t you mention it?”
  Caleb shrugged. “It didn’t seem important in all the excitement.”
  “Someone is trying very hard to send you a message,” Abbot said sharply. 
  “Someone incredibly powerful who, unless I miss my guess, just mentioned 
  the name of Quajinn Huo.”
  Caleb gritted his teeth. He had assumed the same thing after the appari-
  tion’s first appearance on Ninemous. But there wasn’t anything he could do 
  about the message, not yet. On the other hand, he could do something about 
  Kassy. “We have more pressing matters to attend right now,” he told Abbot. 
  He opened his mouth to say more, but the sky suddenly split with a metallic 
  scream.
  Caleb looked up, and to his surprise he saw two giant black and gold eggs 
  roaring through the air, each orb marred by strange projections. The projec-
  227
   
  
  tions flickered, and Caleb realized they were guns. The pavement beneath 
  their feet exploded as plasma beams and rail gun slugs tore across the ground. 
  Abbot cried out, and without thinking Caleb used his own body as a shield to 
  protect the wizard.
  Silver and blue lights flashed, and within moments, Ariel and Vyking 
  stood in their cosmo-armor. Ariel towered in a form fitting suit that resem-
  bled Greek hoplite armor, the blackness of the void showing through the 
  joints, and from the depths of her helmet. Vyking’s armor looked more like 
  a medieval Knight’s, save for the two curling horns that erupted from his 
  helm. Vyking’s blue longsword appeared in his hand, and Ariel likewise 
  summoned her silver two-handed sword, as long as she was tall. In the same 
  instant as their armor sheathed them, the two Knights leapt into the air to 
  engage the enemy.
  A terrific crash thundered across the plaza as Cosmo-Knights met eggs of 
  death in mid-air. Abbot pushed Caleb off of himself. “I’m fine, Caleb,” he 
  said hoarsely. “Help your friends.”
  Caleb stood, and a crimson light brought his own centurion themed armor 
  to him. “What are those things?” he asked.
  “Naruni Ovoid combat ‘bots,” Abbot explained. He struggled to his feet, 
  brushing off dust and fragments of pavement. His hat and coat looked un-
  ruffled, but his cane had disappeared.
  “Naruni,” Caleb echoed. “Why am I not surprised? Find cover Doc, we’ll 
  take care of this.” So saying, the young Knight stepped into the air.
  The Ovoids were the size of fighter jets, Caleb observed, but they were 
  obscenely maneuverable. They glided across the sky with ease, stopping on a 
  dime and rotating their guns to track their airborne targets. Plasma tracers lit 
  up the sky, and rail gun bullets screamed through the air. Buildings exploded 
  in showers of glass, stone, and fire as the Naruni cut loose without regard. 
  Ariel and Vyking ducked and weaved, trying to evade the attacks, looking for 
  an opening to make a counterattack.
  Focused as they were on the other two Knights, the Ovoids didn’t appear 
  to register Caleb’s presence. Caleb’s visor flashed three times with crimson 
  light, and one Ovoid’s force field flickered and died. The robot reoriented 
  itself, seeking out the new threat. The guns on one side tracked Caleb, while 
  on the other side a panel opened and a volley of missiles fired in Ariel’s 
  direction. With preternatural accuracy, the silver Knight blasted the missiles 
  out of the air with her own energy beams, then flashed forward for the kill. 
  Caleb distracted it with more energy attacks, and Ariel slashed at the black 
  and gold surface of the Ovoid with her giant blade. Megasteel shredded like 
  tissue paper.
  Meanwhile, Vyking was being knocked about by the other Ovoid. The 
  sudden attack had drawn the attention of civilians, and Vyking was forced to 
  use his own body as a shield to keep the innocents from being harmed by a 
  228
   
  
  stray bullet. The plasma ejectors couldn’t harm the Knight, protected as he 
  was against all forms of energy, but the rail gun bullets were cutting his armor 
  to ribbons. He took the punishment without complaint, answering with bolts 
  of cerulean light launched from the tip of his sword. The Ovoid’s shields 
  flickered under the onslaught, but held.
  Ariel braced herself upon the first Ovoid’s dorsal surface, and stabbed 
  repeatedly into the robot’s body with her sword. Smoke and flames erupted 
  from the machine, and it began to slowly descend to the ground in a spiral. 
  Caleb blasted past with a salute to the Titan.
  A red bar appeared in Caleb’s hands, resolving into his chosen weapon, a 
  massive sledgehammer. At close to top speed as he could get in the amount 
  of space he had available, he slammed into the remaining Ovoid, leading with 
  his hammer. The robot’s shields popped like a bubble. The hammer dented 
  the side of the egg, and it listed sharply. Its surface was raked by Vyking’s 
  energy beams, and while the Ovoid’s guns tried desperately to track Caleb 
  and fire, the crimson Knight laid into the machine again and again with his 
  hammer.
  In moments, it too was a smoking wreck lying in the street.
  While Ariel and Vyking wrenched the Ovoids open and extracted the pi-
  lots, harmed but whole, Caleb and Abbot checked on the civilians caught in 
  the crossfire.
  The plaza around them was a smoking ruin. Bodies lay in smoking heaps 
  all around. Shards of glass and chunks of concrete littered the ground. Sirens 
  echoed in the distance, promising the swift arrival of medcabs, but too many 
  of the people Caleb and Abbot found were beyond help.
  With each death they discovered, Caleb’s anger grew. Thraxus would pay, 
  he vowed. He didn’t know how he would bring the wealthiest and most pow-
  erful being in the Three Galaxies to justice, but he knew it had to be done.
  229
   
  
  Chapter Twenty
  The Great Escape
  “Time.
  “It is one element we have not mastered. Space, we have mastered, cross-
  ing from one galaxy to another and navigating the empty space between. The 
  mind, we continue to explore, discovering new and exciting psionic disci-
  plines and plumbing the depths of the sentient psyche. Wizards have discov-
  ered the means to alter the very fabric of reality itself. But time continues to 
  elude us.
  “We can build starships capable of traveling faster than light itself. The 
  laws of physics, the fundamental concepts of thermodynamics, have become 
  our playthings. Yet time marches on, inexorable, unapproachable, unfor-
  giving. History is immutable, and we would do well to consider this as our 
  Consortium’s influence and policies expand across the Three Galaxies. Once 
  done, a thing cannot be undone.”
  – Weddron Nurrick, Noro scholar and quantum psionicist
  Thraxus, the richest man in the Three Galaxies, reclined in his plasmoid 
  chair. The chair molded itself to his frame, hovering a foot off the ground, 
  neon blue in color. Around him orbited a dozen computer screens, each de-
  scribing a different scene. Thraxus lifted his glass of brandy and sipped light-
  ly, barely noticing the bouquet or the smoky flavor, his mind more closely 
  involved with the flickering images spinning around him.
  Thraxus was rich beyond imagining, wealthier than most planets and some 
  empires, and beyond that he was immortal. His life had once been consumed 
  with conflict, with the shattering of bone and the hot spray of blood, with the 
  destruction of foes and the winning of great rewards. But that was a long time 
  ago, and the dungeons he had plundered, the people he had killed and the 
  women he had loved, had turned to dust thousands of years before. Now, he 
  spent his days basking in luxuriance, his every wish answered immediately, 
  no demand beyond fulfillment.
  Boredom was endemic.
  Which was why, just months ago, he had hired the former Invincible 
  Guardsman Elias Harkonnen to sabotage the food production facilities on 
  the overpopulated planet of Delian-IV. Mostly he simply wanted to see what 
  would happen if Harkonnen proved successful, but he also stood to achieve 
  considerable financial gains by providing relief and supplies through his own 
  shipping concerns. Yet Harkonnen failed, and Thraxus’ scheme was dashed, 
  taken apart by a small band of adventurers lead by Lothar of Motherhome, a 
  Wulfen Cosmo-Knight.
  230
   
  
  Lothar perished during the defense of Delian-IV, but that was small con-
  solation. The other heroes disappeared into the United Worlds of Warlock, 
  and Thraxus’ informants lost track of them. Until just days before, when 
  the adventurers had arrived on Phase World, unwittingly putting themselves 
  within Thraxus’ grasp. Two of the heroes were currently convalescing in-
  side one of the many warehouses Thraxus owned on 4-B, purchased through 
  a dummy corporation and stocked with enough obstacles to slow down an 
  army of Cosmo-Knights.
  Which, unfortunately, would seem to be necessary. One of the screens 
  hovering before him showed a trio of Cosmo-Knights heading rapidly to-
  wards Phase World’s fourth level. The female, a Titan, wore a suit of silver 
  hoplite armor. She towered over the human who wore a suit of metallic blue 
  full plate, as well as the other human in crimson centurion armor. The one in 
  red was the one to watch.
  His name was Caleb Vulcan. Aside from his bonded deputy status in the 
  Consortium of Civilized Worlds, Vulcan possessed no records of any kind in 
  any government known to Thraxus or his investigators. Not unusual in and of 
  itself; the Cosmic Forge chose its candidates from all manner of backwater 
  worlds and dimensions. But Vulcan had seemingly come out of nowhere, and 
  he had managed to single-handedly defeat the invulnerable Elias Harkonnen, 
  destroy an ancient doomsday weapon let loose by a supernova, and proved 
  pivotal in the eradication of a Dominator plaguing the UWW. No small feats 
  for a novice Knight. But then, Thraxus had reservations as to Vulcan’s level 
  of skill.
  Thraxus and Caleb Vulcan had met before, seven hundred years previ-
  ously. And again, four hundred years after that. The second visitation, Vul-
  can had obviously Fallen from the lofty perch of Cosmic Knighthood, and 
  yet here he was, reinstated and seemingly oblivious to the past. Or was it 
  some kind of game? Some ruse that Vulcan had hatched in an attempt to lull 
  Thraxus into a sense of security?
  Since Vulcan’s arrival on Phase World just hours before, Thraxus had 
  felt a foreign emotion niggling at the edges of his psyche, an emotion he had 
  not felt in ages, and which he initially had trouble naming. And that emotion 
  led to others, almost forgotten in the mist of time. Confusion, uncertainty, 
  disquietude.
  It was delicious, really. Thraxus sat forward in his plasmoid chair, eagerly 
  devouring the unfolding story.
  ____________________
  Arwen Griffin stood outside the lock to docking bay sixteen, Siv Yurilak 
  at her side. The long-limbed Noro pilot shifted nervously, his leathers creak-
  ing, and his hands dropped unconsciously to caress the butts of the two grav 
  231
   
