“This is getting fragging ridiculous,” Marcus muttered to himself, just loud enough for the people around the fire to hear him, “First they pack us into those fragging ships, and then they dump us on…whatever the frag this is, and now when they actually find another planet, they won’t let us settle there. Fragging insane, I tell ya.”

“Can it, Marcus,” Davin grunted, “Nobody wants to hear your fragging whining. If it weren’t for them, we’d all be dead right now. That’d end your rants real quick, now wouldn’t it?”

“Oh yeah?” Marcus managed, thoroughly enraged at being talked down to by the unofficial leader of the group.

“Yeah,” Davin cut him off before he could think up anything witty (or not so much) to say, “Now shut the frag up, and keep feeding the fire.”

Taken aback by the harsh tone of one of his companions, the only thing Marcus could think to do was just what Davin had told him to. He shut up and threw another log on the already blazing fire, his eyes wide as if realizing something painfully obvious for the first time in his life. His blinks quickened, and he shook his head in an attempt to get a hold of himself. His behavior was always amusing, and that’s why they hadn’t told him to shove off by now. “They” being the band of men at Camp 42.

Many camps just like the one they sat in the middle of had been set up all over this portion of Helix. It was one of the most habitable portions of the drastically changing artificial climate of the structure. A mere forty kilometers away, a blizzard was just picking up, but at Camp 42 it was a pleasant 25 degrees Celsius. The fire was completely unnecessary, but those at the camp had not much else to do.

So Marcus leaned over, grabbed another log, and tossed it onto the crackling flames. Grunting in appreciation, Davin disconnected himself from the empty conversation going on around the campfire and looked over the camp itself. There were no more than one hundred of them, not counting the military. Guards were posted in a tight perimeter around the outskirts of the camp. The official reason for their presence was ‘protection against any possible indigenous wildlife’, but most of the occupants of Camp 42 knew otherwise.

The last thing the government, or what was left of it, needed right now was a rebellion from within. No, the real reason the soldiers were here were to keep control, as terrible as it might sound. Many of the occupants of the camp took offense to it, and complaints could be heard just about everywhere you turned, but Davin understood. Questions of morality and ‘invasion of privacy’ did not take precedence over survival. And that’s what the government was trying to do. Survive. It was trying to survive, and it was trying to help its people survive.

Davin understood. He just wished everyone else did.


Zenith General Dace Riggs stared at the deep space monitor, the amazing three dimensional display of the Helix System glowing in front of him. Stimcaff in hand, his eyes burned slightly, as if screaming quietly at him that sleep would be a good idea. Taking another sip of the stimcaff, Riggs ignored the pain and put the distraction behind him. He had work to do.

If only he knew what that work was.

Chancellor Krauze was attending a summit with potential allies in this strange new galaxy. Zenith Admiral Johnathan Smith was traveling to the far ends of this solar system on a mission of exploration. That left only one man with any position of authority. Only one man in charge…Dace. Not that he wasn’t qualified. As the commander of what was left of the Andozian army, he had just as much claim to leadership as the Zenith Admiral.

But if he was anything, Riggs was a soldier. His place was in combat, nowhere else. He had no idea how to lead in times of peace. His men could follow him unwaveringly to almost certain victory on the battlefield, but locked up in this command center. The command center of the entire Commonwealth, victory did not seem so certain to him.

So Dace stared at the monitor, almost hoping the Vong or some other, equally terrifying enemy would suddenly appear for him to fight off, and not completely sure they wouldn’t. But no one appeared. That was okay, Dace could wait. He was a man of patience, of startling patience in fact. He was one of the only military men who could endure Doctor Daniels’s long winded and completely confusing explanations. But even Daniels was not here now. He had gone with Krauze.

So Dace was alone. Even in the command center, buzzing with activity, he was alone.


“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to question your authority,” the lieutenant said briskly, “But I think it would’ve been a wiser decision to bring the Avalanche instead of this…scout ship.”

“Lieutenant, never hesitate to question anything. Not with me, at least. I like to hear all of my men’s opinions,” Zenith Admiral Johnathan Smith said calmly, smiling, “As for your question, bringing the Avalanche would leave Helix completely defenseless, and although the Yuuzhan Vong are gone, I’m not about to risk what’s left of our people on a possibly false sense of security. That’s why we’re out here in the first place, to assess any dangers in this solar system.”

“All the more reason to take as much force with us as possibly, sir,” the lieutenant defended, “I’ll admit that it would be best to leave Helix with a force capable of defending it from unknown threats, but if we encounter unknown threats out here?”

“Lieutenant,” Smith began, “While this mission is definitely necessary to confirm the lack of immediate threats; it is by no means expected to find anything. The deep space sensors would pick up anything big enough to threaten us instantly, and this mission is more of a precautionary measure.”

“If that is the case, sir,” the lieutenant asked, “then why are you here?”

“Because, lieutenant, while it may be exciting to the science team; that command center is one of the most boring places I’ve ever been in.”

“Oh. I…I see, sir.”

“As you were, lieutenant,” Smith nodded to the befuddled officer.

Leaving the bridge of the Mother Goose, Smith smiled to himself as he walked through the halls. It was always nice to meet a military man who had not yet become accustomed to his rather laid back nature during conversations in uniform. Many things he said to his men were not considered ‘military appropriate’, but, at this point especially, to hell with standard military regulations.

For the hundredth time this morning (or whatever time it really was), Smith wished he was on Hapes with Krauze, meeting the strange new aliens who had aided them in their efforts against the Vong. But Sam had been right. Chopin could handle it, and Smith was better suited here, defending Helix from anything new that might pop up. Of course, it was ironic that immediately after Krauze had left he had taken on this damn foolish exploration mission, but there was only so much of Daniels’s team that he could take.

So here he was, on the edge of known Helixian space, recalling what seemed like not too long ago when he had been in a similar position. That had not gone so well, and Smith could only hope that this mission did not go the same way. With the Vong gone, maybe they finally could find some peace.

Maybe…

Entry 01:

It has been…suggested to me…by the Judicaste that I keep a log of my activities in order for the Bringers of Fire to…better understand my purpose as a servant of the Dominion and my contributions. I am to keep it up to date with entries detailing each holy mission I am sent on by the will of Borleas Quayver. I have agreed to keep such a log. This is not it.

The fools think to order me about as if I am some simple tek’a’tara? The Bringers of Fire know nothing of the will of Borleas Quayver. It is I who is commanded directly by the Gods, not them! Not even Kal Shora has the bond with Borleas Quayver that I do! I am Varex Tarien, Most Holy Envoy of Borleas Quayver! I am not to be ordered about by such rabble! I follow the will of the Gods, no other.

They have expressed great interest in this galaxy’s ‘Jedi’ and ‘Sith’, and any who wield the power they name ‘the Force’. They are as foolish as the Bringers of Fire. They do not know the Cor'ai'var when they see it?! The infidels wield the power that the Gods provide to those loyal to the faith, and they squander it over their pitiful infighting and civil war.

Still, I hold faith that there may be some who might not be so…uncooperative when the time comes. Some of these…Jedi…and more than likely some of these…Sith, might be made to understand the truth of the Gods. The Dominion simply must endeavor in which way to choose the…order…in which the Gods are revealed to them. The Sith, for example, might be more receptive to Vezmel, Entrokar, and Pelaris, while the Jedi on the other hand…the Jedi may accept Kevmar Sykal, Fiyar, and maybe even Mekevma Kalar.

I must make a note to mention this in my…official log.



Entry 02:

Kal Shora is even more foolish than I had originally expected. He has asked of me to journey to the Sith planet of Xa Fel. The coordinates were recently obtained from our dealings with the infidels of the Black Dragon Empire whom I was forced to deal with personally as speaker for Kal Shora, a Cree'Ar too proud and too stupid to speak with them directly.

The infidels were actually so bold as to imitate the appearance of the Cree’Ar! Borleas Quayver would have struck them down on the spot if he had been present for such an atrocity! I had to resist the urge to draw my Vy'reia'la and slay them myself, but no. Kal Shora wanted peace with the Dragons. There can be no peace with the non believers! All shall bow before Borleas Quayver, or die! It is our holiest of missions, laid upon us by Borleas Quayver himself! The Bringers of Fire have been…led astray by their…strategies.

It is deemed…‘less costly’ to operate from the shadows, to work as thieves and assassins! Lest costly in lives, but not in pride! It is our duty to take this galaxy planet by planet, crushing all opposite under the might of the Dominion! We should not be skulking in the shadows, snatching scraps as they are tossed out to us! Pal’a’la fo’w’a’sha!

I shall go on this mission to Xa Fel, and I shall bring back the artifact that Kal Shora desires. With any luck, I may get to kill some infidels along the way.



Entry 03:

My experiences on the planet Xa Fel have been…unsettling to say the least. Not only personally, but in a matter of status as well. That fool Kal Shora has tossed me aside as if I were no more than a tool in his conquest of this galaxy! I am a Priest Lord, a tool of none but the Gods! Kal Shora shall pay dearly for this affront to their divine will, if not by my direct hand, than by the will of Borleas Quayver. Kal Shora is a Ta's's'ador!

It seems I have underestimated the wielders of the Cor'ai'var in this galaxy. The Sith, while infidels who must be purged in the end, are more powerful than I originally anticipated. The moment I landed on Xa Fel I felt doubts. Doubts about the mission, doubts about the Dominion, forgive me Borleas Quayver, even doubts about the Gods. But none of it proved truly my doubts in the end. The Sith are cunning, and have ways of affecting the minds of their enemies.

Still, for the most part, the mission was a success. I am in possession of the ancient Sith artifact the Ta's's'ador Kal Shora so greatly desired. It is useless to me now, however, as Kal Shora seems no longer interested in the artifact or my services. Hah! No longer interested in the services of I, Most Holy Envoy of Borleas Quayver! My use is not for him to decide! He cannot dispose of me at a whim! There will be repentance, Kal Shora! You shall pay for this treachery!

I have not yet discovered the true function of this artifact. The Skey’g’aar Zeratul warned me against attempting to discover its true purpose, and warned that there would be dire consequences if I chose to disobey, but what do I care of the orders of Kal Shora? He has betrayed not only me but the Gods. It is Borleas Quayver’s will that I betray him as well. I believe the answer to its purpose to be in the writings on the artifact’s shell, which I have been unsuccessful in my attempts to translate. I must locate an infidel computer or droid with the ability to do so.



Entry 04:

I have discovered the purpose of the Sith artifact, and I can see why the Ta's's'ador Kal Shora wanted such an artifact so badly that he would risk the loss of a Priest Lord to get it, although it is obvious as to how much value Kal Shora places on the Dominion’s Priest Lords. Pal’a’la fo’w’a’sha! I shall slay that Bringer of Fire with my bare hands if I ever lay eyes upon him again! But that is in Borleas Quayver’s hands.

I am…unsure of how to proceed. Up until this point I have had one obvious goal after another to accomplish, the last of which being to decipher the purpose of the Sith artifact. After that…the artifact may have great potential in aiding the Dominion’s crusade against the infidels, but how may I share that information with the Dominion if I am no longer a trusted member.

I must find a way to resume my services to the Dominion, even if I no longer hold the official position I once had. I must find a third party, a Cree’Ar, or perhaps even a Skey’g’aar, to take credit for my discoveries and contributions. Unfortunately, I have yet to meet a Cree’Ar or a Skey’g’aar with the vision to understand the value my services to the Dominion. The fools cannot think beyond their own personal gains. They cannot understand that every Cree’Ar’s contribution is necessary for the glory of the Dominion!

