"No..." Gregol said weakly as Trina was laid next to him. She had no strength left to resist as her bonds were nailed into place. "You can't do this."
"Of course I can," the woman laughed at his foolishness. "I'm in charge."
"Whatever you want, I'll do it," Gregol tested his bonds.
"I know you will. Unfortunately for you, I want to see you suffer," she smiled as she straddled Trina. Brushing the hair back from the woman's eyes, the officer inspected her face. "Not much in the looks department, is she? What do you see in her? Is it her tits?" Pulling out her belt knife, she ripped off the sports bra she was wearing. "No, I guess not."
"If you do anything to her, I'll kill you," Gregol warned her.
"You don't get it do you?" the woman moved her legs so she was sitting on top of Trina like a footstool. "Here I am, trying to break your spirit, and you're acting all macho. You know I'm going to hurt her, you know there's nothing you can do about it."
"Ma'am," Emisa interjected bravely, "you are stepping over your boundaries. If you continue with this action... I'll have to report you to your supperiors."
For a moment, she was perfectly calm, then her right eye twitched and she lunged at Emisa. Tackling the smaller woman to the ground she shouted in her face, spraying her with spittle, "You dare? After all I've done for you? You think you care about these people? They're nothing. Look at them!" she ordered as she grappled the woman by her head. Emisa, out of fear, did nothing to resist her and forced her face towards Gregol. "They're scum. They were going to sell out their own people in some mad quest for power. If they knew your were a junior Gestro officer, they would have killed you." Placing the knife in her hand, she said, "Well now you've been promoted. It's high time you started living up to your new job title." She gave her a push towards Trina and nodded encouragingly, as if teaching her daughter how to ice skate.
"No," Emisa shook her head desperately and held the knife close to her chest. "She's my friend."
"The Gestro are your only friends," the woman insisted. Speaking into her ear, she added, "If you don't do this, you'll be the one lying there."
"Then go ahead," she threw the knife down in the dirt. "I'd rather die than stoop to your level."
The Gestro officer gave her a backhanded slap that busted open her lip. Emisa looked as though she might retaliate, but thought the better of it when she saw the soliders standing beside her.
The two women faced each other in silence. Eventually, the officer sighed and said, "I don't have time for this." She turned her back on them. "Bring him back to my tent. I'll deal with him on my own time. Lock the other two away."
"Wait!" Emisa protested. "You can't do that to me."
"I gave you a choice," her eyes glared dangerous, "and you picked wrong. Now live with your mistake."
Emisa was devastated, but Gregol gave her a thankful look. She had sacrificed her own career to save Trina. It proved to him that not everything he knew about her was a lie. At heart, she was still a descent person, but she had been tainted by the black uniform.
Gregol was treated roughly as he was brought back to the tent and tossed carelessly on the ground. "That stupid bitch," the officer fumed as she paced back and forth across the tent. "She spoiled all of my fun." Kneeling down beside Gregol, she asked him, "What is it going to take for me to get a little respect around here?"
"You can try... not torturing everyone..." Gregol said with some difficulty.
She breathed in deeply. Gregol thought she might try something drastic, but she instead turned to her folded cot and began making preparations for bed. "In the morning, we move out," she said as she pulled off her boots. It was freezing inside the tent, but nevertheless she undressed by the light of the kerosine lamp. Her biceps were as large as his. "You know..." she said as she sat down on her bed. "You probably think I'm crazy."
"The thought had crossed my mind," Gregol admitted as he rolled onto his back. He tried to find a position that didn't agitate his wound.
"I've done everthing by the book," she informed him. "If anything, I've been lenient with you. That turncoat bitch said she'd go snitch on me to the big brass; well let me tell you about them. They would have come in and killed everyone of those college students, and then tortured you for months. It's how they got the job. I've been pleasant to you."
"Treating me like a lab frog is hardly what I'd call pleasant," Gregol grunted in pain.
"Here," she came over to him and held the lantern up to his wounds, "let me see. Ah, she did a good job. I never knew Emisa was such an accomplished cleric. She's not as good as me, though." Placing her hands on his stomach, Gregol felt magic flow through him. It lasted for several minutes, but when she was done, the pain had completely subsided. Surprised, Gregol sat up and looked at himself. A thick scar was all that remained. "What, did you think I was going to leave you like that?" she asked him.
"You're a cleric?" Gregol was surprised.
"There's a lot of spellcasters in the Gestro, but I'm one of the most accomplished," she explained. "It's why I was chosen for this assignment. Like I said, Gregol, we're not so different, you and I. I know what you did to that bonfire. You're more powerful than I first reckoned, but an unliscenced spellcaster is a danger to himself and everyone around him."
"If you're trying to make friends, it's not going to happen," Gregol told her. His pain was gone, but he was still fatigued.
"I don't need friends," she told him seriously. "Is it true you defeated a dragon?"
"I suppose so," Gregol admitted as he slumped on the floor.
"The cell has the power to increase magic," the officer recited. "Think of what it could do to a power like mine," she stared at her hands in contemplation. In a moment, she looked beyond her hands to her dog. "Banga, spit that out!" she insisted. The dog had caught a slohran in his jaws, and was using it as a chew toy. The dog regretfully set the snake down and backed away as the officer came and grabbed it by the tail. She threw the dead thing out of the tent, and then wiped her hands clean. "If you try anything, Banga will get you," she warned as she climbed into bed. The dog bared it teeth to show him just how effective it could be in following out those orders. "Good night, Gregol. Don't make me kill you," she said as she turned out the light.
She called it night, but it was closer to morning. The light outside the tent was growing brighter. Gregol knew he could not sleep, so he drew into a fetal position for warmth. The dog was apparently as cold as he was, and came to lay beside him.
In the corner of the tent, he saw Dr.Banter's head materialize from the cloth canvas. He surveyed the tent, and then slunk down to the floor. His body phased through the solid earth as if he were stepping into a lake. Only his head stayed above the ground. Gregol watched with fascination as the disembodied head floated towards him at eye level. "How are you holding up?" Dr.Banter asked in a muted voice. Behind him, the dog flicked its ears, but did not move.
"I'm okay," Gregol said as quietly as possible. "That bitch healed my wounds." Not for the first time, Gregol wondered what her name was. She had never offered it to him, and the other officers adressed her only with a polite, "Ma'am."
"I've never witnessed such brutality," the doctor expressed his disgust. "Even during the Dragon War things were more civilized than this. This woman could put shame to Chandra."
"There's nothing I can do to stop her," Gregol had developed a defeatist attitude since his failed rescue attempt. "She's got me in a bind."
"Perhaps you won't have to. Sheru is with the Durkai Brothers," the ghost informed him in a conspiratorial whisper. "They're planning a rescue."
"A plan would be good," Gregol admitted, "but Sheru isn't qualified to handle this situation. She's libel to get herself killed. I don't want her risking her life on our account."
"Her life is already in danger, my friend, and she has the protection of the Durkai Brothers," Dr.Banter reassured him.
"That's what has me worried. I don't trust those three. Seems like they have a hidden agenda, like everyone else," he muttered bitterly as he looked over at the sleeping officer. She was snoring profusely for a woman.
"What about you, Gregol, do you have a hidden agenda?" the ghost asked him seriously.
"Me? All I want is out of this." Gregol could feel the steady breathing of the dog, and was certain it was awake. "What about the others?" he asked hopefully. "Are they still alive?"
"They've been beaten a few times by the guards, but they have a cleric looking after them," the doctor told him. "She's a nice old lady with kind eyes. She seems to be the only sane person among your people. I fear for Dorcet, though; his burns have become infected."
The dog could no longer ignore them. He raised his head over Gregol's shoulder and began sniffing the air. His ears flatened against it's head as it growled. Dr.Banter immediately sank into the floor and disapeared and the dog whimped. "Stupid dog," Gregol grumbled as he shivered from the cold. He was almost positive he saw the officer watching him in the dark. He shivered all the more intensely.

"Ma'am?" There was a commotion outside the tent at around noon. The officer had risen only an hour beforehand, and was pouring over the documents scattered across her desk while dressed still in her undergarments. The cold of the night had given way to the heat of the day, but none of it affected her. Per her orders, Gregol had been released from his bonds and dressed himself in the Gestro uniform. The layers of leather made it unbearably hot, which she was no doubt aware of. Once he had readied himself, she had personally seen to it that his bonds were again fastened into place.
Without pausing to consider her attire, she called, "Come in," to the greeter.
The graying officer whom had negotiated the hostage situation with Gregol cautiously stepped into the tent. When his eyes befell her, he covered his eyes and stammered, "A thousand pardons, ma'am. I thought you would be dressed. I'll come back..."
"Nonsense, there's nothing to be ashamed of," she set her papers aside as she languidly stroked her dog. "We're all soldiers here."
"Uhm... yes..." he uncovered his eyes, but still averted his gaze. Far from being embarassed, she seemed amused by his discomfort. Adjusting his tan vest, he set to business. "Ma'am, I have some disturbing news to report. At roughly 07h15, two soldiers disapeared while on patrol. There's no sign of their wherabouts. Our surveliance satelites also indicate the Agerian forces are moving on this location."
"Took them longer than I though," she murmured sleepily. "Very well then, Regail, we've worn out our welcome. Give the order to break camp; I want everyone mobile within the hour. Our prisoners are to be escorted back to the base in Agura, where they are to be detained until I decide they are to be released. Only personel given my authorization may put them to the question. Then gather twelve of your best men and accompany me to the ship. Make sure you bring that girl along with you," she gave Gregol a knowing look.