  
  pistols hanging from his waist. Arwen shared a reassuring grin with Siv, sym-
  pathizing with his anxiety but not feeling a bit of it herself.
  The petite alien girl with the green skin and blue hair bounced on the balls 
  of her feet, eager for the coming conflict. Doctor Abbot, her acting guardian 
  beyond the reaches of the Celestial Brotherhood, had asked her and Siv to 
  retake their starship. Impounded by the Naruni Corporation, the red-finished 
  Comet class light frigate was now guarded by a platoon of Naruni Repo-Bots. 
  Arwen had already fought a number of the cybernetic creatures, and could 
  only describe the experience as exhilarating. Raised among the ascetic Celes-
  tial Monks, Arwen’s life to this point had been anything but exciting. Only 
  the constant martial arts drills had relieved her boredom, and now let loose 
  in the wide and wild Three Galaxies, she found her martial skills invaluable. 
  Calling upon the strange reservoir of energy within her made her a physical 
  match for even the peerless Repo-Bots, and the advanced hand to hand tech-
  niques of the Brotherhood made her their better.
  So, no worries. She practically salivated at the chance to unleash the full 
  measure of her abilities once more. Training against her fellow monks, Ar-
  wen always needed to hold back. But against the Naruni cyborgs, she had no 
  such need.
  “Okay,” Siv said, “the docking bay is clear. The last of the Catyr engi-
  neers is leaving through the access passage.” He had monitored the target 
  area with his clairvoyant abilities, and though Siv wasn’t much of a combat-
  ant, he could ensure no innocent bystanders would be caught in the middle 
  of the coming battle.
  “Excellent,” Arwen giggled. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” With that, the 
  young monk passed through the lock into the docking bay proper. She barely 
  heard Siv’s whispered “Good luck.”
  Docking bay sixteen was a massive chamber the size of a warehouse. Six 
  medium sized starships would have fit easily within its expanse, but only 
  three of the brackets were currently in use. Maintenance bays were scattered 
  around, and huge umbilical tubes linked the ships in place to Center. Pow-
  er, oxygen, coolants, and other chemicals were fed back and forth between 
  the city and the ships. The far end of the room was a doorway opening out 
  into Phase World’s early evening, where the planet’s gray half-light waned. 
  The Comet was unmistakable, and not for its crimson paneling nor the clan 
  Acherean symbol etched on its nose. The six black and gold robots standing 
  around the craft brought the eye immediately to it.
  The six of them tracked her as she loped easily across the tarmac. She was 
  grinning, but couldn’t help it. This was going to be fun.
  Before she was halfway to her destination, Arwen triggered her trans-
  formation. Immediately, her body was suffused with an indigo glow, which 
  gave her brightly colored features a violet cast. That got the Repo-Bots’ at-
  tention. An alien with a strange energy signature equaled trouble in anyone’s 
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  book, and she wasn’t disappointed by the robots’ response. Six plasma rifles 
  were raised to six shoulders, and six streams of electric blue light flashed 
  across the docking bay. The energy beams scattered harmlessly off Arwen’s 
  protective field.
  She doubled her speed, and half a second later doubled it again. The Repo-
  Bots momentarily lost track of her, and while their targeting systems recali-
  brated, she flashed between a pair of them and unleashed a Phoenix Eye Fist 
  that shattered the chassis of the one on the right. Metal screamed as her hand 
  sank into the machine’s chest. Electricity flared, reacting with her energy 
  field, and the Repo-Bot crumpled to the ground, out of the fight.
  The one on her left, perhaps reacting instinctively, dropped its rifle and 
  popped a row of razor sharp blades from its knuckles. Arwen spun on her 
  heel to face the cyborg; suddenly it had become the most dangerous foe in 
  the room. Her energy field would deflect blaster fire until she passed out, but 
  old fashioned kinetic energy would pierce the field easily. Luckily for Arwen, 
  charged up as she was she could match the robotic strength and speed of her 
  opponent with ease.
  Blades slashed for her throat and she blocked with a forearm, then danced 
  around to the robot’s right as it tried to gut her with its other hand. Before 
  the cyborg could reorient on her, Arwen connected with a Shattering Dragon 
  Kick that popped the Repo-Bot’s head off its shoulders. Another foe crashed 
  to the ground with a metallic clatter.
  She heard a kind of siren wail coming from behind her, and without con-
  scious thought she leapt straight up half a dozen meters, and landed on her 
  feet a meter away. The mini-missile aimed at her back passed harmlessly 
  beneath her and connected with a maintenance bay on the other side of the 
  chamber, turning it to slag. One of the Repo-Bots had produced some heavy 
  artillery and it was already drawing a bead on Arwen as her feet met the 
  ground. The other four closed in slowly, their rifles still trained on her but 
  silent for the moment.
  Arwen grinned fiercely. Water Rolling Uphill brought her across the inter-
  vening space in the blink of an eye, and the hard edge of her left hand cut the 
  missile launcher in two. Shivering Palm Strike dented the Repo-Bot’s chest. 
  It staggered backward a step, and then dropped to the ground, sparking and 
  smoking as its internal systems rattled themselves to pieces. Arwen allowed 
  herself a brief smirk, satisfied that the technique worked as well on mechani-
  cal systems as it did on biological ones.
  In less than thirty seconds Arwen had halved the opposition. She could 
  see the cyborgs were unnerved by this. Their photoelectric eyes watched her 
  closely, and two of them were backing away from her slowly, tracking her 
  every move with the muzzles of their guns. The third was a little more sure 
  of itself; it placed its rifle over its shoulder, and popped open twin panels in 
  its thighs. Reaching in, the repo-bot pulled out two serrated knives. When 
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  Arwen focused her attention on the knife-wielder, the other two followed the 
  example of the leader. Plasma rifles went away, to be replaced with close-
  quarter weapons pulled out of hidden compartments.
  The one with the knives got in a cut, slicing a shallow gash across Arwen’s 
  collar bone, but she barely noticed the wound. She took the ‘Bot down with a 
  Spinning Axis Kick. The Repo-Bot with the neural mace ended up eating his 
  own weapon, and the last one, the one who favored some kind of wickedly 
  curved cleaver, proved no match for a Running Centipede Strike.
  When the last Repo-Bot fell apart, Arwen dropped to her knees, her en-
  ergy field fading. Soaked in her own sweat, clear blood pooling on her collar, 
  she fell on her back. “Cool,” she breathed.
  Siv’s head appeared in her line of vision, leaning over her and looking 
  concerned. “You okay?”
  “Yeah,” Arwen said tiredly. “Just took a lot more out of me than I thought 
  it would. That was fun, though.”
  Siv sighed. “You’re a weird kid, Griffin.” She laughed. “You stay here. 
  I’m going to get the ship ready. Something tells me we’ll have to be ready to 
  blow out of here the moment Kassy and Joriel are free.”
  Arwen levered herself to her feet. “Wait for me,” she grunted. Together, 
  they hurried into the Comet. Arwen hoped that the others were facing as little 
  resistance as she had.
  ____________________
  The UWW sector on Center’s fourth level was a riot of sounds, sights, 
  and smells. Creatures that Caleb Vulcan had only ever seen before in story-
  books or Harryhausen movies filled every available space. Pegasi, Chimeras, 
  and Gryphons flew by overhead. Elves and Dwarves and Goblins walked 
  the streets. Storefronts showed bubbling cauldrons and weird grimoires and 
  Caleb thought he even glimpsed a gingerbread house, half hidden down an 
  alleyway by more conventional structures.
  The denizens of level 4-B gave Caleb and his three friends a wide berth, 
  eyeing them with fear and suspicion, wonder and amazement. Cold stares and 
  pointed fingers stalked them across the city streets. The four of them were an 
  impressive sight, Caleb knew. How often did the average citizen of the Three 
  Galaxies see one Cosmo-Knight, let alone a trio of them, escorted by a walk-
  ing shadow in a trenchcoat?
  Normally Caleb would have preferred his nondescript human form, red 
  headed human teenager from Arizona. But his sense of humor and good na-
  ture had evaporated in the face of the threat posed by Thraxus. The immortal 
  had kidnaped two of Caleb’s friends, and in attempting to keep Caleb from 
  rescuing them, loosed an army of Repo-Bots and other Naruni toys which 
  had devastated a neighborhood and injured dozens of innocents. So now he 
  walked through Center’s streets in full Cosmo-Knight regalia, encased in his 
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  metallic red centurion armor. The darkness of the void showed at his joints 
  and through the narrow slit of his visor, and a stylized image of a hammer 
  embossed his breastplate.
  Caleb’s companions were no less impressive. Vyking, also human, also a 
  Cosmo-Knight, wore a suit of segmented plate mail, brilliant blue in color. A 
  pair of curved horns decorated his otherwise featureless helm, and he carried 
  a metallic blue longsword in his right hand. Beside Vyking towered Ariel, 
  a ten foot tall Titan in shimmering silver hoplite armor, her ethereal beauty 
  hidden behind a crested helm. Completing the quartet was Caleb’s oldest liv-
  ing friend in the Three Galaxies, the mysterious wizard Doctor Abbot. Abbot 
  appeared as insubstantial as a shadow, his face featureless save for his pale 
  orange eyes, and he wore only a battered fedora and trenchcoat, twirling a 
  cane between his fingers.
  “We take this left,” Abbot said, emphasizing his statement by gesturing 
  with his cane.
  The four of them turned into the side street, drawing the attention of a 
  hulking Promethean guard in violet armor. Caleb felt his pulse pounding 
  in his ears. Their destination approached, an aging warehouse supposedly 
  owned by Thraxus, and currently housing Kassiopaiea Acherean and Joriel 
  the Celestine. Caleb had not yet met Joriel, but Kassy had risked her own life 
  in an attempt to save the Celestine’s, and that made his continued existence 
  important to Caleb as well. Because Caleb was a little bit in love with Kassy. 
  And if anything happened to her...
  ... he couldn’t complete the thought. Instead, he held up his right hand. A 
  crimson bar of light appeared between his fingers, resolving into a solid and 
  very heavy sledgehammer, Caleb’s chosen weapon.
  The warehouse appeared up ahead on the right, a tall rambling structure 
  of slate gray megasteel. Tiny windows decorated its top floor, but the bulk 
  of it was featureless and unmarked. The front door was twice as tall as Ariel 
  and nearly half again as wide, segmented to open in a kind of spiral fashion. 
  A smartly dressed Catyr stood outside the door. He stood stiffly, holding a 
  golden watch in his hand, peering at it closely.
  “You’re running a little late,” the Catyr said, snapping the watch closed 
  and making it disappear into the pocket of his waistcoat.
  “Our sincere apologies,” Vyking said sarcastically. He took a threaten-
  ing step towards the Catyr, his sword half-extended. The Catyr didn’t blink. 
  Instead, he regarded Caleb coldly.
  “Keep your friends to a tight leash, Mr. Vulcan. Time is of the essence.”
  Vyking actually raised his sword as if to strike, but Caleb held up his own 
  hand, palm outward. “Leave him,” he said. Vyking stared at Caleb a moment, 
  his look inscrutable behind his helmet, but dropped his sword.
  Caleb nodded. He stepped toward the Catyr. “Here is the way it’s going 
  to be. You’re going to release Acherean and the Celestine, or we will take 
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  Thraxus’ organization apart, brick by brick. We won’t stop until we’ve razed 
  his ivory tower to the ground.”
  The suggestion of a smile graced the Catyr’s lips. “Very impressive, Mr. 
  Vulcan. But allow me to correct some misconceptions. You have no case 
  against my employer, no proof of his involvement in any of the day’s ac-
  tivities. He is very well regarded in this city, and even the threats of Cosmo-
  Knights hold little water to the Prometheans who rule here. No, I’m afraid if 
  you wish to see your friends alive, you will have to play by our rules.”
  “Let us take this case to the Prometheans, then,” Ariel said, “and see what 
  happens.”
  “I doubt you’ll want to do that,” the Catyr said. “Promethean morality is 
  alien to most sentient beings, particularly the servants of the Forge. You’ll 
  find that their sympathies will lie more closely with a native son than a group 
  of foreigners.”
  “What do you want from me?” Caleb asked.
  “Caleb,” Abbot started to say, but Caleb cut him off.
  “We don’t seem to have a choice, Doc.” Abbot’s orange eyes flashed dan-
  gerously, but he nodded.
  The Catyr smiled slyly. “That is much more agreeable. I am pleased to 
  see you four willing to listen to reason.” He paused, examining them each in 
  turn, and folded his hands against his abdomen. “Caleb Vulcan – and only he 
  – may pass beyond the threshold of this door. Three challenges await within. 
  Each of these must be surmounted in an allotted span of time, or the prisoners 
  will be executed. Once the third challenge is defeated, they, and Mr. Vulcan, 
  will be allowed to go free.”
  “Madness,” Vyking growled.
  “I don’t like it Caleb,” Abbot confessed. “I doubt Thraxus can be trusted 
  to play his own game fairly.”
  “You got Burt Ward and Adam West trussed up in there too?” Caleb asked 
  the Catyr. Blank looks answered his attempt at humor, and Caleb mentally 
  shrugged. “I agree with Abbot and Vyking. But, unless anyone can suggest 
  an alternative, I think we’ll have to play along.”
  More blank looks. “I wish the Forge had given us x-ray vision,” Ariel 
  grumbled suddenly. Caleb grinned under his helmet.
  Caleb turned to Abbot. “Can you sense anything?”
  Abbot’s shadowy face went completely blank as he closed his eyes and 
  concentrated. They reappeared almost instantly. “No, I do not. But the mo-
  ment I do, I will pull all three of you out of there.”
  Caleb nodded. “Let’s go,” he said. The Catyr’s sly smile grew more oily. 
  At some hidden signal, the warehouse door cycled open with the hiss of hy-
  draulics. Caleb reluctantly stepped forward, into the darkened doorway. He 
  stood there for a moment, and then the door scissored shut behind him. A soft 
  green glow washed over him momentarily, illuminating a large airlock and 
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  an inner door at the far end. Caleb braced himself for an attack, but nothing 
  came. Instead, the other door opened. Golden light spilled into the airlock.
  Caleb stepped into the next room. It was a large chamber with a vaulted 
  ceiling, filled mostly with nondescript metal boxes. Another door waited a 
  hundred yards distant, through a maze of boxes. Caleb looked around care-
  fully, but he didn’t see any obvious threats. Cautiously, he began to cross the 
  chamber, his visor scanning as he moved. Halfway across the room, a loud 
  thumping began to emanate from one of the boxes Caleb had passed, and the 
  metal cube shifted and scraped along the floor.
  Caleb shifted automatically into a battle stance, hammer held up in a 
  guarded position, his visor beginning to glow with lethal crimson energy.
  A shimmering indigo hologram appeared at Caleb’s elbow. He shifted 
  part of his attention to the light, noting an elegantly dressed humanoid with 
  pale skin and a dark helmet of hair. “Greetings, Caleb. It’s good to see you 
  again.”
  What was that supposed to mean? Caleb thought. Aloud, he said, “Who 
  are you?”
  The semi-transparent face frowned, but a smile blossomed almost imme-
  diately. “I am Thraxus, of course. Since I now know you have no recording 
  devices secreted on your person, I thought I would enter the game personally. 
  The first of my three challenges is fairly straightforward. In that box is a crea-
  ture called a Holy Terror, brought here from a dimension called Wormwood.”
  The box cracked open, and a silver, spiked arm reached out. Metal wailed 
  as the box was shredded, and a human sized tank stepped out into the room. 
  Glittering gems decorated the creature’s carapace. It had rubies for eyes, em-
  eralds across its pectorals, and sapphires up and down its arms. The finish on 
  the metal was dull, however, and were it biological Caleb would have said 
  the creature looked sickly. The head hung low and the limbs, despite their ap-
  parent weight and the certain supernatural strength of the thing, swung lazily.
  “Normally,” Thraxus continued, “Holy Terrors are crusaders on a par with 
  you Knights. But this one has been infected with a Bio-Wizard virus I pur-
  chased from the Splugorth, tailor made for just this kind of opponent. The 
  virus has driven this Holy Terror insane, and horribly violent. The door will 
  unlock when you have defeated it. Be careful.” The hologram winked out, 
  and almost at the same moment, a sextet of silver spikes flashed through the 
  air in Caleb’s direction.
  Caleb instinctively dodged, and his cosmically enhanced agility was al-
  most enough. A spike pierced his left thigh, driving deep and eliciting a cry of 
  pain from the Knight. Caleb retaliated with a burst of red light from his eyes. 
  The Holy Terror, too big to dodge capably, howled a multi-toned sound that 
  made Caleb’s ears ring. He followed up by throwing the hammer, connecting 
  easily, and the creature was knocked off its feet by the blow.
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  The hammer reappeared in Caleb’s hands, and he edged closer to the Holy 
  Terror, eyeing it carefully. It remained supine. Caleb took the opportunity to 
  grab the head of the spike and tried to pull it out of his leg. It wouldn’t budge; 
  he couldn’t get it to move by scrabbling at it with his fingertips. Two arcs of 
  lightning suddenly flashed across the room and struck Caleb with a crackling 
  boom. It hurt.
  But it shouldn’t have. As a Knight of the Forge, he was immune to all 
  forms of energy. He could fly through a sun – how could lightning hurt him?
  Magic. Of course. “Shivok,” Caleb muttered, one of the curse words he’d 
  picked up from Ariel. That explained putting this warehouse in the UWW 
  sector of Center. Cosmo-Knights had no natural defense against magical at-
  tacks. Then again, Caleb had no magic phobia like some Knights.
  The Holy Terror was clumsily crawling to its feet. Caleb flexed his legs 
  and leapt across the room. He crashed into the creature, driving the hammer 
  hard into its head, and one of the horns on the thing’s crown snapped off. It 
  roared again, staggered, and swiped at Caleb with its three-clawed hands. Ca-
  leb blocked almost casually, and drove his fist into where the creature’s solar 
  plexus was supposed to be. If it had one. The intended effect didn’t occur, but 
  he did dent its abdominal armor.
  The Holy Terror’s arms clamped down on Caleb’s shoulders suddenly. It 
  was strong enough to keep him locked in place. Caleb pulled back a leg to 
  kick it away, but the mandibles in the Terror’s helmeted face opened up. A 
  green mist sprayed from its mouth, splashing across Caleb’s face and chest. 
  His armor burned, a searing pain that cut through Caleb more sharply than 
  anything he’d ever felt before. Another crimson colored slash of energy 
  sparked from Caleb’s armor, washing over the Holy Terror’s face. Metal 
  features burned and melted to slag, and its ruby eyes shattered like glass.
  The Holy Terror released Caleb and lurched backward, senseless and reel-
  ing. Caleb’s hammer rose and fell, connecting with an echoing clang. The 
  Holy Terror crumpled to its knees and raised its hands in an ineffectual at-
  tempt to block further blows. Caleb frowned under his helmet, then tagged 
  the Terror along the temple with the hammer. With a resounding clatter, the 
  beast finally fell.
  Caleb knelt beside it for a moment, wondering if he’d hit it too hard and 
  killed it, and wondering how he could check. His armor and helmet still 
  burned, but the pain had dulled. He felt a headache building behind his eyes, 
  though. Caleb rose with a grunt and flew through the air towards the far door. 
  He heard a loud click as it unlocked, and then hydraulics hissed as the door 
  opened.
  As Caleb passed through it, he felt a tickle at the back of his throat. He 
  forced a cough to clear it. A cough?
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  Another stark room, with strange boxes piled high, almost to the ceiling. 
  The hologram reappeared, grinning malevolently. “Oh poor Caleb, have you 
  caught a sniffle?”
  “What have you done to me?” Caleb demanded. His vision blurred mo-
  mentarily, and the headache grew, a stabbing pain behind his eyes.
  “You’ve been infected with the same virus the Holy Terror carried. I’m 
  curious to see how well the microbe does against a cosmically powered be-
  ing. Looks to be doing pretty well.” Thraxus mimed checking a watch on his 
  wrist. “You’ll be irreversibly contaminated in about twenty-three minutes. 
  Don’t worry, though. The antidote is in the next room.”
  Caleb lurched forward, his head throbbing, hammer suddenly a heavy 
  weight in his hands. His armor burned. No, it wasn’t his armor, the burning 
  was inside. Caleb dispelled the helmet, and wiped sweat from his forehead 
  with the back of his gauntlet.
  “But first, you’ll have to survive this chamber. In keeping with the Splu-
  gorth theme, there’s a Conservator loose in here. I’ll see you shortly. Good 
  luck.”
  The hologram derezzed with a popping sound as a metal crate flew through 
  it, spinning across the room towards Caleb. Coughing, Caleb dropped low 
  and rolled. The crate smashed into the wall behind him, but Caleb barely no-
  ticed. He lurched to his feet and raised the hammer protectively while scan-
  ning the room.
  There it was, standing proudly atop a pyramid of packing crates. It looked 
  like some kind of huge insect, six-limbed and covered in dark gray plates of 
  chitin-like armor. A long, narrow tail lashed behind it, tipped with a wick-
  ed looking stinger, and its three baleful eyes glared at Caleb angrily. The 
  mouth opened, showing sharpened teeth, and the thing roared. “You’re dead, 
  Knight!”
  “Oh brother,” Caleb muttered. “I don’t have time for this.” He loosed en-
  ergy beams from his eyes, but the Conservator dodged, leaping like a grass-
  hopper out of the way. It disappeared behind another tower of boxes. It did 
  not immediately reappear.
  Caleb watched and waited. He blinked back beads of sweat and stopped 
  his reflexive breathing. The urge to cough subsided, but his throat continued 
  to burn. He counted a slow sixty, but the creature remained hidden. With a 
  mental shrug, Caleb took to the air and flew towards the waiting door on the 
  opposite wall. Before he had gone a dozen yards, the Conservator slammed 
  into him at high speed, pouncing from cover and carrying him to the ground 
  with a resounding crash. Four fists pummeled him rapid fire, denting his ar-
  mor and forcing a cry of pain from the Knight. The Conservator’s claws tore 
  into his body, rending crimson metal and cutting into the flesh beneath.
  Caleb struggled and twisted, trying to get out from under the creature, and 
  managed to wedge his forearm beneath the Conservator’s slathering jaw. The 
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  Conservator wrapped two hands around Caleb’s throat and began to squeeze, 
  while its lower arms began to rip the plates of his armor off of his abdomen. 
  Caleb’s vision dimmed, but not from lack of air. The virus was speeding up, 
  devouring him from the inside. Time was running out.
  Luckily, he had the Conservator right where he wanted it.
  Crimson light erupted from Caleb’s eyes, searing the Conservator’s face. 
  It howled and leapt off him, claws skittering along the floor as it moved, 
  faster than Caleb’s eyes could follow at the present time.
  Pain blossomed across the back of his neck as the spiked tail slashed him 
  from behind. Caleb spun on his heel, but the creature was already gone, slith-
  ering out of the way with lightning speed. Caleb slashed at the air with en-
  ergy beams. Crates exploded, and slivers of metal flew through the air. They 
  bounced off Caleb’s breastplate with a metallic tinkle.
  Black smoke billowed into the air, and flames roared across the ground. 
  Caleb groaned inwardly. His outburst offered the Conservator more chanc-
  es for concealment. Caleb ducked low and circled slowly, wondering from 
  where the next attack would come. Suddenly the smoke on his left parted, and 
  the Conservator sailed through the air towards him, claws extended.
  Caleb gave it a red look. Energy beams slashed the air and struck the crea-
  ture on the chest, knocking it back into the flames. The Conservator howled 
  in pain, then hopped back into view, trailing flames. Caleb launched himself 
  at the creature, hammer swinging. The Conservator slithered low and around 
  to Caleb’s left. It was fast, but not quite fast enough. The sledge caught it at 
  the base of its skull, and the Conservator collapsed.
  Caleb stared at it a moment, daring it to rise, but the Conservator remained 
  on the floor. Caleb eyed the flames, then hooked an elbow under one of the 
  thing’s armpits and dragged it free. He left it spread-eagled in the open and 
  limped towards the door.
  Sweat streamed from his temples and wept from his cheeks. His armor 
  was stifling, pitted and scored with acid across his shoulders, dented and torn 
  across the chest and abdomen. The silver spike was still wedged in his thigh, 
  and the hammer grew heavier by the moment. The door opened, revealing 
  only darkness on the other side.
  Caleb dispelled his hammer – it really was too heavy for him to carry at 
  this point – and crossed the threshold. The darkness did not recede. Indeed, it 
  only grew more intense as the door closed with a hiss.
  The hologram shimmered to life before Caleb. Thraxus’ waxen features 
  grinned malevolently. “Caleb, my old friend. You don’t look well. Did I ne-
  glect to mention that the virus works faster the more energy you expend? I 
  feel just awful. But don’t worry, your salvation is at hand.”
  Fifty feet away, at the end of what appeared to be an empty room, a light 
  flickered on overhead. It illuminated a small pedestal, upon which was set a 
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  crystal vial of some sort. Something beneath the vial glowed redly, and the 
  liquid within was beginning to bubble.
  “The antidote,” Thraxus said needlessly. “Though once it boils over, it 
  will be useless. You haven’t got much time to ingest it. Of course, if you do, 
  you won’t have a chance to save your friends.”
  Another light flickered overhead, a hundred feet distant. Caleb’s eyes 
  blurred again, forcing him to wipe moisture from his brow. The object be-
  neath the light came into to focus, a strange metallic green structure. It had a 
  central pole, and six slats arranged around its base like the petals of a flower. 
  Kassy, unconscious, and another humanoid with maroon wings and red and 
  blue armor lay attached to separate slats. As Caleb watched, panels opened in 
  the pillar’s surface, and a hundred sharpened points sprang outward, dripping 
  venom. The panels began to ratchet upward, a tick at a time. It was clear that 
  they were designed to drive Kassy and Joriel into the spines. Death would 
  probably be instantaneous.
  “Choose, hero. Your life, or theirs.”
  “Not much of a choice at all, then,” Caleb muttered. He lurched forward, 
  metal boots scraping across the floor as he took each step. Flight was out of 
  the question; his vision was too untrustworthy, and he might overshoot the 
  target. He couldn’t afford such a mistake. Trying to use his heat vision would 
  be just as disastrous.
  Thraxus urged him on. “I would suggest hurrying, my friend. At your 
  present rate, you’ll be far too late to do anyone any good.”
  Caleb grimaced. His throat burned, his sight was failing, and beneath his 
  armor every square inch of flesh itched maddeningly. Still he broke into a 
  clumsy run, loping across the darkened space with all the speed he could 
  muster. His foot struck some low placed object, hidden by the darkness, and 
  he tumbled to the ground, landing with a metallic crash. Caleb lurched to his 
  feet clumsily, dispelling his armor with a crimson flash of light.
  He felt a sudden chill, but his mind cleared for a moment. With a sudden 
  burst of speed, Caleb leapt across the intervening space and slammed bodily 
  into the torture device. It did not budge, but Caleb felt bruises forming on his 
  shoulders and back. He wedged himself upright, ignoring the sarcastic clap-
  ping sounds emanating from the hologram, and grabbed the base of the slat 
  holding Kassy aloft. It was almost vertical, and the spines were dangerously 
  close. A drop of venom landed on the back of Caleb’s hand, and he smelled 
  burning flesh.
  With a twist of cosmically enhanced strength, the slat broke free of its 
  base, and it tumbled to the floor, taking Kassy with it. Caleb keeled over as 
  every nerve in his body suddenly screamed; he felt as though his blood ves-
  sels were filled with fire, as though he were burning alive from the inside out. 
  But there was Joriel left, and he couldn’t let the virus take him yet. Caleb 
  forced himself to his feet, forced his eyes to focus. The winged Celestine, 
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  unconscious, rose another tick. The larger spines scraped against the plates of 
  his armor, and only the lolling of his head saved him from taking several le-
  thal jabs in his neck. Caleb roared, summoning the last dregs of his strength, 
  and shattered the base of Joriel’s slat. The metal tore like tissue paper, and 
  Joriel clattered to the ground.
  Caleb landed beside him. He looked across the room, failing eyes drawn to 
  the pedestal with his antidote upon it. There was nothing there.
  Thraxus’ hologram approached, clapping politely. “Well done, Caleb. It’s 
  a pity you have to die, but I am a man of my word. Your friends will go free.”
  Caleb tried to respond, but his throat was too raw. The words wouldn’t 
  come.
  Then everything went black.
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  Chapter Twenty-One
  As I Lay Dying
  “It is important to remember that Cosmo-Knights are not immortal. Sure, 
  they seem to be. They don’t visibly age, or even need to eat or drink. They 
  can take a full blast from a starship’s laser cannons without flinching, and a 
  Knight can exist in the vacuum of space without even having to seal herself in 
  her armor. Yeah, they’re tough alright.
  “But immortal? Not by a longshot. So be prepared to back them up when it 
  hits the retro-rockets – and it will – because at the end of the day, for all their 
  power, a Cosmo-Knight is just a person. Like you and me.”
  – Captain Hiram Starling of CAFFCO
  Consciousness returned slowly. First came aches and pains, eliciting a 
  groan, then senses sparked to life, and finally full awareness returned.
  Slowly, Kassiopaeia Acherean, Atlantean Undead Slayer, sat up, rubbing 
  her biceps where the straps had cut into her skin.
  Straps?
  Kassy blinked and forced herself to think. The last concrete memory she 
  possessed, she and Joriel had been fighting a rear guard action against the 
  forces of Thraxus. Their efforts ensured that their friends escaped capture, 
  but she and the winged android had been overwhelmed and captured. The 
  throbbing in her skull told her she had been drugged and the pains in her arms 
  and thighs suggested she had recently been bound as well. Kassy pressed a 
  palm against her forehead and counted slowly to ten.
  She rose shakily to her feet. A few meters away, Joriel lay in a tangled 
  heap beside a broken board of some kind. The pale-skinned android still wore 
  his red and blue body armor, and his feathery maroon hair lay over his fea-
  tures like a cloud. His gorgeous, maroon feathered wings looked painfully 
  folded behind his back, but Joriel remained unconscious.
  Beyond his crumpled form, Kassy made out a Vortex Blossom, an ancient 
  Draconid torture device. Kassy realized that the board lying beneath Joriel 
  was actually one of the petals from the Vortex Blossom, ripped from its hous-
  ing by someone or something with prodigious strength. They must have been 
  attached to the device, she thought. But who –
  Kassy turned, suddenly feeling eyes upon her. Her heart leapt into her 
  throat when she beheld the tableau before her. Her friend Caleb Vulcan, neo-
  phyte Knight of the Cosmic Forge, lay on the ground. He wore only civilian 
  dress, having presumably divested himself of his crimson battle armor, and 
  he shivered and convulsed with painful-looking spasms. His flesh flushed 
  dark and red, soaked with sweat, and blood seeped from his ears and nose, 
  mixing with mucous and bile around his lips. Over Caleb towered the ho-
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  lographic image of the wealthiest man in the Three Galaxies, his patrician 
  features twisted into a cruel smile.
  “Thraxus.” Kassy gasped his name like a curse. Instinctively, she placed 
  two fingers on her right hand against the blue and white sword glyph on her 
  left wrist. A blue-white flaming blade appeared in her open left hand, flicker-
  ing angrily. It was an empty gesture; she could no more harm the hologram 
  than she could warp space and time, but it made her feel better.
  Thraxus remained unimpressed. “A brave display, my dear, but wholly 
  wasted. I advise you to concern yourself with your fallen comrades rather 
  than myself.”
  “What have you done?” she demanded. “What do you want?”
  The smile grew darker. “I’ve gotten what I wanted,” he said. “Caleb has 
  passed the test. You may leave now.” He paused. “You may wish to give him 
  the antidote, though I’m sure the heat as long since destroyed it.” Thraxus 
  waved his hand towards the rear of the vast room. Kassy made out a small 
  table, apparently empty.
  Thraxus’ smile disappeared. “Where is it?”
  Kassy ignored him. Caleb was certainly poisoned then, and any poison 
  potent enough to cripple a Cosmo-Knight was not to be treated lightly. She 
  dispelled the sword and lurched towards Joriel. A quick scan revealed no 
  external injuries, so Kassy lightly slapped his face. His eyelids fluttered, and 
  Kassy applied a tiny bit more force.
  Joriel’s lavender eyes flashed open, wide and surprised. “What,” he 
  rasped, “happened?” Kassy pulled him up, and shared a sympathetic wince 
  as Joriel’s wings unfolded themselves and forced a sharp grunt from him. 
  Though an artificial being, Joriel had been grown, not built, and his manu-
  factured biology was just as vulnerable to the drug in his system as Kassy 
  was. Perhaps more so, as he didn’t have Atlantean tattoo magic boosting his 
  physical endurance.
  “We’ve just been freed,” Kassy told Joriel. “But our rescuer, my friend, 
  is paying the price. We’ve got to get him out of here and get him to Abbot.” 
  Doctor Abbot was one of Kassy’s oldest and dearest friends, a wise and pow-
  erful wizard. If anyone knew how to save Caleb, it would be Abbot.
  Joriel waved Kassy away and levered his feet beneath him, forcing him-
  self to his full height. He stretched luxuriantly, flexing his wings to their full 
  twelve-foot span, and shook himself. He surveyed the room. “This must be 
  the quok-sucking syervis who destroyed my ship,” Joriel swore, noting the 
  hologram. “And this is your friend. He looks far gone.”
  “Yes,” Kassy snapped, “and he got that way saving us. Both of us!” It was 
  difficult to remember, looking at him, that Joriel was a biological weapon, a 
  warrior in service to the S’hree Vek Confederacy, an unscrupulous nation of 
  slavers. His appearance was designed to mimic that of an angel, but that was 
  an ironic statement in the eyes of the Confederacy’s leaders. Yet in their first 
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  altercation, when they had met as enemies, Joriel had acted with honor, and 
  had helped Kassy and Abbot face off against an evil wizard. When the battle 
  was over and Kassy’s friends attempted to leave the field, Thraxus ambushed 
  them. Joriel could have let them all be taken, but instead he had charged the 
  weapons on his ship and fired at their attackers. For that service, Kassy had 
  tried to help Joriel himself escape. Which led them to their present circum-
  stances.
  Joriel stared at her for a long moment, his lavender stare much harder than 
  it should have been for such pretty eyes. “Very well,” he said at last. “I shall 
  help you.” Ignoring the holographic Thraxus entirely, Joriel crossed to where 
  Caleb lay thrashing and gently reached down to pick him up.
  Kassy located the door in the vast, darkened chamber and led Joriel to 
  it. Thraxus watched them go without saying a word, and as the door cycled 
  open, the hologram winked out. Kassy and Joriel passed through the por-
  tal without a backward glance. Two more large rooms followed, filled floor 
  to ceiling with crates and boxes, each showing signs of conflict. A battered 
  Splugorth Conservator splayed in the midst of one room, while the second 
  held a hulking pile of machinery in a humanoid shape. But through the third 
  door, Kassy and Joriel emerged into the artificial daylight of Center.
  At the base of the ramp, waiting for them, were Doctor Abbot and two 
  Cosmo-Knights. Abbot, clad only in a battered fedora and trenchcoat, looked 
  as insubstantial as a shadow save for the twin orange lights that served as his 
  eyes. The Knight in metallic blue wore a suit of full plate mail and a horned 
  helm, while the second Knight, a female Titan by the look of her, towered 
  over them all in a silver suit of hoplite armor.
  Abbot hurried up the short ramp and wrapped Kassy into a tight embrace 
  that she gingerly returned. “What happened?” he asked.
  “We know not,” Joriel answered, “save that your friend here has been 
  poisoned.”
  “Poisoned?” demanded the Knight in blue. “Impossible.”
  “Vyking,” Abbot admonished, “relax.” He turned to Kassy. “Are you al-
  right?” At her brief nod, Abbot gave Caleb’s body another worried look, then 
  said, “Introductions are in order, but let me examine Caleb first.”
  At Kassy’s insistence, Joriel placed Caleb gently on the ground and 
  stepped back. Vyking and the other Cosmo-Knight crowded close as Abbot 
  knelt beside Caleb and placed one shadowy hand against the boy’s forehead. 
  Abbot muttered arcane phrases beneath his breath, using whatever magic he 
  had to try and diagnose Caleb’s ailment. Kassy told him about the antidote 
  Thraxus had promised and the immortal’s puzzlement at the cure’s disap-
  pearance. She prayed to Zeus that Abbot might be able to heal Caleb. For if 
  Abbot could not, who in the Three Galaxies could?
  To distract herself from such morbid thoughts, Kassy examined her 
  surroundings. They stood outside a row of squat, blocky warehouses that 
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  stretched around a city block. Beyond, Kassy could make out a bustling 
  city street and passers-by in distinctive styles of United Worlds of Warlock 
  clothing. Elves, Minotaurs, and Dwarves were interspersed with Draconids, 
  Catyrs, and more exotic species. Kassy surmised that they were somewhere 
  in the UWW sector of Center, but couldn’t quite fathom why.
  “Ariel,” the silver Cosmo-Knight said, interrupting Kassy’s train of 
  thought. “And this is my ally, Vyking,” she added, proffering her hand. Kassy 
  took it; her slim, tattooed hand disappearing into the Titan’s grip, and intro-
  duced herself and Joriel. With that out of the way, Ariel and Kassy stared at 
  one another wordlessly for several awkward moments, and then unanimously 
  decided to return their attentions to Abbot and Caleb.
  Abbot did not appear to be making any headway. He sat back on his 
  haunches with a disgusted sound. “I’m getting old,” he muttered. Louder, 
  he added, “I cannot discern what it is that is ravaging Caleb’s body. Any-
  thing powerful and insidious enough to batter aside the defenses of a Cosmo-
  Knight’s immune system is frightening stuff, however.” He paused momen-
  tarily. “Perhaps if we were to relocate to a ley line nexus, I might be able to –”
  But Abbot trailed off as a shimmering field of black and red light ap-
  peared before the six of them. Kassy instinctively placed her right forefingers 
  against her left wrist, but Ariel shook her head. “We’ve seen this before, it’s 
  not an attack.” Kassy did not immediately relax, and noted with a mixture of 
  amusement and relief that Joriel remained wary as well. His right hand flexed 
  dangerously, and the blue jewel inset in his palm flashed intermittently, a sure 
  sign that he would ignite his Psi-Sword, his Blazer, at any moment.
  The black and red field coalesced into a humanoid shape. Abbot and Ariel 
  gasped, and Ariel was forced to admit, “It didn’t do this last time.” Kassy 
  summoned her sword in the same instant that Joriel’s blazer came to life.
  Black and red light flashed and popped, but the human shape developed 
  substance and weight, eventually forming into a kind of hologram. It lacked 
  transparency, but it also didn’t appear to be active in real-time, as Abbot’s at-
  tempts to interact with it fell on deaf ears. It took the shape of a petite human 
  woman, with pale skin and hair the color of midnight. Dark red lips matched 
  the color of her blouse, and a black skirt wrapped around her legs. She spoke 
  Trade Four with just a trace of an Atlantean accent.
  “Caleb Vulcan,” the figure began, “I bring you a warning of grave impor-
  tance. You must be made aware that Quajinn Huo has possession of the Sin-
  gularity Watch. Utter devastation and disaster can be the only consequence. 
  You must help us. All will be lost unless you contact the Council of Time.”
  “The Council?” Abbot whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “My 
  lady, Caleb Vulcan lies dying. Can you offer us aid?” Instead of answering, 
  the figure merely repeated its cryptic warning.
  “Quajinn Huo,” Kassy muttered darkly. Huo was a Draconid wizard, one 
  of the deadliest and most megalomaniacal who had ever lived. Seven hun-
  246
   