I must think. Se'T'ap'a'r'odar.



Entry 05:

Borleas Quayver truly is with me. Guided by the Gods, I have made contact with a young and headstrong Skey’g’aar scout. Dealings with him have certainly been more pleasant than the last time I was forced to speak directly with those of the Skey’g’aar. Namely, the Skey’g’aar Zeratul, aide of the Ta's's'ador Kal Shora. The Skey’g’aar in question, Zadkiel, is devout but foolish. He is the perfect servant to reconnect me with the Dominion. I can only hope that his foolishness will not get him killed before I am able to pass along anything of value.

I have told Zadkiel that I have been visited by Kevmar Sykal, and that he has informed me of current plots to overthrow the High Judicator Kal Shora. Bringing this to the High Judicator’s attention immediately, I have explained that Kal Shora has labeled me falsely as a Ta's's'ador in order for me to move about unhindered by those who would seek harm to the High Judicator, enabling to me bring those responsible for this treachery to justice in the eyes of the Gods. It pains me to use the Gods in such a way, but such things must be done in times of great need, and I know that Borleas Quayver smiles down upon me and approves.

While I cannot, unfortunately, pass along my more contemplative reports about the infidels of this galaxy (Zadkiel is far too young and naïve to believably hand in such reports), the more direct information I have gathered and will gather may prove useful for the Dominion’s conquest of these pitiful beings. I can only hope that the Ta's's'ador Kal Shora does not use this information instead for his own vile purposes.

I must meditate. Perhaps the Cor’ai’var can bring some clarity.


Entry 06:

Pal’a’la fo’w’a’sha! The fool Zadkiel has gotten himself caught! Not only that, but he has apparently provided the Dominion assistance in locating myself, likely for a less harsh punishment. Not as devout as I had originally thought, but what can one expect from a Skey’g’aar? May Pelaris draw his death out painfully! The fool knows not what he has done.

Not a half an hour ago, to use the infidels’ measure of time, a Ja'Mha Rerodon with the accompaniment of an Arbiter exited a C-velocity conduit right in front of me! Borleas Quayver was with me, however, and this infidel ship was able to escape via its obsolete “hyperspace” technology before the plasma disruptor cannons were able to do any serious damage. The Ta's's'ador Kal Shora underestimates me. Hopefully this escape will show him that the Gods truly are with me. If not, I hope he’ll have the decency not to patronize me and send at least a Borleas Cruiser next time.

Still, this encounter has been too close for comfort. The Bringers of Fire, I fear, are beginning to catch up with me. I must stay ahead of them, but I am not sure how I will be able to do so and yet still contribute to the Dominion with my knowledge and information. I fear I must find some dark corner of the galaxy and remain unseen, at least for a time.

Borleas Quayver, be with me.


Entry 07:

The Gods truly do favor me, even in the darkest of times. I have managed to locate a portion of space in the ‘Hapan Cluster’ of the infidels’ galaxy in which not even those who occupy the surrounding space have discovered. There is something about the properties of space in this area…I believe they call it the ‘Transitory Mists’…it wreaked havoc with my primitive ‘hyperspace’ engine. I have no doubt that a C-velocity conduit would have no trouble. Ah, what I wouldn’t give for an Arbiter.

As luck would have it, not only have I managed to lose pursuers from the Dominion, but I doubt I’ll have any trouble even if the locals manage to stumble upon me. The ‘Hapans’ have taken a completely neutral stance toward galactic affairs, and from what I could gather about their shady history, they have had the same stance for many, many years. They will not risk war with a new and strange alien civilization over one outcast and his ship.

Outcast…is that truly what I have become? As I think about it more and more, I realize how dire my situation truly has become. I was a Priest Lord…I am a Priest Lord! Most Holy Envoy of Borleas Quayver! And here I am, using Skey’g’aar to serve the Dominion…running from my own ships…hiding in infidel space! What have I become? What has the Ta's's'ador Kal Shora done to me?

I must not lose faith. I know this. Borleas Quayver has plans for me, great plans. It is not my place or position to question why. I have been in situations such as this before, and Borleas Quayver has always smiled upon me in the end…but…to be separated from the Dominion…no! It is all a part of his plan! This is fact. Still, at times I can not help but speculate on how…as I have before, and as before I will pause in wonder at how evenly things will fall into place at the end, by the design of Borleas Quayver.

Glory for the Dominion! Glory for Borleas Quayver!


Entry 08:

Pal’a’la fo’w’a’sha! How is this possible?! How can this possibly be?! Someone has greatly erred, and when I find out who that is they shall feel the true wrath of my Vy'reia'la! If I make it out of this, that is…I have faith in Borleas Quayver, but how… Yat'a'leg'a'lora! Here! Every scout report I had read claimed them to be gone from this galaxy, wiped out by the infidels. So how?

They dropped into real space right in front of me! The primitive infidel ship was not able to utilize its obsolete technology fast enough, and the Yat'a'leg'a'lora destroyed the engines. It will not be long before they draw me in, and board me. I can only hope that the awesome presence of a Cree’Ar will cower them into taking me alive, rather than attempting to kill me.

Borleas Quayver be with me. I can hear…what is tha


End Log.

It was a sight that had stunned and awed the Andozians into complete silence the first time they had seen it, and complete silence the next time, and the next, and the next, until complete silence while the event was taking place had become almost a custom to them, an unspoken rule. It was the first display of culture not Andozian, but Helixian, in this new galaxy.

The setting of the sun was an altogether awe inspiring experience for anyone, even those not new to this galaxy. The artificial structure itself was enough to take even the most experienced of explorer’s breath away, but the sunsets and sunrises…those were truly spectacular. Many of the new residents of the artifact had taken it to be a beacon of hope in a world that had been steadily darkening for them for some time.

Davin stared out at the sunset as it crossed the first of the rings visible from Camp 42’s location on the structure. It would not be long before the sun was to be completely covered by the first ring. There it would remain, cutting off all light to the area, for about two hours. Then it would reappear, only to circle around until it reached the next ring, a journey which took, give or take, about four hours. And so it was on Helix, the structure went through four periods of day and night every twenty four hours. Sleep adjustments had come…difficultly, especially to the civilian occupants, who spent all their time on the surface.

Davin did not mind the shortened days and even shorter nights. He hardly slept anymore anyway. He had been one of many to lose his entire family, and since the final assault on Andoz had retreated into the depths of his own mind like many others. Everyone was bitter, nobody spoke much anymore. Every once in a while you’d find the occasional person who tried so hard to be cheerful to try to make things better, but they never seemed to stick around for long.

Approaching footsteps startled the man from his reverie, and he turned slightly to regard those who would come to interrupt him during the sunset.

“Davin!” a familiar voice called, one of the men from the fire. He spoke in a hushed tone, wincing, as if afraid of some reprimand for breaking the sunset silence, “You must come quickly! Its Marcus…we fear the worst…”

“What has that fragging fool done this time?” Davin grumbled.

“It’s bad, Davin. You need to come quickly!” the man’s voice was still hushed, but the fear of the sunset was no longer evident.

“When are Marcus’s antics not?” Davin asked, more to himself than to the other man.

“No, Davin,” the man’s voice’s bitter seriousness caught Davin’s attention, “It’s bad.”


“Officer on deck!” came the call from somewhere in the control room.

“At ease,” Riggs waved a hand casually at the marines scrambling to assemble into at least a rudimentary stance of attention.

Over the past weeks, Riggs had noticed that rapid decrease in the level of dedication his marines had shown on duty. At first it had unnerved him, but as he had thought about it further, he couldn’t find himself blaming any of them. They had lost their families, their homes, their lives. He was amazed so many hadn’t resigned from duty and gone to live with the civvies.

They were the best of the best, and Dace understood that that was all that was keeping them from walking right now. The scientists working in the control room, on the other hand, seemed as though they had never been happier. They smiled as they worked, laughed and joke with each other, with looks of almost contentedness on their faces. None of them had ever had so many new toys to play with.

And when it got right down to it, that’s what Helix was to them. One gigantic toy they had not found all the fun uses for. While each new answer they dug up from the depths of the structure brought only more and more questions for the military and the ‘government’, they went right on digging for answers anyway, with big smiles plastered on their faces.

Shaking his head, Dace realized that he was blaming them. Blaming them for what? He didn’t know. Blaming them for anything, for why he was so damned miserable, maybe, or why morale was so low in the marines. They had done nothing wrong. They were just trying to get their minds off of Andoz like everyone else. The only difference was they had just the source of distraction to do so, and the marines didn’t.

How much would morale boost if only the marines had something to shoot at?

It was a disturbing question, the more Riggs thought about it, slightly less disturbing than the probable answer. What had become of the once proud Andozians? They had been shot at, killed, killed some more, chased into holes, and now that their tormenters were finally gone left with nothing. What purpose did the newly deemed Helixians have other than survival? Why were they living?

For each other.

“Ah…General Riggs, sir,” one of the scientists awkwardly waved him over, shaking him from his contemplations, “I, ah, have that report you requested, sir. On the Capricians and Vinda Corporation, that is. Uh, sir.”

“Very good, doctor,” Dace nodded curtly to the scientist, “What did you think?”

“Ah, yes-wait, um,” the scientist’s eyes widened nervously, “I’m sorry, sir? Think? What did I, um, think about…what, sir?”

“The Capricians and the Vinda Corporation, doctor,” Riggs clarified, grinning tightly, “What did you think of them?”

“Ah, not much, sir…honestly,” the scientist’s lip curled nervously, “I just…I just write the reports. I don’t really, uh, think much about it. I mean, they’re okay. I guess. They’re not bad. I mean, they’re supposed to be our allies, right? Uh, well, eventually that is. They’re okay people. The Capricians had their troubles with the Vong, too, so they can’t be that bad, right? The Vinda Corp. don’t seem that bad, either. I mean, for a business. They’re probably not, uh…saints, you know? But at least they’re not, ah, doing anything illegal or anything.”

“Of course,” Riggs said, trying to turn his grin into a smile and failing, “And what do you think their impression of us will be, doctor?”

“Ah, not much,” the scientist said, giving a little nervous chuckle before going quiet once more, “I mean, I think they’ll help us and all…but I don’t imagine they’ll care much more than that, you know? I mean, they’ll care, but they won’t exactly send historians over to learn about our past and stuff. They’ve got their hands full with those other aliens too, you know.”

“No, I don’t know, doctor,” Dace’s brow furrowed slightly, “What other aliens?”

“Its ah, all in the report,” the scientist said, shaking his head rather violently and jabbing his finger out to point at the report in Dace’s hands, “But, um, the database tells about a, um, an alien race that’s been trying to contact them for a good while, now. The Kree Are, I think. Yeah, the Kree Are. It’s all in the report.”

“Of course, doctor,” Riggs tried for another smile, failed, “You may go.”

“Ah, yes sir,” the scientist gave a half-hearted poorly done salute and shuffled off.

The Kree Are…Riggs mused. So they weren’t the only civilization looking for attention from the Capricians? The Zenith General moved through the control room, scanning over the shoulders of the doctors. Nothing he could understand, of course. He’d need the cipher the scientists had to aid them in translation, and even then it was unlikely he’d understand.

“Ah, Zenith General,” came a familiar voice, “Always a pleasure to see you in the Room.”

“Doctor Jordan,” Riggs managed a smile this time.

