Beyond the Starport Adventure

Prologue

1978AD – The Dark Side of the Moon

A communication blackout had been expected. The orbiting Service and Command Module had crossed over to the light side of the moon an hour ago and the astronaut relaying messages between the Lunar Exploration Module and Earth had gone silent. But contact with the LEM had suddenly dropped out too. That was unexpected.

Aldridge kept bouncing across the lunar surface, headed for higher ground. The silence and absence of Earth in the starry sky above was disconcerting. The unclassified moon landings had enjoyed the security of still being able to see their home, but the dark side of the moon was a lonely place. Captain Chris Aldridge was more alone than he had ever been. But the solitude was dwarfed by the excitement of what lay ahead.

Aldridge bounded over another grey, pockmarked, ridge. Suddenly, it was there. Aldridge's heart rate shot up as he gasped for breath.

Well Jesus Christ, Aldridge huffed, it’s real. This isn’t any kind of mirror or radio reflection system. It’s… shit… I don’t know what it is.

There was no mistaking an alien form in the sterile landscape; silver-gray metal ten times larger than the lunar lander and shaped like a child’s crayon. The object twinkled and sparkled as if covered by diamonds. It was a crashed spacecraft, one that could not possibly have come from Earth.

Not sure if you can hear me, Aldridge said. "But I see it. Holy hell, it’s something. It’s artificial. Somebody made this. Someone. Maybe something. Looks like a spacecraft. There's no other way to describe it."

Aldridge examined the sleek lines of the shimmering object.

It’s big, he said. Much bigger than anything the Russians could have put up here, that’s for sure. It's longer than two greyhound buses laid end to end. It sparkles too. The whole thing shines like some it’s covered in some kind of crystal, almost like it’s diamond encrusted.

Aldridge's long steps became five-meter leaps over the moon's surface. The object got bigger very quickly and strange markings on the side of the object revealed themselves. He moved quickly but carefully; if the suit was damaged or torn, things would get disastrous real fast. He expected the impossible symbols on the side of the object to disappear, revealing the result of some strange optical illusion. Getting closer, he realized this was no optical illusion. What he was seeing was real.

"It sounds crazy, but I'm certain this craft has a large letter 'B' etched on the side of it. He continued to bounce towards the target. I know that's nuts, but that's what I see. Definitely got a 'B' etched on it."

Aldridge was close enough to make out finer details of the ship's hull. It was smooth and seamless, sparkling with encrusted crystals or diamonds. A symbol almost like letter B was carved perfectly and deeply into the forward part of the hull just before the cylinder began to taper down to a rounded point. Slightly ahead of this was the first of three ridges that separated the cylindrical body from the pointed nose. Each ridge was a half-meter wide and spaced a meter apart. The grooves in the hull seemed composed of miniaturized electronic circuitry.

Aldridge landed on both feet about ten meters from the side of the ship. The instrument package no longer seemed to have any weight. All his attention was on the alien object. Nothing else mattered anymore.

His helmet radio buzzed quietly; Coleman's voice was very faint. Aldridge couldn't make out what his friend was saying and wondered if the alien object was causing interference.

Captain? Coleman crackled. Where are you, Chris?

The last word came through surprisingly loud and clear. Aldridge turned with a skip and a jump, looking back in the direction of the Lunar Exploration Module. It was gone; obscured behind two hills he had traversed. He smiled to himself as he studied his own uneven footprints in the soft lunar dust.

I'm almost there, Aldridge replied. Lost you for a while, Commander. I had some signal issues. How are you reading my transmission?

Your signal is five by five. You faded out a few minutes ago. I received your last transmission one hundred percent, Chris. Are you sure you’re not seeing things?

That's affirmative. I'm about ready to set down the instrument package. I'll give you an update when I get closer.

It really sounds amazing, Chris, but we've got new orders, Coleman said, anxiety in his tone. "You're… ah… not going to like this, but orders are that you return to Odyssey immediately."