  
  dred years ago, he tried to transform the United Worlds of Warlock into an 
  empire, with himself at the head. He was defeated then by a coalition of 
  heroes, including Lothar of Motherhome, the Wulfen Cosmo-Knight, and a 
  young Doctor Abbot. Huo was exiled to Center after his defeat, cursed to re-
  main there until his death, until he managed to circumvent the wording of the 
  curse and escape. Most recently, Huo had murdered Lothar, Kassy’s friend 
  and Caleb’s mentor, and disappeared into the Three Galaxies. It seemed they 
  finally had a lead as to his whereabouts.
  Kassy looked down at Caleb’s bleeding and battered form, and her face 
  crumpled. She blinked back tears fiercely, thinking that the notice came too 
  late.
  “Steady,” Joriel said softly in Kassy’s ear, startling her. He placed a com-
  forting hand delicately on her shoulder. She thanked him with a look, and 
  then with a start realized that they were missing two people.
  “Abbot,” Kassy said, “where are Arwen and Siv?” Siv Yurilak was a Noro 
  psion and one of the best pilots Kassy had ever seen. He was also an old 
  friend of her father’s, and she knew Siv traveled with them to keep an eye on 
  her. Arwen Griffin was a young monk added to their company after visiting 
  with the Celestial Brotherhood, the group that had raised Abbot. Young and 
  full of vitality, Arwen was a delight to be around, and Kassy was already 
  thinking of her as the little sister she never had.
  “They’ve recovered the ship for us,” Abbot said distractedly. More fo-
  cused, he added, “They’re fine, Kassy, so no need to worry on their account. 
  Caleb is our primary concern right now.”
  “What is this ‘Council of Time’?” asked Vyking. He had a deep voice, and 
  the way he spoke told Kassy he was used to command.
  Abbot looked askance at the horned Knight. “A group of temporally ob-
  sessed spellcasters, warriors, and explorers who monitor the use of time trav-
  el and temporal magic. They operate across the Megaverse, and though they 
  haven’t a chapter in every dimension, they do have representatives in most.” 
  With a flourish, he produced his trademark cane and planted it on the ground 
  with a sharp click. “And they may be the answer we seek. Come, we must 
  return to the ship and depart for the Demosthenes cluster within the hour.”
  Abbot marched off, heading for the street. Without a word, Ariel reached 
  down to scoop up Caleb and cradled him against her breast. She and Vyking 
  hurried after Abbot. Kassy remained for a moment, watching the time coun-
  cilor’s message play out its loop one more time. Then she turned to Joriel. 
  He would probably return to his S’hree Vek masters, she thought, but he 
  had been a trustworthy ally and she didn’t want to see him go back just yet. 
  “Coming?” she asked.
  “What of Thraxus?” he asked.
  247
   
  
  “He’ll still be here when we return,” Kassy said darkly. Joriel’s thin lips 
  threatened to smile, but he otherwise kept his face blank. “You don’t have to 
  go back,” she added. “Come with us.”
  “My Commissar is dead,” he said grimly, “my crew lost. All that awaits 
  me in the Confederacy is death.” He stared past her, at the shining red and 
  black form over her shoulder. “I will accompany you for now.”
  Kassy felt a sudden surge of relief, and then felt immediately guilty. Caleb 
  was dying, and here she was becoming as giddy as a schoolgirl. She quashed 
  the feeling angrily, then took Joriel’s hand and tugged him after the others. 
  The time councilor winked out of existence finally as they passed her.
  ____________________
  The journey to the Demosthenes cluster was not a gentle one. Abbot in-
  sisted upon pressing their small Comet class runner to its top speed, and 
  around them the ship rattled and groaned in protest as the crew pushed it to 
  its limits. Siv Yurilak, the pilot, voiced his own protests as well. He promised 
  them that the ship wouldn’t be able to take that stress for long, that the grav 
  drive would die or the ship would implode and kill them all. Abbot glowered 
  balefully, his orange eyes blazing with anger and determination, and simply 
  told Siv to use his finely honed clairvoyance to keep the ship from doing 
  just that. But Abbot insisted that Siv keep from slowing unless and until the 
  danger grew too great.
  Abbot warned him that he would be sole arbiter of what constituted “dan-
  ger.”
  The Titan Cosmo-Knight, Ariel, remained in the ship’s hold, as she was 
  too tall to maneuver through the narrow corridors of the craft, but her com-
  panion Vyking stalked about the Comet’s two-tiered bridge. Joriel lounged 
  in the navigator’s chair, eyeing the star charts and his new allies with equal 
  caution. Kassy remained near the doorway that led to the rest of the ship, 
  watching over the tense cockpit while snakes writhed deep in her belly and 
  she worried about Caleb.
  The young Cosmo-Knight lay in his quarters. Kassy had wrapped him in a 
  couple blankets, cleaned away the blood weeping from his eyes and ears, and 
  prepared to keep a long vigil over him as they flew towards Demosthenes. 
  Arwen, however, had insisted on taking that duty. The green-skinned young 
  alien blushed a deep blue as she said, “I know some meditation techniques 
  that can help ease his pain,” she offered. Arwen was raised among the monks 
  of the Celestial Brotherhood, and Kassy knew she was a highly trained mar-
  tial artist, but the ability to heal surprised her.
  “The only problem is,” Arwen added, her blush deepening, “the ceremony 
  must be done in the nude.”
  So Kassy stood in the doorway to keep from embarrassing the young 
  monk while she struggled to keep Caleb alive. Standing and waiting did not 
  248
   
  
  sit well with Kassy. She preferred action, or at least a clear solution to a prob-
  lem that could be found through hard work or research. But she had the sense 
  that Abbot was grasping at straws with this “Council of Time” nonsense. 
  Kassy had traveled much of the Three Galaxies, and benefitted from an At-
  lantean education on her home world Alexandria, but she had never heard of 
  the “Council of Time.”
  As if sensing her thoughts, Vyking turned to Abbot and asked the very 
  question on her mind. “Tell me, wizard,” he said. “What do you expect to find 
  in the Demosthenes cluster?” Vyking was a powerfully built human in his 
  early middle years, with jet-black hair cut short and a neatly trimmed beard. 
  Outside of his armor, he was clad in some kind of tourist garb, complete with 
  a loud shirt, canvas shorts, and sandals.
  Abbot’s eyes glinted dangerously beneath the brim of his fedora. Kassy 
  had rarely seen him this agitated, even after the death of Lothar, one of his 
  oldest friends, at the hands of Quajinn Huo.
  “The Council,” he explained in a low tone, “is a band of temporally gifted 
  individuals who monitor the use of time travel across the Megaverse.”
  “The Megaverse?” Vyking scoffed.
  Abbot nodded. “They are spread thinly across the infinite dimensions. An 
  organization made up of billions of sentient beings averages but a handful 
  of members in each reality. They monitor the timestream of each respective 
  dimension, watching for unnatural divergences or undue damage caused by 
  chronal distortions. Sometimes, the universe takes care of those divergences 
  on its own, but often it is up to the Council, or the Council’s hired agents, to 
  correct such problems.”
  Vyking remained skeptical. “The only beings I am aware of who are ca-
  pable of manipulating the timestream on that scale are the Temporal Raiders. 
  Such creatures are not given to charity.”
  Abbot’s eyes glimmered. “A generalization of that nature is a dangerous 
  thing, Vyking.”
  Siv asked for clarification. “There are T-Raiders on the Council?”
  “Quite a number of them,” Abbot agreed. “But not nearly as many as 
  there should be. Representatives from the Council of Time are just as varied 
  as those of the Cosmo-Knights. A billion races from as many dimensions fill 
  their ranks. Don’t let your prejudices blind you, gentlemen.”
  “I trust you,” Kassy heard herself say.
  Abbot’s stern expression softened. “Thank you, my dear.”
  “I still don’t know what you expect they can do for Caleb,” Kassy said. 
  Abbot’s features hardened once more.
  “I too wonder,” Joriel interrupted softly. His look was grave and his wings 
  were folded tightly against his back. “They will not turn back time to undo 
  what has been done, will they?”
  “I am hoping they will not have to,” Abbot said enigmatically.
  249
   