Doctor Jordan was one of the few scientists working in the control room, or ‘the Room’, as they had dubbed it, with any sort of social skills whatsoever. And as far as social skills, Doctor Jordan had them in plentiful quantities. On the streets of Andoz, Riggs would have never placed Jordan as a scientist, especially not one of the most brilliant minds of Andoz, which he just so happened to be.

“Someone was looking for you, I believe,” Doctor Jordan looked around, furrowing his brow, before his gaze fell at last to the report in Dace’s hands, “Ah, I see he found you. Never mind then. I trust all is well?”

“You tell me, doc,” Riggs winked at the scientist, “You’re more in the know than I am.”

“Of course,” Jordan chuckled, winking back, “Everything’s going damn fine, that’s for sure. Doctor Daniels’s team…well, our team, I suppose…has made tremendous headway in deciphering near all of the Room’s control functions and descriptions, and our database team is finding new and exciting information every day. The entire process is…well, exciting.”

“That’s good to hear, doc,” Riggs smiled, looking around at all the excited faces of the scientists. He motioned to the report in his hands, “You read this?”

“Of course, Zenith General,” Jordan smiled widely, “Don’t let this get out, but I take the liberty of reading all reports from our research staff to the military and governmental branches of Helix. Just trying to make sure nobody fouled any vital information up, of course.”

“Right,” Dace nodded, “Then can you tell me more about these…Kree Are…”

“I’ll be able to momentarily,” Jordan gave a knowing look, “I hadn’t had the chance yet since I read the report, but I’m just now heading over to the database to run a search for them. Would you care to join me? Searching in the database is always an exciting experience, and I’d be more than willing to translate anything you don’t understand.”

“I’d be happy to, doc,” Riggs smiled, “Lead the way.”


“Ah, Zenith Admiral,” the lieutenant craned his head around to acknowledge the presence of his superior, “What brings you to the bridge so early, sir? You’re not due to be up for another couple hours, at least.”

“First off, lieutenant, this hardly qualifies as any sort of bridge,” Smith winked at the younger man, “And to answer your question, I’ve always been a morning person, and I like to get an impression of a crew I haven’t worked with before even during the most undesirable of moments.”

“The most undesirable of moments…” the lieutenant pondered, “That sounds like morning alright, sir.”

Smith chuckled.

“You seem to be adjusting well to your new command,” Smith said, smiling jovially at the young man.

“If you’re referring to the incident last night, sir, I-”

“No need to say any more, lieutenant,” Smith cut him off, waving a hand lazily in his direction, “In fact, I’d prefer we didn’t refer to it as an ‘incident’ at all. It was more a…superior to subordinate debate.”

“Very well, sir,” the lieutenant nodded slowly, “Still, I think-”

The lieutenant never got a chance to finish his sentence before the ship rocked suddenly, sending the lieutenant and his coffee sprawling to the deck of the ‘bridge’, and the Zenith Admiral careening into the nearest available graspable area of the wall. The ship rocked twice more, before finally resettling as if nothing had happened.

“What the frag was that?!” Smith yelled out, expecting some sort of alarm to deafen his voice, but none did. No alarms were ringing, either on the bridge or in any other part of the ship. It was as if nothing had happened.

“I don’t know!” the lieutenant screamed back, likely also expecting the same audible handicap, and finding none. He scrambled back to his post. “What the frag…I’m picking up…absolutely nothing, sir. Everything is fine. We’re not even registering that anything happened back there. It was as if the ship didn’t notice…”

“Like hell it didn’t notice,” Smith growled, “Stay here and keep monitoring, I’m going to go check out the rest of the ship, and reassure the crew.”

“Yes sir.”


“Have they passed?” the voice asked.

“Yes, they have passed,” Michael confirmed, staring down at the readouts, “They have passed and…they are not changing course.”

“Very good,” the voice acknowledged, “As we knew they would not.”

“As we theorized they would not,” Michael corrected, “The system had never actually been tested before, except in simulations.”

“And the simulations are not accurate enough an assurance?” the voice asked.

“Were you entirely convinced they would not turn around as they passed?” Michael asked.

“…acknowledged.”


“Doctor Andrus,” Jordan called out, sauntering over to the post at which Andrus sat.

“Yes, Doctor Jordan?” Andrus swiveled in his chair to regard his associate, “What can I help you with?”

“Myself and Zenith General Riggs here are curious,” Doctor Jordan smiled, “What does the database know about a race of aliens known as the Kree Are.”

“I’m not sure, doctor,” Andrus pondered, “I haven’t run a search for that race before. Shall we find out?”

“Search away, Doctor Andrus,” Jordan smiled.

“Searching.”

Andrus typed into the computer he had linked up to the terminal he worked at for several seconds, before suddenly the lights dimmed in the control room. It was something Riggs had witnessed happen several times in the past, but never so close to the source or with knowledge of what the intent was.

Suddenly words flashed up in midair before them in a language Riggs did not understand, the language of those who had built Helix. Below it, Riggs was amazed to see that the research team had actually managed to set up a translation on the same screen. Directly below the alien language, it said in Basic ‘Searching for Kree Are…’

For a few minutes nothing happened. The searching screen seemed to last forever, as if something was slowing the database down. This only ever happened when there was a great deal of information about a subject or the subject did not exist in the database. And so it was a game of anticipation. Would there be a sudden rush of information or would the search come up empty…

Suddenly, ‘Searching for Kree Are…’ winked off the screen.

“Ah, frag,” Jordan mumbled, “Looks like there’s no information, ah well-”

“Wait!” Doctor Andrus cut him off, “Look!”

On the screen, the alien language typed. Below, the translation scrolled.

‘No Results Found for Kree Are. 1 Result Found for Cree’Ar. Proceed? Y/N’

“Doctor Jord-”

“Do it.”

Doctor Andrus tapped a key on his computer, and information flooded across the screen. A large mass of information. Pictures, description, list of planets, activity…it was too much for Riggs to take in all at once. Fortunately, Doctor Andrus and Doctor Jordan did not have the problem of not being able to take in large amounts of information at once, and were able to follow the information.

“Oh my…” Andrus mumbled.

“Oh my is right,” Jordan confirmed, his eyes wide, “Oh my is most certainly right.”

“What? What’s wrong, doc?” Dace asked, his brow furrowed, “Are these Cree’Ar the same race that contacted the Capricians?”

“I’m afraid so, Zenith General,” Jordan nodded almost dumbly, “And it seems that they’re not the peachiest bunch. Invasion of galaxies, annexation of other, ‘worthy’ species into their…Dominion…assimilation of…‘infidels’ they believe worthy into their….Tek’a’tara…their robotic servants…frag, Dace, the only thing that is good about these guys is how pissed they are at the Vong.”

“Freeow,” Riggs mumbled, “We’ve got to warn the Capricians. Doc, can we get a message off to Krauze and his boys in the envoy? That would be the fastest way. We can’t let them make contact with these…Cree’Ar…”

“I believe so,” Doctor Jordan nodded, “If we can use the communications array like we did-”

A flurry of activity in the control room cut him off. Startled cries from scientists and guttural screams of surprise from the marines came in plenty. The lighting in the control room, which had originally been very generous and bright, but not burning, almost altogether shut off. Emergency lights winked on one by one around the room, lighting the area in a not altogether undesirable fashion. One by one terminals all over the control room changed to display the same screen.

“Doctor Jordan!” one of the scientists called, “We’re all locked out! The Room has shut us off!”

“What the frag is going on, Jordan?” Riggs growled.

“I have no idea, Dace,” Jordan shook his head, eyes wide, “But somehow I doubt we’re gonna like it very much when we find out.”


“Calm down, marine,” Zenith Admiral snapped, “Everything is fine. It was just a little turbulence, is all.”

“Turbulence in space?” the marine asked, tilting his head, “Bullshit, sir.”

”Zenith Admiral Smith, your presence is requested on the bridge. Immediately.”

“I’ve gotta go, marine,” Smith shook his head, “Just trust me. Everything is fine.”

Smith double timed it through the ship, making his way to the bridge and almost storming into the room.

“Lieutenant!” Smith growled, “Calling me over the ship wide comm. is not the best way to assure the crew that everything is fine!”

“Everything is not fine, sir,” the lieutenant regarded him with deadly grave eyes, “The ship just picked up something behind us. Something big. And its coordinates match perfectly with the location during which we experienced our…‘turbulence.’”

“Something big, huh?” Smith mused, “How big?”

“Well sir,” the lieutenant replied, “I have no idea how we did it, but we seem to have flown through a planet that wasn’t there a second ago.”


“What happened?” the voice called, concerned.

“I am unsure,” Michael’s brow furrowed heavily, his voice almost frantic, “I am not reading any error on our end. But…somehow…the system is down.”

“Which system?” the voice asked, its tone serious.

“The system,” Michael turned to look at the voice, “The cloaking system. And the ship the others’ sent is turning around. We have broken containment.”

It was raining.

The first time the rain had come it had been a welcome and slightly terrifying surprise for the Andozian survivors. None had expected to feel rain again for quite some time, especially not in such a place as this. No explanation had come the government, or Below, as the residents of Camp 42, and other camps so people said, had begun calling it.

Many of the residents of the camp believed it to be yet another government cover up, one of many that had allegedly popped up over the duration the Andozian people had been chased from their now-destroyed home. Everything somehow managed to find its root in Below’s attempts to hide valuable information from the citizens. Many believed this to be fact.

Davin believed this to be foolish. He knew the real reason why no explanation had come from Below as to why it was raining on a giant artificially created habitable piece of metal. Below had no fragging idea. Below didn’t know much about Helix, and even less about where the frag they were.

Davin wasn’t sure if this new ‘habitable planet’ really existed.

It was all necessary, of course. They had to come up with some way to keep the peace. But filling the people with false hopes of a new home and not being able to deliver was a recipe for disaster. What were they placing their hopes on? Finding a planet capable of sustaining life in time? The people getting used to Helix? Or was there really a habitable planet in the first place, and was he just becoming paranoid like all the rest?

He could only hope. They could all only hope.

Davin had been content to trudge his way back to the camp proper, finding what little warmth and protection he could in the thin jacket he had taken with him, not expecting the sudden outburst of weather. But the man who had come to retrieve him had other ideas.

He started with desperate pleas to hurry up, and when it became obvious that Davin was not content to listen, he resorted to pushing and then dragging the slightly bigger man into a trotting pace. Eventually Davin resigned un-cooperation and jogged of his own free will. The jog turned into a run, and the run turned into a sprint.

The man did not talk the whole way, and at the pace they were going Davin doubted he could have responded even if he had. But even in the darkness, the rain, and through the exhaustion, Davin could tell one thing remained a constant the entire trip. The wide-eyed worry that splayed over the man’s face.

Millions of scenarios began playing through Davin’s mind, over and over again, shifting all the time. What could possibly be the source of his worry? The Vong returning? Some dark, new terror that had risen from the depths of the alien construction? What? He had mentioned Marcus, and while Marcus had been a troublemaker since the moment Davin met the man, he couldn’t conceive the foolish man would do anything as terrible as this man was making things seem.

Was that it? Was the man who was dragging him back to the camp proper (Davin had tried desperately to remember his name and failed) completely overreacting? Was it just another one of Marcus’s usual shenanigans? From the look of terror in the man’s face, Davin suspected that was not the case.

At last they passed the first few tents that marked the edge of camp proper. As the seconds came and went more tents appeared, thickening to the point where they had to zigzag between the temporary homes of the survivors that had been relocated to Camp 42. And all at once, they burst through the last line of tents into the smallish clearing the campfire all of the men had been sitting around earlier was located.