Aldridge held his breath. He stared at the spacecraft lying in the lunar dust. He started to breathe again. The rasping labored sound was loud in his own ears. He examined the spacecraft as he considered what to say. Then, in small black letters, above a hatch in the middle of the ship, he saw the writing. The letters were much smaller than the massive B, but there was no mistaking the word.

"Bullet, Aldridge whispered. It's got the word… Bullet etched on the side, written across some kind of hatch. I've got enough oxygen to explore this thing for forty minutes at least before I have to head back. Maybe there's even a way to get inside!"

"I'm sorry, Chris. Houston’s adamant you've got to get the hell out of there. The flight controller even used those exact words. You have to leave the package and return to the LEM immediately."

Just leave the damned thing lying in the dust?

Chris, no. Coleman exhaled loudly. "Your orders are to... ah... you've got to arm it first..."

Arm what?

Uh… the device you’re carrying.

Aldridge raised the instrument package so he could see it more clearly. In the spacesuit helmet, he took a quick sip from his drinking straw as he quickly examined the heavy white metal briefcase. It took a few seconds for him to realize that the instrument package he’d trained with had been swapped out for an atomic bomb.

***

1978AD – Los Angeles, USA

Megyn Alexander opened the door. Agent Styles was standing, hands folded over his abdomen, as his two faceless accomplices examined her gleaming, flame-red, Triumph sports car. She pushed wet hair out of her eyes and gave Styles a broad, welcoming, smile with more than a hint of mischief. It had been a few weeks since Styles had been at her doorstep, but she’d had a feeling he'd be back. Not because he wanted to see her – though she wished that would be the reason – but because something she had been waiting for was about to happen. She was wearing a sleeveless pink quilted bathrobe worn to the point of transparency in places and soaked from her interrupted shower. She didn’t have a sash for the robe and held it together with her right hand. She tilted her head just slightly to the right, bending her head down. Her chocolate brown eyes moved across Styles’ face, cheekily avoiding his eyes for a few seconds.

"Well, I just don’t believe this, Megyn said, her tone audacious to the point of silliness. Don’t tell me you’ve lost another satellite?"

I’m sorry to say I need your assistance once more, Miss Alexander. Styles’ square features were grim and motionless. He looked stressed and worn out, his white shirt plastered to his chest with sweat. His thin black tie had found its way over his left shoulder.

This is our third date, she said, smiling. She wondered if the bathrobe was covering her assets and shifted her hand to make sure just a little flesh was on display. You’ve brought your friends back, too? She waved at the men standing outside. Hey, guys!

One of the agents grinned at her. The other waved back nonchalantly and she saw the shoulder rig for his nine-millimeter automatic peeking out from the jacket of his two-piece suit.

Megyn turned back to Styles. "Your friends have brought their smiles and their guns! How fantastic! You really shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble."

Styles’ expression did not change. He stared through her, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. Miss Alexander, I’m afraid I have to ask you to open the—

I know, I know. Let me get the keys. Make yourself a coffee or something. I’m going to put some pants on.

Styles followed her through the door. He raised a hand for his men to stay where they were. Megyn turned left into the bathroom, giving Styles a tease of her glistening, pear-shaped bottom as the robe dropped to the floor.

There isn’t time for coffee, Miss Alexander! Styles snapped. "I’m afraid we're going to break down the fence if you don’t give me the keys immediately."

Megyn emerged from the bathroom barefoot and still damp, her long blonde hair a dark and straggly mess. She had pulled on flared, dark blue, denim jeans with an embroidered flower on her left hip. A threadbare, beige-colored, shirt floated around her large braless bosom. She went to him with a deliberate sway of her hips. Her cheerful, energetic expression faltered when she realized he’d found her blood test results pinned to the wall in an ironic display of mock triumph. He looked away from the dire report quickly, almost embarrassed. She felt shameful, suddenly, but she didn't know why. Styles avoided her gaze for a moment, then he exhaled loudly and looked straight into her eyes, a tiny fire burning beneath his emotionless shell. Megyn’s heart leaped to her throat. There was an awkward silence, then Styles coughed.