  
  The discussion was cut short as a blinking red light flashed on Siv’s con-
  trol panel. “We’re coming up on Demosthenes,” the Noro psychic said need-
  lessly. The shimmering field of energy on the ship’s view screen changed to 
  a field of stars as the Comet’s faster than light drives disengaged.
  A triple star system appeared before them, a red giant orbited by two yel-
  low suns, and the nav computer informed them that a dozen planetoids or-
  bited around the triple stars. A massive particle field encircled the whole 
  system; a ring made up of millions of asteroids, fragments of larger planets 
  that once filled the system.
  Kassy reached across Joriel and keyed the comms. “Arwen, we’re com-
  ing up on our destination. Prepare Caleb for transport.” She turned to Abbot, 
  sweeping her dark locks over her shoulder. “I hope you know what you’re 
  doing,” she told him.
  Siv guided the Comet deeper into the cluster. Abbot took a stance at the 
  communications console and began to beam messages at random bursts and 
  intervals into the collection of rocks orbiting the suns. Before long, Abbot 
  received an answer. Terse, but succinct, it was simply a list of numbers, co-
  ordinates to the Council of Time’s hidden base. With a loud sigh, Siv aimed 
  the ship in the supplied direction.
  Asteroids bobbled in space around them, but Siv’s clairvoyant abilities 
  were up to the task. Not a single impact scarred the Comet’s hull, nor did 
  the ship once come dangerously close to touching one of the frozen blocks 
  of stone. Siv wove a complex weave through the chaos, round black eyes 
  gleaming as he piloted the craft. An electric hum emanated from the Noro as 
  his psionic abilities came to life.
  Kassy watched in rapt fascination, almost flinching twice as particularly 
  large asteroids came into view and Siv wove his magic on the controls. And 
  then the Council of Time’s fortress appeared on the ship’s screen. Kassy 
  gasped, and heard others on the bridge react with surprise.
  The fortress looked as delicate and perfect as a snowflake. A central spiral 
  twisted majestically, decorated with a thousand gracile spines that branched 
  and twisted into abstract and arcane patterns. “It’s beautiful,” Kassy whis-
  pered.
  “Yes,” Abbot agreed, “Bring us in, Siv.”
  Kassy excused herself from the docking procedure and went to check on 
  Caleb. She knocked politely on the door, and at Arwen’s acknowledgment, 
  let herself inside. Caleb’s face was bandaged, though crimson patterns marred 
  the whiteness of the fabric, and he thrashed weakly though he was wrapped 
  in blankets. Beside his bed sat Arwen in a lotus position, fully clothed thank-
  fully, and the young monk looked haggard. Dark circles ringed both eyes, and 
  she had the limp stare of someone who had been awake for days. Kassy put a 
  reassuring hand on Arwen’s shoulder and the girl smiled weakly.
  250
   
  
  “I managed to slow his metabolism down,” Arwen said softly. “But I don’t 
  know if it will keep.”
  “You’ve done enough, Arwen,” Kassy said.
  “Ladies.” Abbot’s voice echoed over the ship’s comm. “We’ve docked 
  with the Timeship.”
  “On our way,” Kassy told him.
  ____________________
  They all stepped out of the Comet’s airlock into a large chamber. No lights 
  appeared visible, but the panels of the floor, walls, and ceiling glowed with 
  a soft white light that filled the room. The ceiling was high enough to allow 
  even Ariel to stand without trouble, and the Titan had dispensed with her 
  silver armor. Just as well, as the glare from it would have blinded them all. 
  Arwen and Kassy supported Caleb’s limp body between them. Joriel hovered 
  nearby, as if he didn’t want to be separated from Kassy. Siv lounged in his 
  black leathers, eyeing the room curiously. Vyking stood near Abbot at the 
  front of the crowd. Kassy had the impression that the Cosmo-Knight was 
  once more trying to take charge of things and failing miserably.
  One of the panels in the far wall scissored open, and a welcoming com-
  mittee of sorts swept into the chamber. There were three of them, a pair of 
  humanoids and an amoeboid. The figure in the lead was an eight-foot tall 
  giant, with long arms swinging ape-like from his sides. His eyes glimmered 
  like pits of green flame in the grotesque silver mask that served as his face, 
  and his heavily muscled, silver plated body was draped in a heavy black 
  cloak. Beside the striking figure flowed a mass of protoplasm, a lump of pink 
  and blue semi-solid flesh. Pseudopodia tipped with dark blue eyes reached 
  out from the mass and examined Kassy and her friends. Beside these two 
  extraordinary individuals, the third being looked somewhat plain. She was a 
  human, tall and handsome, with short, dark hair and intelligent black eyes. 
  She wore a red waistcoat over a white blouse, and black leather jeans.
  “Doctor Abbot,” the green eyed giant rumbled. “You have returned, and 
  you have brought Caleb Vulcan with you.”
  “I have, Astyanax,” Abbot agreed, leaning heavily on his cane. “Alas, 
  Caleb Vulcan is the victim of poisoning, and his body fails him. Without aid, 
  death will come for him soon.”
  “No!” the woman said, stepping forward. Only the outstretched arm of the 
  first speaker blocked her from crossing the room. With a start, Kassy realized 
  that this girl was the very one who had sent the message on Phase World. Her 
  reaction to Caleb’s condition was commendable, but surprising.
  “A Temporal Raider,” Joriel said in Kassy’s ear, “bracketed by a Traskian 
  and a human. Most unusual.” So that’s what the silver skinned giant was, a 
  Temporal Raider. Kassy had never seen one before, but she had heard plenty 
  of tales regarding them. For all their solid appearance, the Temporal Raid-
  251
   
  
  ers were supposed to be composed of energy, a kind of energy that fed itself 
  through a kind of psychic vampirism. Abbot didn’t seem concerned, so Kassy 
  wouldn’t allow herself to be. But she wondered.
  “Calm yourself, child,” Astyanax was saying to his colleague. To Abbot, 
  he added, “Caleb Vulcan is needed. He must be repaired. How did he come 
  to harm?”
  “Saving us,” Kassy responded. “He was given the choice to save us or 
  take the antidote, but he saved us. When we tried to administer the cure, we 
  discovered it had disappeared.”
  “Interesting,” the amoeboid Traskian gurgled. Kassy couldn’t see a mouth, 
  but she heard its voice perfectly. “How was he poisoned?”
  “Look, can we just get on with it?” Kassy demanded in exasperation. “He 
  is dying, and Abbot believes you can help him. If you can, then do so!”
  “Yes,” the woman in red and black agreed vehemently. “We can. We 
  must!”
  “Romana,” the Temporal Raider growled dangerously, “remember your 
  place.”
  For a moment, it appeared as though the woman would argue, but her ex-
  pression changed to one of meek contrition. “Of course, Master Astyanax,” 
  she said.
  “Astyanax,” Abbot interrupted. “You can save him, can’t you?”
  The massive Temporal Raider stared at Abbot for a long moment, his 
  emerald eyes flashing brightly. “Yes,” he said at last. “Follow.” The Raider 
  turned on his heel and headed back through the open panel in the wall. The 
  Traskian flowed after him, and young Romana too, though the girl looked 
  back at Caleb with a worried expression.
  Arwen and Kassy carried Caleb and the others followed, down a long, 
  sloping corridor, surrounded by glowing white panels. When the corridor 
  branched, they took they left turn, and then a maze of passages led them to 
  another large chamber with a vaulted ceiling. In the center of the chamber 
  was a pool of dark liquid. The light coming from the panels refracted on the 
  surface of the liquid, creating slick and shimmering rainbows that made alien 
  shapes and dazzled Kassy’s eyes.
  “What is this place?” Arwen asked. Kassy shrugged, unsure what to say.
  “This is the Well of Kronos,” Romana told them, her voice just above a 
  whisper. “It is one of many artifacts the Council looks after and utilizes. It 
  helps us focus our temporal magic, among other things.”
  “Such as?” Kassy pressed.
  “I believe we are about to see,” Joriel said in Kassy’s ear.
  Astyanax stood at the lip of the pool and spread his arms wide, his green 
  eyes flashing with flame. Abbot stood at the Temporal Raider’s elbow, look-
  ing diminutive beside the silver plated alien’s bulk. The two wizards con-
  ferred in low tones, and as they spoke, and image took shape within the pool. 
  252
   
  
  Kassy saw a dim room, the green and red petals of a Vortex Blossom, and 
  two figures lying unconscious upon it. A doorway opened, and a Cosmo-
  Knight in crimson armor stumbled into the room.
  “By Zeus,” Kassy breathed. “That’s Caleb about to rescue us.” She risked 
  a glance at Joriel, and saw that the Celestine’s lavender eyes were fixed on 
  the pool, his mouth a grim line.
  The image continued to move, and as Kassy watched, the holographic 
  form of Thraxus materialized to taunt Caleb. With one hand, Thraxus indi-
  cated the antidote, boiling on its pedestal, and with the other, the unconscious 
  Kassy and Joriel about to be skewered within the Vortex Blossom. Caleb 
  dispelled his armor with a red flash and stumbled toward the torture device.
  “Now, Romana,” Astyanax’s grating voice echoed.
  The slim woman left Arwen’s side and hurried to the edge of the pool. 
  Without breaking stride, she stepped into the pool and dropped like a stone 
  beneath its surface. She disappeared without a ripple, and to Kassy’s aston-
  ishment, suddenly appeared within the image.
  Caleb, blood tearing at the corners of his eyes and dripping from ears and 
  nose, grunted with the effort of wrenching the petals of the Vortex Blossom 
  free. Unseen by Thraxus or Caleb, Romana dropped down lightly on her feet 
  beside the pedestal. She plucked the vial from it and then reached up into the 
  air and vanished.
  A heartbeat later, Romana rose from the pool. Not a drop of the liquid 
  marred her form, and as she broke the surface she stepped out of it.
  “Did she just do what I think she did?” Arwen whispered.
  “Time travel makes my head hurt,” Kassy admitted.
  “Romana,” Astyanax rumbled, “make haste. Caleb Vulcan is not destined 
  to die this day.” Romana crossed the room quickly, her heels clacking against 
  the white floor, and held the small blue bottle out towards Kassy.
  “He will need to ingest this,” the young woman said.
  Kassy and Arwen exchanged looks, and then Kassy shifted Caleb into 
  Arwen’s arms. Kassy took Caleb’s head in both hands and cupped his jaw. 
  Gently she opened his mouth, and gestured with her chin for Romana to 
  administer the potion. Unsure of herself, Romana tipped the bottle over. A 
  bright red liquid poured down Caleb’s throat.
  “It will take time to work,” Romana said, dropping her hand. “If it works 
  at all,” she added, sotto voce. Kassy gave her a questioning look. “I think I 
  recovered the antidote in time, but we do have to depend on Thraxus’ word 
  that it works.”
  “Good point,” Kassy agreed. But she didn’t want to entertain that possibil-
  ity. “Is there somewhere we can take him?”
  “Yes, of course,” Romana agreed. Before she could elaborate, Astyanax 
  interrupted.
  253
   
  
  “Bring Vulcan to a place of rest,” he commanded. “The others as well. 
  We have much to speak of, but your minds must be clear and Vulcan must 
  be present.”
  “Quajinn Huo and the Singularity Watch?” Abbot asked. Astyanax nod-
  ded grimly. “What has happened?”
  Astyanax placed a massive paw upon Abbot’s shoulders. “In good time, 
  my friend, in good time.”
  254
   
  
  Chapter Twenty-Two
  Racing to the Starting Line
  Draconids are one of the more curious species of the Three Galaxies. 
  Though reptilian in form, they are mammalian in design, and appear to be 
  distantly related to dragons. Like dragons, Draconids are predisposed to-
  wards psychic and magical abilities, buttressed by a hardy physicality that 
  enables Draconids to survive in a wide range of environments. Draconids 
  do not appear to possess Galactic level technology themselves, but as ex-
  perienced dimensional travelers, they have managed to acquire it through 
  trade. Draconids first appeared on Phase World, but they have branched out 
  into the rest of the Three Galaxies and today control nearly a dozen systems 
  within the United Worlds of Warlock, the so-called “Draconid Hub Worlds.”
  Draconids as a species defy expectations. Individualistic, free-spirited, 
  and impulsive, each Draconid is a nation unto itself. That a number of them 
  have banded together to form governments is amazing in and of itself, and 
  yet some of these governments have stood the test of time, withstood wars and 
  despots and galactic tragedies.
  – Guide to the Three Galaxies, Arturo Vargras
  Consciousness returned slowly. First came aches and pains, eliciting a 
  groan, then senses sparked to life, and finally full awareness returned.
  Slowly Caleb Vulcan opened his eyes and sat up. He lay in a comfortable 
  bed beneath white satin sheets. The walls around him were covered in panels 
  of similarly colorless material, cut in multi-faceted geometric shapes, and the 
  panels in the ceiling emitted a low, ethereal light that gave the entire chamber 
  a pale glow.
  Caleb pressed his palm against his forehead, trying to recall how he ended 
  up in this place. The last thing he could remember was –
  white-hot pain flashing through his body, blood seeping from his eyes and 
  nostrils, ears and lips, and the cruel, booming laugh of Thraxus
  – just behind his eyeballs he felt a flash of memory, and he flinched invol-
  untarily. When he blinked tears free of his eyes, he realized he was not alone 
  in the room. The enigmatic Dr. Abbot reclined in a low, white frame chair. 
  The doctor’s blank visage starkly compared to the brightness of the room, as 
  Abbot was a being composed entirely of shadow. The twin orange lights of 
  his eyes were his only features, and the battered fedora and tattered trench 
  coat he wore were the only things that gave his lithe, dark form definition. 
  Despite Abbot’s nearly sinister appearance, Caleb found himself immedi-
  ately relaxing at the sight of his friend.
  “Caleb,” Abbot said lightly, his British accent no longer as jarring as it 
  was when first they met. “How are you feeling?”
  255
   
  
  “Better,” Caleb said, surprised at how weak his voice sounded. He was a 
  Knight of the Cosmic Forge, gifted with superhuman strength, agility, and 
  the ability to withstand the burning hot core of a star, and yet at that moment 
  he felt as though a kitten could overpower him. “What happened?”
  “How much do you remember?” Abbot asked.
  Caleb shrugged. “We were on Phase World, deep within Center. I was 
  trying to rescue Kassy.” A sudden fear constricted his heart. “Where is she?”
  “She is here,” Abbot assured him, “and quite safe. You saved both her and 
  the Celestine called Joriel, and nearly paid with your life. Thraxus managed 
  to poison you with a magical virus that even your Forge-enhanced immune 
  system could not shake off. There was nothing we could do to save you.”
  Caleb looked around the white room with sudden alarm. “I don’t feel 
  dead,” he said.
  Abbot’s eyes glimmered brightly in his version of a smile. “No, you are 
  not. Fortuitously enough, just as we escaped Thraxus’ clutches, we received 
  a communication from the Council of Time. Those strange visions that were 
  bedeviling you of late turned out to be the Council’s garbled attempts to 
  contact you. I knew from past experience how to reach the Council’s hidden 
  home, and we rushed here as quickly as we could. As I’d hoped, the Council 
  was able to reach back through space and time to steal the antidote from 
  Thraxus and cure you. Which brings us more or less to the present.”
  Caleb massaged his temples. “Okay, that almost makes sense.”
  Abbot’s eyes flashed again. “Yes, quite. Questions?”
  “The regular kind,” Caleb said. “Who, what, where, etc.”
  “The Council of Time is a group of wizards, scientists, and adventur-
  ers who monitor the use of time travel throughout the Megaverse. They are 
  spread thinly across the infinite dimensions, and their responsibilities are vast 
  and varied. Not many are aware of them, or their mission, because of the 
  nature of what they do.”
  “Which is?”
  “They ensure that time is allowed to progress naturally. Think of the 
  Council as a sort of environmental protection agency, but they don’t look 
  after wetlands or deserts or pollution levels. They fix damage done to the 
  timestream itself.”
  “What do they want from us?” Caleb asked.
  “Us?” Abbot echoed. “Not a great deal. They seem to be primarily inter-
  ested in you.”
  Caleb lurched to his feet. “Why does that not fill me with joy?”
  “I wouldn’t worry, my boy,” Abbot said. “They saved your life for a rea-
  son. I suspect they want your help dealing with a certain Draconid wizard of 
  our acquaintance.”
  “Quajinn Huo,” Caleb breathed.
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  Abbot nodded. “They haven’t told us much more than that. I believe the 
  Council is waiting for you to fully recover before sharing everything.”
  “Let’s go give them the good news then, Doc,” Caleb said.
  ____________________
  Aboard the Draconid warship Strabo, the wizard Quajinn Huo paced 
  across the bridge. Huo was physically unremarkable for a Draconid. He stood 
  about two meters tall, raw-boned and thin, with a long snout and needle-sharp 
  teeth. Thick brow ridges nearly hid white, pupilless eyes, and a thick mane 
  of white hair spilled down nearly to his waist. Huo’s scales were colored a 
  brilliant shade of electric blue, and his red and gold tunic complemented his 
  natural coloring. In one thin, clawed hand, Huo clutched a staff forged of 
  Durnium steel, topped with a pale blue crystal.
  On his left wrist dangled a seemingly ordinary looking wrist-chronometer. 
  It was slate gray, with a clouded lens that showed a crack in the glass. But the 
  digital read-out still ticked away the seconds, minutes and hours at a steady 
  rate.
  The chronometer was far from ordinary, however. It was, in fact, one of 
  the single most powerful magical artifacts in the Three Galaxies. And it had 
  allowed Quajinn Huo, a powerful mage in his own right, to slip seven hun-
  dred years into the past, where he now stood. In his own time, he had once 
  led an army across the United Worlds of Warlock and conquered world after 
  world. A small band of adventurers had shattered his dream of a Draconid 
  empire spanning the Three Galaxies, but now he had reached a point hun-
  dreds of years before those adventurers had even been born.
  With the chronometer in his possession, Huo planned to use its time trav-
  eling powers to kill those brave fools over and over again, but first he would 
  conquer the Three Galaxies. Without interference from Doctor Abbot, the 
  Wulfen shaman Koguk, the sorceress Callista, or that blasted Lothar of Moth-
  erhome.
  Huo had already killed Lothar once, and looked forward to doing it again. 
  He would savor it the next time; Lothar’s first death had suffered from a 
  necessary haste.
  “My lord,” a voice interrupted Huo’s thoughts. The wizard turned. Ar-
  rayed around Huo was his command staff, all Draconids, all clad in the ba-
  roque battle armor that the reptilian humanoids preferred when going into 
  battle, even aboard a warship.
  “Yes, Commander Krang?”
  Krang had golden scales and a neatly trimmed goatee, and a brace of med-
  als across his chest. “We are coming up on Ogretopia,” Krang reported.
  “Excellent,” Huo said. He leaned heavily on his staff and pointed at the 
  viewscreen, where the green and black Ogre home world quietly spun in 
  space. It was ripe for the plucking, a backwards planet ceded to the Ogres 
  257
   
  
  to keep them from raiding more peaceable Elven and Dwarven worlds in 
  the UWW. Ogres were not technologically adept, but they were powerful 
  warriors and formidable opponents. Unless, of course, one had the combined 
  military might of the Draconid Hub Worlds at one’s back.
  Ogretopia would fall quickly. Its mineral and biological diversity would 
  be added to the burgeoning Draconid empire, and its populace forced into the 
  Draconid military as shock troops. The next worlds to fall would be those of 
  the Elves and Dwarves. And after them...
  ... laser fire suddenly flashed across the viewscreen as the Ogretopia mili-
  tia fired a volley across the bow of the Strabo.
  Beside Commander Krang, Sub-commander Voorlak gestured at the en-
  sign manning the weapons console. Strabo answered the Ogres’ attack, un-
  leashing a barrage of laser fire upon the defenders that was echoed by the 
  other ships in the Draconid fleet.
  Huo cackled. “Release the fighter craft,” he ordered. “Begin a bombing 
  run on the capital city. Let these low-browed apes know who their masters 
  are.”
  Krang gestured at his staff, and a klaxon bell rang across the bridge. In the 
  bowels of the ship, pilots scrambled to their craft and launched out into space.
  “They’re responding with their own small range ships,” Krang reported. 
  “But the Ogres have sub-standard weaponry. This assault will not last much 
  longer, my lord.”
  “I did not expect it would,” Huo muttered. Seven hundred years in the 
  past, Galactic level technology was not much more primitive than it was in 
  Huo’s own time. The Draconid Hub Worlds had managed to accrue a mas-
  sive amount of materiel, and small targets like Ogretopia simply could not 
  mass sufficient defenses to hold back the tide of Draconid power. Which was 
  as it should be.
  Huo closed his eyes and concentrated upon the well of Potential Psychic 
  Energy that raged within his thin frame. He called upon that reservoir and 
  transferred a trickle of it to the chronometer on his left wrist. The chron began 
  to hum and glow, and outside the Strabo, an Ogretopian defense satellite sud-
  denly crunched together, as though a giant invisible fist had closed around it.
  Twenty minutes later, Ogretopia lay conquered. Quajinn Huo strode across 
  the rough-hewn plaza at the center of the planet’s capital city. Shattered bod-
  ies lay strewn across the square. Carbon scores marred the stone ground. The 
  Grand Chieftain of Ogretopia kneeled in the center of the plaza, and he looked 
  up with a blood-streaked visage as Huo and his entourage approached.
  “This is their supreme executive,” Krang sneered.
  Huo pointed his index finger at the chieftain. A line of fire flashed from his 
  fingertip to the Ogre, immolating him instantly.
  “Not anymore,” he snarled.
  ____________________
  258
   