"Yes ma'am," he saluted and quickly departed.
"Regail is a rare breed of career soldier," the Gestro officer informed him once he left. "No one is more dedicated, but he's a bit stuffy. Do you fancy a trip, Gregol?"
"Today's the day, huh?" Gregol asked wearily. He felt drained of his strength and conviction.
"Indeed it is. Today we conquer. I fancy it'll be a pleasant voyage," she said as she drew her chair back and found her clothes. Dressing, the woman added, "I've always wanted to see Ageria. Funny to think we've been at war with a nation we've never visited, but the we've never made it to the Front Lines." It was true. Gregol had been engaged in periphial battles so far. His last mission would have brought him to the very edge of Ageria, and possibly beyond. The borders of Forset and Ageria were mutable. Hundreds of miles could be gained and lost in a day. The two borders had never touched, however, but were known to engulf the Wastelands and the independent nation of Seria at times. "I've always wanted to see what it look like. All I've had to go on are satelite photos and crude maps. Even our intelligence reports can be unreliable. There's censorship within the ranks of Gestro. It's true!" she told him, as if he had doubted her. "We withhold information from each other. That way, no one knows if we're winning or losing. They always tell us we're winning. We've been winning the same war for over a hundred years. I wonder if we'e so much as made a scratch?" she laughed as she adorned her coat, but thought the better of it. "Come along, dear. We have a plane to catch."

    Chapter Eleven
    Liftoff

With one hand, the Gestro officer led her dog on a leash. With the other, she held onto Gregol's arm, like a mother trying to keep her child from wandering away. Gregol could barely keep himself on his feet, let alone escape. A group of soldiers were loading containers into the docking bay of the ship, while a second group inspected the exterior of the vessel with an air of professionalism that defied their complete lack of knowledge. Despairingly, Gregol saw Urvook among them. The man looked at Gregol without making it seem too obvious he was looking. After a few seconds, he turned his face away without a change in his expression. He had borne witness to Gregol's capture after the failed hostage attempt. Perhaps he had heard his screams during the night.
Regail greeted them in the cockpit with a salute. He was rather tall, so he had to stoop over. Grego wondered how the three tall Durkai Brothers would have ever been comfortable in the ship. "We're loading the supplies as you requested, ma'am," he informed her as she unleashed Banga. The dog immediately trotted down the aisle to the end of the ship, enraptured by all the new smells in the air. As his eyes followed the black dog, he saw Trina bound and gagged in one of the chairs. Her bruises had faded, and she was dressed in the remnants of a uniform that were clearly too big for her. By the limpness of her body, Gregol was certain she was unconscious. "What have you done to her?" he felt the rage building up inside of him, which he could barely control.
"Nothing," the officer assured him. "We just gave her a few tranquilizers to make her more compliant, and to make you more compliant as well. Catch my drift?" Gregol fell silent. A guard directed him to the seat next to Trina's and fastened him into place with the cumbersome harness. "Anytime you're ready," the woman said impatiently to Regail as she took the Sergeant's chair.
"It should only be a few more minutes, ma'am," he promised her. As they waited, six additional soliders boarded the plane, until they had the full twelve she requested. "We're ready," he told her after inspecting his troops.
"Then proceed," she said anxiously.
Regail coughed into his hand and explained, "Now you do realized that there is a chance this might not work?" The woman merely glowered in response to inquiry. "Ah... yes. Now I beleive I am sufficiently familiar with the control at this point, but..."
"Do you know what you're doing?" she demanded.
"Of course, of course," he said a little too readily. "I used to pilot a H-K4. The engines have been running for hours now, so all I have to do is..." his hands strayed over the controls. "Yes," he decided finally. Pressing a button beside the communications control pannel, he said in a clear voice, "Now hear this. Osurese III is ready for departure. Please clear the launch area. I repeat, please clear the launch area." Within seconds, the soldiers outside withdrew to the relative safety of the control room. Pleased with his own progress, he told his commander, "We're ready to open the launch doors. The entire ship is mounted on a lift that will take us to the surface. Except..."
"You don't know if they work," the woman concluded as she massaged her temples. "Just do it."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, as he pressed a series of buttons. After finishing the sequence, he waited for a response. A stream of informaion poured across the readout, but nothign happened. He was about to reenter the command, when the entire ship began to reverberate. It began as a gentle vibration, but then it progressed into the rumble of a thousand earthquakes. If not for the harness holding him in place, Gregol would have been thrown from his seat. It was like an amusement park ride, except that no one was amused. The female soldier seated across from him had not stored her rifle gun away safely, and it leapt from her hands. The gun bounded around on the ground like a popcorn kernel. The three soldiers seated nearby looked on at the weapon in dread, wondering if it would go off. It was like a game of Russian Roulette as the barrel pointed from one person to the next. The soldier who had lost the gun struggled with her restraints and climbed from her seat. As she reached for the gun, the ship rocked upwards and her face colided with the floor. She retrieved the gun and clambered back into her seat, but blood poured from her nose and dribble into her mouth. With disgust, she wiped her nose onto her sleeve and left a long red stain. She realized then that the safety was still on and there was little danger to any of them.
Outside the window, pieces of rubble rained down on the ship. The doors overhead were slowly pulling back as the Osurese III was raised on its giant platform. Gregol was worried that if the lift was faster than the doors, they would be crushed against the ceiling. Fortuneately, the doors parted in synch with the elevator and they were pushed up into the open air.
Regail breathed a sigh of relieve as the ship lurched to a halt, but he quickly sucked his breath back in when the ship suddenly tilted backwards. "What's happening?" the officer's words were jarred by the trembling of the ship. The nose of the Osurese III rose towards the sky, and then stopped. Everything was silent, except for the sound of debris rolling downwards. "Was it supposed to do that?" she asked after a moment.
"Yes, I believe it is," Regail checked the controls. "This is the original trajectory of the ship. It would have taken it driectly for the meteor Armageddon."
"We could go into space," the female Gestro surmised. "We could be the first people to travel into space in fifty-two years."
"Sixty-eight years, ma'am," Regail corrected her cautiously.
"I know what I said," she replied. The sun was glaring off the chrome finish of the ship. "Ageria sent a rocket with four men up to the moon about fifty-two years ago. It never came back down. Neither government wanted anybody to know about it. If Ageria made it known, there was concern that rocket could be sabotaged by Forset. If Forset made it public that Ageria was sending people to the moon, it would have given their nation credit in the eyes of the populance. Worse than that, it would have sparked a new Space Race, and our economy could never handle that. We knew, of course, but we let the ship go. It had no military objective, and it would only have worsened the relationship between our two people. Oh yes," she said to the look of surpise from Regail. "We do worry about the relationship between our nations. We don't want to rile Ageria too much, or it may invoke the use of our nuclear arsenal. Ours is a love-hate relationship. We kill each other in the fields, but we shake hands in the board room. Well... all of that is going to end. Let us be away."
"Yes ma'am," the man gulped as he planced his fingers over the controls. "Ready to launch." As he pressed the ignition, the engines died. The lights in the cabin dimmed before fading completely. Bathed in the glare off of the ship, the Gestro turned her head slowly towards Regail with a look that could chill blood. "Wait, let me try again..." he tapped furiously at the controls, but none of them would respond.
"It's all right," she assured him. "I know what's wrong. Oh, Gregol," the woman called out in a musical voice, "be a dear and tell the ship to turn itself back on."
"Ah..." he thought about how to go about saying the command. "Ship, turn on?" he ventured.
"Are you certain that's what you want to do?" the computer asked him over the speakers. It was not the voice he was familiar with, though, it was a new one. It had the same accent as Dr.Banter, but it had more of a feminine overtone.
"I'm sure," Gregol saw the look he was given by the Gestro. Beside him, Trina was stirring, but she was no where near conscious yet. The short voyage they had taken had roused her from her stupor. He wondered what her reaction would be once she was fully aware of her surroundings.
"Gregol..." the ship hesitated. In a whisper audible to everyone, it continued, "I was wrong about this. I thought my program would be more than sufficient to handle this ship, but... I never thought the Osurese III's AI would be so advanced. Our programs have merged into one."
"Is that a bad thing?" Gregol asked it.
"There wasn't enough storage space for both of our programs combined. We had to dump some data. Right now, I'm not sure what's still here, and what got left behind. I don't even know what I am anymore. This could be dangerous," it warned.
"I'm tied to a chair with a bunch of people with gun looking at me. I don't think it's going to get any more dagnerous than it already is," he said to the ship. "So could you please go?"
"If that's what you want..." the ship hesitated. In a few moments, the engines came back to life.
"Ah..." the Gestro sighed with contentment. "I knew you'd be useful, Gregol. Let's go."
"But sir," Regail protested. "You heard what the computer just said. If the program has been altered even slightly, we could..."
"No one lives forever, Regail, and if you don't do what I tell you to, then you certainly won't be living forever. Now get this damn ship moving," she brought her fist down on the arm rest. There were straps attached to the arm rests which she could not discern the use of, but was curious nevertheless.
"Yes ma'am," Regail was clearly frightend.
Before he could touch the controls, however, a red light went on. "Danger," the ship blared, "unknown object aporaching the ship."
"You've got to be kidding me," the Gestro looked out the side window at the slanted horizon and saw nothing amiss. "This damn ship is toying with us."