And there, lying on the ground, was the corpse of an Andozian soldier.

In the darkness, Davin could not tell for sure what exactly had killed him, but surveying the greater scene he had little trouble putting the pieces together. A pool of blood had formed around the corpse and was slowly trickling ever outward. Davin couldn’t see, but he assumed the bullet had hit the soldier in the head, or somewhere near enough to inflict an instantly fatal wound.

Ten feet to the right of the dead soldier, a ring of men surrounded four people. In the center was Marcus, and to Davin’s horror he had a sidearm held to the right temple of the young woman he gripped tightly in his left arm. She was struggling, but Marcus was stronger. Five feet away, two soldiers stood, rifles leveled, searching for a clear shot, screaming at him to drop the gun and release the hostage. They were angry, Davin could tell, and he wasn’t sure if they wouldn’t shoot even if Marcus complied.

His fatigue suddenly gone as adrenaline flooded his body, Davin elbowed his way through the crowd of men. He did not face much resistance. They all knew who he was. During his time in Camp 42, Davin had become the unofficial leader. He still wasn’t sure why. It was not a trait he had had on Andoz; that was for fragging sure.

“Drop the weapon!” Davin heard the first soldier scream as he drew closer, “Let her go! We won’t hurt you!”

“Frag you!” a voice what was Marcus’s and yet wasn’t, “You take another fragging step and I’ll blow her fragging head off!”

“Sir, let the hostage go,” the second soldier said in a much calmer tone than the first, yet somehow it held twice the edge, “We will not hesitate to fire. This is your only chance, let her go.”

“What the frag is going on here?!” Davin picked this lull in the ‘discussion’ to step in, asserting himself as a leader of sorts before the soldiers could object, “Marcus, what the frag do you think you’re doing? Have you lost it?”

“Frag you, Davin!” Marcus screamed, the anger in his voice catching Davin completely off guard, “I don’t have to listen to you anymore! I make my own rules!”

“Calm down, sir,” the second soldier interjected, “Just calm down.”

“NO!” Marcus screamed, the pistol in his hand trembling visibly, “I’m not taking any fragging orders from you fraggers anymore! This is no fragging democracy, this is a fucking dictatorship! All hail the fragging Below! Frag you! I’m still fragging free! You can’t tell me what to do!”

“Sir, you have five seconds to drop the weapon!” the first soldier bellowed, “After that, we will be forced to open fire! Five, four, three-”

“Oh shut the frag up,” Davin snapped, cutting the soldier off, “You’re not helping things.”

“Sir, you have no authority here,” the first soldier snapped back, “I’m going to have to-”

“Shut up and listen,” Davin cut him off again, tired and impatient, “He has a fragging hostage. You want to risk her life because you want things done quick and violent? He hasn’t shot her yet, alright? Relax. Just let me talk to him for a bit. If things get out of hand, you can fill him with as much holes as you’d like.”

“Sir-”

The second soldier stopped the first, and whispered in his ear. After a few moments, the first soldier slumped visibly and nodded in grim resignation to Davin. It had become obvious who was the superior officer between the two of them. And, in Davin’s opinion, who was the more intelligent.

“Thank you,” Davin nodded in the direction of the second soldier.

Very slowly, and very cautiously, Davin crept in closer to where Marcus was standing, every once in a while jerking the woman in his arms to keep her from struggling. The man’s eyes bored holes into Davin’s soul, he had never seen anyone look quite like that, especially Marcus. Davin winced at the sight.

Are those what crazy men’s eyes look like?

“That’s fragging far enough,” Marcus spat, “Don’t you come any closer! I’ll do her, I swear!”

“Alright, alright,” Davin soothed, his hands held up palms open in a gesture of peace, “Just calm down.”

“Calm down?! Calm down?!” Marcus screamed, his face contorting into an outraged expression, “Just how the frag do you expect me to do that?! Would you be calm if you were me?! Those fraggers over there keep telling me to calm down too, all the while jabbing those fragging rifles in my direction! How the frag is that supposed to keep me calm!”

“Those rifles are for self defense and you know it, Marcus,” Davin said, “They’ve got guns because you do. You’re smarter than that, I know you.”

“Know me?!” Marcus almost screeched, “Know me?! Nobody here knows fragging anyone! We’re all alone here, Davin, surrounded by strangers. Nobody fragging knows anyone. You know me, Davin? Then who are you? Who the frag are you?!”

“My name is Davin,” he said calmly, “I am from Ceste.”

“I fragging know that,” Marcus hissed, “You’re from Ceste, I’m from Andoz. We went through that the first day we got here. What the frag is your last name?”

“You know the rule. No las-”

“No last names until we relocate, I know the fragging rule,” Marcus glared, “I have a fucking gun to someone’s head, Davin. What the frag is your last name?”

“…Soth,” Davin said at last, “My name is Davin Soth.”

“Nice to finally fragging meet you, Davin Soth,” Marcus smiled. It was a horrifying smile, and it made Davin want to throw up, “Who did you lose?”

“What do you mean, Marcus?” Davin asked.

“Who did you lose, Davin?” Marcus asked, his voice eerily calm, “We all lost someone, who did you lose?”

“Why does it matter, Marcus?” Davin asked, completely terrified.

“Because our memories are all we fragging have, Davin,” Marcus hissed, “They’re the only thing the Vong and the fragging government haven’t taken from us. They can’t touch our memories. With our memories, we’ll always be free. Why the frag are we hiding it? Now tell me who you lost, or I’ll take this girl’s memories from her and everything else!”

“I…” Davin stumbled, wincing at the memories, “I lost a wife…two sons…and a daughter…”

“Never figured you for the husband type, Davin,” Marcus nodded sadly, “Never can tell I guess…”

“Who did you lose, Marcus?” Davin asked suddenly.

“What?” Marcus looked as if he had been struck, taken aback by the question.

“I told you who I lost, now it’s your turn. Who did you lose?”

“I lost…” Marcus didn’t seem to know how to answer the question, “I lost the only thing that ever mattered to me in my life. And now I have nothing. That’s what the Vong took from me, Davin. My life. And now its time to finish the job.”

Before Davin could respond, he shoved the struggling woman in his arms away from him and, raising the pistol in his hand to his temple, fired. Two bullets struck his body as it slumped to the ground, reflex shots from the soldiers behind Davin. The woman stumbled, tripped, and fell to the ground sobbing and screaming, her back covered in Marcus’s blood.

Davin stared at the body of Marcus for a long time, and didn’t even notice when the ground rumbled, or when the aircraft flew overhead, sewing panic and terror in their wake. And as he looked at the bullet-riddled corpse of a man he had been speaking to normally earlier that day, Davin could not help but think…

Are those what crazy men’s brains look like?

“I have never before seen the Capital in such a state as it is in now,” Michael said, adjusting himself slightly in his chair.

They were out on the balcony of Michael’s suite, a balcony that provided an altogether spectacular view of the Capital. The sun was setting, sending streaks of light coursing across the horizon. The sun on the planet was quite a sight. Michael found himself marveling at it every time he saw it. Not just because of the sight, he had seen it enough for all wonder at that to slip from his mind, but at the possibilities the sight provided to his imagination.

And what an imagination he had.

The sun itself was incredibly abnormal, even for galactic standards. It was a blue giant, immensely hot and, as a result, very far away. This in itself was not abnormal. The abnormality was that the star had been burning for millions of years...millions and millions of years. The lifetime of a blue giant is very short in comparison to other stars, yet the civilization on the planet had seen many lights in the sky wink out as stars died and still their sun burned as bright as ever, for millions of years…

While abnormal, the story of the sun was not altogether awe inspiring, but the actual view of it from this planet was. No matter what time of day it was, as long as the sun was up and shining the structure the Andozians had codenamed Helix was visible, acting as a constant semi-eclipse, right in the center of the sun. Helix rotated in so exact a pattern that it followed the planet’s rotation to the letter, something Michael suspected, no, knew was no coincidence.

There were only two other planets in the solar system on which this same spectacular view could be seen. The planet the Andozians had taken to calling Andoz II, or New Andoz, and one other planet…a planet that had been, like this one, hidden for millions of years. But if this planet was no longer hidden to prying eyes, then it was quite possibly the other wasn’t as well.

Which brought Michael back to the question of why? Why had they been brought out of hiding after so long? A malfunction? That did not seem likely. Those responsible for the initial cloaking were not the type whose technology suffered from malfunctions. Was it them? Those who came? Were they the one responsible for the failure? Was it even a failure? Was the system designed this way?

So many questions. No answers. Michael sighed softly.

“We have never before had a crisis such as this to deal with,” the other replied.

Michael blinked, confused, struggling to remember what he had said. Ah yes, his comment about at the state of the Capital. It was true. The city was buzzing with activity. Citizens dashed about everywhere, preparing. Preparing for what? For the inevitable. For them. For those who came. They were coming. The ship had detected them, it had changed course.

“Is it truly a crisis?” Michael asked, more to himself than to the other, “Such a devastating tragedy?”

There was a pause.

“Crisis - a crucial or decisive point or situation; a turning point,” the other said, “Nowhere are the words ‘devastating’ or ‘tragedy’ mentioned.”

“You were slower to react than you usually are,” Michael grinned, “Perhaps you are getting old.”

“As opposed to getting young?” the other asked.

“…if only.”


“So let me get this straight,” Smith began, talking in a very slow, measured tone, “We’re in the orbit of a planet that fifteen minutes ago did not exist?”

“Well, no,” the lieutenant said, furrowing his brow, “Planets don’t just appear out of thin air.”

“They don’t appear out of thin air in our galaxy,” Smith reminded him.

“So what, the laws of physics change from galaxy to galaxy?” the lieutenant asked, grinning, and then a look of shock appeared upon his face, “Begging the Zenith Admiral’s pardon.”

“At ease,” Smith chuckled, “Alright, so it didn’t appear out of thin air. But it wasn’t on our sensors fifteen minutes ago, ours or Helix’s, and we passed right through it.”

“I have no idea, sir,” the lieutenant shrugged, frowning, “There is one way to find out…”

“What, you mean go down there?” Smith raised his eyebrows.

“Why not, sir?” the lieutenant said, “There’s no practical reason we shouldn’t-”

“You’re asking me…” Smith cut him off, “…for a practical reason not to go down to a planet that appeared out of thin air.”

“Did not appear out of thin air,” the lieutenant corrected, beaming, and then, almost as an afterthought, “sir.”

That statement was so Krauze-like baffled Smith. He gave a startled look, and then slowly began to laugh. This young lieutenant reminded him so much of his friend the Chancellor in so many ways it was scary. It was the same mix of cynicism, wit, and joviality that Samuel displayed day in and day out, to the note. For a moment, Smith wondered what it would be like to get the two in the same room together.

They’d probably hate each other.

“Sir?” the lieutenant raised his eyebrows, and Smith could see Krauze in the expression, “Did I miss something?”

“No, lieutenant,” Smith said as soon as he could compose himself, “You just remind me of someone, that’s all.”

“Not someone…” the lieutenant trailed off, “I hope.”

“No, no,” Smith waved a hand dismissively, “Someone very much still alive and kicking.”

“Listen, sir,” the lieutenant continued after a moment’s silence, “This mission is about exploring this solar system for anymore threats or surprises. This is most certainly a surprise. A planet that suddenly appears on our sensors after we passed right through it deserves, no, demands some investigating.”