  
  Caleb and Abbot found the rest of their friends in some kind of reception 
  room, which Abbot located after navigating the two of them through a laby-
  rinth of white hallways. It was a large chamber, with plush carpeting and the 
  kind of pseudo-futuristic plastic tables and chairs which Caleb always associ-
  ated with Saturday matinees. On the far wall, a wide window looked out on 
  the empty expanse of space outside the station.
  Siv Yurilak, the Noro pilot, played a game of chess with Arwen, the green-
  skinned and blue-haired martial artist. Siv in his leathers and Arwen in her 
  monk’s garb made an odd pair, but the glance Caleb spared in the direction 
  of the chess board suggested they were evenly matched. Against the far wall, 
  looking out of the window, stood the tall and graceful form of Ariel, the beau-
  tiful Titan who was also, like Caleb, a Knight of the Forge. Their other col-
  league, the bearded and darkly sarcastic Vyking, reclined on a divan, staring 
  into space and mumbling to himself. A strange figure in blue and red armor, 
  a pair of maroon colored wings erupting from his back, leaned against a wall, 
  coldly watching the room with his lavender eyes. Kassiopaeia Acherean, At-
  lantean Undead Slayer, sat in a chair reading a fat hardback.
  As soon as Caleb appeared in the doorway, Kassy threw the book down 
  and leapt to her feet. She was across the room and hugging Caleb tightly be-
  fore he could squeak out a “hello.”
  She released Caleb, smiling broadly. “I was worried about you,” she said.
  Caleb grinned lopsidedly. “You should know better,” he said. “Mamma 
  Vulcan’s little boy always bounces back.” He didn’t want to tell her he still 
  felt weak.
  Kassy led Caleb into the room and the others exchanged greetings and ex-
  pressions of concern. The guy with the feathers turned out to be the Celestine, 
  Joriel, who had been strapped to Thraxus’ torture device next to Kassy before 
  the virus had stolen Caleb’s consciousness. Joriel shook Caleb’s hand with a 
  strong grip, but said little. Ariel and Arwen were more effusive, and even Siv 
  gave Caleb a slap across the back.
  “Perhaps now,” Vyking suggested, “we can get to the bottom of this ‘Time 
  Council’ nonsense.”
  “An excellent idea,” offered a new voice. A petite human woman in black 
  leather jeans and a red waistcoat stood in the doorway. Her black hair was cut 
  short and neat, her dark eyes warm and intelligent, and her lips were bright 
  red against pale skin. She was also easily the most beautiful woman Caleb 
  Vulcan had ever seen. He watched, dumbfounded, as she approached him 
  slowly.
  “Romana Vorishcenko ne Usckios,” she said, offering her hand.
  Caleb took it. “Caleb Vulcan,” he responded.
  “I know,” she said. Caleb felt his cheeks redden, and watched with some 
  surprise as color appeared on her cheeks as well. She dropped her eyes and 
  pulled her hand away. “Doctor Abbot,” she said, turning to the shadowy wiz-
  259
   
  
  ard, “Master Astyanax is waiting for you all.” Caleb had the sudden nagging 
  feeling that he had met this girl somewhere before.
  “By all means, my dear,” Abbot said, “lead on.”
  As the gathered adventurers followed the girl out of the room, Vyking 
  smoothly interposed himself between Caleb and Romana. “That’s an Altess 
  name, isn’t it?” Vyking asked her. Kassy linked her arm under Caleb’s, and 
  he missed Romana’s response.
  “Abbot trusts these people,” Kassy whispered. “But something about 
  them rubs me the wrong way. Siv’s nervous, too. He won’t say anything, but 
  I can tell by the way he moves that he’s not comfortable.”
  Siv Yurilak’s comfort levels were not a priority for Caleb, but he knew 
  better than to ignore Kassy’s instincts. “Received,” he told her. In all honesty, 
  though, all he could think about was the girl.
  Romana led them along another winding path through the space station’s 
  antiseptic white corridors. At one point in the trip, Siv sidled up next to Kassy 
  and said, “This place is messing with my senses, but it is definitely larger on 
  the inside than it is on the outside.” He sighed. “Headache central, kid.”
  Kassy merely nodded. Caleb had no idea what they were talking about. 
  He wasn’t sure he cared. Whatever this Council of Time’s plans might be, 
  they had voluntarily saved his life. That earned them a fair hearing at the 
  very least.
  The corridor opened up into another large room, this one more spacious 
  than the reception area, but devoid of furniture. A dozen figures stood in a 
  semi-circle in the center of the room, a broad cross-section of alien races that 
  included a silver-skinned giant with glowing eyes, a human-sized amoeba 
  covered in dark blue eyes, a squat-bodied, fish-lipped alien, something that 
  looked like an armor-plated jellyfish, and more human-looking beings with 
  strangely colored skin or odd ridges on their faces.
  “Ladies and gentleman,” Romana said, “I present the Council of Time.”
  “Caleb Vulcan,” the silver-skinned giant said, his voice booming, “you 
  have been summoned here and resuscitated so that you may be of service to 
  us.”
  “Astyanax,” Abbot said, a note of warning in his voice, “you can spare us 
  the theatrics. We are grateful for your help, and we will happily aid you in 
  any way that we can, but don’t try to impress us.”
  Astyanax’s glowing eyes flashed for a moment, but his metallic face re-
  mained expressionless. “Doctor Abbot,” he said at last, “you will be silent. 
  Caleb Vulcan, step forward.”
  Abbot’s orange eyes blinked rapidly at the rebuke. Caleb bit back an angry 
  remark and stepped around Abbot into the room. He folded his arms across 
  his chest and looked Astyanax in his freakish, glowing eyes. “What’s the 
  trouble, Sparky?”
  260
   
  
  The shimmering green gaze flashed angrily in Caleb’s direction this time, 
  but a titter went through the other councilors. The armored jellyfish shook 
  slightly, its tentacles lashing the ground as it floated in the air. The amoeba 
  reached out a pseudopod and placed it along Astyanax’s arm. There was no 
  mouth, and yet a perfectly enunciated gurgle sounded, saying, “Quajinn Huo 
  has gained possession of a powerful temporal artifact. He has used it to travel 
  into the past, and unless Caleb Vulcan stops him, Quajinn Huo will march his 
  armada across the Three Galaxies and bend them to his will.”
  “Shivok,” Siv swore softly behind Caleb.
  “That does sound pretty bad,” Caleb said. “I’ll help in any way I can. 
  But I have to ask, why me? You must have the whole of the Three Galaxies 
  to choose from – certainly there are more experienced Cosmo-Knights who 
  could help you.”
  “The answer is simple,” Astyanax boomed. “It must be you, Caleb Vul-
  can, because that is how it happened.”
  Caleb exchanged a look with Abbot. Abbot’s eyes flickered. “Time trav-
  el,” Kassy muttered. “Instant headache.”
  “What do you mean?” Caleb asked Astyanax.
  It was the armored jellyfish who answered. “History has recorded Quajinn 
  Huo’s attempt to conquer the Three Galaxies seven hundred years ago. It also 
  records his failure and defeat at the hands of an hitherto unknown Cosmo-
  Knight named Caleb Vulcan.”
  Caleb felt his mouth drop open. His mind whirled with the implications. 
  When he could form a coherent sentence, he said, “Okay. Assuming for a 
  minute that I understand what you just said, what do I have to do to take Huo 
  out?”
  The jellyfish managed to smile somehow. “That, I fear, we cannot tell you. 
  The exact means used to defeat Huo have been lost. Further, the artifact he 
  holds complicates things.”
  A pastel-skinned woman in multi-colored robes stepped forward. “With 
  the Singularity Watch, Quajinn Huo possesses the power to change the way 
  history has worked out. There is a very real possibility that he may succeed 
  in his aims.”
  “Shivok,” Siv swore again.
  “How in Hades’ name did Huo get his hands on such a thing?” Kassy 
  asked.
  The pastel woman shrugged. “We are not certain. The Watch remains 
  safely ensconced within its tabernacle here within our citadel. Yet we can 
  clearly feel the echo of the Watch’s powers being used seven hundred years 
  in the past.”
  “If we look down the line into our future,” the amoeba said, “we see that 
  the Watch will be stolen. Somehow the future Watch found its way into the 
  present, and into the hands of Quajinn Huo.”
  261
   
  
  Vyking snorted angrily. “Security isn’t very tight around here, is it?”
  “And what would you know of that, Vyking of Vegas?” Astyanax rum-
  bled. Vyking looked ready to retort, but Caleb put his hand up, and the other 
  Knight fell silent.
  “Save the arguments for later. What do I have to do?”
  Astyanax pointed a cruelly clawed finger at Caleb. “You will go seven 
  hundred years into the past, defeat Quajinn Huo, recover the Watch, and re-
  turn to the present.”
  “That doesn’t sound too hard,” Kassy said. “We should be back before 
  lunch.”
  “Romana will accompany you,” Astyanax continued, as if Kassy had not 
  spoken. “Two others can fit within the Timepod.”
  “Two?” Caleb said. Ariel and Vyking would probably be a natural fit. 
  Three Cosmo-Knights would be much more useful than only one, especially 
  considering how weak Caleb felt. And Huo had already killed one Cosmo-
  Knight, Caleb’s mentor, Lothar of Motherhome.
  “It’s a matter of practicality, I’m afraid,” Romana said quietly. “We ex-
  pended a great deal of power to send me back to Phase World in time to re-
  cover the antidote for you. Short jaunts like that are actually more costly than 
  larger leaps forward or back.”
  “You saved me?” Caleb asked, surprised. Romana’s eyes widened slight-
  ly, as if surprised herself. She nodded. “Thank you,” Caleb said sincerely. 
  She turned red again, and Caleb allowed himself a little smile.
  “Who must go?” Abbot asked Astyanax. Caleb refocused his attention on 
  the Council and the matter at hand.
  “Caleb Vulcan will choose. Now leave us. We must prepare.”
  ____________________
  They waited in the reception room for the Council to ready itself.
  Siv settled down into a lotus position in one of the room’s corners and 
  tried meditating to quell the migraine growing right behind his eyes. Arwen, 
  more used to physical activity, swept her outer robes off and began to do 
  calisthenics in the opposite corner. The others gathered in the center of the 
  room to discuss their options. Caleb could not ignore Romana, who hovered 
  nearby.
  “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to bug out,” Ariel said almost immedi-
  ately. “I’ve felt the Forge tugging at the corner of my senses for some time, 
  but stayed to ensure Caleb’s health returned. I wish I could help, but the 
  Forge requires my presence elsewhere.”
  “Uh, yeah,” Vyking said in the silence that followed Ariel’s declaration. “I 
  have to second that motion. This whole time travel trick is terribly intriguing, 
  but I’m needed elsewhere as well.”
  262
   
  
  “Of course,” Abbot told them while Caleb stared dumbfounded at his col-
  leagues. He had hoped that three Cosmo-Knights would provide the neces-
  sary firepower to deal with Quajinn Huo with finality, but apparently the 
  Forge had other plans. “You must do what you must,” Abbot continued, “and 
  we wish you well.”
  “Good luck,” Caleb finally managed to say.
  Ariel rose to her full height and, with a smile, bent down to plant a kiss on 
  Caleb’s forehead. “I think you will need the luck, my young friend.”
  Vyking pointed thumb and forefinger at Caleb and faked pulling a trigger. 
  “See you around kid. Give Huo my regards, will ya?”
  Then they were gone. Romana volunteered to guide them to the nearest 
  airlock, promising that their cosmic awareness would be of little use within 
  the station. The four of them who remained in the circle sat silently for a long 
  moment.
  “That was sudden,” Kassy said at last.
  “And unfortunate,” Abbot agreed. “We’ll miss their firepower.”
  “Which is why,” Joriel said slowly, “I will accompany Caleb into the 
  past.”
  Abbot, Kassy, and Caleb exchanged a look. “I’m not sure that’s wise,” 
  Abbot began to say, but the Celestine interrupted him.
  “Can you stand toe-to-toe with a starship?” Joriel asked pointedly. “Now 
  that the Titan and the human are gone, Caleb and I are the only people on 
  this station who can both survive in a vacuum and withstand the firepower 
  of a warship.”
  “Point,” Caleb agreed. Kassy and Abbot seemed to trust Joriel, but up un-
  til a few days ago, Joriel was an enforcer for a confederation of intergalactic 
  slavers. As a Celestine, Joriel wasn’t even alive in a conventional sense. He 
  was an android, cunningly and artfully designed, but still artificial for all that.
  “Abbot and I have a prior claim on Huo’s head,” Kassy said. “We owe 
  him for Lothar.”
  “Among other things,” Abbot muttered. Louder, he said, “But Joriel raises 
  a salient point. Nor am I one to give up a tactical advantage in the interest of 
  what is ‘fair.’”
  Kassy frowned and crossed her arms. “This two companions nonsense is 
  so arbitrary.”
  On other hand, Caleb thought, Quajinn Huo was a deadly adversary. If 
  anything happened to Kassy or Abbot – if Lothar’s death repeated itself – 
  Caleb didn’t know what he might do. Perhaps he was indeed fated to defeat 
  Quajinn Huo, but the murky promises of the Time Council did not fill him 
  with much in the way of confidence for the survival rate of either himself or 
  anyone who went with him. If he brought Abbot and Kassy into the past, he 
  could be signing their death warrants.
  263
   
  
  “I accept your offer of help,” Caleb told Joriel. The Celestine merely 
  grunted. Kassy looked at Caleb as if he had slapped her. He tried to ignore 
  her look, and turned to Abbot for support. The wizard’s orange eyes dimmed 
  slightly. Despite his earlier words, Abbot didn’t approve of his decision ei-
  ther.
  Arwen bounced into Caleb’s line of sight. “I’ve decided. I’m going too.”
  “You don’t get to...” Kassy started to say, but Caleb cut her off.
  “No, she’s right,” he said. “We’ve got the wizard thing covered with Ro-
  mana, so Abbot can stay here. And Arwen has that power shield thing. You 
  said she handled those Repo-Bots all by her lonesome, right?”
  “Did you suffer brain damage while you were in that coma?” Kassy de-
  manded.
  Romana appeared in the doorway once more. “They’re ready for us, Ca-
  leb.”
  “We’re not ready,” Kassy said.
  Caleb rose. “We’re done here,” he said. Kassy’s look shot daggers at him.
  ____________________
  Romana led them out of the reception room for one final time, through 
  another winding path down the white walled corridors of the Time Council’s 
  space station. This time the trail ended in a smaller chamber, dominated by a 
  giant white bubble.
  Kassy could barely think straight, she was so angry with Caleb. What was 
  he thinking? Arwen was powerful, yes, but relatively inexperienced. Joriel 
  might be able to hold his own against a starship, but he was too new, too un-
  tried. Yes, he had helped Kassy and Abbot against Hazmat, but he had been 
  backed into the corner at the time.
  Why had Joriel volunteered? Kassy shook the nagging thought away. She 
  was more concerned with Caleb’s cavalier attitude. Did he really expect to 
  handle Quajinn Huo alone? To succeed where even Lothar had failed?
  “What is he thinking?” Kassy hissed at Abbot.
  They watched as Astyanax opened a door in the side of the bubble and 
  Romana slipped inside. Arwen followed, humming some obscure tune, and 
  then Joriel wedged his bulk through the small opening. His wings caught on 
  the edge, and Kassy heard the Celestine growl a colorful curse. Caleb paused 
  before entering, and offered his friends a lopsided grin and a shrug. Then he 
  was inside, and Astyanax sealed them up.
  “He is finally thinking like a Knight,” Abbot said softly. “My heart, like 
  yours, wishes to face Quajinn Huo and revenge myself upon him for the loss 
  of my dear friend. But I see what Caleb is doing. This is the first salvo. If this 
  fails, there must be someone left behind to deal with Huo.”
  Kassy’s anger slowly dissipated. “He doesn’t expect to come back.”
  264
   
  
  “Of course he doesn’t. He is not the insecure youth from mythical Earth 
  that we first met so long ago. Caleb Vulcan is a Knight of the Forge, and I 
  believe he is finally coming to learn what that means.”
  The Council gathered around the bubble, the “Timepod,” and a silver light 
  filled the room. Kassy heard voices chanting in esoteric tongues, and a rising 
  roar of sound. The light grew steadily brighter, as did the sound, drowning 
  out the voices. Eventually Kassy had to look away, tears streaming from her 
  eyes, and just as she did, everything stopped.
  Slowly she opened her eyes. The Timepod, and her friends, were gone.
  “Good luck, Caleb,” she whispered.
  265
   