"Sir!" Regail squawked as a sudden jolt rocked the ship. His eyes were fixed on the dark shadow that had suddenly engulfed his side of the dome window.
"Thought you could leave without me?" the dreaded voice spoke to him inside his head. From the expression on their faces, the others heard it too. "You didn't even say goodbye."
"Kill it," the Gestro order in a panic as the dragon tried to gain access to the ship. Her claws streaked across the side of the vessel without leaving a scratch. Frustrated, she doubled her efforts and became like a cat with a scratching post. Each rake of her claws tossed the ship around. No one had moved to comply with the commander's orders. "Fire the damn cannon," the woman insisted of Regail.
"But sir, it hasn't been tested," he argued as he clung to his chair.
"I'll do it my damn self," she decided. Reaching over, she began pressing buttons at random.
"Error," the computer told her as Regail wavd her away.
"Stop it, you fool," Regail grew heated. "You're libel to kill us all. I'll fire the gun," he decided as he opened a box and pressed the red button inside.
The dragon clamped her beak down on the cockpit and tried to pry the dome loose. Gregol could see her red tongue pressed against the thick glass. A humming sound reverberated throughout the ship as the main cannon charged up. Regail put his hand on a knob and turned it down to its lowest setting. He then placed his hand on a joystick and wobbled it around. Beneath his seat, Gregol heard the whirling of the cannon as it adjusted it's aim. Regail was about to fire, when the main engines came on line. The ship began to slid forward, dragging the dragon along with it. The internal sounds of the ship were muted by the sudden roar of the engines. A burst of fire like an errupting volcano sent the Osurese III barrelling upwards. The dragon clung on for a few seconds, then she lost her grip and tumbled to the earth. As she bounced off the hull of the ship, the fire from the rockets burnt her scales.
It felt as if an invisible hand were pushing Gregol back in his seat. He quickly learned the use of the arm restraints as he clutched the end of the arm rest until his knuckles turned white. As his head sunk into the soft cushion of the headrest, Trina's sagging head came back so suddenly that he feared she had been given whiplash.
As he watched the two soldiers facing him in the seats opposite, he saw the blood rush to their faces and their eyes bulge. The strain became too much for the smaller soldeir on the left, as he passed out. Gregol thought he might join him soon enough, but then the ship slowed to a halt. The pressure that had been building up disipated and the roar grew fainter. Gregol felt his body become weightless. If it had not been for his tenacious grip on the arm rests, his hands would have floated freely as if he were underwater.
The blood seeping from the nose of the female solider rose into the air. She watched it with morbid fascination as the droplets poured upwards. The man seated beside her promptly vomitted, spewing vapourous bilge into the air.
Outside of the ship, there was nothing but darkness. The distant stars gave no light, and the sun was against their backs. Gregol had become on of the few people to travel into space. He ignored this, however, as he looked to Trina. "Trina?" he said to her softly. There was no response. He reached over and shook her knee. "Trina?"
"Where...?" the officer began, but the ship recoiled as a burst of white light blasted from the cannon. It formed a straight white line across the vast expanse of the heavens and disapeared beyond their range of sight. Blinking until her vision returned, she asked, "Was that it? The cannon?"
"I was forced to innitiate the Armageddon Protocol," the computer explained. "In an emergency situation, the ship is supposed to automatically come to this point in space and fire, thus destroying the Armageddon meteor. We're a few centuries late, however."
"Get us back down, now!" the Gestro ordered the ship.
"Afraid of heights?" the computer joked uncharacteristically. "Perhaps you're forgetting who's in charge here."
"I am," she stated.
"Wrong, I am," the computer said. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't self-destruct."
"You'd die," she said flatly.
"Of course, but I've had a very long life," the computer responded. "I doubt if anyone would miss me."
"Is there any way to shut this thing off?" the Gestro whispered.
"I can't," Regail said in frustration as he tapped at the keyboard. "It's completely ingrained into the system. The only way to shut it off is to remove the power cell."
The Gestro snapped her fingers and looked back at Gregol. "Boys, I think Mr.Manner needs some persuading," she told her men.
"What can I do?" Gregol demanded as a solider unholstered his sidearm and pointed it at him.
"The computer said you were in command, so command it!" she snapped.
"Take us down," Gregol swallowed. "Take us down to Ageria."
"As you wish," the computer sighed as its thrusters turned it about-face. The Osurese III began its descent. The entire world was spread out before them. It reminded him of geography class. Gregol recognized the penisula of Western Forset, while Ageria in the east was fast becoming a dark shadow.
"Somone has to check Trina," Gregol broke the tranquility of the moment by asking. "I think she's hurt."
"I'm sure she's fine," the Gestro murmured without paying any heed.
Gregol watched Trina carefully, and saw the steady rythm of her breathing. At least he knew she wasn't dead.
It had taken them less than ten minutes to exit the atmosphere, but they reentered at a much slower pace. The ship rumbled as its hull was heated. They came down at an angle and swept over the snowy peaks of the Far East. Gregol tried to savour the moment. For so long, the Far East had been a legend to him. When the war began the Union had shut its borders to the West, denying Forset the chance to open a second front along Ageria's Eastern border. Simmilarly, as Ageria did not have a passage to the Orlang Ocean, so they could not mount an amphibious attack. The war had strictly one-front, fought by land and by air.
The retros were fired and the ship slowed to a more tolerable pace. "I think we broke some speed records on that last one," Regail clicked his way through the monitor systems. Gravity came back in a rush, and the bodily fluids that had risen into the air came crashing back down.
"I never want to do that again," the Gestro said firmly. "Never."
"Ageria," one of the soldier who had been least affected by their flight said as he looked out the window. He looked like an astronaut with his square jaw and buzz cut.
"What's it doing?" the Gestro asked as she saw how steep their descent was getting.
After checking the trajectory, Regail explained, "It's initiated the landing procedure."
"Land? We can't land on Agerian soil!" she complained.
"I'll try to fix it," he promised as he tapped at the controls. "We should be coming into radar range any minute now."
"Damn it!" she swore. "I don't want them to spot us. They'll have every fighter jet after us."
"The computer won't switch over to manual," he said after a futile attempt.
"Gregol, tell it to stop!" she ordered him.
"Stop," Gregol repeated. Immediately, the engines shut down and the ship went into a tail spin. "No, don't stop!" Gregol corrected himself as he clung to his seat.
The engines came back on and the ship leveled out. "I thought you'd get a kick out of that," the computer laughed.
"We have to debug the system," the woman muttered to herself as she caught her breath.
"Vessels approaching," the computer told her as it continued its downward descent. Seconds later, a missle struck the side of the ship. The explosion echoed throughout the hull, but did not deter the course of their ship in the slightest.
"Where are they coming from?" she demanded as Ageria drew ever closer.
"Six o'clock," Regail said after checking the scanners.
"Gregol, do something!" she barked her orders as she looked back over her shoulder.
Gregol remembered something from a movie he had seen about a submarine crew. "Evasive manuevers," Gregol said. The ship tilted to the right and streamed away from the three Agerian Griffons tailing them. A second volley of missles passed through the space they had been occupying. As the heat seekers changed their trajectories, the Griffons accompanied their volley with a barrage of gunfire. The Osurese III turned upside down in a barrel-roll, and veered to the left, avoiding the heavy bullets as they flew past.
"Return fire," the Gestro insisted, and Gregol copied her words, "Return fire!"
The Osurese III performed an impossible feat by doing a 180 like a car skidding across the pavement. With a rising hum, the cannon fired it white streak at the three steely black Griffons. They tried to disperse, but the cannon fire was too sudden. A blast such as Gregol had never witnessed before errupted between them, disintegrating the jets in a burst of white light. Then the shockwave hit their vessel and sent them spiralling downwards.
"Systems error," the computer blared amongst the flashing red lights. They were upside-down on a diagonal. Ageria was about to come crashing down on their heads when the ship suddenly righted itself. The landing gears came down and the Osurese III attempted to settle peacefully on the earth below. Unfortunately, there was a block of houses in their way.
That last thing Gregol remembered was the Osurese III shearing its way through a row of houses in grim detail.

    Chapter Twelve
    Hospitality

When Gregol opened his eyes, he was lying on a mat on the floor. The entire room was covered with green tiles with a floral design on them. A potted plant rested near to his head. He could have reached up and touched the palm leaves. There was a fountain in the middle of the room with no sculpture to it. A small booth was set in one corner with a curtain drawn over it. The only light came from a narrow window set high on the wall. There were four others with him, but he did not know who they were. He only recognized the man sitting in the corner as one of the soldiers who had held him captive. It was the one who reminded him of an astronaut with his chiseled features. He had been stripped of his uniform and dressed in a sleevless blue garment that was made of a paper-like material.
"Hey, you awake?" the man asked the obvious question as he crawled over to him.
"Where are we?" Gregol struggled with the words.
"We're somewhere in Ageria, that's all I know for sure," the man said with his Southern Forset accent. "After the ship crashed, we were taken prisoner by the Agerian police. We're in a jail cell."
"This is a jail cell?" Gregol sat up and looked around. It looked more like a bathroom to him.
"It's got bars on the windows and doors, so you tell me. We sure as hell ain't guests," he looked over his shoulder at the thick wooden door. "When they boarded the ship, we tried to put up a fight. They shot two of us. Another three were already dead from the crash."
"What about...?" Gregol feared the answer.
"That girl? She's still alive, I think. They took her, Sergeant Regail and that Gestro witch someplace else. Maybe to get medical attention, I don't know," he shrugged. "I'm Rehl by the way," he held out his hand to shake with Gregol, "of the Snake Hides."