Miss Alexander. I need the key in five seconds or—

I know – you’ll smash down my fence. She twirled around, allowing her perfume to drift towards the only man she'd had in her life for the past eighteen months. They still haven’t repaired it properly after the last time, Agent Styles. I was hoping you’d come back and… lend a hand.

The keys to the padlock were in an ornamental teapot. She plucked the keys out and invited Styles to take them from her hand. When he moved to grab them, she pulled her hand back with a sly wink, forcing him close enough that she could smell his aftershave and the brand of shaving soap he used. He grunted at the mischief in her eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched a little, giving the ghost of a smile. She reached out to his shoulder and touched him lightly.

He did not move. Spurred on by this, Megyn straightened his tie. "There. Now you look almost presentable."

Megyn, there isn’t time for this.

He took the keys, his movement a little rough. He turned briskly, heading back towards the door and leaving her behind. She wanted to say something, but he was checking his watch and there were helicopters overhead, heavy, throbbing engines becoming louder as they closed in. It was a frightening, ominous sound. Styles was headed out of the apartment, she stayed as close to him as she could.

Her hair flew around her face as she exited the apartment. One helicopter landed on the wasteland to the north as another passed noisily overhead. More agents had turned up. A gray Gran Torino blocked the road, its grimy fender almost touching her car. Barefoot, she carefully followed Styles as he made his way down her steps and around the side of the apartment towards the swimming pool. The neighbors on the right watched from their front door. The house on the left was quiet. The guy who lived there was never around.

Megyn’s swimming pool was drained of water and spattered with clumps of grass and weed that had begun to take hold. The fence at the furthest edge of the pool had been hastily repaired - the pale wood didn’t match the rest of the fence, which had once been stained a darker shade of brown. The tiles at the corner of the pool had still not been replaced. Underneath, the exposed concrete had begun to crumble.

She went after Styles as he unlocked the heavy padlock that secured the chain around the wooden gate. The gate and fence were heavy enough that he and his men would have had to work hard to smash it down, but she didn't doubt that they would. The padlock was rusty and wet from the night’s rain, but it opened easily enough. She hadn’t been in the yard for a few weeks and it needed tidying. The mess might have once embarrassed her, but she had her mind on other things. There were more voices around the house - more heavy footsteps - running, rushing. She could hear shouting.

Something’s coming, she said, isn’t it?

His expression was framed with a cold detachment, but his eyes smoldered with a roguish secret that told her something was going on.

What is it, Jack? she whispered. What’s coming? She put her arms out by her sides, pleading for his response. Styles glanced down to the bruises on her arms – the deep purple blotches left by desperate sessions of chemotherapy that had failed to prevent cancer from eating her alive.

I can't tell you. Styles inspected his shoes. "I just can’t."

And she knew she was about to be taken back to her lonely, boring, and devastatingly short life. He turned to call his men across, but she grabbed his arm. Jack. You can trust me, really.

He turned back, frowning, but his eyes narrowed and a thin but definite smile came to his lips. You’ll see soon enough, he whispered. Just stay beside me. Don’t say anything.

She smiled. The other men couldn’t see her smile because her back was turned to them. She smiled into Styles’ eyes. He didn’t smile back or even hold her gaze for more than a second, but there was a fleeting moment when a spark passed between them. It made her feel warm inside. If she hadn’t been so excited about what was about to happen, she’d have closed her eyes to lose herself in the feeling. But there was better still to come, she knew.

Then it began. The ground trembled, the fence rattling. A blinding flash of light appeared above the drained pool, accompanied by a loud, popping sound like the world’s largest champagne cork popping. Styles was stepping forward even before the rumble subsided. Megyn was proud of him - he was the bravest man she had ever met.