  
  Chapter Twenty-Three
  Unexpected Allies
  “One of the earliest interplanetary societies in the Three Galaxies was 
  that of the Elves. This should come as no surprise. On nearly every planet 
  or dimension where Elves have evolved or been placed, they have developed 
  more quickly and more dramatically than any other species with which they 
  share space. It is also true that, reaching their apex early, Elves also tend to 
  be superceded quickly by Humans, Dwarves, and in some cases even Orcs.
  “But in the heart of the United Worlds of Warlock, on the wooded planet 
  of Alfheim, the Elves developed alone. Without any rivals for living space, 
  the Elves were able to create a truly singular civilization, amazing in all 
  respects. One of the most amazing aspects is that, when the Elves began to 
  look beyond the bounds of Alfheim for (literally) new worlds to conquer, they 
  did not develop spacecraft like other sentients, but instead turned to magic. 
  Using divination, Elves discovered inhabitable planets elsewhere in their 
  star system and beyond, and then created dimensional gateways to transport 
  themselves from Alfheim to their colonies. In doing so, they bypassed most of 
  the dangers inherent in interplanetary travel... but they also left themselves 
  vulnerable to attack from more primitive cultures.”
  – Weddron Nurrick, Noro scholar and quantum psionicist
  A moment before, Caleb Vulcan had stepped into the Timepod and felt 
  reality fade away around him in a wash of multicolored light, and a cold far 
  more intense than the void of space.
  Now that moment was seven hundred years into the future.
  The Timepod resolved itself around Caleb once more. The strange colors 
  and the aching cold faded, replaced by the curved white walls of the pod and 
  the faces of his companions. This was an untried crew, Caleb reminded him-
  self, three individuals he barely knew, whose powers and abilities were as yet 
  untested as far as he was concerned. Yet they had volunteered to help him 
  all the same, and he had accepted without reservation. The challenge facing 
  them had already proved lethal to Caleb’s mentor, Lothar of Motherhome, a 
  Cosmo-Knight of considerable experience and distinction. Caleb had no illu-
  sions about this mission, no real hope that he would face off against Quajinn 
  Huo, one of the most accomplished wizards in the Three Galaxies, and live 
  to tell the tale.
  So he had left behind his two closest friends, Doctor Abbot and Kassio-
  paeia Acherean, and taken this trio of relative unknowns with him. Partly, he 
  feared that if he failed and Huo’s mad scheme to dominate the Three Galaxies 
  came to fruition, then at least Abbot and Kassy would remain to make a sec-
  266
   
  
  ond attempt at Huo’s defeat. But mostly he feared a repeat of the last encoun-
  ter with Huo, and the possible death of someone he cared very much about.
  The pod’s door chimed and slid open. It was a narrow aperture, keeping 
  with the pod’s overall design. The four of them wedged into the pod’s inte-
  rior made for a tight fit, particularly with Joriel the Celestine present. Large 
  bodied alone, and encased in midnight blue body armor, the android also 
  possessed a pair of lavender wings that erupted from his back. They looked 
  amazing, but they also took up quite a bit of room. With a grunt, Joriel man-
  aged to make it to the door and slid outside, carefully folding his wings to 
  keep from catching them on the door rim.
  Next out of the pod was Arwen, a green-skinned and blue-haired young 
  monk who had fallen in with the group after a visit to Abbot’s home. A 
  member of the Celestial Brotherhood, Arwen was lithe and athletic, cheerful 
  and optimistic. Her upbringing among the Brotherhood had left her isolated 
  from the wonders and cultures of the Three Galaxies, and everything she saw 
  seemed part of a grand new adventure.
  Caleb could sympathize. It was barely a year since his high school gradu-
  ation and the cruel promise of a tour in Vietnam cut short by his ascension 
  into the ranks of the Cosmo-Knights. The Three Galaxies were an amazing 
  place to live to be sure, much more exciting than Arizona or, indeed, anything 
  else Earth had to offer. Somewhere along the way, though, some of Caleb’s 
  wide-eyed innocence and exuberance had worn away. Maybe it was all those 
  people who had tried to kill him, or the disappointing prevalence of cosmic 
  despots like Thraxus and Quajinn Huo.
  Caleb’s fourth companion threatened to cut through some of his jaded 
  cynicism. He had only met her a few hours before, and already he owed 
  her his life. Poisoned by a magical virus, Caleb would have perished had 
  Romana Vorishcenko ne Usckios not used her temporal-manipulating abili-
  ties to traverse time and space and recover a cure. She was fine-boned and 
  delicate, with short black hair and warm dark eyes and full red lips and – she 
  was staring at him.
  “Yes?” Caleb asked.
  “After you,” she said.
  “Thanks,” Caleb muttered, belatedly realizing that he was the one who 
  had been staring. He grabbed the rim of the doorway and hauled himself out 
  of the pod, landing lightly on his feet. He could not quite stifle a gasp as he 
  beheld the world waiting for him.
  Arwen grinned. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Caleb could only nod dumbly.
  Romana nudged him aside and slid to the ground. “Welcome to Alfheim,” 
  she said, “core world of the Elven Star Kingdom.”
  They stood in the canopy of a gigantic forest, rich with the bright colors 
  and enchanting scents of midsummer. Around them rose vast trees as thick 
  and tall as skyscrapers, decorated with shiny green leaves as broad as Ca-
  267
   
  
  leb was tall. Overhead the sky was a scintillating azure, dotted with light 
  and breezy clouds. Below them shadows grew deep, as the bright sun cut 
  through branches as large as city streets. For a moment, Caleb feared that the 
  shift through time and space had somehow shrunk their small party, until he 
  realized that the strange humps and growths dotting the surface of the trees 
  around them were buildings of some kind, grown rather than made. Figures 
  moved lightly among the leaves and branches, lithe figures with nut brown 
  skins and tapered ears. The sounds of tinkling laughter and soft music carried 
  on the wind.
  “Alfheim?” Joriel muttered. “I though the Elves built cities of crystal from 
  which to rule.”
  Romana shook her head. “The famed Palace of Diamonds is still under 
  construction in this era. Besides, the Palace is only used for trideo opportu-
  nities and the like. King Silverlight’s true seat of power is here among the 
  trees.”
  A flock of Gryphons flew by overhead. Joriel eyed them dangerously. The 
  intensity of the Celestine’s look forced Caleb to follow his gaze. “What is 
  it?” Caleb asked.
  “I would suspect it’s a welcoming committee of sorts,” Romana supplied. 
  “The Elves could not have missed the arrival of the Timepod. The surge in 
  the ley lines that accompanies the pod’s materialization would have alerted 
  their wizards.”
  “What kind of welcome can we expect?” Arwen asked, bouncing on her 
  feet. She wanted action, Caleb could see, but he hoped she would be disap-
  pointed. At the same time, Caleb’s experience with Elf-kind had so far been 
  limited to the former Imperial Guardsman, Elias Harkonnen. Caleb wasn’t 
  one to judge a whole species on the actions of a single person, but if he was, 
  he’d never trust an Elf.
  The Gryphons wheeled overhead, and now the companions could see a 
  glint of silver upon their backs. Riders in gleaming armor sat between the ani-
  mals’ wings. The Gryphons flew closer and alighted upon the branch around 
  the companions. The Gryphons snapped their beaks and growled deep within 
  their chests as they paced around the Timepod. The riders looked scarcely 
  more hospitable. A female Elf with silver hair and eyes pointed the tip of her 
  lance at Caleb.
  “Speak, quickly! Are you friend or foe?”
  “We come in peace, milady,” Romana said with a respectful bow. “We 
  have come at the behest of the Cosmic Forge to aid you in your hour of need.”
  “The Forge?” Silver eyes narrowed in suspicion. The lance head did not 
  waver an inch. “The Knights come rarely to the Worlds of Warlock, and 
  when they do, they arrive with all the pomp and circumstance accorded their 
  kind. No Cosmo-Knight alive travels through sorcery.”
  268
   
  
  “And yet, here we are,” Caleb said, stepping forward before Romana 
  could say a word. At his movement, the other Gryphon riders raised their 
  lances as one. A half-dozen shining spears pointed at his breast, but Caleb did 
  not pause. In a flash of crimson light, the Knight was enveloped in the metal-
  lic red armor that was his sign of power. The Gryphons reared back, startled, 
  and one of the riders loosed a lance. Before Caleb could react, Arwen was 
  there, plucking the lance out of the air and tossing it to the ground. A violet 
  glow suffused the young monk, a light which quickly died as no more hint of 
  violence was forthcoming from the Elves.
  Instead, their leader examined the four of them more closely, her mouth a 
  thin line. “This is passing strange,” she said. “Unexpected and unusual your 
  arrival may be, but I know a Knight of the Forge when I see one. You say you 
  are hear to offer aid?”
  Romana placed a hand across Caleb’s left shoulder pad. “Quajinn Huo is 
  destined to fall at the hand of Caleb Vulcan.”
  “Prophets as well, are you?” the leader said. “Perhaps we will have use of 
  you. The King and his advisors deliberate over the best course of action even 
  now. We shall bring you to them, and see what aid you might offer.”
  Romana and Arwen settled atop two Gryphons and held the riders close 
  as the great beasts took the air. Joriel and Caleb followed under their own 
  power. Joriel shot Caleb a meaningful look as they rose. The Celestine said 
  under his breath, so low that Caleb barely heard him, “Beware.”
  For some reason, Caleb agreed with him.
  ____________________
  Quajinn Huo relaxed in his stateroom aboard the Draconid warship Strabo. 
  With the bridge under the capable command of Quajinn’s right hand man, 
  Commander Krang, Quajinn felt the time was right to retire and meditate. He 
  had been expending a great deal of magical power over the past few weeks, 
  and though the Watch helped mitigate the strain on his psyche, Quajinn still 
  needed time to recover, now and then.
  Time.
  The Draconid wizard hefted the Singularity Watch in his electric blue 
  claw. It appeared to be an ordinary wrist chronometer, with a clouded face 
  showing a hairline fracture in the glass. But the LED still shone brightly, neon 
  green, counting down the seconds, minutes, and hours accurately. Though 
  Quajinn had to confess he still wasn’t sure what planetary system the Watch 
  was keyed to, he had managed to divine most of the Watch’s other powers.
  The artifact’s name was surprisingly apt; beneath the cracked and clouded 
  glass was constrained an actual black hole, and the unfathomable power of 
  that celestial event was at the wearer’s fingertips. Such power was tempting 
  to unleash in an endless wave, but Quajinn’s disciplined mind resisted that 
  temptation. The fundamental forces of the universe had been at his command 
  269
   
  
  for centuries already. His first bid for control of the United Worlds of War-
  lock had succeeded due primarily to his own magical talents. In his time, he 
  had held at bay the Wulfen shaman Koguk, the dark sorceress Callista, and 
  that infernal Doctor Abbot. Not all at once, truthfully, but still he had bested 
  all three of them separately. It was a testament to the danger he had presented 
  that the three of them needed to join forces to defeat him.
  Quajinn’s snout twisted into a grim smile that showed all of his needle-
  sharp teeth. But that was a long time ago. The smile faded. Draconids, like 
  many species in the Three Galaxies, were long-lived. Were he an ordinary 
  member of his species, Quajinn Huo could look forward three millennia of 
  life. But he had sold off much of his life span in return for most of his magical 
  power, shortening it to but a third of its intended length. He had only a few 
  centuries left – the Watch was able to determine that much – and though that 
  was perhaps long enough to conquer the Three Galaxies, he would not enjoy 
  his reign for very long.
  The Watch helped immeasurably. Quajinn had no idea where Elias Har-
  konnen had acquired it, but even Quajinn Huo’s pitiless heart could afford 
  a small bit of gratitude for the twisted Elf. With it, Quajinn had speeded up 
  time in localized areas to manufacture the fleet of Draconid ships under his 
  command, as well as accelerated the growth and development of thousands 
  of Draconids to crew those ships. His troops looked upon him as a deity, and 
  with the Singularity Watch in hand, he was very close to godhood. Not close 
  enough to suit him, but very close indeed.
  The Three Galaxies contained numerous paths to immortality. This was 
  one of the limits of the Watch’s power – it could not extend his life span, 
  though it could delineate it. But with the power granted him by the Watch, 
  Quajinn Huo could scour the UWW and the rest of the Three Galaxies for 
  the secret, the answers, he required. He clenched his fist around the Watch 
  in a silent vow.
  Once he had secured himself everlasting life, then would come his re-
  venge against those who had defeated him the last time.
  “Milord,” Krang’s voice echoed from the comm beside Quajinn’s chair.
  “Speak,” Quajinn commanded.
  “You wished to be informed when we arrived in Elven space.”
  The grim smile returned. Quajinn rose from his seat and slipped the Sin-
  gularity Watch over his wrist. “Prime the cannons, Commander. I am on my 
  way.”
  ____________________
  The Gryphons led them through the forest city at a brisk pace, and fi-
  nally alighted upon a broad wooden platform stretched between two massive 
  branches. The flight brought the companions considerable attention, unsur-
  prising given how brightly colored and out of place Caleb and Joriel were 
  270
   
  
  compared to the browns and greens and yellows that Alfheim’s populace 
  seemed to prefer.
  Caleb dropped down beside the lead Gryphon, his metallic boots thump-
  ing loudly against the platform’s boards. The Elven woman slid to the ground 
  as well, her silver harness jingling. Caleb was surprised to see that she was 
  actually taller than he was, even in his armor. Joriel thumped down next to 
  the two of them, the Celestine looming over them both. “Where are we?” 
  Joriel demanded.
  The Elven woman pointed towards the trunk of the great tree. Caleb saw 
  a pair of cunningly designed doors cut into the tree’s face. They might have 
  been invisible but for the arch above them, carved with some kind of Elven 
  glyphs, and the four guards that stood at attention nearby. The Elven guards 
  wore some kind of wooden-looking armor and wore swords belted at each 
  hip. Their one concession to existence in the Three Galaxies appeared to be 
  the laser rifles each cradled with threatening ease.
  Romana and Arwen approached, Romana limping slightly. “I prefer buck-
  et seats,” she offered by way of explanation.
  In contrast, Arwen fairly floated across the deck. “That was fun!” she said.
  The lead Gryphon rider escorted the four of them to the door. She spoke 
  rapid fire Elven to the guards, and after a dubious look in Caleb’s direction, 
  the guards acquiesced and let them pass. One of the guards toggled a comm 
  and spoke quietly into it. A moment later the doors swivelled open on unseen 
  hinges. The passage beyond was dark, but it grew brighter as Caleb and his 
  friends passed within it. The hallway looked more grown than carved. Caleb 
  couldn’t see any planks or joints, just smooth finished wood.
  Caleb trailed fingers along the walls, but he couldn’t feel much through his 
  gauntlets. He didn’t like wearing the armor in general, but it was his badge 
  of office and it had managed to gain him an audience with the King, so he 
  left it on.
  “Biomancy,” Romana said in his ear. Caleb started, eliciting a chuckle 
  from her.
  “What was that?” he said, trying to recover his composure. Suddenly he 
  was glad of the helmet, which hid his embarrassment from her.
  “The Elves use Biomancy to grow the trees this large, as well as the com-
  partments within and without. The trees remain alive and growing, even as 
  the Elves continue to live inside them.”
  “That’s amazing,” Caleb said.
  Romana smiled. “Isn’t it?”
  The corridor sloped gradually, winding around the trunk of the tree and 
  heading for the heart.
  “So, Knight,” Joriel said, “what is your plan?”
  “Plan?” Caleb said.
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  “Yeah, you do have a plan, right?” Arwen asked. “It would be a shame to 
  come all this way without a plan. I mean...”
  “I get it, Arwen,” Caleb snapped. The Elf looked over her shoulder at the 
  four of them, and her expression was not encouraging. “I do have a plan. But 
  it won’t do us much good until we figure out where Huo is and what he’s up 
  to, which we won’t know until we talk to this council. Okay?”
  Joriel merely grunted, but both Arwen and the Elf looked relieved. Do I 
  really look that inexperienced, that clueless? Caleb wondered.
  I don’t want to know the answer to that question.
  Finally they reached another set of impressive looking double doors, and 
  more Elven guards with energy rifles. The weapons looked incongruous with 
  the wooden armor and swords, but no less dangerous for the oddity. More El-
  ven words were exchanged, and the conversation quickly grew heated, until 
  the guards begrudgingly backed down and opened the door.
  The Gryphon rider crooked a finger and urged Caleb and his friends to fol-
  low her through the doorway. Beyond was a large chamber with a polished 
  wooden floor and darkened walls. Illumination came from globes situated 
  strategically around the room’s edges, but it was the center of the chamber 
  that drew the eyes. A large, round table carved, not grown, from a huge oak 
  stood in the center of the room. A three-dimensional map of some sector 
  of space hovered over the table’s surface, the projector hidden somewhere 
  within the table itself.
  Around the table stood a dozen individuals, most of them Elven in ap-
  pearance. Caleb saw one in a stylized suit of wooden armor, another in robes 
  of scarlet, a third in a standard issue flightsuit, and another in rich looking 
  clothes. A massive Minotaur in iron armor was there as well, stroking his 
  chin and looking into the star chart. There were also a pair of Dwarves in 
  black and silver, two humans in modern looking mega-armor, some rat-like 
  humanoids, and standing on the far side of the table, almost hidden by the 
  projected image, a pale-skinned humanoid in neatly cut black clothes, whose 
  face was instantly recognizable to the young Cosmo-Knight.
  “Thraxus,” Caleb muttered under his breath.
  The dozen members of the council were arguing something, and had not 
  yet noticed the arrival of Caleb and his friends. For a moment, Caleb thought 
  about loosing an energy blast across the room to cut Thraxus into steam-
  ing chunks of flesh. But Romana noticed his instant discomfort and laid a 
  hand across his arm. “Easy, Caleb,” she whispered. “Remember, we’re seven 
  hundred years in the past. Thraxus has no idea who we are and no reason to 
  attack us.”
  Caleb looked at her for a moment, then across the room at Thraxus. He 
  took a deep breath, despite the fact that he didn’t need to breathe anymore, 
  and forced himself to relax. “Okay.”
  272
   
  
  “King Silverlight,” the Gryphon rider called. “More allies have arrived to 
  help us in our struggle.”
  The council broke off its deliberations and turned its attention to the new 
  arrivals. The silver-haired Elf in the rich clothes stepped around the table. 
  “My thanks, Elloran,” he said. “If our old eyes do not deceive us, you have 
  brought us a Cosmo-Knight.”
  Caleb stepped forward. “Caleb Vulcan of the Forge, Your Majesty,” he 
  said, bowing.
  “Thank you,” King Silverlight said. “But we do not stand much on cer-
  emony here. If you have come to aid us against this Draconid uprising, we 
  are most grateful.”
  “This is no mere uprising, Your Majesty,” Romana said. “You are facing 
  a full scale rebellion. One that, if not checked, will envelop the entire UWW 
  and threaten the Three Galaxies themselves.”
  “Indeed,” King Silverlight said, with some skepticism. “Such a dire pre-
  diction from such an attractive child. Are you so sure of this threat?”
  “Perhaps she exaggerates,” rumbled the Minotaur, “but her concern does 
  her credit. The Draconid fleet has grown more quickly than we would have 
  thought possible. They are producing ships in numbers beyond what their re-
  sources should be, and the Draconids have already absorbed a dozen worlds.”
  “Do the Goblin planets really count?” groused a Dwarf. “We should thank 
  the Draconids for taking those animals off our hands.”
  “Who are you calling ‘animals’?” hissed one of the rat-men.
  “Guildmaster Hammerskjold and Lord Lemmus, please,” Silverlight said. 
  “We are all friends here, and we do not wish our guests from Phase World 
  and the Forge to think otherwise.” The Elf-King’s rebuke was mild, but the 
  effect was instantaneous. Both Lemmus and Hammerskjold straightened and 
  looked away from one another, keeping lips pressed tightly together.
  Bright red lights appeared on the star chart, winking to life with a sudden-
  ness that made Caleb uneasy. His fear was well-founded.
  “Your Majesty,” spoke a familiar voice that sent chills down Caleb’s 
  spine. “We have more immediate concerns than the enmity between Dwarves 
  and Ratinoids.” All eyes turned towards the table. Thraxus continued. “It 
  appears that the Draconid fleet is coming out of light speed within striking 
  distance of this planet.”
  “Ye gods!” Silverlight exclaimed. “How is that possible? They took con-
  trol of Ogretopia but days ago. That’s too far to travel in so short a time, not 
  in those numbers.”
  “Your protests to the contrary aside, Your Majesty,” Thraxus said, “they 
  are here. All that stands between you and them, it seems, are the handful of 
  ships my friend Inglix has loaned me.” Thraxus grinned and flattened his 
  palms on the table. “What is this planet worth to you?”
  273
   