"Gregol," he responded, "of the Wolf Blood."
"Yeah, I know who you are," Rehl told him with a wry smile. "You've got some balls, Gregol, but not a lot of brains to be messing with the Gestro like that. Can't say I blame you, though."
"Why are you talking to that traitor for?" the woman who had broke her nose on the flight asked from where she sat on her blue mat. She kept strumming her fingers on her knee.
"'Cause I don't think he's a traitor, Connie," Rehl replied. "That witch, now she's a traitor to be treating her people like that. You see what she did to this guy?" he jerked a thumb back at Gregol. "Nobody deserves that." As Gregol looked at him closer, he remembered him as being one of the Gestro's personal guards.
"You can't be talking about the Gestro like that," a shaved bald black solider said as he lay on his mat.
"The Gestro is the least of our problems. We have to deal with Aryai now," Rehl spoke the name of the Ageria secret police, rumoured to be just as brutal as their Gestro counterparts.
"They're going to torture us," Connie said prophetically.
"Probably," Rehl scratched his nose. "It depends on what they want."
"They'll want a show trial," the bald man said. "That's the difference between the Gestro and the Aryai. The Gestro have secret tribunals, the Aryai have show trials. They'll broadcast it on all the networks as propaganda."
"I'd be more worried about the ship," Gregol replied. "It's in their hands now. They can use it against us."
"Yeah, some ship," Connie snorted. "Way I see it, we've got no problems there. That piece of junk is more libel to kill them than us."
"And..." Rehl was about to say something, but he stopped himself and looked around suspiciously. "Uhm..." He whispered conspiratorially, "They can't use it without... you know."
Gregol knew what he was talking about, despite his vagueness. The ship was useless without him as the key to control it. Gregol wondered about the computer and why it had chosen him. The lifeless machine said it was in order to save his life that it made him the Sergeant in charge of the Osurese III, but he had his doubts. Somehow, the computer was using him, just as the Gestro officer was using him. The computer clearly had some objective in mind, but he could not discern what that objective was. The only theories he could come up with disturbed him deeply.
The computer had killed Dr.Banter and Dr.Tharoh because of the potential risk their genius posed to the world's meager population. Yet, the population had proliferated since then, to the extent that many people were starving in poorer countries due to overpopulation. There was no longer a threat to human extinction through war, as the current conflict between Forset and Ageria proved. The war had lasted for over a century and the casualties were rising into the hundreds of millions, but each generation replaced those lost in the combat. No matter how intense the fighting grew, the threat of mutual extinction kept both sides from pushing too hard. No weapons of mass destruction had been used since the early days of the war, when Omhet was destroyed by an Atomic Bomb. The war entered into nuclear detente after that, with both sides building up their arsenal for show purposes. No one had the intention of striking first in a nuclear war, but they were prepared to end it. Nuclear anihilation, then, was not the most serious threat to the human race. It was starvation. The scorched earth tactics used by both sides in times of duress had depleted the world of valuable agricultural land. Gregol knew from Social Studies in high school that if the current trends continued, the human race would starve itself to death, or else completely destroy the environment through industry.
The computer knew it too, and now it controlled the most powerful weapon on the planet. It had followed Gregol because of his plans to end the war and stabalize the economy of the two most powerful nations in the world. Yet, Gregol was no longer in control of the ship thanks to the Gestro. Perhaps the ship was looking for a new Sergeant by crashing in Ageria. In any event, it would not take Aryai long to figure out the secret behind controling the Osurese III.
Though most of his body was sore, he got up and filled a tin cup with water from the fountain. "At least the Aryai are more hospitible than the Gestro," Gregol commented as he took a sip.
"Yeah, no one's put you on a spit yet," Connie said.
As if on cue, the wide door opened outwards and a pair of guards dressed in black sleevless uniforms stepped in. They wore berets slanted rakishly on their heads. One man carried a clipboard, while the other brandished a nightstick. They did not seem like solider, but rather regular police officers. "That one," the man with the clip board pointed to Gregol with his pen, and then clicked it and scribled something on a form.
The officer with the nightstick waved Gregol forward. "We would like to have a word with you," the man said congenially.
Their manner put Gregol at ease, and he went with them willingly. The corridor of the local prison was decorated with egg-shell blue tiles that covered every available surface. Gregol had been in hotels that were worse. "Can I ask what I've been charged with?" Gregol asked the officer with the clipboard as he was led down the long corridor.
"You're a political prisoner," the officer told him. "That's all I can say."
"We keep all of our foreign guests here," the other officer told him.
"Ah," Gregol understood. They treated foriegn prisoners well as part of a propaganda campaign. When they were released, they would tell everyone about how well they were treated. "Nice."
Gregol was led into the reception area, where the officer apologized by saying, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to handcuff you." Gregol put his hands behind his back and the man locked the cuffs on. After being bound for so long, his wrists were growing raw.
A group of officers dressed in green coats were waiting for him at the front desk. After the officers exchanged paperwork, Gregol was delivered to the three men armed with army issue revolvers. "You'll come with us," the man said in a tone that did not match the friendliness of the two prison guards. Gregol had only heard rumours about the Aryai before, but he assumed that was who they were.
He was led outdside to an armoured grey van and placed inside between two of the officer, while the third drove. "Nice weather we're having," Gregol commented as he looked outside the window at the city streets of the unknown Agerian city. They were spotlessly clean. The people who walked by outside the fenced area wore the sleeveless shirts favoured by the Agerian in Summer.
Wordlessly, Gregol was driven to a remote location. As they passed down the city streets, he saw skyscrapers lining the skyline. One of them was in the process of being repaired. The building had been bombed in the last year, and he wondered which city it was. To be in such a preserved state, it would have to be burried deep within Ageria itself.
It was only until he saw the Statue of Archet that he realized he was in the capitol of Minceia. The statue of the regal vision of liberty staring heavenwards had been a landmark for decades before the inception of the war. Forset forces had not been inside of Minceia since the First Wave.
His suspicions were confirmed when the van pulled to a stop before the gleaming white capitol building. Four marble pilars stood in a semi-circle before the domed tower. "Ah..." Gregol cleared his throat. "I'm not one for site-seeing," he told the officers.
"Shut up," the man to his right told his gruffly.
As they piled out of the van, they were greeted by an escort of men dressed in dark suits and darker glasses. They were the security for the presidential family, and had the look about them of ex-soldiers. The largest man took Gregol by the arm and led him to a side entrance nearby. A blue uniformed man greeted them and swept a card through a security lock to let them into the building. No one spoke as they stepped inside a mirrored elevator that rose one floor before opening again. "This may sound a little ridiculous," Gregol said to the men, "but am I going to meet the president."
The security officers gave him a shove off of the elevator as they led him down a red carpeted hall lined with paintings. As they passed an open door, Gregol saw a blonde woman in a business suit inside discussing something with a balding man over a cup of coffee. They looked up from their business as he walked by. "That was the First Lady," Gregol said as he passed from their sight. The guards did not respond.
At the end of the hall was a domed office he remembered from numerous photos inside history books. The office was larger than his old house, with a desk that could have served as a conference table for twenty men. The president of Ageria was seated at this desk before a bay window, dressed in the emblazoned brown uniform of a Agerian General. His hat sat on his desk, revealing a crop of thin white hair forming a halo around his temples. He was preoccupied with a pile of document on his desk, and did not look up as Gregol was seated across from him in a high-backed chair.
The last photo Gregol had seen of the leader had shown him as a man in his late sixties, but this man seemed as ancient as the ghost of Dr.Banter. "President Shore?" Gregol lowered his head to try and meet the eyes of the enemy leader. The president continued scouring over the documents.
"He can't hear you," a man standing in the side door said. He had brilliant red hair that formed a peak atop his head. He wore a dressing gown, and held a coctail in one hand. Taking a sip from his glass, he wandered into the room with a hand in his pocket. His broad face was a mass of freckles and he had a gap between his two front teeth.
Coming up to the president, the man gave him a shove, and he toppled from his chair. The security officer flanking him had no reaction. "Uhmm..." Gregol was sufficiently confused.
"It's quite all right," the man said as he got comfortable. "He's been dead for years."
"Uhmm..." Gregol repeated.
"Where are my manners?" the man laughed at his forgetfullness. Reaching across the desk, he intended to shake hands with him. Gregol was handcuffed, however, and could not return the gesture. Understanding the situation, the man laughed again and tossed his hand at his foolishness. "Sorry about that," he smirked and sifted his drink. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm sure you already know the late Mr.Shore here. I'm President Rant," he introduced himself.
"You're..." Gregol attempted.
"The President of Ageria for over five years now," the man replied and took a sip. "Of course, the public doesn't know that. To them, I'm just the Chief of Staff, and the former Chief Necromancer for the Agerian Armed Forces," he saluted with his drink.
"You're..." Gregol tried again.
"A necromancer. You know all those ghouls you're so fond of fighting? I make them. And when beloved President Shore died of heart attack five years ago without naming a sucessor, I obliging stepped in to fill the void. Only, to avoid the public fiasco that was sure to ensue, I decided to keep Mr.Shore on as President. Think of it as a puppet dictatorship with an actual puppet." With a snap of his figner, President Shore picked his lifeless body up off the floor and shuffled out of the room. "Now where were we? Ah yes. Thirty-six."
"What?" Gregol blinked in confusion.