“I suppose you’re right…” Smith nodded solemnly, “But we’re being cautious about this. I want a full marine escort, as much as we can get down there.”

“But sir, what if there are…aliens down there?” the word ‘alien’ came out strangely, as if the lieutenant still couldn’t believe the surrealistic galaxy they had found themselves in. Smith could relate to that, “I imagine they’d view that as a threat. We don’t need anymore enemies than we already have.”

“True,” Smith considered, “Alright, we take as many marines as we can without looking like a fragging invasion. But if it comes to a choice between more or less, take more. I’m not going to compromise the safety of anyone going down there for fragging politics. I also want the standard first encounter package. Translator, diplomat, etcetera. You know the drill.”

“Not really sir,” the lieutenant said, winked, and snapped off a smart salute.

Chuckling, Smith saluted back.

“Dismissed, lieutenant,” John said, “I’ll see you on the ground.”

“Sir?” the lieutenant started.

“You heard me.”


The Capital had spent an entire night waiting for those that came to arrive. It had taken Smith and the lieutenant that long to gather together the first contact contingent that both of them deemed acceptable. The Capital had spent the night restlessly. The Defense Corps had spent the entire night preparing for the worst. Troops had been deployed in strategic locations; heavy weaponry had been set up in all the right places, counterattack strategies had been discussed at length. All was ready.

The entourage that was to be sent to meet the emissaries, if there were emissaries, that was, had been selected. Michael was not amongst those that would be going. They had offered him a place, but he had declined. He would meet those that came soon enough anyway. Palaver was to be held; Michael knew it, and the best place to hold it, no doubt, would be in his suite.

Instead, he slept. He had not slept the night previous, for the suspense had been too great. He had been too…excited; Michael believed was the word the voice used. But this morning he had felt the strangest feeling of calmness and serenity. He found sleep came easily, and dreams even easier.

Michael rarely dreamed, but this morning a plethora of images from his subconscious rushed to great him as he drifted into the world of sleep. Images: hundreds, thousands, millions of images. Some of them familiar: Solaris, Helix, and the planet those that came had dubbed New Andoz (though Michael knew not how he had known that fact). Most of them, however, were things he had never seen before. Things he had never imagined before. Throughout these images, chanting could be heard, at first faint, and then clear.

Born of the flesh, raised of the steel
His race is human, though he cannot feel
From the stars he came, none know how
If the time of wealth, the time is now
Raised as a prophet, son of a king
‘All hail the savior’, the newcomers shall sing
And lift him high, on the shoulders of those
Who have been reborn, their home now closed
Above their crippled bodies, over their king
‘Lead us to glory’ all those shall sing
And so he shall, despite his desire
The one shall lead, save those from fire
Their king he’ll let live, though he be hated
And make those realize, how they’ve been baited
And after all is done, the next of kin shall reveal
The fulfillment at hand, where the one shall feel
To the home of the defenders the one shall travel
Where the shadow was lifted, his quest will unravel
And he shall cry
For what? For what?

And as the last line was recited, Michael saw the final image of his dream. A lone figure he saw, shrouded by a robe, cowl up over his head, his piercing blue eyes were all that was visible. A golden beam shot out from the right sleeve the robe, and he said one word:

“Michael.”

Michael awoke.


The shuttle descended through the atmosphere. It was a ship not unlike one Smith had piloted all those years ago…he winced, and banished the memory from his mind. He had more important things to think about. If he could think, that was. The vastly improved inertial dampeners had been installed on the Mother Goose and all of the upgraded Excaliburs the Mother Goose held, but it seems the technicians had forgotten the shuttles.

Smith hoped they burned in hell.

And so the rest of the flight was spent silently cursing the technicians responsible for the completely uncomfortable entry into the atmosphere of the planet which had, despite anything the lieutenant might think, appeared out of thin air. Eventually they passed into the planet’s lower atmosphere and the ride became not altogether completely uncomfortable.

“Beginning scans,” Smith heard the pilot say, and then he heard the crackle of static and what sounded like a voice, “Uh, Zenith Admiral? You better come up here.”

Cursing silently, Smith undid his harness and stumbled up to the forward cockpit. As he approached, the voice he thought he heard turned out to be real. It was emanating from the ship’s comm. system.

“…vessel, you are flying in Solarisian space. Identify yourselves and your intent or face annihilation. Repeat, unidentified vessel, you are flying in Solarisian space. Identify yourselves and your intent or face annihilation.”

The voice was monotone, mechanical, and most certainly automated. But not a single person in the cockpit was willing to take the chance that no one with access to the means of ‘annihilation’ the voice was speaking of was watching.

“Can we respond?” Smith asked.

“I believe so, sir,” the co-pilot said, “Give me a few seconds…there you go, live feed.”

“Residents of…Solaris,” Smith began, unsure of how to proceed, “This is the United Andozian Vessel Andrus. We have recently settled temporarily upon the alien structure orbiting the sun of this solar system. Our intents are exploration and the search for possible allies…or enemies. We come in peace, with no harmful intent.”

For the longest of moments, there was nothing but the crackle of static and silence. Smith began at once to think that whoever had left that automatic message was now long gone, and he dreaded to think of what would happen if the means of annihilation in the message were not. He opened his mouth to repeat the message, but was cut off.

“United Andozian Vessel Andrus,” the same mechanical, seemingly automatic voice sounded through the comm. device, “The Solarisian Defense Corps receives and understands your transmission. You are hereby granted permission by KNG-320 of Solaris to land your vessel in the Capital. Escorts are en route to guide you to your designated landing zone. A warning, if any actions the Defense Corps deems to be hostile are witnessed, your vessel will be destroyed. Do you understand?”

“We understand,” Smith replied at once, “Thank you.”

The crackle of static faded from the comm. device as the other end of the conversation closed off the connection. The co-pilot did likewise. For a few moments they flew in silence, and then the faint rumble of engines that were not the shuttle’s or the twin Excaliburs’ accompanying it were audible.

The shuttle had not yet been outfitted with the transparisteel that had been added to the new Excaliburs, so Smith and the pilots caught their first look at the Solarisian fighters from the view of the port and aft cameras. They were unlike anything Smith had ever seen, simultaneously beautiful and intimidating.

“Uh…sir?” the pilot shook Smith from his reverie.

“Yes, what is it?” Smith asked, looking curiously at the pilot’s surprised expression.

“I am no longer in control of the shuttle, sir,” the pilot said.

“What?” Smith asked, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, sir,” the pilot said, “I’m not controlling where we’re going. I guess the…well; the aliens have us in some sort of lock.”

“Hmm,” Smith wasn’t liking this, “Nothing we can do about that, I guess, except for ride it out.”

“Sir…frag,” the co-pilot cried, his voice startling, “Sir, look!”

Smith looked, and couldn’t quite believe what he saw. As the shuttle emerged through a particularly large cloud, the Andozians came face to face with the Capital of Solaris for the first time…a few hundred thousand feet higher than they had expected it to be. A floating city, Smith couldn’t have imagined it if he hadn’t been staring directly at it.

It was massive, twice the size at least as the capital of Andoz. And it was floating in mid air. Not only that, but they were heading right for it. They were going to land on it. It was here that Smith was going to meet his first aliens. He had not been present for any of the meetings with the Hapans. They were human, so Krauze said, so his interest in the Hapans was not as fantastical, but what were the Solarisians? Were they even humanoid? He had no way of knowing until the doors to the shuttle opened.

Which was, so it seemed, not so far off. The shuttle had landed, the Solarisian fighters had ascended into the air once more, either off to their port, or possibly hovering above and out of sight, ready to blow the ship to smithereens if it attempted to take off and attack. Smith imagined the latter to be much more possible.

He retreated away from the forward cockpit, and the entourage of diplomats and marines assembled. Smith found the lieutenant, who nodded in grim recognition. He didn’t seem as thrilled about the situation as Jonathan himself was. Smith flashed the lieutenant a grin in an effort to cheer him up. It failed miserably.

“Cheer up, lieutenant,” Smith smiled, “You’re about to meet your first aliens.”

“Oh yes, sir,” the lieutenant agreed grimly, “And what a friendly bunch they seem to be.”

Smith nodded, conceding the point. The Solarisian greeting hadn’t exactly been the most jovial, but perhaps they were simply as cautious as the Andozians were being. Before Smith could think on it further, the shuttle doors opened, and they stepped out onto the landing platform.

For a few moments, the blinding light of the sun blurred Smith’s vision. He blinked rapidly for a few seconds, his eyes adjusting to the brightness of the light. And after he did so, he got the first look at the Solarisian entourage moving toward them. His eyes bulged, watering from the brightness of the sun, but he didn’t notice.

For a few moments, he couldn’t do anything. Neither could any member of the Andozian entourage. Finally…

“Frag, sir,” the lieutenant whispered to him, “They’re robots.”

Chaos.

Things had never been very organized on Helix’s surface to begin with. What was left of the military was charged with providing the shattered remains of their civilization with their basic human rights. Food, protection, homes. There was no plan for anything like this. The rule book did not apply here. All of the think tanks and computer simulations in Andozian history could have never taken this into account.

But in the wake of…well, nothing those Above knew about…things had degenerated into complete chaos. Aircraft no one had ever seen the likes of flew over every twenty four minutes. Every twenty four minutes, to the point. Without fail. It had been going on four at least six hours.

Camp 42 was in an uproar. Almost every single person who had been stowed into the camp was out of their tents, gathered around the fire the men of the Camp had come to know as their stomping grounds. People were screaming at each other. People were screaming with each other. Fights were breaking out all over the place. Nobody knew what they were doing there, but everyone came.

The soldiers were doing their best to keep the peace, but they were failing miserably. Rifles brandished in the direction of the civilians in vain. Both the soldiers and the civilians knew they weren’t going to fire. They had no real reason to fire. The civilians weren’t doing anything necessarily wrong. They were just…yelling.

At what? At who? What were they even saying? Nobody knew for sure.

In all the chaos and excitement nobody could really tell what they or anyone else was saying, or what they were saying it about. Confusion swept through the ranks. Slowly the people began to realize they didn’t know what they were doing there. They came face to face with their helplessness, and many of them wept. They turned unfriendly eyes upon the soldiers, who to them seemed to know exactly what they were doing. They were brandishing weapons at them.

In truth, the soldiers didn’t know what they were doing any more than the civilians did. No clear orders were being given. None of the commanding officers were quite sure what to do. They had been charged with protecting the civilians, and keeping them from leaving the Camp. What could they do? This was unexpected. The people began to leer at them, and that only made things worse. The shadows of the civilians leapt out, menacing…terrifying.

The aircraft passed over, right on time. A soldier fired.

It was nothing more than a reflex. The sudden roar of engines sent the already terrified soldier over the edge. His finger, already taut on the trigger, squeezed a little bit too hard, and a round snuck out. It struck a man in the center of his chest, and he dropped to the ground, lifeless. For what seemed like an eternity, nothing happened. Nobody moved, nobody spoke. Silence.

Then, all at once, the chaos began anew. Only this time, it had purpose. People knew what they were doing. There was no confusion, no panic, just chaos. Commanding officers immediately began bellowing orders to their soldiers. They knew how to deal with this. This was in the rule books. Unfortunately, their commanding voices were quickly drowned out by the roar of the crowd.

As one, they screamed. And as one, they charged.