An astronaut appeared in the middle of the air, a shining metal case in his hand. The metal case fell five feet to the hard bottom of the pool, cracking open to reveal a jumble of wires and electronics. The bloated white figure fell the same distance, the heavy space helmet slamming hard into the pool tiles and cracking more of them.

Styles was on the spaceman even as the figure slammed into the pool. Styles’ right hand slapped the space suit’s visor, and hard. Captain Aldridge! Styles yelled. "I understand this is confusing, but you’re back on Earth. There isn’t time to explain how or why, but you have to listen to me very carefully. The atomic device is armed. If we don’t deactivate it immediately it’s going to go off. Do you understand?"

Styles’ authoritative voice made it through the space suit’s helmet. Aldridge struggled to move, but the fake instrument package was pinned under his legs and the sudden increase in gravity made it impossible to shift his weight. Styles shoved Aldridge to the side, using just about every ounce of strength he had. He reached for the bomb as a balding, hunchbacked, man in tortoiseshell glasses clambered into Megyn’s pool.

Styles yanked the metal case free of the astronaut’s clutching fingers. He whirled on the middle-aged scientist. Filscher, how long have we got?

Filscher huffed and puffed his way across the mossy bottom of the dry pool. Not... long, Filscher gasped, out of breath. You must… throw the safety switch…

Aldridge wouldn’t let go of the case, obviously disoriented. Styles tried to release Aldridge’s visor, but that served to agitate and confuse him even more. Filscher, surprising Styles, grabbed the case alongside Styles. Despite Aldridge’s thrashing and struggles, they managed to whip the case free of his hand. Styles grunted in pain as he tore his forearm against the jagged tiles. But the metal briefcase was free. Styles whirled around, almost smashing the fat scientist in the face with it. At the same time, Aldridge’s helmet came free and rolled away into the middle of the dry pool.

What's going on? Aldridge gasped.

Styles struggled with the case, fumbling with the latch. Filscher grabbed the case from him.

Set it down, set it down, Filscher grunted, we only have seconds!

Filscher’s hairy fingers were already inside the case. The safety lever was protected by a metal cover that Filscher pushed aside. He flicked the lever, deactivating the bomb.

Aldridge was breathing hard, his face dripping sweat. What the hell is all this?

Styles turned to look at the astronaut. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he closed it again. He glanced across to Megyn Alexander. Her face was a mixture of awe, surprise, and confusion. Styles did not break eye contact with her. He winked his left eye. Just a flicker. Just enough for her to see.

Megyn laughed euphorically. This is just freaking insane! She gawped in awe at Styles. You really know how to show a girl a good time, don’t ya?

The right corner of Styles' mouth moved. He gave a faint smile only Megyn could see. We try, Miss Alexander.

She laughed again. Her body moved on its own then, launching itself at the FBI agent. Her arms curled around his neck as she crushed her damp shirt against his chest.

I knew you were one of the good guys, she whispered in his ear. Matt wouldn’t believe me, but I was right.

One

1978AD – Nevada, USA

Celeste hadn’t noticed the flecks of platinum in Matt’s hair before. She touched them lightly, accidentally brushing his cheek. Matt turned his head with a frown.

I’m sorry.

It’s okay, Matt said. I’m just tired. How’s the car doing?

She’s doing great. Celeste tapped the steering wheel proudly. Did I tell you there was a huge poster of it outside the lot? The slogan said this car was the shape of things to come.

Really? Matt laughed quietly. It looks the part, but it’s slow.

Well, I like it.

The TR7 had caught her eye immediately. The shiny flame-red paint and futuristic wedge-shaped nose set it aside from the much larger and boxier automobiles locked behind the fence she’d broken through.

If you like it, I like it, Matt said.

Celeste kissed his cheek lightly. "I like you."

Yeah. His grin broadened, wrinkles appearing around his eyes and nostrils. You do, don’t you?