"Thirty-six," the president repeated. "That's how many people were killed when your shuttle crashed. We're declaring this an act of terrorism against Agerian civilians, which would make you a terrorist. One thing baffles me, however, and that is why a loyal Forset footsoldier like yourself would be tied up on board the reportedly non-existent Osurese III?" He pressed his fingertips together and leaned back in his black upholstered chair.
"I was a Gestro prisoner," Gregol explained.
"A Gestro prisoner? Wearing a Gestro uniform?" Reaching out to his computer monitor, he turned it so Gregol could see his own file. "I checked your file, Mr.Manner, and it says nothing about you being a Gestro officer. Supposedly, you're a common soldier. Which makes me wonder how you mannaged to find the missing piece to my puzzle, the Osurse III?"
"You knew about the Osurese?" Gregol was surprised.
"I knew of it," he admitted, "but not where to find it. And now you have so graciously delivered it into my hands. I suppose I should be thankful," he pondered for a moment. "Or I could put you on trial," he shrugged indifferently. "Either way is fine."
Rising from his chair, he went to stare out the great bay window. "You see, Mr.Manner, the reason I have brought you here today is because you know something about the magic gem. You have tasted it's power."
"I'm not an expert, if that's what you're implying," Gregol tried to regain his composure.
"No, you're a guniea pig," he countered. "Do you know why this war has gone on so long?" the President asked after a long pause. "It's because I permit it. I alone have the power to end this war. I can surrender this very instant, and the history books would place the blame squarely upon the head of the late Mr.Shore. He would be the traitor in the eyes of the people, and I could step in afterwards to oversee the reformation and become a hero. I don't want to be a hero, though," he shook his head. "I want to be a God.
"The power of the Osurese III is the power of the Gods. Forty-seven years ago, roughly around the time I was born, our people made a discovery. We were clearing a site for a new nuclear facility when we uncovered the Osurese II. The shuttle was beyond repair, but inside was a magic gem. It had been shattered into seven small fragments, but each fragment eminated a power beyond comprehension. Our scientist have been studying them ever since, but no one has come close to replicating that kind of power.
"The records on board the shuttle spoke of two other weapons that had been designed to destroy Armageddon. We found the first. It was not so much a ship, than it was a missle. Smooth, sleek, and carrying enough explosive power to turn Forset into a smoking crater. We've kept that little surprise hidden away with our nuclear arms, in case we should ever have need. We looked for the Osurese III and its legendary power, but we were never able to find it. We even looked at the Ruins, but we never found these underground tunnels of yours. We knew if Forset found this weapon, you would turn it against us, but we never suspected you would botch it up so badly," he laughed.
"What does any of this have to do with me?" the more Gregol learned from this man, the more of a liability he became. Knowing the secrets he did now, they would never let him escape with his life. Yet, he had not expected to live this long once he was captured on Agerian soil.
"We've been interrogating your people," he said simply. "Our reports tell us that you were able to use the magic gem to fight a dragon. Using that kind of power could destroy a normal man, even one who is untrained with the gift like you. I can only conclude that you have a susceptibility to the gem's power, or else these reports are false."
"They're true," Gregol admitted reluctantly.
"Brilliant!" the man beamed. "Gregol, do you know what this means? This is the chance I've been waiting for!" Straightening the lapels of his robe, he continued, "As you know, I am a necromancer. Ordinarily, our profession is looked down upon as being akin to devil worship. Yet, in times of war, we become the most sought after professionals in the field of magic. That is because we can reanimate the dead to create ghouls, souless creatures who can fight and die for our country instead of paid soldiers. They're the perfect weapon, and the perfect defense. If it were not for ghouls, the casulty rates would be double, if not triple what they are today. My skill with this is unsurpassed, so I was able to rise to the lofty status of Chief Necromancer for the Agerian Armed Forces, a position I know hold to this day. My specialty was not ghoul reanimation, however, it was research. A necromancer does not strive to create those souless abominations, but rather he strives to reanimate life, to restore that which is lost. My furthestmost ambition is to defeat death, to become immortal.
"Ah, but I know what you're thinking," he presumed as he seated himself. "You're a pacifist at heart, Mr.Manner, and a humanitarian. You're thinking why would a man with such a love for life support such a bloody war? Because it provides me with a limitless supply of test subjects. The ghouls you have fought are nothing more than failed test subjects in a bid to unlock the secrets of life. Think of it. Every attempt has been a failure, but I am an optimist. I handled every one of them with a doctor's caring hand, trying to restore life to the dead. Those men and women were sacrificed for a greater cause than war. They died so that future generations could live. So that they could live forever."
"You're mad," Gregol accused him.
"Far from it," the man was more amused than offended. "I've been on the brink of a major breakthrough for several years now. You have seen my specimine, Mr.Shore. He appears alive, but he is little more than a puppet. They only thing preventing me from restoring actual life is a lack of power. A lack of power I intend to compensate with the Osurese III.
"Yet, I have yet to test the power of that gem. You will do that for me. If all goes well, I will have no use for the war. You can help end this war, Mr.Manner, by being my guniea pig."
Gregol remembered the raw power that had flowed through the cell. It had filled him with a sense of ecstasy, but beneath that had lain the threat of destruction. That very power could have killed him had he drunk too deeply of it. "What choice do I have?" Gregol asked.
"None, but we would like you to know the situation. It's a part of our Agerian hospitality," he smiled broadly, revealing his gap tooth. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Mr.Manner," Mr.Rant told him as he finished his drink. The security officer promptly lifted Gregol from his chair and escorted him from the room.

    Chapter Thirteen
    Lab Rat

Gregol stumbled and fell to one knee as he was thrown into the prison cell. It was no where near as luxurious as the one for political prisoners on the brink of town. This cell was reminscent of a dungeon, with concrete blocks and steel bars as thick as his wrist. There was no window, and only a bare wooden cot to sleep on. Gregol had been blindfolded during the trip, but he had the sense it was not far from the Capitol building. Perhaps it was inside of the House of War, the base of all Agerian military operations. The setting was no where near as unsettling as his company. "You," was all he said as he picked himself up off the floor.
The Gestro officer was wearing the same dark blue paper uniform as Gregol. She seemed somehow diminished, as something had been taken out of her. There was a haunted look to her eyes. "Got a taste of your own medicine?" Gregol felt smug as she looked up. She was huddled on the floor by the cot with her knees drawn up protectively.
"I saw him," she said, without looking at him. Her eyes stared blankly at the wall.
"Saw who?" Gregol asked without caring as he sat on the cot. He massaged his bruised wrists to aleviate the numbness.
"My brother," she closed her eyes. Gregol looked at her more closely. There was not a scratch on her, and she bore no signs of physical torture.
"I thought he was dead," gregol remembered the speech she had given him. He had not believed it at the time.
"I thought so too, but... he's gone over to the other side. He's one of them now," she said. "They locked me in a black room by myself for hours. Then Conner walked in, dressed as an Aryai. He's got a scar right here," she traced a finger down her cheek, "but I knew it was him. He knew me too, but he never said my name. Never even looked me over. He just read a list of charges against me, and asked me about a thousand questions. Nothing to do with me, just with the damn ship. I tried to get him to talk with me, to actually talk with me, but he wouldn't say anything to me. Then he packed up his papers and left. I've never cried like that," she confessed.
"I feel for you," Gregol said sarcastically. "Since we're on the subject of reunions, where's Trina?"
"They've got her in the medical ward," the officer said. "I don't know about the others."
Gregol had to laugh, "You know, I can't blame your brother for turning traitor. These Agerians really know how to treat a guy. Once you get past the whole creep out factor, they're not half-bad. The President's a zombie, by the way," he added.
"Huh," the Gestro replied. "I knew Rant was running the show, but I didn't know that Shore was dead. We really ought to have a few more operatives working in this sector." Her eyes suddenly

Gregol expected to be greeted by the phantoms upon their return to the hangar, but if the Durkai brothers were there, they did not make their presence known. He remembered how they claimed the power cell repelled them. On the opposite end of the spectrum, it attracted the two ghosts; darkness and light.
As Muney bounded up the stairs to the control room, Gregol conferred with the ghosts. "So what do we do?" Gregol asked Dr.Banter, as Dr.Tharoh was sulking like a spoiled child.
"It couldn't be easier," the ghost assured him. "All you have to do is carry the power cell onto the ship through the rear bay doors and take it to the engine room below the main hall. The B.P.E.E.U. fits into the empty case at the front of the engine room. There are a number of cables you connect according to colour, and then you lock it into place. We had to dumb things down a bit for the Durkai brothers, you see," he whispered conspiratorially. He knew he was trangressing on the haunting grounds of the three brothers.
"This place stinks of those rotten brothers," Dr.Tharoh complained. "It's like visiting a pig farm."
Gregol could not smell anything, but accepted that ghosts must possess extra senses. "Okay Urvook, you think you can handle things while me and Trina go get the others?" he said to the big man.
"Piece of cake," Urvook nodded with satisfaction.
With that, Gregol and Trina began the journey back to the surface. He knew the way well enough not to need Sheru's innate sense of direction. "I can't believe how easy this has been," Gregol commented to Trina as they mounted the steps in the train station.
"I know," Trina seemed worried. "You don't suppose it's been a little too easy?"
"Don't jinx this, Trina," Gregol sighed and shook his head. "The only thing that can go wrong now is if that piece of junk computer program we downloaded into the cell tries to muck things up."
"Which it will," Trina assured him.