The soldiers were overtaken before they knew what was happening. A few more rounds were squeezed off. Some simply reflexes; others in a startled instinctual method of self defense. More civilians dropped to the ground, dead or dying. More civilians screamed in rage. The soldiers drowned in a sea of angry men. Angry peers. Angry comrades. It was a civil war in the simplest way.

And when the smoke cleared, the civilians were forced to come to terms with what they had done. Eight soldiers lay dead, beaten to death. Four more were critically injured, and with the lack of any real doctor, they would probably die. The rest had fled. To where? Who knows? Away from Camp 42. Away from the crazy civilians. Away from everything.

What was a mob to do? There was no one left to focus their hate upon. There was no one left to be angry at. So they did the only thing they could do. They turned upon each other. Fights broke out, men screamed blame at other men. The women mourned the tragic loss of life the mob had caused, conveniently forgetting their part to play in the slaughter. Children cried.

Order.

They needed order.

He had to give them order.

He screamed.

The sound itself was so primordial, so significantly furious and nothing else, that it quieted the mob instantly. Men froze in mid punch. Women froze in mid mourn. Children continued to cry. The mean man hurt their ears. Standing in front of them, fire in his eyes, Davin stood. Tears streamed from his face, his expression contorted into that of rage.

“Look at you!” his voice boomed, seemingly elevated beyond that which humans are capable of. He was heard, “What are you doing?!”

Silence.

The silence deafened the entire camp. Retorts began to form on the lips of many, before they realized that they had no real idea what they were doing. They had had no idea why they were panicking. They had had no idea why they had taken out their aggressions on the soldiers. They had had no idea what was going on, so they had just let go. Lying upon the ground, bloodied and battered, was the consequence.

All of them expected to be chastised. All of them expected to be shunned. Davin was their unofficial leader, and he had regained enough sense about him not to take part in the slaughter, so it seemed. All were surprised when Davin spoke once more.

“Look not down to the earth in shame of your actions!” Davin yelled once more, again reaching a chilling level of volume, “Look down to the earth in shame of your uncertainty! Look down to the earth in shame of your need to blame!”

The crowd did not quite know what to make of this.

“You were lucky this time, my friends. For the men you have murdered today are your enemies. Do not misunderstand me! Murder is never the right solution to any problem, and dealing death can never be excused from the title of murder, but there are times when one must carry out the lesser evil in order to destroy to greater one!”

Slow nods of approval and cautious cheers followed this. None of them had expected this unexpected praise, but good words were good words, and they ate them up. The crowd was now enraptured, their undivided attention fixed upon Davin. They looked to him for guidance, a path to travel.

“Now pause for a moment, take a deep breath, and think!” Davin continued, the crowd at the mercy of his words. None of them actually did think, instead waiting for him to continue, “Who is really responsible for this? For all of this?!”

He paused, and there was momentary panic as the crowd began to wonder if he expected them to give an answer, and answer none of them could even remotely guess at. Order was restored as Davin opened his mouth to speak again.

“Its them!” he screamed, jabbing his finger downward, “It’s Below! It’s all Below! They brought us out hear, Maker knows how far from home! They let the Vong follow them! They pushed us into these camps! Forced us to sleep in tents! Made us live like beggars! And what have they done for us? Nothing! Their eyes are always upward, fearing some threat from space! Meanwhile, down here, their people are living like rats!”

Roars of agreement met this. The living conditions had been a constant complaint from day one. This was something the people could get behind. Many had been growing steadily angrier at Below, but none had really voiced their opinions out loud, or often. Well, none save Marcus, who was always complaining about everything.

“And now, after all that, they’ve brought an enemy upon us after all! It was their meddling in the affairs of a galaxy we do not understand, oh of course with the intention of making us safer, that brought these unknown foes upon us in the first place!”

More roars of agreement. None of the people had thought long enough to consider this, but it made more and more sense to them as it came from Davin’s lips. Whether it was true or not didn’t seem to matter to them. Davin was speaking, and Davin was rarely ever wrong about anything. When it came to Davin, little technicalities like that could be taken for granted.

“Should these soldiers have died? I don’t think so,” Davin continued, breaking the momentum of the crowd immediately. Frowns rapidly grew upon their faces, “But can you be blamed? No!”

He had them again.

“They serve Below, and as such they are our enemies! Their deaths are an acceptable loss, collateral damage in the conflict we face. Don’t you see? We must take Below! We must oust our incompetent oppressors, our ‘Chancellor’ and the rest! We must return democracy to Andoz! We must return safety to Andoz! We must return civilization to Andoz!”

An uproar of cheers and yells of agreement greeted Davin. Had they not already been standing, the crowd likely would have given him a standing ovation. They were his, and they were willing to follow him to hell and back. Luckily for them, that would not be necessary. But the walk would be long.

“Come, my brothers!” Davin screamed, “We march! We march to the next camp! We must gather an army if we are to take Below! Not an army of murderers, but an army of restorers! Andoz will be once more under the control of the people! Come! We march!”




Chaos.

The entire Control Center of Helix was in absolute chaos. People were screaming status reports to one another. People were screaming status reports to their superiors and status reports to their inferiors. All of the status reports were the same, variations of ‘everything’s broken!’, but they yelled them anyway.

All of the consoles and readouts in the Control Center were indeed not working. The same message was scrawling across each console, a message every scientist who had the slightest skill in the field was hard at work attempting to decipher. So far, not much luck had been had, but translating a language no living being in the entire complex spoke took some time.

Alarms and sirens were going off all over the place, especially in the control center. Fortunately, the sound was somehow an urgent sounding one, but it managed to not be too annoying. It was not overly loud, at least not to the point of being ridiculous, as most sirens worked. But one still had to raise their voice a considerable amount to be heard unless they were standing right next to each other.

Of course, in all of the panic and distress, most of the people who were talking (of which there were many) were yelling, some outright screaming at the top of their lungs. As Dace looked on, he mentally added earthquake-like turbulence, fires, and men in red shirts flipping over stations as machines behind them spewed sparks, and realized it would be perfect. He grinned.

“Something funny, General?” Doctor Jordan asked him, raising his voice slightly to be heard.

“No,” Riggs grunted, somehow managing not to raise his voice at all and still be heard perfectly, “Nothing is funny at all.”

“Well then what do you suppose we do?” Jordan asked, looking around at the madness that had overtaken the control center.

“Soldier!” Dace grunted loudly, waving over one of the guards stationed in the control room.

None of the guards had degenerated into the state of panic many of the scientists and technicians had, but many of them were sporting very nervous looks, and a few were trying desperately to calm people down, with absolutely no luck.

“Yes, sir!” the guard snapped into a smart salute after he approached Riggs.

“At ease, soldier,” Dace grunted, “Surrender your sidearm.”

“Sir?” the soldier questioned.

“General?” Jordan did the same.

“You heard me, soldier,” Dace snapped, “The sidearm.”

“Yes sir!” regaining his composure, the soldier removed the handgun from its holster and presented it to the General.

Dace took the gun from the soldier, inspecting it for a few moments. He nodded slowly, approving, and the soldier likely would have beamed had the circumstances not been as they were. The General switched off the safety and, before Jordan could open his mouth to say anything, pointed it straight up and pulled the trigger.

Click!

A confused look appeared upon Dace’s face. He brought the firearm down, inspecting it, and looked at the soldier, who wore his own look of confusion.

“Sir, I-”

He was cut off as a booming voice resounded through the control center, bringing the chaos to a complete stop and restoring a sense of confused order. Everyone looked up, although it was unnecessary. The voice was coming from everywhere. It spoke in a language none of them understood, yet everyone listened intently. Some scientists had regained enough sense to scribble down (as best they could, for they were unsure of the spelling) what they heard.

It proved to be unnecessary for, as the message ended and an outburst of murmurs flowed throughout the control center, it repeated once more, this time in Basic.

“Attention, attention. Use of any sort of energy or projectile based weaponry within the innards of Atal’ai is prohibited while under lockdown. Please view your nearest display screen for an explanation as to the reason for the lockdown, and await further instructions. Security droids have been dispatched to this location and will arrive within the hour. Thank you.”

For a long time, there was silence. Well, apart from the continuous sound of the sirens. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, every head in the room slowly turned toward Riggs, Jordan, and the soldier. Dace still held the pistol in his hand, and was checking it all over for a possible explanation as to its failure. Finally, he noticed the audience.

“Well, it was the only thing I could think of that would shut you up,” he said sheepishly.

The screams began again, with renewed vigor, before one voice raised above all the others.

“ENOUGH!” Jordan roared.

Silence once more.

“Alright everyone, lets just calm down!” he said, “Yelling our asses off is not going to fix anything. We need to figure out what’s going on, and we need to fix it quickly! That means figuring out whatever the hell that message is on all of those screens! Everyone who does not have experience with translation will fan out and begin to search the complex for anything that is working, but don’t go too far! Let’s get a move on people! Go go go!”

All at once the scientists and technicians began moving once more, but this time with a purpose, a clear intent. Order had been restored. The control center was back to normal. Well, not counting nothing working and the sirens.

“Good job, doc,” Dace grinned.

“Anytime,” Jordan smiled, “All you need is a little bedside manner. We should probably join the search. If we manage to find a working console or something, we may be able to figure out how to shut this whole ‘lockdown’ thing down, or at least get some information on why it happened, if the message on the screens don’t give us anything.”

“Right,” Dace nodded, and then paused, “But first, hold on. What do you make of what just happened, that message?”

“Well, this race is pretty advanced,” Dace thought, “Obviously we did something to trigger this ‘lockdown’, and this structure’s defense mechanisms somehow managed to disable our weaponry. How? I have no idea. But there are thousands of thing about this place and the people who made it, whoever they are, that I can’t begin to understand. Things I likely never will.”

“What do you think about that word the voice said?” Riggs asked, “What was it…Atal’ai?”

“Well, were I to guess,” Jordan pondered, “I’d say it’s the name of this place, this structure. Not the one we gave it, but its real name.”

“Hmm…” Dace pondered, “I guess we’re not Helixians anymore.”

“I guess not,” Jordan nodded thoughtfully, “Looks like we’re Atal’ai.”

“Nothing on the end?” Dace asked curiously, “Not Atal’aians? Atal’aites? Atalians?”

“From what I’ve come to understand of the language, I don’t think so,” Jordan, “We’re Atal’ai.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Dace admitted, and then a slow grin spread upon his face, “Krauze is gonna be pissed.”

“Why’s that?” Jordan asked, “Was he fond of Helixians?”

“No, no,” Dace’s grin spread wider and wider, “But he’s all the way over on Hapes at a diplomatic summit telling them we’re Helixians.”

Jordan’s eyes widened, and then he burst out laughing.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s get searching.”

New Log
Entry 01

If you are reading this, then I have escaped. Good. At the moment that I am…‘recording’ this however, I have been taken captive by Yat’a’leg’a’lora. I was able to fool the idiots into believing the Dominion would know if I were to be killed. Not a complete lie, I am sure the Cor’ai’var would communicate as much to some of the Priest Lords. Not that they would care at all. I am an outcast, after all.

I am recording this log inside my mind with the power of the Cor’ai’var. When I escape I shall record it in a more conventional sense. Why? I am not so sure. The idea of a log of my experiences is…comforting to me. It gives me a sense of…immortality, I suppose you could say. Long after I have become one with Borleas Queyvar, those worthy enough will be able to learn from my experiences. Learn from the mistakes of Kal Shora!