Of course, she said. Always and forever.

The TR7 gathered pace. Seventy-three miles per hour. Behind them lay three hundred miles of unforgiving desert with lonely towns dotted around. Dawn threw tall shadows of the car over rocks and bushes as they whizzed along. It seemed the road ahead would go on forever. Matt assured her it would not.

She touched her husband’s face again, exploring the creases and lines. He didn’t respond to her gentle caresses. His breathing was slow and labored. She probed a little harder, fingernails digging into the creases below his eye.

He forced his eye open. Ow. You’re really digging into my wrinkles.

I’m sorry. I’m worried about you. You need to hydrate.

I am. He lifted a plastic bottle and wiggled it about over his lap. Drinking endlessly, he said. But I just can’t quench my thirst.

You’ll feel better eventually. Just keep drinking.

Sure. I don’t know how we’re ever going to get back to the ship. This is nineteen seventy-six.

She’ll think of something, Celeste said. She got us here safely.

She left most of me behind.

She left a little of your water mass behind, Celeste said. It was a smart move. There wasn’t enough power to—

A loud crash. The TR7 was struck from behind. Her body slammed hard into the door panel and she cried out in a mixture of pain and fear. Matt’s window shattered into a thousand fragments of glass. A black vehicle bashed the TR7’s rear fender, pushing the car to the right. Another shunt. Celeste screamed. The TR7’s rear end fishtailed. She turned the car into the skid, bringing the TR7’s rear end back into alignment. Another heavy impact from behind and the steering wheel left her hands. She snatched it back, but it was too late.

I’m losing it, she said. Hold on!

The TR7 swerved off the road, kicking up dust as the tires dug deep into the dry desert sand. The wheels skipped away from the baking tarmac and into the loose dirt. Celeste continued to push the brake pedal to the floor as the TR7 careered over uneven ground. Celeste pushed the gear stick into third and then second. The car began to spin out of control.

The pursuing car rammed the TR7 again. The gears made a horrendous crunching sound, the stick jerking out of Celeste’s hand. In a cloud of dust and smoke, the TR7 came to a shuddering halt.

Matt turned to her, his eyes wide. What the fuck?

Stay here. Celeste opened her door. Two men, eyes concealed behind thick black sunglasses, were running from the dark sedan towards the TR7. They pulled weapons from leather holsters fastened tight across their matching bleached denim shirts, each man’s features showing the same grim, determined, expression.

Guns! Matt shouted.

I know. Celeste was out of the car, automatically flipping the door closed behind her. Stay in the car!

Celeste!

Celeste ignored Matt’s plea. The nearest agent had a scar on his right cheek, extending from just below his eye and around the curve of his jaw to the right dimple of his chin. He raised a pistol toward her.

Okay, Miss. Just take it easy. Scarface said. He was out of breath, but calm. The weapon was steady in his hand. The second agent – an older man with slightly greying oily black hair - aimed a similar weapon at the car. We just want to ask you some questions.

She stopped moving, staring at the gun. What do you want?

I’m Agent Rivers, Scarface said. My colleague is Agent O’Rourke. Miss. Foster, we don’t mean you any harm. We just want to ask you some questions.

As Scarface spoke, the man called O’Rourke stepped to the right. O’Rourke was sighting his weapon carefully. Matt was getting out of the TR7, his movements betraying the obvious pain he was in. O’Rourke was drawing a bead on Matt.

Matt, look out! Celeste watched the projectile leave O’Rourke’s weapon. It was a silver dart traveling at one hundred and forty-eight miles per hour. She could have dodged it easily but Matt didn’t even see it coming. No!

The dart hit Matt’s shoulder muscle just to the left of his neck. Matt glared briefly at O’Rourke before collapsing heavily to the ground.

Celeste whirled around. Matt! She rushed back to the TR7. What did you do to my husband?