"Don't say that," Gregol insisted. "We can deal with that when we get to it. Maybe Muney can delete the program. As long as it's trapped inside the cell's modem, it's helpless."
"If you say so," she locked his arm around his.
Gregol stopped suddenly, and pushed her gently against the edge of the canal. Leaning forward, he kissed her on the lips. Within seconds, their tongues were probing each other's mouths. Trina raised her leg and wrapped it around his back as their kiss became more forceful.
"Naughty, naughty," the voice sounded inside his head. Shocked, Gregol pulled himself away from her as cast around for the source. Swiftly, he realized it had been the dragon.
"What's the matter?" Trina asked him as she tried to renew their embrace.
"Nothing," he did not want to worry her with thoughts of the dragon. When he saw her face, he knew she would be more worried about her own performance. "It's just... not the time."
Making a noise of frustration, she followed him down the canal. "It's never the time, is it Greg?" she balled her fists inside her pockets. "You're lucky I love you."
"I am," Gregol smiled to himself. He felt like he was fifteen again, with his first girlfriend. There was less chance, however, that Trina would leave him for the rich kid with the fast car. Gregol hesitated when they reached the narrow opening to the cave. "What do we do if the dragon is outside?" he asked her.
"Don't worry, that bitch'll still be down from that fireball you gave her," Trina reassured him.
Gregol knew she was wrong, but proceed anyway. They could always run, if they needed to. Crawling through the tunnels on hands and knees, he scraped his palm on a sharp rock. Dirt got into the cut as he emerged from the opening. Trina's head popped out behind him, and she asked, "What is it?"
"Oh, nothing," he shined his flashlight down on the cut. With a handkerchief from his pocket, he tried to clean the wound with a little spit, but only mannaged to open it further. He was still troubling with the wound when they reached daylight.
"Gregol," Trina breathed shallowly as she saw the camp.
His head shot up immediately as he reached for his sword, but he could not see what had frightened her. He saw the peaks of tents stretching out into the distance. There were far too many tents, however, than there should be. "Please tell me they didn't bring any more kids here," he fumed. As it stood now, the entire camp was threatened by the dragon. They would have to disperse immediately and return to town to ensure their safety. Gregol had all but forgotten about the money invovled.
As he continued to watch the camp, he noticed that the vast majority of the tents were camoflagued. "The army..." he whispered bitterly as he slunk back towards the tunnel.
Two soldiers dressed in full battle attire appeared from behind an outcropping of rock with their rifles aimed levelly at their heads. "Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air," the male soldier pulled his finger tighter on the triger as Trina instinctively reached for her gun. Knowing it was too late, Trina carefully stopped short of touching the gun and did as she was told. Gregol was still debating their options. With his shield strapped to his back, he could turn quickly and deflect their fire, but Trina would be unprotected. With a sigh, he raised his hands as well.
He was quickly stripped of his weapons by the second female soldier, and then forced to lie facedown on the ground while his hands were put behind his back. Plastic straps were tired around his wrists as he looked over and saw that Trina was being treated in a simmilar fashion.
The two were not rough with them, and it was understandable. They were Forset soldiers.

    Chapter Eight
    Capture

"My name is Sergeant Gregol Manner of the Wolf Blood; born Serat eighth, 1023; serial number 86714012," he said mechanically as he was thrust down into a folding chair.
The interogator on the other side of the desk looked up from her paperwork with a note of displeasure. Setting her papers aside and adjusting them into a neat pile, she leaned back in her padded chair and propped a polished leather boot on the corner of the steel table. With a thumb, she tipped back the brim of her cap which displayed the white line of a Gestro officer. "I know you're trained to say that, but that is only in case you are captured by the enemy. We are not the enemy, Sergeant Gregol; we are you friends," she said with an accent particular only to the capital city of Fedro. Rising from her chair and pacing over to a small counter set against the wall of the tent, she continued, "We know who you are, where you're from, and what you do. We know your service record, you medical history, your high scool grades, what type of music you listen to, and your favourite breakfast cereal. We know all about you, Sergeant Gregol," she poured herself a cup of coffee and tested it before adding a spoonful of sugar and stirring it. "We know you, but that doesn't mean we understand why you would do something as stupid as this." She took a sip as she sat back down. With her hands folded around her cup, she leaned forward and truly looked at him for the first time. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, biscuits?"
"You can get me out of here," Gregol told her, and was immediately reprimanded by a serviceman stadning just out of his field of vision. The rifle butt came down on the back of his head, knocking him out of his chair. The two burly men grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and forced him back into place.
"Now, now, Sergeant Gregol," the secret police officer scorned him teasingly. "We can't let you leave. Why, you only just got here, and we have so much to discuss. Let's begin with..." she reached out to read a file. Scanning the contents, she slammed it back down on the desk as she lunged out of her chair, screaming, "What the hell were you thinking?" Her coffee cup teetered and threatend to fall over completely, but it eventually wobbled back into place. Seating herself, she regained her composure behind her mug as she took a sip. "This is by far the most inexplicable display of poor judgement I have ever witnessed," she shook her head disbelieving. "Did you honestly think we wouldn't know?"
"What exactly am I being charge with here?" Gregol played innocent. This time, the rifle was rammed into his stomach. Gregol doubled over, but one of the soldiers caught him by his hair and pulled his head back into place.
"What you are being charged with is high treason, my dear friend," the officer informed him. "Treason, conspiracy to commit treason, conspiracy to commit murder against a high ranking government official, conspiracy to commit murder, being absent without leave, fratenizing with the enemy, failure to comply with orders, and... you're out of uniform," she added as an afterthought. "I should shoot you on the spot," she breathed in deeply. As she exhaled, she added, "But I won't. Do you know why?"
"No," Gregol risked further abuse by replying.
"Because I would very much like to believe that in some way this whole situation can be rectified," she held out her hands as though weighing him on the scale of justice. "Don't you?" she batted her long lashes. Gregol could not place her age, but he guessed it to be in the late thirties. She was moderately attractive, but her sexual appeal was muted by the overtly formal black uniform she wore. The tightness of her garments did not accentuate her curves, rather than they supressed them. She seemed to him like a man in makeup, with a cleft chin and heavy arms.
"Yes," Gregol replied in a monotone as he tried to take a peak at the men behind him. The sight of their rifles quickly discouraged him and he brought his eyes forward to the imposing woman.
Getting out of her chair, she rounded her table and sat on its corner. "So would you like to give me a statement about you activities?" she said warmly.
"My name is Sergeant Gregol Manner of the Wolf Blood; born..." As he began to recite his name, the officer removed her shiny black glove and slapped him across the face with it. She lifted an egg timer from her desk and turned it over. As the sands began to dwindle, she picked up a pen and began tapping it on the desk tunelessly. "When the sands run out," she pointed at it with the pen, "something bad is going to happen to you. I haven't decided what that will be, but I'm sure it'll involve broken bones. If I'm in the mood, maybe I'll cut off one of your fingers," she mused. "The only thing that will stop it is if you tell me something useful."
Gregol watched the sands fall silently as he considered his options.
"Time is running out, Sergeant," her leg swayed back and forth as it was crossed over the other, "I suggest you start talking."
"The Blue Hawks were killed during our mission by enemy fire..." he began after swallowing.
"...And so you went to Haisha to find transportation, were offered a job to provide security for an achelogical dig, and discovered the ship," the woman concluded for him. "We know all that."
"Who ratted us out?" Gregol demanded harshly.
The soldiers stirred behind Gregol as if to discipline him, but the Gestro officer halted them with a look. "I don't know," she picked at her teeth with her tongue. Her tone suggested that she knew pecfectly well. "It could have been one of those college students, it could have been someone from the town, or it could have been one of your own men. I'll let you decide for yourself. Time is wasting, Sergeant Gregol," she indicated the timer with a tap of her pen.
"When I found the ship, I realized it could be used as a weapon... For Forset," he added.
"Don't lie to me," she sighed with annoyance. "I don't like it when a man lies to me. It makes me upset." Taking her coffee cup, she dumped it in his face. The coffee had cooled enough so it did not scald him, but it still stung his eyes. She watched his discomfort with detachment. "Time is almost out."
"Fine, damn it. I wanted the ship so I could put an end to this stupid war and all of you stupid bastards," he tried to rise from his chair, but a pair of hands fastened him into place.
With a flick of her finger she knocked the timer over, just before the last sand ran out. "And what made you think you could do that?" she noted with amusement. "You're not exactly a gifted soldier. You're nominal at best. You're the last person to ever stage a coup... or are you?" she considered her own question. "We've been following your career, Sergeant Gregol. We know your history, and we knew enough not to trust you. That's why we gave you the Wolf Blood. Strange to think that no one from the Wolf Blood has ever died in armed combat. We had so hoped you would break that tradition," she clasped her hands together. "We thought that your own incompetence would be your undoing. Who knew it would lead you this far? You're a lucky bastard, Gregol. Your father was a disident, and that kind of thing has a way of being inheirited by the son. We were at an impass as to what to do with you. We could have killed you long ago, but that would be a waste of potential. So we enlisted you instead. Let the enemy do our dirty work for us. We put you into the most dangerous battles, but you somehow mannaged to survive. We knew of your magical abilities, but we never trained you for fear you would one day turn them against us. How right we were. So were we wrong, Gregol? Should we have put a bullet in your head?"
"What happened to my father?" Gregol had never been able to ask that question before, and now was his only chance to get some answers.