I possess the means of escape even now, but I shall wait. The presence of Yat’a’leg’a’lora in this galaxy is still a mystery. I must confess I have not been able to gain much knowledge on the subject since my apprehension. I believe they are not supposed to be here. No, they are still licking their wounds from the last time this pathetic galaxy crushed them. Weaklings.

No, they are here against their will and the will of their superiors. So why have they come? Exile? Are they outcasts like myself? No, I don’t believe so. Then what? I will investigate further. I hope to learn as much as I can before I am forced to make my escape.


Entry 02

I have discovered new information on the purpose of the Yat’a’leg’a’lora in this galaxy. I am not sure exactly, but I believe they are looking for something…something that has eluded them in the past. This information was difficult to gain, as I do not know much of their disgusting language.

Looking for something…something they have lost? No, I don’t think so. Something they hope to gain…or destroy…hmmm…at any rate, it is not of this galaxy. It is not supposed to be here…very intriguing. The affairs of the Yat’a’leg’a’lora mean nothing to me. They are cowards, fools, and infidels. But I must admit that I am truly interested in knowing what it is they seek.

I know one thing for sure. They were not expecting to find me here. They were not expecting to find any of my kind here. This is not unexpected. The Cree’Ar incursion into this galaxy is a comparatively recent one. But if they are looking for something foreign and something that has naught to do with the Dominion…then what? That is what I must discover.


Entry 03

It seems I was off slightly in my conclusions. I had assumed they were searching for some sort of object…an artifact or weapon…but I now understand that that is not the case. The Yat’a’leg’a’lora are not searching for something but…someone…more than one if I am correct. It is odd…I believe they are looking for a population of humans.

Humans foreign to this galaxy? I thought they were significant only to this one. I know for certain that the infidels in this galaxy have not mastered the ability to traverse between galaxies. Pathetic of them. But if there is a population of humans here that do possess the capability of intergalactic travel, I can understand why the Yat’a’leg’a’lora are so eager to locate them.

The time for my escape is near, but I shall be patient for a little longer, see what else I can learn.


Entry 04

Hah! The fools tried to interrogate me! Most Holy Envoy of Borleas Queyvar, sat down in a room and expected to release everything I knew! It was they who were being interrogated. Through a mixture of intimidation and tact I have been able to discover much which was unknown to me.

This race of humans they are after seem to be even less intelligent than the humans of this galaxy, and that is saying quite a bit. No trouble even for the Yat’a’leg’a’lora to wipe from the face of the galaxy. Yet it seems that this particular batch of humans seem to have a knack for escaping.

And in doing so, they stumbled onto something…I am not sure what, I was not able to ascertain…but whatever it is, it scares the Yat’a’leg’a’lora…it absolutely terrifies them. Even more so than I do. The Yat’a’leg’a’lora are worthless, infidels beyond comparison, but I do not make the mistake of many in the Dominion and underestimate my opponents.

While their technology is obsolete in comparison to that of the Dominion, they are not altogether incompetent. And whatever scares them, at least as long as I am aboard their worthless vessel, I must fear as well.

My escape must wait, there is more to be discovered. More to be known…

They plan to attack soon.

End Log.

The two parties stood there, on the landing platform of the city in the clouds, staring at one another. The shuttle behind the Andozian/Helixian/Atal’ai emissaries sputtered out occasional hisses and billowed forth small clouds of steam as it went through the final landing procedures, but no one seemed to notice. Soon the shuttle too stopped and all that was left was the wind blowing and the steady inhalation and exhalation of breath from the humans.

Nobody spoke. None of the humans could find much of anything to say, and the Solarisians seemed to be calmly waiting for an acknowledgement from their visitors. Being the robotic life forms they were, it would be safe to assume that they would be more than willing to wait for hours, if only to be what their programming interpreted as polite.

When one says that the Solarisians did not speak, one needs to take that for exactly what it is. That they did not speak. Inside what served for their brains, which were, very basically put, hard drives connected to a collective server, they were abuzz with activity. Each of them discussed all at once with each other the possible motives of these outsiders, and the possibilities as to the reason behind their silence.

The idea of thousands upon thousands of robots all speaking at once to each other might seem ridiculously confusing and incomprehensible to any human being, it must be understood that being what they were, robots, they are capable of obtaining, interpreting, and understanding, thousands of contributions to a conversation in less than a second, and replying in turn. What may seem impossible to us is actually quite simple for them.

This is, as best translated as it could possibly be, a rough description of the general conversation taking place between the Solarisians.

Observation: They are most curious. {Us} have not seen any of their kind up close before, save the {Messiah}, but they do not seem to act in a manner of any intelligence.

Argument: Their customs are unknown to {Us}. This may be some sort of ceremony preformed before engaging in proper diplomatic relations.

Query: Perhaps they are conversing themselves, internally as {Us} do.

Argument: It is well known that human beings are incapable naturally of any form of telepathy or otherwise internal communication. The only other possibility to support this query would be some type of technological implants, which {Us}’s scanners would have identified.

Counter: There is…another way for human beings to communicate telepathically.

Counter: The {Messiah} would have told {Us} if he {scanned; identified} the possibility. Also, it is documented that such a possibility would be…highly improbable for an entire civilization.

Counter: The {Messiah} himself has acknowledged that he is but a student, his {ability; blessing} is not as powerful as it could be. Also, there is a possibility he would not be so…forthcoming with this information were he to {scan; identify} the possibility. Those That Came have been a…fascination of his.

Query: You are suggesting he would not be truthful to {Us}?

Interjection: This line of {processing; calculating} is getting {Us} nowhere.

Query: Then what to {process; calculate}? {Us} do not understand their intentions, this much has been established.

…they are confused. shocked. they will not initiate conversation…

Query: {Messiah}?

…you must begin relations. greet them…

Acknowledgement: As you wish, {Messiah}.

“Greetings, humans of the unknown origins,” the silence was broken, the spell disrupted, the human entourage regained control of their jaws. It was the center robot who had spoken, the floating orb, “I am KNG-320, known to many as the Voice. My purpose is to oversee Solarisian life, in The Capital and all other Solarisian cities, and to make sure all is running properly and within recommended parameters. With whom do we have the…pleasure of speaking with?”

For a long few moments, the humans looked as if they were going to remain silent, utterly dumbfounded and completely confused. At last, Smith regained enough sense to talk.

“I…I am Zenith Admiral Jonathan Smith,” he sputtered at last, “Leader of this exploration and reconnaissance unit and member of the former Andozian Republic. We come with peaceful intentions, bearing no ill will toward you or your…people, in search of possible allies or…in search of possible allies.”

Silence once again encompassed the landing platform. It was no longer a silence that enveloped and overcame; no longer a silence that seemed to slow down time and blur vision, but an uncomfortable silence. It was a silence made all the worse by the unemotional and unchanging faces of the Solarisian entourage, simply staring and staring. Finally…

“My scanners indicate a noticeable hint of nervousness in your voice, Zenith Admiral Smith,” KNG-320 spoke at last, “Be comforted, for you are amongst those who would wish you no harm. Solaris is a isolationist planet, make no mistake, and your presence here is…disconcerting…to many of us. But we hold nothing against you, and would be more than happy to hold palaver with your people.”

“Palaver…” Smith echoed, “Is that another word for diplomatic discussion?”

“It could be…” KNG-320 said in its emotionless, yet not annoying, voice, “Palaver is a word used for many situations and many purposes. As simply put as it can be, palaver is talk, meeting.”

“Very well,” Smith nodded, “As representative of the former Andozian Republic, it would be an honor to…hold palaver with you.”

For a few moments, silence. And then…

“My scanners indicate you are still nervous, Zenith Admiral,” KNG-320 said, “You and your people may be assured, no harm will come to you during your time here.”

“It is not that…” Smith said, after a pause to consider.

“What is it that concerns you, Zenith Admiral?” KNG-320 asked, its voice barely changing as it formed the question.

“Our people…” he paused, “Our people are new to…hyperspace travel…and as such we have not met very many…what we might consider aliens. We have met but two other civilizations during our time in exploration. One an alien race who we have never actually seen up close, and another possible allies who look almost exactly like us. It is…disconcerting…to…”

“To meet an entire civilization of machines?” KNG-320 finished for him.

“…yes,” Smith finally agreed.

“This is…understandable,” KNG-320 paused, as if unsure of something, “Rest assured, your discomfort would likely be shared by any race already familiar to faster than light travel. Throughout this known galaxy, I believe we are the only civilization made up…almost entirely of robots.”

“Almost entirely?” Smith echoed.

“All will be explained at palaver,” KNG-320 replied, “Follow me.”


“Quite a place to hold…palaver, did he say?” the lieutenant whispered.

“Yeah,” Smith answered, “Abyssuvah view, though.”

The lieutenant was right. It was not exactly what John had expected when KNG-320 had wanted to meet in private with them. For all intents and purposes, it looked exactly like a hotel suite. It was definitely much fancier looking than what John had been used to sleeping in as of late. Well…much fancier looking than what John had ever been used to sleeping in.

But the view. The view was altogether something else. The entire Capital was laid out before them in a window that took up an entire wall. The city sprawled out so far that John could barely see the edge far off in the distance. He had not realized it was so large. The thought of it was breathtaking.

“Michael?” KNG-320 floated around, almost as if looking back and forth, “Michael, they are here! Where are you, Michael?”

KNG-320 floated into another room of the suite, slipping through the half-opened doorway, and the human entourage looked expectantly at the door, waiting for whoever or whatever was in the next room with the robot to come through. A million thoughts whizzed through each of their minds, conjuring up the strangest and wildest looking aliens they could.

KNG-320 whizzed back through, and the door began to open. Anything the robot had said at that moment fell upon deaf ears, for the entire entourage was caught on ever movement of that door. Finally, it opened, and the being from the other room stepped through. And for the first time ever, Michael met his fellow humans.

“Hello,” he said.

This galaxy is older than most of us would like to admit.

Most of us have been around for much longer than we’d like to admit.

We’ve dedicated years of our lives to a seemingly pointless hobby and fascination. We were brought together for our love of some silly science fiction series most of us aren’t even fans of anymore. We stick around for the love of the game. We stick around for the hate of the game. We stick around for the people, whether we like them or not. We stick around for the fun, for the glory, for the practice.

And as many stories as I have read during my time here, there will always be twice as many better ones that I missed. And for every story I’ve completed, there have been at least eight times as many that I haven’t. Ideas that never got off the ground. Beginnings of an epic that never lasted more than a few posts. Masterpieces, works of art, lost to procrastination and sloth.

I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly out of the ordinary writer. I look at my work today and I don’t see the level of sheer skill with words that I see in all of you. But I look at my work and I see, every so often, something that redeems it. Something that makes it okay. Something that makes it all worth it. I see a story.

I read these poorly constructed sentences I’ve written, and I think of the story playing out in my mind as I wrote it, and it is beautiful. It is something I wish I could share with you, but do not yet possess the artistic capability to do so. But I also see something else in my work, something besides that, when that should be enough.

I see improvement.

I look at my work from when I started out as a nerdy little ten year old kid and I look at my work now as a long-standing member nobody remembers anything of great importance about, a teenage kid with way too many friends for being as secretly nerdy as he still is, and I see improvement. I see a story clearer than it used to be. Maybe someday I’ll be able to tell you these stories I have in my mind, and you will be able to appreciate them then as I do now.

So, in the interest of moving on, and in the interest of telling a story, I present to you a brief summary of what I would have written in this thread were I not a lazy bastard. I wish I could finish this story, and I do this in the hope of someday completing this larger story I’m trying to tell. Maybe someday in the future I’ll come back and rewrite this. I’ll probably do it a hell of a lot better than I would’ve done now anyway.