O’Rourke ignored her, breaking open his weapon and reloading it. Celeste felt something stinging her left arm. Scarface had shot her and a dart was sticking to her forearm just below the wrist. She plucked it out immediately, bending to help Matt. But her knees were suddenly weak and she collapsed on all fours, the world around her beginning to spin.

The sedative was acting fast. Celeste was already beginning to lose consciousness. Her immune system worked furiously against the drug. Nauseous and passing out, she watched Scarface walk towards her.

You’ll both sleep for a while, Scarface said. When you wake up, we’ll talk.

Careful, O’Rourke’s gravelly voice warned. She should already be out.

She’s on her way, Scarface said. You worry too much. This is EZ-23, remember? I’ve seen this stuff knock out a moose in thirty—

Celeste made her move. Scarface was the nearest and she went for him, springing up like a cat from her haunches. She grabbed him by the shirt – the material heavy and thick – and before his surprised mouth could make a sound, she whirled him around, throwing him twenty feet back the way he’d come. O’Rourke fired his dart gun a second time and Celeste twisted her body in the air as she jumped at him and the dart missed her by a few inches. Her body slammed O’Rourke, pushing him back as Scarface finally hit the dry ground. Celeste punched O’Rourke’s face with quick-fire punches, holding back to prevent killing the bewildered agent. As her final punch landed, O’Rourke’s tranquilizer dart finally reached and shattered the TR7’s passenger window.

Tiny bits of glass danced in the early morning sunlight. Celeste watched the translucent crystalline fragments, mesmerized by the shapes and colors. She was lost for a full quarter of a second before she shook her head to chase away her thoughts. O’Rourke grabbed at her neck – she hadn’t hit him hard enough – and she moved quickly to avoid him. She curled her legs around O’Rourke’s waist and pulled her groin into his abdomen, her body sticking to his. They struggled on the ground together and Celeste used her speed and agility to avoid O’Rourke’s furious punches. Her tiny fists moved in a blur, striking at each eye before landing a third punch directly on his nose. A hammer blow to the side of his temple knocked him senseless and she detached her legs from his body.

She jumped to her feet and ran for Matt, covering the distance faster than any athlete could have ever dreamt. She gathered Matt’s limp body in her arms. Matt! Matt, you’ve got to wake up!

There was a small explosion behind her, back in the direction of the big black car. Celeste felt the ripples of the shockwave. She whirled to see Scarface with a silver handgun aimed at her, an angry ball of flame and gas flaring out from the weapon’s snub barrel. The deadly bullet was on its way, much faster than the sedative darts and impossible to avoid. It had already crossed half the distance to her delicate body. There was nothing she could do to avoid it. The bullet would enter between her shoulder and the middle of her back, bursting through her skin and tearing through the flesh before smashing through five of the lower vertebrae in her spine.

Celeste twisted away from the projectile, knowing her actions were futile. Scarface was going to kill her. She had promised Matt that everything was going to be alright, and she had been wrong. Her mind raced in terror, her consciousness rattling around like a frightened bird trapped in a cage. The bullet was closer, coming to tear into her body – tear into her very life. This was going to be the end of everything.

ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SEVEN YEARS LATER – 2125AD

Extinction is the rule. Survival is the exception. – Carl Sagan

Two

2125AD – Delton, Enrilea, Errilas Star System.

Dawn had been encroaching on the scene for the past twenty minutes, the stars almost invisible now in the cold, morning sky. There were no clouds to cover them, just the faint haze of mist that seemed to always hang over the village in the early hours. It was cold in the Kirkyard, but Jaxx was used to it. He’d grown up in this closeted village immune to the ravages of time and progress.

Hours earlier, Keer Vammin had been in good spirits, laughing and dancing the night away along with a number of junior officers who had accompanied Jaxx to the village. Vammin had been the life and soul of the party, telling the same old jokes Jaxx had heard a hundred times before. The other officers and Vammin’s friends had laughed dutifully, enjoying their friend this one last time. Jaxx had hovered on the periphery of the noisy celebrations, watching his friend dancing at his own wake. The party had lasted for five hours, and at no time was there any sign that Vammin was going to make any attempt at escaping.