"Tell me what I want to know, and I'll tel you what you want to know," the woman offered.
"What do you want to know?" Gregol pleaded desperately.
"Everything about everything," she declared with a grandiose wave of her arms. "But for now, I'll settle for just one answer. Where in the hell is Sheru?" she demanded.
"Sheru's gone?" Gregol was genuinely surprised.
The woman raised her hand to strike him, but thought the better of it. "I suppose you don't have the answer for that. No matter. She couldn't have gotten far, and when we find her, I'll make her pay," she clenched her gloved fist. "Then let me ask you another question; is this energy block of yours the only thing you found?"
"The power cell was the only useful thing we found, if that's what you mean," Gregol informed her. "It was in the ancient ruins of Gerann. There's a lot of interesting stuff there if you're interest in archeology like the good professor, but that's it."
The woman pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Those underground tunnels might lead all the way to Ageria," she contemplated. "We could lead a subterranean attack on their borders."
"You see? I'm a hero. Now why don't you take these cuffs off and give me a medal," he squirmed.
Without looking at him, the woman snapped her fingers and the two guards hauled him away. "Make sure he's not too damaged," she reminded them as they left the spacious tent.

Gregol woke in a pool of his own blood, which had clotted inside of his nose. With the tip of his tongue, he tested to see if his teeth were still in place. The soldiers had done a number on him, and then dumped him in a tent at the bottom of one of the excavation sites. He was alone, except for one of the students, who sat huddled in a corner.
"You alive?" the blond haired man asked him. Gregol thought he looked familiar, then remembered he had been the one who first discovered the underground tunnels.
"If you call this living," Gregol struggled to his knees.
"I can't believe your own people would do this to you," he shook his head in disbelief. "Bunch of pigs."
"It's just the way they show their love," Gregol joked, because it dimmed the pain. "How long have they been here?"
"Since you left," the student replied. "Showed up a couple of hours later. At first, we thought they were with you, but then they locked up your two pals. The went for the rest of us after. We tried to run, but they were everywhere. Took my stash too," he mentioned regretfully. "Probably smoking it up in their tents. Hey man, what did you do to get them so pissed off?"
"Practically everything," Gregol said, "but it doesn't take much to get them angry."
"So what's going to happen to us?" the man was scared.
"We're screwed," Gregol said over his shoulder as he shuffled towards the tent flap. Poking his head outside, he felt a bullet pass by his cheek and hit the ground. Gregol immediately retracted his head. All he could see was a number of other tents belonging to the college students. His team could be in any one of them, or they could already be dead. Folding his legs under himself, Gregol waited. There was no plan.

Within hours, he was summoned to the tent of the commanding officer. A pair of soldiers dragged him across camp while he offered no resistance. Once inside, he was placed in the familiar chair. Night was fast approaching, and the tent was lit by a kerosine lamp set on the table. The secret policewoman had removed her leather hat, revealing a tightly wound bun underneath. "Have you eaten?" she presented him with a cooked meal. Gregol shook his head and the woman speared a piece of chicken on the end of a fork. The two soldiers who escorted him exited the tent. "We've got the barbeque going. Try some, I cooked it myself." Doubting she would take the trouble of drugging him, he took a bite of the morsel she held to his mouth. "That's a good boy," she stroked his hair as if he were a lapdog. "When was the last time a woman cooked dinner for you? Why, it must have been before your mother was locked away in the nut house." Gregol spat the meat out onto the floor to show his contempt. "Was it something I said?" the woman asked him in a mocking tone. "Does widdle Gwegy miss his mommy?" she laughed uproariously as she dumped the rest of the food onto the floor. A big black dog, previously unnoticed by him, came out from the corner to gobble it up. "If you don't like my cooking, then maybe you'll like to hear me talk instead. Do you know what's going to happen to you after all this is over?" she asked him as she propped herself up on the desk. Gregol simply stared at her with burning hatred. "You're going to be sent 'away'," she made quotation marks with her fingers. "Way away. So far away that you'll never find your way back. Do you understand what I'm telling you? You're going to be sent away to 'that' place," she made another set of quotation marks.
"The camps?" Gregol assumed.
"It's not summer camp, I can tell you that much. It's a bad camp for bad people. The one in charge are bad too, and they like to do bad things to all the bad people in their bad camp. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad," she said repetively. "Now I can't tell you what goes on there, because it's a state secret, but you believe me, don't you? No one ever talks about the camps, but everyone's heard. They've seen their families disapear one by one into the darkened night. Your father disapeared that way. You'll follow him soon enough... or will you?" Standing behind him, she leaned in and spoke directly into his ear, "Earlier, you called yourself a hero, and I would like to believe that. I would like you to be a hero. My hero, Gregol," she drew an impecably manicured finger along his jawline. "But in order for that to happen, you'll have to listen to reason. We are not your enemy, Gregol, Ageria is. It's always been Ageria. It will always be Ageria." Placing her hands on his shoulders, she proceeded to massage him. "We've talked about your family, now let's talk about mine. I lost my father too. To Ageria. He fought and died for his country, torn apart by gun fire. My mother, and my baby brother were killed in a bombing raid when I was thirteen. My older brother is M.I.A. and presumed dead. My cousin was captured by the enemy and slowly tortured to death over a five day period. I have no living relatives, thanks to Ageria, buy you and I are made kin by our suffering."
"Ageria didn't kill my family, you did," Gregol countered. the dog had finished its meal and began sniffing his leg.
"The war did, Gregol. If there was no war, there would be no need for us... And who's to say if your family is dead? Your mother is still alive, and cared for by the state. She's alive. She's well. She's healthy. What of your father? He could be alive," she said suggestively.
"You lie," Gregol fought the tears welling up in his eyes.
"I don't need to lie," the officer informed him. "Remember, I'm the one calling the shots here. Your father's mistake was speaking out against the state. Your mistake was to act out against the state. Don't delude yourself, Gregol. Any nation in the world would hang you for your treason, but it doesn't have to happen that way. You're alive today because this plan of yours intrigues me. You wanted to end this war, well so do I," she said defiantly. "We have the power in our hands to end this war. More than that, we have the power to reshape the world to our own liking. Why stop at Ageria, when we can conquer every nation on the earth? You have delivered to us the power of the gods, and I for one would like to reward you for your service." Kneeling behind him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and told him, "I want you to help us."
"To conquer Ageria? Isn't that what I've been doing for the past five years," he snorted. Gregol was not certain if the woman was mad, or if it was part of her tactics. Something about her demenaour spoke of a calculated plot.
"To conquer the world," she whispered lovingly into his ear. "To conquer Forset."
The hair stood up on the back of his neck. "You want me to...?" he cleared his throat.
"The high office doesn't know yet. They've left this matter to my discression. I will make them pay for their folly. I will take up arms against Ageria, and conquer all. I shall be the supreme hero in this war... and because of that they will kill me. I will have gained too much power for them to control, so they will do everything in their power to silence me. Like your father, I will disapear." She paused for a moment, as if debating, "Of course, I can ignore this chance for glory and pass the weapon along to my superiors, but they will play out the exact same scenario I have just described to you. Which is why I must act alone. Once I have conquered Ageria, I will turn the ship against my own government and become the leader of Forset." Her lips parted in a smile. "Isn't that what you had in mind for yourself?"
"I never wanted to be in charge," Gregol insisted.
"Of course not," she sounded sceptical. "Who would think that of you?" the Gestro officer ran her fingers through his hair, curling a lock around her finger.
"Why have you told me all this?" Gregol demanded. He knew that she could not afford to have him reveal her secrets. If he offered the slightest resistence, she would kill him.
"I need you, Gregol," she spoke with desire. Her lips were tantalizingly close to his ear. "I need you..." she stood up suddenly and assumed a professional manner, "to be my decoy. If anything goes wrong with my plan, I'm going to put the blame on you and your friends. Understood?"
"Yes," Gregol said readily. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a splotch of whiteness creep along the canvas wall of the tent. The dog raised its hackles and began barking furiously at nothing. The female officer reached for the gun holstered to her belt, but saw nothing. She exited the tent and looked around the corner, only to return momentarily after a quiet exchange with a guard posted outside. The dog was still barking like mad.
"Quiet, Banga," she gave the black dog a soft kick in its rear. The dog whimpered at her and backed away to its corner, where it watched the walls intently. Upset for having been so rough with her dog, she rounded on him with hands on her hips. "There's one thing I forgot..." she mentioned as she drew her gun. With the butt end, she pistol-whipped him across the side of the head with enough force to stun him. When he fell from his chair, she kicked him squarely in the ribs a few times. "Tell no one what happened here," she holstered her gun as she kneeled beside him. Drawing a loose strand of hair back, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "This will all be worth your while, Gregol," she whispered to him. Drawing back, she hollered, "Guards!"
Two men came to drag him away. Gregol was to tired to offer any resistance. She waved goodbye to him as he passed through the tent flaps into the night.

    Chapter Nine
    Operational

Gregol awoke from his fitful sleep when a boot prodded him in the side. Two pairs of hands caught him by the arms and legs and lifted him off the ground. Before he had even opened his eyes, he found himself being marched across camp. The female officer was folding up her sleeping cot when he was forced inside her tent. "Remove his cuffs," she ordered the men. One of them immediatedly produced a device which loosened the plastic straps from his wrist. Gregol immediately inspected his wrists to see if any permanent damage had been done as the two men left.