  
  “We see where your incomparable fortune comes from,” Silverlight mut-
  tered bitterly. He turned to the Gryphon rider and said, “Elloran, spread the 
  word. Begin the evacuation.”
  “You are giving up?” Hammerskjold said with incredulity.
  “Hardly, Guildmaster. But we have millions of noncombatants who should 
  escape through dimensional gates to safer climes. They, perhaps, may be able 
  to alert our allies of our trouble. Hopefully we can hold the Draconids here 
  long enough for the Warlocks or your own Dwarven warships to send aid.”
  “Aye, so shall it be done,” Hammerskjold proclaimed.
  “Your Majesty,” Caleb interrupted. King Silverlight turned to look at him 
  with an expression that suggested the Elf had all but forgotten Caleb’s pres-
  ence. “The Draconids are led by a wizard named Quajinn Huo. He has in his 
  possession an artifact that grants him control over time itself. This will not 
  be an easy fight.”
  Silverlight’s blue eyes examined Caleb closely, then switched to Romana.
  “That is how the fleet was able to arrive so quickly and unexpectedly,” 
  Romana explained. “The artifact is also the key to their inevitable victory.”
  “Inevitable?” Silverlight echoed.
  “It need not be so,” Joriel said. “Vulcan has a plan.”
  Caleb turned red beneath his helm. “It’s a bit more of a desperate plan than 
  I had originally envisioned, Your Majesty. How many ships do you have at 
  your disposal?”
  Thraxus had approached, and his black eyes narrowed as he looked the 
  Knight up and down. “We have eight Dwarven Iron Ships at our disposal, 
  and half as many Arcane patrol ships. Four squadrons of Shadow Bolt fight-
  ers. They are arrayed against, apparently, three hundred Draconid frigates, a 
  dozen Cobra class cruisers, and a single Beowulf class dreadnought.”
  “That many?” Silverlight said, sparing a look at the star chart and the 
  growing number of blinking red lights.
  “How long can you hold against those odds?” Caleb asked Thraxus. He 
  tried to keep a quaver out of his voice while resisting the urge to smash the 
  smug grin off of the immortal’s face.
  “How long do you need?” Thraxus said pointedly.
  “Long enough for my team to get through the Draconid line, board the 
  flagship, defeat the wizard, and recover the artifact.”
  Both Silverlight and Thraxus looked at Caleb with some doubt, then ex-
  changed a look with one another. “You Cosmo-Knights have a reputation for 
  doing the impossible,” Silverlight said at last.
  “We try, Your Majesty.”
  “You shall have all the support we can muster,” Silverlight decided. Make 
  your demands, Thraxus, and I shall meet them.” Silverlight turned and head-
  ed to towards the table, barking out commands. The council rushed to follow 
  274
   
  
  them out. Thraxus spared one more close look at Caleb and then followed 
  the King.
  The four companions were momentarily alone once more.
  “That’s your plan?” Joriel growled.
  Caleb shrugged. “I thought we’d have more back-up, but essentially, 
  yeah.”
  “That’s a pretty sucky plan,” Arwen said. “If we’re going to fly into the 
  mouth of Hell, we should have brought Siv.”
  Caleb shook his head. “We’ll be fine. We’re just pulling a blitz. Joriel 
  and I are blocking tackle, and you and Romana will glide into the flagship 
  untouched. With Romana to counter the Watch, and you protecting Romana, 
  that will leave Joriel and I to take down Huo. No problem.”
  Joriel sighed. “You’re mad, Vulcan. But it might work.”
  Romana looked at Caleb sharply. “What do you mean, ‘counter the 
  Watch’?”
  Before Caleb could respond, Silverlight returned. “Quickly,” he said, 
  “you must follow Thraxus to the launching pads. While my people escape to 
  safety, he will cover your assault. May the gods smile upon your endeavor. 
  The prayers and hopes of the Elves go with you.”
  275
   
  
  Chapter Twenty-Four
  War in Time
  “The confrontation with Quajinn Huo would prove to be one of the great-
  est tests of Caleb Vulcan’s life. The Draconid sorcerer had already killed his 
  mentor, the Wulfen Cosmo-Knight Lothar of Motherhome, and, armed with 
  the Singularity Watch, traveled back in time seven hundred years to begin his 
  conquest of the United Worlds of Warlock. Armed with the Watch, Huo had 
  marched across the UWW, using the artifact to accelerate time and build an 
  armada in days rather than years.
  “With this force at his back, Quajinn Huo conquered the Draconid Hub 
  worlds, the Grimbor System, Ogretopia, and quickly advanced on the center 
  of Elven power in the UWW. It was there that Caleb Vulcan and his small 
  band of allies, together with the immortal Thraxus of Phase World, faced off 
  against the mad Draconid, his army, and the Singularity Watch. The future 
  of the Three Galaxies literally hanged in the balance. Unchecked, Huo could 
  use the Watch to unwrite what had already been written.”
  – Excerpt from Caleb Vulcan: Before the Fall, by Gymnos Terrice
  King Silverlight stood in the midst of the control room, deep in the heart 
  of one of the great rowan trees that covered the world of Alfheim. His home-
  world, and the homeworld of the millions of Elves he served as King. Now, 
  that world was under siege. Over three hundred Draconid warships had come 
  out of light speed just minutes away from Alfheim, and now bore down 
  heavily upon the nearly unprotected world. The Elves were an interplanetary 
  people, but not a starfaring one. They used dimensional gates to traverse the 
  intervening space between worlds, and as a result the planets under their con-
  trol lacked the orbital space stations and k-sats that other planets possessed.
  Instead, Alfheim depended upon its position in space as a defense. It lay 
  at the heart of the United Worlds of Warlock, an emerald jewel nestled with-
  in the crown of the UWW. Any invading armada should have had to pass 
  through a dozen heavily protected systems before reaching Alfheim. Even 
  had the Draconids enough strength to batter through those defenses, there 
  should have been plenty of warning. Alfheim should not have been caught 
  flatfooted.
  Yet, the Cosmo-Knight had said something disturbing to the King. He had 
  claimed that the Draconids were led by a wizard in possession of an artifact 
  capable of controlling Time itself.
  With a weapon like that...
  It did not bear thinking about. King Silverlight could not allow himself to 
  complete the thought. Yet he could not ignore the possibility either.
  276
   
  
  The King looked about the control room. Moments ago, a council of rep-
  resentatives from the allied worlds of Warlock had encircled the table in the 
  chamber’s center. But now Thraxus and Guildmaster Hammerskjold and 
  Lord Lemmus and the others were scrambling for the launchpads and the few 
  ships available for Alfheim’s defense. King Silverlight stood alone, save for 
  a few of his attendants and advisors.
  “Seneschal,” King Silverlight said into the silence. “Fetch our sword and 
  armor.”
  Greenleaf’s bright eyes widened in surprise. “Milord, is that wise? If the 
  Draconids break through Thraxus’ line, I doubt they will condescend to fac-
  ing us sword to sword, face to face.”
  King Silverlight shook his head. “Our sword and our armor, Seneschal. 
  We will not ask a second time.”
  Greenleaf swallowed, nodded, and spun on his heal to do his King’s bid-
  ding. King Silverlight turned to his aide, Skystone. “You,” he said, “fetch the 
  Norn Stones.”
  Beneath her golden tan, Skystone paled. “Milord, are you certain?”
  “Is there anyone to hand who will not question our orders?” King Silver-
  light snapped. Skystone blanched further and, without another word, raced to 
  complete her appointed task.
  The Norn Stones were artifacts of power, like this so-called “watch” of the 
  Draconid’s. If need be, King Silverlight would fight fire with fire.
  His world. His people.
  And damn the consequences.
  ____________________
  Caleb Vulcan hurried after the retreating form of Thraxus and tried to 
  reign in the irrational anger that surged through him every time he looked at 
  the immortal. According to present time, it would be seven hundred years be-
  fore Thraxus would kidnap Caleb’s friends and attempt to kill him, but thanks 
  to the miracle of time travel, those events had happened only days ago to the 
  young Cosmo-Knight. This Thraxus, the one who had stood calmly beside 
  the Elven King and pledged his ships to the defense of Alfheim, had never 
  met Caleb before. He was entirely unaware of the fate future (or was that the 
  past?, Caleb wondered) had in store for the both of them. That did not make 
  dealing with Thraxus any easier.
  His friends understood. He hoped. Joriel, the winged and armored android 
  warrior whose heavy steps thundered at Caleb’s, was among those kidnaped 
  and used as bait for Caleb. Caleb had rescued Joriel, and now the Celestine 
  had pledged himself to Caleb’s service, determined to pay Caleb back for 
  saving his life. The blue-skinned, green-haired and lithely built young monk 
  Arwen Griffin had evaded Thraxus’ soldiers, but only barely. The only one of 
  his companions who might not understand Caleb’s feelings towards Thraxus 
  277
   
  
  was the dark-haired and dark-eyed Time Councilor Romana Vorishcenko ne 
  Usckios. But then, it had been Romana who used her temporal manipulating 
  powers to recover the antidote which saved Caleb from Thraxus’ poison.
  Thraxus and a stoutly built Dwarf in battle-leathers led the charge down 
  the smoothly sloping corridor. The Elves lived in the trees that covered their 
  world; inside them, in fact, growing passages and rooms with magic. It was 
  fascinating and wonderful and enchanting, and Caleb wished he had time to 
  appreciate it. But if they did not hurry, the verdant forests that covered Alf-
  heim would turn to ash. Quajinn Huo would see to that.
  Caleb swallowed a curse. Allowing Thraxus to go free – worse, allying 
  with the immortal from Phase World – was ridiculously easy when Caleb 
  reminded himself that he was doing so to ensure the defeat and apprehension 
  of a villain much worse than Thraxus could ever hope to be. While Thraxus 
  had intrigued to kill Caleb, he had at least failed in his attempt to murder a 
  Cosmo-Knight. Not so Quajinn Huo. On Malthus’ World, Huo’s magic slew 
  Lothar of Motherhome, Caleb’s mentor and friend. Caleb had been looking 
  for Huo ever since, but only recently had he learned that Huo evaded capture 
  by escaping into the past.
  Now he had a chance to put things right. He would not fail.
  The corridor ended in a broad doorway that dumped the racing sextet onto 
  one of the massive, boulevard wide branches of the great tree. Thraxus and 
  his Dwarven attendant slowed to a jog. Caleb and his people matched their 
  pace. On this level of the great tree, the Elves had grown wide platforms 
  along the branch, large enough and strong enough to withhold the consider-
  able weight of spacecraft. Even as they raced across the branch, Caleb saw 
  light fighters lifting off and surging into the sky, knifing through the air and 
  heading into the upper atmosphere.
  On the level beneath them, Gryphons and more advanced transport mod-
  ules ferried Elven civilians towards designated evacuation points. Bursts of 
  light half-seen through the forest canopy could only be dimensional Rifts 
  opening to safety. Caleb saw men and women and children, whole families, 
  crammed into the modules or clinging for dear life on the feathered backs of 
  Gryphons. The Elves looked serious, but none showed fear or panic. They 
  trusted their leaders to ensure they were kept safe.
  And the Elven leaders trusted Caleb to do the job.
  The Knight returned his attention to Thraxus. The immortal and his 
  Dwarven attendant had stopped before a large vessel that looked more like a 
  19th century Earth submarine than a starship from the Three Galaxies. It was 
  cigar-shaped, black as midnight, and rust red rivets showed along its chassis 
  where metal plates had been welded to the ship’s frame.
  Thraxus looked askance at Caleb and his friends. “We can spare a shuttle 
  for you,” he said. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
  278
   
  
  So do I, Caleb thought to himself. “The flagship is the key,” he said aloud. 
  “If we can get aboard it, we can end this thing before too many innocent 
  people get hurt.”
  “That’s the trick, isn’t it?” Thraxus said. “I hope for your sake the Forge 
  is paying close attention to you. You’ll need all the divine intervention you 
  can get.”
  Caleb grinned, an expression lost behind the t-shaped visor of his helmet. 
  “Not with you covering us, Thraxus.”
  Thraxus was about to reply, but the Dwarf started talking to him in some-
  thing other than Trade-4. Caleb couldn’t understand a word. “I understand,” 
  Thraxus told the Dwarf. He turned to Caleb. “Stefrick here will show you to 
  the ship. I’m needed in the air. Good luck.” With that, the immortal clam-
  bered up onto the ship’s hull and through an airlock. As soon as he was 
  aboard, previously invisible markings appeared upon the ship, brightly glow-
  ing runes that traced along the entire craft’s length. Without a sound, the frig-
  ate lifted off the landing pad and began a slow but steady ascent into the sky.
  The Dwarf was already beckoning Caleb and his friends to follow him. 
  “Lead on, Stefrick,” Arwen suggested. The Dwarf nodded and hurried further 
  along the branch, his charges in tow.
  They stopped at one of the smaller pads, upon which sat a sleek, snub-
  nosed shuttle craft with a mirror-polished finish. One look, and Caleb knew 
  that this ship was the Thunderbird of the Three Galaxies. Clearly it was built 
  for speed and power and it looked mighty sharp to boot.
  “Lord Thraxus’ personal craft,” Stefrick explained. “Don’t damage it.”
  “Be assured, we shall be extra careful,” Joriel said with a savage grin that 
  belied his words.
  The foursome left Stefrick standing on the launch pad and hurried into Thrax-
  us’ ship. It was definitely built for speed; most of the ship was engine, and the 
  cockpit was packed tight with the four of them. Caleb dropped into the driver’s 
  seat and looked over the controls. Nothing terribly complicated, he decided, and 
  began to power up the ship. “Romana, Arwen,” he said, “see if you can find some 
  vac-suits. We’re probably going to go extra-vehicular on this one.”
  Romana arched an eyebrow, but Arwen hurried to comply, popping open 
  panels and checking compartments until she found what she was looking for, 
  two matte black flight suits with seals and helmets. In a pinch they would 
  serve as mega-armor, but their primary use was for protection from vacuum. 
  Caleb waited until Arwen and Romana began to put the suits on before he 
  fired up the engines and pointed the ship’s nose towards the sky.
  Caleb put all the available power on the shields and ignored the two laser 
  cannons and the single mini-missile bank. As Alfheim dropped behind them 
  and the stars appeared before them, Caleb spared a glance at his passengers. 
  “Fasten your seatbelts, kids. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
  ____________________
  279
   
  
  Aboard the command deck of the Draconid ship Strabo, the mad magi-
  cian Quajinn Huo leaned heavily upon his staff. On his left wrist dangled the 
  Singularity Watch. Beneath its cracked and clouded face was contained the 
  seething power of a Black Hole, and all that power was at Huo’s command. 
  Within his spindly frame, clothed in a crimson kimono and covered in elec-
  tric blue scales, seethed power of a different sort, enough raw magical energy 
  to power a star. Quajinn Huo was the greatest wizard of his age – or any age, 
  now that he had the Watch – and though his physical strength was not what it 
  once was, his magical abilities were at their peak.
  Commander Krang stood beside Huo, resplendent in his battle armor, 
  both hands folded behind his back. Around them bustled the troops and staff 
  of the Strabo, while the alarm klaxons rang and the dreadnought’s cannons 
  and torpedo banks came online. On the viewscreen shimmered the green and 
  blue planet Alfheim. Bright lights on the screen’s upper left hand corner kept 
  track of the rest of Huo’s fleet: three hundred Draconid frigates, a dozen Co-
  bra class cruisers, and the thousands of fighters launching from the frigates’ 
  docking bays.
  “We slipped past their defenses with little trouble, my Lord,” Krang said. 
  “Now Alfheim will become a pyre, and the Elven worlds will be added to 
  your growing empire.”
  The fleet had “slipped past” the Elven defenses due entirely to Huo and the 
  Watch. A minor application of the Watch’s temporal manipulating abilities 
  had seen fit to accelerate the passage of the ships through space, too fast for 
  normal tracking systems to notice them. But it would be the massed might of 
  Krang’s ships that burned Alfheim and drove King Silverlight to his knees, 
  so Huo did not reprimand Krang. The Commander was arrogant, but he was 
  also as loyal as a dog. Krang, like all of Huo’s troops, had been raised within 
  a time bubble summoned up by the Watch, and Krang had known and loved 
  his master Huo for the entirety of his life.
  The fleet was built similarly. No one in the UWW had even been aware 
  of the fleet’s existence until it had first thundered out of the Draconid Hub 
  worlds, guns blazing.
  “What kind of resistance can we expect?” Huo asked Krang.
  The Commander’s yellow eyes surveyed the screen perfunctorily. “Not 
  much, my Lord. A handful of Dwarven Iron Ships. A few Arcane patrol 
  boats, one of the laughably simple Minotaur ships, and assorted freighter-
  craft. I should expect some Shadow Bolt fighters, as well. We’ll be landing 
  within the hour, my Lord.”
  Yes, Krang was exceedingly arrogant. But he meant what he said. Huo 
  had no doubt of victory, but he did not discount the Elves as readily as his 
  second-in-command. The Elves were skilled wizards, and they would have 
  defenses aplenty, if none so brazen as a fleet of starships.
  280
   