Now, the music was over, the dancing was done. Jaxx’s colleagues had already returned to the orbiting ship and when Vammin was dead he’d join them too. Jaxx shivered in his ankle-length coat. He kicked thoughtfully at one of the ancient tombstones, staring at the weathered piece of rock. Time and the elements had eroded the memory inscribed there. The long, flat slab of rock at his feet could have been covering anyone or anything. Suddenly everything seemed so pointless. Vammin was going to die.

You’re really going to do this? Jaxx asked.

What choice do I have?

You could run. Jaxx hissed. It’s all completely fucking ridiculous anyway.

"I’m not going to run. I’m sorry, Haz, but if it’s any consolation, this is way harder for me than it is for you. I don’t mind being judged. I’m ready now."

"You’ve already been judged, but it’s not too late. You can still get out of here. I’ll help you. I have access to Firebird’s tactical station. I can get you out of this. You could stow away on a freighter and hide out on Ellasam, or the Jallyme colonies."

Haz, Vammin touched his friend’s shoulder. "I know what you think about all this. I know that you don’t share my beliefs. But I’m old enough to make my own choices and I know what I want to do. Please, let me enjoy my deluded fantasy of an honorable afterlife. I’d miss my shot at transcendence if I ran away. Despite what I did, I know I’ll make it."

"Make it where? To a place with the gods? Jaxx scoffed. Good luck with that."

If your father was still alive, you wouldn’t say these things.

Crysst! Jaxx snarled. Don’t bring him into this, please. If you’re prepared to throw your life away for this foolish girl, so be it, but don’t pretend that you’re aspiring to a seat next to the Crystal Warriors!

I don’t know what’s waiting for me. Vammin pointed upwards. The second planet, Relathon, was visible over the pointed roof of the Kirk as a marble sized brown ball. Above this nondescript marble twinkled a bright cluster of stars. I only know where we’ve been told to head for.

Jaxx looked up. The familiar stars of The Arrow would be visible until clouds moved in from the east. The brightest of the five was the one at the tip of the curious formation. The Apex Star.

Jaxx sighed. You really think the gods moved stars around to show us where they went?

I do. I’m certain of it.

"The same gods who destroyed their own home thirty thousand years ago? The same gods who decided their neighbors in the solar system were so weak and disgusting they couldn’t stand it anymore? The same gods who just ran away instead of wiping out everything they loathed and despised?"

Vammin smiled. He’d played this game with Jaxx before.

We’re going to do this again? This morning?

"If it changes that stupid countenance of yours, then yes! How can you be a smiling fool today of all days?"

I don’t know. I can’t help my nature. Vammin looked at the arrow again. I’ll be there soon, Jaxx. You should be happy for me. It’s what we always wanted.

I wanted to find the end of the arrow, Jaxx said. To ride my own ship there. I wanted to see the Crystal Warriors with my own eyes, if they even exist at all.

Hazer Jaxx nodded somberly. He wanted to say more, but with an effort, he managed to stay quiet. He knew from painful experience how inflexible Vammin’s religious beliefs were. Jaxx reached his left arm around Vammin’s shoulder and pulled the shorter man towards him. Vammin shivered as Jaxx held him.

I killed the girl, Jaxx, Vammin said. It’s exactly what they said it was in my trial. She was young, beautiful, and innocent. I forced myself on her long after she told me to stop. Crysst, it made me even more dammt excited when she told me to stop. My ego was out of control, but it was more than that. I was enraged that she’d reject me. He shook his head. I only remember hitting her the one time, Jaxx. That’s the truth. But I’m a monster. They’re right about that. I deserve this. And I’ll be happy to be judged after I’ve reached my place in the stars.