So I present to you a brief summary of Beachhead.




The citizens of Solaris are and will always remain one of the better and more original ideas I’ve ever had. Also, Michael is one of the most interesting characters I’ve thought up. To be quite honest, I’m not so much a fan of Jonathan.

Anyway, Jonathan meets me with the robots of Solaris and Michael. Immediately, Michael resonates a sort of presence about him that utterly fascinates the entire Atal’ai (human) entourage. They seem to weigh everything he says or does with the utmost respect. He has a natural quality of leadership about him that they can’t help but respect.

Jonathan attempts to broach the idea of an alliance with the robots, but they don’t seem to understand the concept. He uses the term ‘friendship’, and that is something they seem to understand. They explain to him, much to his chagrin, that the Atal’ai people must prove themselves worthy of such a friendship before the Solarisians will allow any deeper contact between the two peoples.

During this ‘palaver’ as the robots call it, the Atal’ai begin to realize that the robots while, resembling human beings more closely than they could have ever thought possible, are still bound to serve and act in accordance with their programming, what the robots consider some sort of code of honor. It is revealed that the Solarisians are, while not incapable of interacting freely with the outside galaxy, have agreed amongst themselves that it is not in their best interests to do so.

Jonathan is eager to carry out the sort of ‘rite of passage’ that the robots require of the Atal’ai in order to pursue negotiations. After much debate over what could be deemed a suitable gesture of friendship, Michael comes up with the idea for the Atal’ai to attempt to reestablish contact with a sect of the Solarisian race now lost outside the bounds of their planet.

The human exploration party track down a distress signal the Solarisians picked up some time ago to a nearby planet, a planet the Solarisians consider a ‘twin planet’ of Solaris, but were never able to venture to, as it would be against this programming. All of them except for Michael, who journeyed with the Atal’ai in search of the missing robots. He explained to them that the sect of robots were the only ones who were capable within the bounds of their programming to venture out into space, and one day told the Solarisians it was time for them to explore, and left.

Upon reaching the planet, named by the Solarisians Polaris, the Atal’ai find three hundred surviving members of the exploration sect of the Solarisians. They are locked in a decade long struggle with the native species to the planet, a semi-intelligent bipedal ape species, whose population drastically outnumbers the Solaris explorers.

During the first meeting between the Atal’ai and the Solaris explorers, there is a brief skirmish between the explorers and the natives. One of the explorers is overpowered by the sheer number of natives, and is crushed to death. Michael is shocked and horrified, passing out mysteriously.

Upon the return to the Solaris explorers’ base, Michael is awakened and it is explained that death is a completely unnatural thing to the Solarisians. In fact, their hive-mind network is constructed in such a way that if one robot of Solaris were to die, it would be felt by each member of the Solaris species in full, an unbearable thing.

The leader of the explorers, GNL-23, explains to them that after crash landing on Polaris and suffering a casualty to the natives, they suffered through the experience of the robots death. Realizing that if they were to successfully defend themselves from the natives, the explorers were forced to sever their connection to the hive-mind completely.

The explorers were also forced to reconfigure some of the weaponry salvaged from their ship’s wreckage from the Solaris standard stun-only setting to weapons capability of delivering killing blasts to the native species.

The explorers are packed aboard the Atal’ai vessel and the Solarisian shuttle that Michael had flown to the planet, barely managing to hold each one of the explorers, and it seems to be just in time. A massive amount of natives is seen swarming the Solarisian explorers’ base as they take off.

Upon arrival on Solaris, KNG-320 is shocked and horrified to learn of the explorers’ tale of survival and the sacrifices which they made. They are heralded by the Capital with much celebration and joy. It is short-lived, however, for a transmission is received by the Atal’ai from an Excalibur that jumped into orbit from Helix that Helix is under attack by the Yuuzhan Vong.

Jonathan pleads with Michael and the Solarisians for aid, and at first the Solarisians do not wish to be involved, but after a heated debate with Michael they begrudgingly decide to help. The Atal’ai are led to the Capital’s spaceport, where it is revealed to them the Solarisians possess three warships. The Solarisians only permit them the use of one warship, stubbornly asserting that the other two must be kept for defense of Solaris.

The Atal’ai, Michael, and the remnants of the Solarisian explorers, who feel they are indebted to the Atal’ai, board the ship and journey to Helix.




Those within the structure of Helix search for some piece of equipment still in operation to tell them why the lockdown has taken place, and remain oblivious to what is happening on the surface of the structure. They finally manage to locate a working deep space sensor, which reveals to them that there is a Yuuzhan Vong vessel slowly approaching the structure.

Meanwhile, on the surface, Davin Soth rallies members of many temporary resident camps, overpowering the guards stationed outside and commandeering weapons. He forms a small army of angry Andozians, and marches on the entrance to the Helix infrastructure.

Zenith General Riggs quickly catches a ride up to the Avalanche, the Andozians only line of defense against the oncoming Yuuzhan Vong ship of war. He is not a moment too soon, for immediately after his shuttle breaks orbit Soth’s army storms the command center of Helix, overthrowing the ‘government’ currently residing within.

It becomes apparent at this moment just how far gone Davin really is. He marches about the command center, speaking to himself, stopping every once in a while to bellow promises of a restoration of the former glory of the Andozian Republic. It is obvious he intends to be named dictator, and even some of his own men are frightened by the man.




Upon reaching the Yuuzhan Vong warship, Riggs realizes he has been deceived. Five more Yuuzhan Vong ships of war jump into the system, dangerously close to Helix. Too far for the Avalanche to reach in time. The distracting warship also proves to be more than a match for the Andozian vessel, and begins pounding away at the ship.

Suddenly, a gargantuan vessel of obviously alien design jumps into the system directly next to the fighting Vong and Andozian vessel. The Yuuzhan Vong turns on the new vessel and begins to fire. The vessel, up until this point remaining dead in space, slowly turns toward the comparatively tiny warship and destroys it with a single blast.

Zenith General Riggs is transported from the bridge of the Avalanche, where he was preparing to make a blind dash for the other Yuuzhan Vong ships before they begin firing upon the structure, on board the alien vessel. I will attempt to write this portion of the story as best I can, because I thought it was so cool when I was thinking about it.


“Where am I?!” Dace yelled, “What have you done with my ship?!”

He was greeted only with silence, black silence. All around him was black; he could see nothing anywhere, not even his hands in front of him. The silence was unbearable, and he caught the faintest hints of his own screams echoing back at him.

“Listen, if you were the ones who destroyed the ship, thanks!” Dace screamed, “But please, I need to get back to my ship! There are more Vong ships out there, and they’re about to destroy my people!”

An eruption of light, Dace squeezed his eyes shut. He slowly cracked them back open, blocking out the harshness of the light with his hands in front of his face. A spotlight had been placed upon him, and he was illuminated. The rest of the vessel remained black.

”There is nothing you can do for them now,” a voice called from the blackness.

“I…I have to try!” Dace called back, “I can’t just let them die! Please, help us! You helped us with the Vong warship, help us defend ourselves!”

“We destroyed the ship assailing you because it fired upon us, for no other reason,” the voice answered, “Even that, we regret. It is not our place to interfere.”

“Then why are you here?” Dace asked, “What are you going to do, just sit back and watch thousands of people die?!”

“We ventured forth only to discover the cause of the Atal’ai’s lockdown,” the voice called, “Something was inputted into the structure’s database that caused a lockdown. Are you aware of what?”

“Then you built the Helix?” Dace asked.

“Are you aware of what was inputted?”

“Answer me and I’ll answer you!” Dace yelled.

A pause.

“Yes, we constructed the structure you know as Helix.”

“Listen to me,” Dace called, “If you don’t do something the Vong will destroy the Helix!”

“We have scanned their weaponry,” the voice replied, “They are incapable of achieving such a feat. What was inputted into the databse?”

“A word,” Dace answered.

“What word?” the voice asked.

“Help us and I’ll tell you!”

“It is not our place to help you,” the voice replied, “Tell us the word and I will let you return to your ship.”

“Cree’Ar!” Dace yelled, “The word was Cree’Ar, now let me go!”

There was silence.

“Did we hear you correctly?” the voice asked, “The word was Cree’Ar? You are sure?”

“Yes!” Dace screamed, “Now let me go!”

“Why was Cree’Ar inputted into the database? Where did you learn of that word?”

“Let me go!”

“Where?” the voice asked, and Dace detected a note of apprehension in it.

“A group of people, a group of allies known as the Capricians made contact with a species that called themselves the Cree’Ar,” Dace said, “We inputted it into the database to see if any information could be discovered about them.”

“I see…” the voice said, “Very well, you will be returned to your…wait, scanners indicating…fascinating. You are in luck, Zenith General Dace Riggs. There may be hope for your people after all.”

“How did you know my name?!” Dace yelled, “What are you talking about?!”

“View.”

In front of him, a screen appeared suddenly. He leapt back in surprise. The screen showed the Yuuzhan Vong ships, which had begun firing upon Helix. Suddenly, a vessel of a design Dace had never seen before arrived from hyperspace. It immediately began to open fire upon the Vong ships. The vessels turned on the newcomer.

What Dace saw next was one of the most amazing five minutes of combat he had ever experienced in his life. The ship moved through space almost as a work of art. It was nothing special about the ship’s design, or its engines, but whoever commanded it…in five minutes, the lone vessel had dispatched four of the five Yuuzhan Vong ships of war, easily twice its size.

The unknown vessel turned upon the last Yuuzhan Vong ship of war, only to be struck by some sort of beam of energy Dace had never seen before. It was not a Vong weapon. It crippled the ship, rendering it dead in space, sending explosions rippling up its sides.

“Scanning, scanning,” the voice said aloud, and then what could only be a gasp, “Jump!”

The picture of the naval battle, close on the view screen already, was suddenly much closer, and zoomed out to compensate. Dace understood that they had somehow moved instantly and were much closer to the two vessels than they had previously been.

A beam shot out on the view port at the Vong vessel, its source Dace realized must’ve been the vessel he was currently inside. It halted in space, prevented from finishing the unknown vessel off.

“Cree’Ar presence detected upon Yuuzhan Vong vessel,” the voice called, “Removing Cree’Ar presence, disabling vessel. You are very lucky, Zenith General Riggs. You may now go.”




Dace Riggs was returned to his ship, and traveled at all speed back to orbit around Helix, stopping to rescue Michael, the Atal’ai entourage, and the Solarisian explorers from the dead vessel. The Cree’Ar Priest Lord Varex Tarien, who had been captured by the Yuuzhan Vong, had taken control of the last Vong vessel and used the Sith artifact on the Solarisian warship, crippling it.

Realizing his presence, the Gree had stepped in and disabled Varex’s ship, removing him from it and disappearing back to wherever it came from. The Solarisians found that their programming had been updated, and they were now sworn to serve Michael, even if he wished to make their presence known to the galaxy at large, and also to the Andozians, in a humanitarian effort to help them rebuild their civilization.

Upon their arrival on Helix, Michael was hailed as a savior, a Prophet, the Maker in human form, and a thousand other things. They cast down Chancellor Samuel Krauze, shuffled aside the now raving and ranting Davin Soth, and placed Michael in a position of supreme executive power. Krauze was on his way back from the summit at Hapes, and he would be faced with quite the surprise when he arrived.


Well, that’s it. I apologize for it being so shitty, but I just wanted it done and over with.