  
  “Begin the attack,” Huo ordered. He turned and walked across the deck to 
  the throne that sat in the middle of the room. Huo eased himself into the chair 
  and prepared for the coming battle. The Watch on his wrist began to glow 
  with a silver light.
  ____________________
  The shuttle’s engines thrummed as Caleb pushed them to their limits.
  “Are you certain you know how to fly this thing?” Joriel grumbled from 
  the back seat.
  “Nag, nag, nag,” Caleb retorted. “I have cosmic awareness. I’m a natural 
  pilot.”
  At that moment the ship breached Alfheim’s atmosphere and exploded 
  into space. Blackness closed in around them through the shuttle’s windows, 
  but it was suddenly split with laser fire. Energy bolts skimmed across the 
  shuttle’s shields and the craft shook from the impact.
  A dozen green fighters, shaped like pterodactyls, closed in on the shuttle, 
  cannons firing. “Hmph,” Joriel said. “I recognize the make. Wyvern class 
  fighters. Antiques. They’re fast but brittle.”
  Romana turned in the navigator’s chair to look at the Celestine with a wor-
  ried expression. “They aren’t antiques in this era, Joriel. They’re not exactly 
  cutting edge tech, either, but they’re more than a match for this ship.”
  “I doubt that,” Caleb said, tightening his grip on the controls and buzzing 
  through the squadron of Wyvern ships. The radar showed them breaking and 
  looping around to follow the shuttle. Even as they did, another thirty red dots 
  appeared on the screen as more fighters closed on Thraxus’ ship.
  Caleb rolled, and laser blasts cut through space where the shuttle had just 
  stood. He revved the throttle and forced the shuttle up to its top speed. The 
  ship groaned at the stress, but it blasted through the cloud of Wyverns like a 
  greased eel. Laser blasts lanced across the shuttle’s hull, but the shields held.
  Thousands more fighter craft filled nearby space. Most of them dropped 
  into Alfheim’s atmosphere, but dozens of squadrons looped towards the 
  shuttle and the defenders of Alfheim. Thraxus’ eight Dwarven Iron Ships 
  rose ponderously through the vacuum, guns blazing and runes shimmering 
  brightly as they engaged the enemy. Wyverns exploded in bright bursts of 
  light, but there were a lot of them, and Thraxus had no hope of defeating them 
  all. Laser light, bright reds and yellows and blues, sizzled through space, il-
  luminating the endless night with eerie color.
  Beyond the formidable numbers of fighter craft, three hundred Draconid 
  frigates floated serenely in space, waiting for their turn. And in the midst of 
  them all was the massive gray-green bulk of the Beowulf class dreadnought 
  that served Huo’s fleet as the flagship. The ship itself was shaped like a gi-
  gantic dragon, with a great horned head and wing-shaped ailerons. Compared 
  281
   
  
  to the dreadnought’s frightening bulk, the shuttle was the size of a sliver, and 
  about as threatening.
  Caleb grimaced as a volley of missiles was added to the laser fire battering 
  at his shields. Caleb juked and rolled, but there were a lot of Wyverns, and it 
  was impossible to evade the field of fire they could lay down. The shuttle’s 
  shields were dropping quickly, and the dreadnought was still far away.
  Suddenly there came a flash of light, followed quickly by a rumble of 
  thunder that all four of them heard despite the emptiness of space and the 
  thick walls of the shuttle. In the midst of the whirling swarm of Wyverns 
  materialized a chariot, drawn by the two biggest and meanest goats Caleb had 
  ever seen. Holding the chariot’s reigns was a giant of a man with flaming red 
  hair and beard, and in one massive gauntlet he held a gigantic hammer that 
  flashed with lightning.
  “Thor,” Romana breathed.
  “Who?” Caleb asked. He looked away from the new arrival to concentrate 
  on his flying, and just barely evaded crashing into an enemy fighter.
  “Thor,” Romana said, “the Asgardian god of thunder and lightning. I’d 
  always heard that the Elves of the UWW originally came from Asgard, but I 
  never really believed it.”
  Caleb allowed himself one more look out the window at the chariot. The 
  giant threw his hammer, and with another flash of lightning and crash of 
  thunder, the weapon destroyed three of the Draconid fighters. The small craft 
  wheeled and sent arcs of laser light at the giant and his chariot, but the Draco-
  nid attack spattered harmlessly against walls of magical force.
  As far as Caleb was concerned, there had only ever been one God, but 
  he was certainly grateful to this Thor fellow, whomever he might be. The 
  Draconids were still bearing down on Thraxus’ shuttle, but not as heavily as 
  they were a moment before. Caleb saw his chance and he took it. He throttled 
  the engines and shot forward at full speed, trusting his enhanced senses and 
  preternatural reflexes to keep them safe as the shuttle surged towards the 
  dreadnought. The ship groaned around them at the stress Caleb forced upon 
  it, and the control panel lit up with warning lights.
  The shuttle slipped through the cordon of Wyverns, and for a moment, Ca-
  leb felt as though he were hot-rodding across the Arizona desert once more. 
  He looped around the frigates, dodging laser fire with a mixture of skill and 
  insane luck, and flew in close to the dreadnought. Almost casually, the guns 
  on the dreadnought began to fire on the shuttle, a giant reaching out to crush 
  a fly. Caleb grinned behind his helmet and buzzed in low, almost scraping 
  the dreadnought’s hull. The shields were on their last legs – another volley of 
  laser fire would puncture them.
  “Helmets, ladies,” Caleb said through gritted teeth. “It’s about time to go 
  ee-vee-ay.” Romana clipped her helmet over her head, and the shuttle lurched 
  under a concentrated blast from the dreadnought’s cannons. The shields col-
  282
   
  
  lapsed. The control panel sparked and Caleb felt the control stick shudder 
  under his hands. “Joriel, blow the air lock,” Caleb said.
  “You’re mad,” the Celestine said, but there was a note of admiration in 
  his voice. His heavy body lurched in the small cabin and he struck the air-
  lock release panel with his fist. The outside panel blew off and flashed away 
  to clatter soundlessly against the dreadnought’s hull. Joriel was sucked out 
  into the vacuum along with it, but he was smiling as he went. Caleb hit the 
  release on his seatbelt and gestured for Romana and Arwen to do the same. 
  They had seconds before the shuttle was either vaporized or smashed into the 
  larger ship. He grabbed each of the women by the elbows and flew them out 
  the airlock.
  As they flew away, the shuttle, now rudderless, wobbled in close to the 
  dreadnought and scraped against it, coming apart in a silent explosion.
  “Was that, or was that not our ride out of here?” Arwen grumbled over 
  the comm.
  “Romana said it herself,” Caleb told her, “the watch is our ticket home.”
  “Besides,” chimed in Joriel, swooping towards them with his wings out-
  stretched, “with the ship destroyed, the dreadnought’s systems should just 
  see us as debris.”
  “Right,” Caleb agreed. “Now let’s find ourselves a way onboard this 
  crate.”
  “I see a maintenance airlock from here,” Romana said. Caleb followed her 
  pointing finger. He grinned beneath his helmet once more.
  ____________________
  “The rogue ship is destroyed,” Commander Krang reported.
  Quajinn Huo grunted. He had a bad feeling about that small shuttle. It had 
  gotten entirely too far across the battlefield before being destroyed. The pilot 
  had to have been either insane or lucky or both, and something about it had 
  triggered all of Quajinn’s internal alarms. He felt considerable relief now that 
  it was gone.
  The biggest threat was that mad Asgardian mowing down his fighters out 
  there in the midst of the conflict. Huo had expected the Elves to have for-
  midable magical defenses of some kind, but he had not expected Silverlight 
  to summon up a god to fight on Alfheim’s behalf. The little shuttle was ir-
  relevant, the Dwarven warships were irrelevant, Silverlight and all his Elves 
  were irrelevant compared to Thor. Wherever he swung or threw that hammer 
  of his, Draconids died.
  Huo sighed. There was only one thing to do. Against Thor, his options 
  were limited. Even the full power of the Strabo could not hope to stand long 
  against the Asgardian, let alone the lighter and more vulnerable Wyvern 
  fighters. But the Singularity Watch could check Thor, could make him vul-
  283
   
  
  nerable to the Strabo’s heavy cannons. Perhaps not enough damage to kill the 
  immortal, but certainly enough to force his retreat.
  “Commander,” Huo barked. “Bring us in closer.” The Watch was power-
  ful, but it had such a limited range, especially where attack was concerned.
  “My Lord,” Krang said, clearly puzzled, “are you certain that’s wise?”
  Huo’s yellow eyes flashed dangerously. “Are you questioning me, Krang?”
  The Draconid quickly wilted. “Of course not, Lord Huo.” He turned to the 
  helmsman and gave the order. The Strabo advanced. Her guns found targets 
  and began to fire.
  Something nagged at the back of Huo’s mind as the Strabo moved for-
  ward. He forced himself to ignore it, and focused instead on the task at hand. 
  One misstep with Thor could prove disastrous.
  ____________________
  When they first stepped through the airlock into the dreadnought’s inte-
  rior, a pair of curious Draconid soldiers had been waiting for them, handguns 
  at the ready. It took Arwen less then five seconds to put them both into a 
  dreamless sleep.
  “We can’t fight the whole ship,” Caleb said, standing over the uncon-
  scious guards.
  “Watch me,” Arwen said with a laugh.
  “It’s risky,” Romana said, “but we may have no choice. I can use my 
  magic to keep us hidden from prying eyes, but the use of it may alert the 
  Watch, and thus Huo.”
  Joriel frowned. “I would prefer a straight fight to sneaking around.”
  “We don’t have that luxury,” Caleb decided. Which was why they were 
  now creeping around the corridors of the ship like ghosts, somehow placed 
  “out of phase” with local time. Most of the hallways were actually empty, as 
  the crew were at battle stations and manning their posts, but a few security 
  details still patrolled the halls. Looking for what, Caleb wasn’t sure, but from 
  the ominous mutterings the Draconids made into their comms in their slither-
  ing, raspy language, Caleb suspected someone had found the unconscious 
  guards.
  They were running out of time.
  Caleb quashed that thought. If Huo was aware of them, somehow Ca-
  leb suspected he would know. He shook his head; every corridor looked the 
  same, none of the passages or doorways showed much in the way of varia-
  tion. And for all their assorted talents, neither he nor his companions knew 
  their way around a Draconid dreadnought.
  Then they turned a corner and found themselves facing a set of large and 
  shiny double doors, flanked by two lounging guards with laser rifles. Caleb 
  and Joriel shared a look, and a slow grin crossed the big Celestine’s face. 
  “Romana, if you would, drop the mask.”
  284
   
  
  Romana raised an eyebrow but snapped a finger. Caleb didn’t notice 
  a change, but the sudden looks of alarm that crossed the Draconids’ fea-
  tures told him that the spell was ended. Joriel stepped forward, cracked his 
  knuckles, and looked prepared to do something incredibly violent when the 
  ship shuddered warningly beneath their feet. The Draconid guards, startled, 
  dropped their weapons and lurched down the corridor as quickly as they 
  could move, babbling into their comms and obviously raising the alarm.
  Joriel took one step in pursuit of the fleeing guards, but stopped as the ship 
  shuddered again. “That wasn’t laserfire,” he said ominously. “Something hit 
  the ship.”
  “Thor,” Romana intoned. “Now would be a good time to save the day, 
  with Huo distracted by the angry god just outside the ship.”
  “Good point,” Caleb agreed. The time for subtlety had passed. A bar of red 
  light appeared in his right hand, coalescing into a massive sledge hammer. He 
  hefted it once, then heaved the hammer towards the gleaming double doors 
  and grinned beneath his helmet as they buckled and split and fell inward. 
  The hammer materialized once more in Caleb’s hand and he flew through the 
  gap, his friends close beside him. Joriel’s blazer, a blue-white line of force 
  that could carve through a spaceship’s armored hull, flashed in his hands. A 
  violet field of energy swirled around Arwen, and Romana stayed close to the 
  monk and her shield.
  The bridge looked up at the foursome in surprise and horror. A dozen 
  Draconids spread across as many command stations stared slack-jawed at the 
  intruders. Quajinn Huo stood in the middle of the room, his hands upraised, 
  staff and Watch shining with eldritch light. Beside him stood a mean looking 
  Draconid whose hand dropped quickly to the blaster at his side, an officer of 
  some kind. Beyond them all loomed the view screen, upon which played out 
  the battle in space. It looked to be going in Huo’s favor. Most of the Dwarven 
  ships were shattered or drifting, listless in the vacuum. Flares of light in Alf-
  heim’s gauzy atmosphere could only be ships landing, ready to attack the 
  surface. Only the red-bearded Viking warrior Thor still raged against the in-
  vaders, but one of his goats was dead, and concentrated laser fire hammered 
  against the giant’s shields. The mighty warrior raised his hammer to let fly.
  The Watch flashed and the giant stilled, frozen in space like a fly trapped 
  in amber. The ship’s guns continued to batter him, and it would be only a 
  matter of time before he was destroyed.
  Caleb would not let that happen. “Quajinn Huo, in the name of the Cosmic 
  Forge I demand you surren–” The words caught in his throat, and his advance 
  across the bridge was suddenly arrested. He didn’t have to look around to 
  know that his friends were similarly stopped.
  Frozen. Stopped in Time, but still aware. Caleb had been counting on Ro-
  mana’s magic to counter the Singularity Watch, but he admitted ruefully to 
  himself that she had not actually said she was capable of such an act.
  285
   
  
  “Fools,” Quajinn Huo spat. His sidekick had drawn his pistol finally, and 
  pointed it warily at the four heroes. Huo walked towards them, leaning heav-
  ily on his staff. “Do you think I was entirely unaware of your presence on 
  my ship? I am master of Time and Space, and your pathetic powers are no 
  match for me.”
  Caleb tried to lance the wizard with his eye beams, but even that was 
  denied him.
  “I remember you,” Huo continued, jabbing an angry claw at Caleb. 
  “You’re one of Lothar’s lapdogs. A tiresome do-gooder, pawn of the vaunted 
  Cosmic Forge. I’ve killed many Cosmo-Knights, pup. But one more notch on 
  my staff would please me greatly.” The wizard gestured with the Watch, and 
  suddenly Caleb’s time-locked body was wracked with horrible pain. He felt 
  it twist and expand within him, racing through his bloodstream like molten 
  lava, searing every nerve in his body. But he couldn’t thrash in agony. Huo’s 
  spell even denied Caleb the ability to scream.
  Huo grinned. “I think I’ll keep you around at least until Alfheim lies in 
  ruins. I shall enjoy killing you... over time.”
  Caleb willed his eye beams to fly forward and strike Huo down, but still 
  nothing happened, and the pain drilled deeper and deeper into his body. The 
  unvoiced scream echoed in his mind, on and on.
  Then the great Draconid dreadnought shuddered once again, and alarm 
  klaxons began to ring once more. The Draconid officer looked around in con-
  fusion. “My Lord,” he said to Huo, “we’re showing a dozen ships appearing 
  behind and above us. They’re coming out of nowhere. More of them!”
  “What?!” Huo demanded, looking away from his captives. “On screen!”
  The view screen shifted away from Thor, still frozen and still being cut to 
  ribbons by the Strabo’s cannons, to the aft view. For a moment, Caleb wasn’t 
  sure what he was seeing. It appeared as though a mountain range had ripped 
  itself free of its planetary moorings and now soared through space. But then 
  runes flared brightly, and Caleb realized that he was looking at Dwarven war-
  ships. Balls of fire and bolts of lightning flashed from the mountain-ships and 
  crashed against the Draconid dreadnought.
  “We’re being hailed,” one of the techs said from his station.
  “On screen,” the officer snapped.
  Thraxus’ grinning face appeared on the screen. “Greetings, Quajinn Huo,” 
  he said. “By now I hope you’ve realized you’ve bitten off more than you can 
  chew this time. Alfheim and the United Worlds of Warlock are under my 
  personal protection, and I’m afraid your little coup is bad for business.”
  Huo’s electric blue face turned purple with rage. “I’ll go back to the dawn 
  of time to kill you,” he roared at Thraxus, “you arrogant, backstabbing...”
  Caleb couldn’t help grinning. He hated Thraxus nearly as much as he hat-
  ed Huo, but he was glad to see the pasty-faced immortal, as glad as he’d ever 
  been in his life.
  286
   
  
  He was grinning.
  The pain was gone.
  Caleb laughed out loud, and for a split second, Quajinn Huo realized his 
  mistake. With a look of horror, the wizard spun towards the Cosmo-Knight, 
  raising his left claw and preparing to use the Watch once more. But Caleb’s 
  eye beams were already flashing across the bridge, and with a sizzling flash 
  Quajinn Huo’s left forearm flopped to the floor, grasping weakly at the air.
  Then everything seemed to happen at once. The Draconid officer fired 
  his pistol, but Joriel was there to deflect the beam with his blazer, and with 
  one swift stroke he cut the officer down. The techs leapt from their seats in a 
  desperate effort to defend themselves, but Arwen was an amethyst blur, faster 
  than the eye could follow and strong enough to defeat beings with skin hard 
  as steel using only her fists and feet.
  Caleb flew across the bridge at Quajinn Huo. The wizard raised his staff 
  and his yellow eyes flashed, but Caleb’s hammer knocked the staff out of 
  Huo’s hand, and his shoulder slammed into the wizard’s chest. Huo flopped 
  to the floor and bounced. Lightning erupted from Huo’s raised claw, burning 
  through Caleb’s chest and out through his limbs. He felt blood fill his mouth 
  as one of his teeth exploded, shredding the roof of his mouth and cutting his 
  tongue. Caleb didn’t slow. He’d taken worse punishment before.
  Caleb planted a boot across Huo’s neck and pressed his full weight down 
  upon it. Huo’s eyes bugged out of their sockets and his mouth opened, pink 
  tongue lashing at the air. A thin, reedy croak loosed from his throat, and a 
  dozen hostile spells went off, slamming into and through Caleb with all the 
  strength and rage Huo could muster. Caleb’s armor cracked, melted, broke 
  apart. His flesh tore and burned and blood dimmed his eyes. He pressed down 
  harder on Huo’s neck and swung his hammer at the wizard’s head. Finally the 
  fireworks came to a stop and Huo’s head slumped backward. Unconscious or 
  dead, Caleb wasn’t sure. Not that he cared overmuch either way.
  Caleb dropped to his knees beside the wizard and spat blood.
  Romana knelt down beside him. She had the Singularity Watch in one 
  hand, and she put the other on Caleb’s shoulder to steady him. A look of 
  horror constricted her pretty features. “I didn’t save you just to let you kill 
  yourself,” she said sharply.
  But his body was already repairing itself. Slowly but surely, the gifts of 
  the Forge were undoing all the damage Huo had just inflicted.
  Joriel stood at the comm station and tried to hail Thraxus. Arwen moved 
  rapidly to the ruined doors and prepared to guard against any attack from 
  within the ship. The dreadnought shook under the barrage from the Dwarven 
  ships, and the familiar pounding of Thor’s hammer had resumed as well. The 
  giant was free of Huo’s spell as well, and judging by the ferocity of his attack, 
  he was very, very angry.
  287
   
  
  “It’s no use,” Joriel muttered. “I cut through the panel by accident. We’ll 
  have to fight our way to the escape pods, I suppose. Hopefully this crate will 
  last long enough for us to make them.”
  Arwen shot a wicked grin over her shoulder. “If there are any left. There 
  are a lot of troops left on this ship who know where the escape pods are lo-
  cated.”
  “Unnecessary,” Romana said. “I told you that the Watch was our way 
  home. We have that now. There’s no reason to linger.” Caleb tried to say 
  something, but his tongue was still a ruin, and all he managed was a burble. 
  Romana patted him reassuringly. “Everyone get close.”
  Joriel moved in, and Arwen jogged back to where Caleb, Romana and the 
  unconscious body of Quajinn Huo lay. “We can’t,” Caleb finally managed to 
  spit out, “we can’t leave Huo here.”
  Romana nodded. “We’re not going to. Everyone grab hold of me.” Jori-
  el’s huge paw dropped across Romana’s shoulder, and Arwen looped an arm 
  through Romana’s. The time councillor raised the Watch and pressed a but-
  ton on its side. The cracked facade flashed and then everything went silver.
  To be continued in Hammer of the Forge™, Volume Two!
  288
   
  
  www.palladiumbooks.com
  ®
  $13.99
  Cat. No. 306
  ISBN-10: 1-57457-279-2
  ISBN-13: 978-1-57457-279-7
  The fabric of space and time is torn asunder and Earth becomes a 
  nexus – a gateway – to countless alien worlds and the forces of 
  magic and the supernatural. Thus begins the saga of Rifts®.
  Now imagine not one, but three galaxies said to contain millions 
  of inhabited worlds.
  At
  At its center is Phase World, itself the commercial and techno-
  logical center of the universe and terminus of all known spacelanes. 
  A world where transdimensional gates reach to hundreds of other 
  universes.
  All of it said to be the creation of the mythical Cosmic Forge. A 
  wonder capable of giving birth to a million galaxies. A sentient force 
  of magic and technology and life that, misused but once, has since 
  hidden itself away, but watches and waits. For what, no one knows. 
  While it waits, the Forge sometimes reaches out to touch the few 
  who are worthy, and gift them with the power cosmic.
  Becoming
  Becoming a Cosmo-Knight™ is something children across the 
  Three Galaxies dream about. But for Caleb Vulcan of Earth, the 
  stories of the Cosmic Forge are unknown. As he teeters at a cross-
  roads, he has no idea what is speaking to him nor the power of the 
  choice he is about make.
  Join Caleb on his adventures across the Megaverse®, visit Phase 
  World® and meet an eclectic range of people from True Atlanteans 
  and Space Wulfen to the Kreeghor and Cosmo-Knights.
  Tales of Phase World® & The Three Galaxies™
  Imagine the world transformed by magic and dimensional energies ...
   
  
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