Jaxx couldn’t bear to hear anything more of the story. Vammin’s temper had always gotten the better of him, and now it had ruined his life just as much as the temptress who’d rejected his advances.

None of it matters now, Jaxx said. What’s done is done. It was a mistake.

"It wasn’t a mistake. I deserve this."

Jaxx offered his right hand. He wanted to speak but couldn’t think of anything to say. Vammin clasped the hand tightly. The two young men held each other again. Vammin closed his eyes, fighting back tears, one or two squeezed through, trickling down his cheek onto Jaxx’s. Behind them, the heavy gallows creaked in the soft morning wind. Jaxx glanced briefly at the thick, black, rope. He quickly looked back into his childhood hero’s watering eyes.

Nobody deserves this, Jaxx said. This is cruel and… barbaric, something from another time.

Vammin smiled. Isn’t everything here from another time? This building is hundreds of years old, perhaps even thousands. Just because something is out of time doesn’t invalidate it or diminish its authority. I’ve done what I’ve done. I stand here judged and ready to face my fate. A thousand years ago – ten thousand years ago, even – the rules would have been the same. Time changes nothing. The Crystal Warriors will know that I’ve had the chance to escape. They’ll see my courage. Perhaps that’ll be enough for them to forgive the cowardice I showed in killing the girl. Either way, I’ll take my chances. It’s the right thing to do. If your father was alive, he’d explain it better.

I don’t think you knew my father as well as you think.

This was his Kirk. Who would understand the gods better than a Kirk Keeper?

Perhaps my father understood more than he told.

I don’t understand.

Did my father ever tell you about the Wolf of Wyngarde?

No.

Jaxx took a deep breath. Centuries ago, there was a colony on the island of Wyngarde; sixteen thousand people descended from a single beached slaver lost in a storm.

I know about the island of the slaves, Vammin said, but I never heard of any wolf.

The slavers bred and multiplied. Soon, three hundred became a colony large enough to begin fracturing into different factions. There were many small groups at first, but soon the islanders formed three distinct colonies. The three colonies were led by very different people. The West Colony were led by The Butcher of Westwyn. The Southeast Mountain Colony was controlled by a madman descended from a lineage of rapists and murders.

This is how I spend my final minutes? Vammin laughed. A history lesson?

The Core Colony was the smallest of the three. Jaxx huffed. The leader was the smartest by far. A man called Zigh Linn. His nine hundred people lived in a basin protected from his neighbors by the Westwyn Mountains and the vast flatlands to the east. The Butcher’s people attacked many times, but the west mountains made the Core Colony impossible to invade without suffering massive losses. Zigh Linn’s people were able to defend their home with relative ease. The East Colony was not one for war, and the vast open space made their forces easy to predict and hard to keep supplied. A great plague decimated the West Colony, and soon Zigh Linn’s people enjoyed relative peace in the central region of the island.

Until?

The colony grew, Jaxx said. Zigh Linn became old and frail. Nine hundred people became two thousand. The Core Colony itself broke into two new factions: Zigh Linn’s Mountain Colony and the new Valley Colony. Soon, as men do, the new colonies began to fight.

Over what?

Lands. Women. Food. Jann Linn looked up scornfully. "The stars in the dammt sky. Men like to fight. It’s their nature. Zigh Linn knew this, understood this. The two new colonies were going to fight until they tore each other apart, or until there was nobody left to fight. Zigh Linn gathered his most trusted advisors. He instructed them to enter one of the small villages and butcher every living thing there, man, woman, child and beast. Nothing was to be plundered, neither gold nor food. The massacre was to be senseless and brutal, to give the appearance that some great monster of the dark ages had emerged from the lake for the sake of bloody murder and nothing more. Zigh instructed his followers to commit the same atrocities in a village of the valley people. His followers were devout and obeyed Zigh Linn’s command exactly. Two villages were torn apart. No riches, women, or supplies were taken from either place. The people of both colonies believed Zigh Linn’s