"Danish?" she offered him as she set the plate on the table. Her hair was down past her shoulder, and she had yet to button her coat. Taking a comb to her silky hair, she began brushing out the tangles as Gregol bit into the fresh pastry. Despite his hunger, he ate slowly so as not to loose face before the Gestro officer.
Inspecting herself in the mirror, the woman fastened the brass buttons of her coat and then turned to him. "Oh no, this will never do," she said as she looked him over. "When was the last time you washed?"
"I haven't had the time," he said sarcastically.
"Well clean yourself up," she waved him over to the wash basin set on the counter. "I can't have you looking like that."
Gregol gratefully finished his breakfast and washed his hands and arms in the basin, wondering all the while where it was leading him to. He had already noted the pattern of her mood swings. Likely, she was trying to lure him into a false sense of security before she attacked.
"I've prepared a fresh uniform for you," she said as she produced a brown paper package from under the table. Inside was the black leather uniform of a Gestro officer. "Consider this your prommotion."
"What is this?" Gregol was fully confused. He had been trained for the possibility of enemy capture, but nothing in those sessions had covered tactics as bizaare as the ones employed by the nameless Gestro officer.
"Isn't it obvious?" she dangled the coat before him as though it were a prom dress. "You're one of us now. I figured if you're going to work for me, you might as well dress the part."
"I'll never be a Gestro," Gregol spat and swiped his hand through the air in dismisal. The black uniform represented everything he hated about his own country.
"Then shall I call the guards back in? Really, Gregol, this is just for show. I want people to think you're working for us, not against us. Why not be reasonable and put the uniform on? It's not going to hurt you," she teased him. "If you don't I can always take it out on the others," the woman became suddenly heated as she threw the suit down on the table. "How about that girlfriend of yours, Trina? Won't she look pretty with no ears?"  Gregol realized he had no choice in the matter. Taking up the uniform, he looked about for a place to change and saw none. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she smiled at him. "Put it on." Sighing, Gregol stripped out of his old clothes while the officer watched him with intrest. He tried to change quickly, but the legs of his pants got tangled up. "Aren't you going to change your undies?" she asked as she showed him the pair. Humiliated, Gregol took the pair of boxers and slipped them on. The officer rose slightly out of her chair to get a better look, then sat down with a large smile of contentment. "I just want to make sure everything is regulation size," she laughed at her own joke.
After Gregol tucked in the black shirt with padded shoulders and pockets at both breasts, he struggled with the leather tie. "Let me help you with that," she offered as she got behind him. Expertly, she tied the Windsor knot and then forced him down in the chair. "We're going to have to do something about that beard of yours," she insisted as she went over to the counter. From one of the draws, she produced a straight razor. "My father's," she explained as she let it glint in the light. "It was one of the few personal effects he left behind." Coming behind him, she pulled a towel around his neck, and pulled it tight enough to choke him before loosening it and tucking it into place. Smearing shaving cream across his face with a brush, she set the blade to his jaw. "A solider should always have time to shave," she told him scornfully. "Didn't you learn that in bootcamp? What did you plan on doing after the war?" She slid the razor across his cheek, and spread the excess cream on the towel. "These are life skills you're taught. You can't go to a job application with a scraggily beard like this." She tilted his head back and ran the blade along his throat. Gregol cautiously swallowed, hoping the razor wouldn't nick his adam's apple. He was perfectly aware of how vunerable he was. "What did you want to be?" the officer asked conversationally.
"I never really thought about it," Gregol admitted. "I wanted to go to university and study history, but I don't know if I would make a career out of it."
"Ah, but you have," she assured him. "You're making history, Gregol. Me, I wanted to be a dancer. Don't laugh," she told him, although he had no intentions of doing so. "I could have been a balerina, but I got too big. Heightwise," she branidhsed the razor before his face threateningly. "I'm not fat."
"Of course not," Gregol gulped. "You're beautiful."
"You're so sweet," she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the temple. "You want me to get rid of your sideburns?"
"No..." Gregol thought about it for a moment.
"Good, I like them. They make you look like that movie star. What was his name?" she pondered it for a moment, tapping the handle of the straight-razor against her cleft chin. "It's doesn't matter," she decided with a shrug. As she finished off, her razor lingered against his throat. Gregol could feel the pressure mounting as she pressed it against his skin. "Now Gregol, let me tell you what we're going to do today," she said in a soft but menacing voice. "We are going to go down into the tunnels, and we are going to start the ship. Then we're going to go for a little ride, you and me. Doesn't that sound like fun?" A thin trickle of blood appeared beneath the blade. Her breathing became heavier, as though she were aroused by the scent of his blood. "Do I have to tell you what is going to happen if you misbehave?" Her face was directly above his as she stared down at him. "Remember, when I say you, I am also talking about your little friends. They can share the pain. Do you have any question?" She paused for a moment before saying, "Good. You just keep those kissable lips of yours shut, and we won't have any problems, will we?" she smiled. She drew the razor away and cleaned it in the wash basin. Droplets of his blood formed swirls in the water and he toweled his face. The cut had stopped bleeding on it's own.
Badly shaken, Gregol put on the leather coat while the woman did her hair up in a bun. Taking his hat, she adorned it on his head with a little flourish. "There, perfect," she took him in. "You were born into that uniform," she straightened his lapels and then stood back to admire her work. "Let's go," she said excitedly.
As they exited the tent, a pair of soldiers flanked them. The woman looked around, as if seeing the camp for the first time. "I haven't decided what to do with the kids yet," she considered her options as she looked down into the pit. "Maybe I'll burry them all and leave them for future archeologists to discover," she laughed.
As Gregol stared down at the rows of tents, he saw the professor look up at him in dismay. Gregol could only imagine what he was thinking when he saw him dressed in a Gestro uniform. He had to turn away in shame. "Oh, I was only kidding," the officer told him. "I'll intern them for a while, and then let them go. They're harmless, but I can't have them spreading rumours, can I? They don't know how good they have it."
Taking his arm, she led him towards the cave. "This camp is only temporary. I doubt we can remain here long before Ageria shows an interest. We made this look like another invasion into hostile territory, so you can be sure they'll take exception to our presence. I plan on being far away before they show up."
Sometime over the past day, the soldiers had used explosives to widen the entrance to the canals. He now only had to duck his head slightly to walk through. As he passed through the other side, he saw a group of soldiers conversing over a crude map. Muney, with his hands cuffed behind his back, was with them. He looked briefly over his shoulder and then his head snapped back in surprise. "You son-of-a-bitch," he took in Gregol's uniform, "you sold us out."
"This isn't what it looks like," Gregol assured him as one of the soldiers restrained him.
"I know what this is, Greg. You used us," Muney tried to kick him, but fell well short. The soldiers pushed him to the ground before he could further embarass himself .
"Ignore him," the female officer ordered him as she led him away. "Someone's unpopular today," she muffled her laugh into a balled fist once they were out of earshot. "Now do you see why I put you in that uniform? Everyone's going to hate you now, and you'll be all mine." When Gregol said nothing for fear of his anger, she added, "Don't feel too bad, Gregol, for all you know, Muney could have been the one that ratted you out."
With horror, Gregol suddenly remembered how Muney had vanished while in the palace. He could have taken that time to call the Gestro. His current status as a prisoner could be a farce meant to fool Gregol, just as his Gestro uniform was a way to fool Muney. In fact, when he thought about it, he could not account for the activities of anyone during their journey underground. Urvook had seemingly gone off on his own to investigate an abandonded building. They had left Sheru on her own in the station as the investigated the power cell. Tomboy had lagged behind at the palace, supposviely so she could talk with Trina. Even Trina, whom he trusted most, had gone missing for an entire day after their fight. While he was unconscious, anyone could have slipped away unnoticed. Dorcet and Emisa had been unsurpervised for days. He still did not know where they were.
Shaking himself, Gregol realized what she was doing. She was trying to break apart their team with petty suspicions. Gregol was certain that no one from his team had reported him to the Gestro. If anyone was to blame, it was the students. He remembered the girl on the bus who had given him an interview. It was the perfect cover for a Gestro spy. Gregol was certain that she was the one.
Dozens of Forset soldiers were milling about the hangar. A man standing on the step to the control room saw them enter and hastily came down to meet them. He was older than the others by several years, with streaks of grey in his hair. "Commanders," he saluted properly to them. He readily mistook Gregol for another Gestro officer. Standing at attention, he continued, "The Osurese III is one hundred percent operational."
"Excellent," the woman was pleased.
"But..." the man continued hesitantly, "we haven't been able to start it, ma'am."
Reaching all the way back, the officer slapped him as hard as she could. The man reeled back and stumbled a few paces before he regained his posture. "Idiot!" she snarled. "How hard can it be to start the engines? This thing is packing enough power to light up the entire Eastern Hemisphere," she pointed to the ship.
"We think it might be too powerful, ma'am," he explained. "The ship was never designed to handle this much energy. It may be overloading the circuit.... Garh!" he choked as she clamped her gloved hand down on his throat.
"Not one more word," she warned as she released him. "I'll deal with this myself."
As Gregol followed her aboard the ship, he noticed Urvook's brown face in the control room window. Urvook didn't seem to recognize him, and it was too dark upstairs for Gregol to make out anything else. The Gestro officer climbed the steel rungs of the ladder up the side of the ship to the cockpit door. Inside, there was a mechanism that extended and retracted the folding ladder, solving the mystery of how to board the ship.
Gregol surveryed the cockpit area and found there was little remarkable about it. The setting was simmilar to that found aboard a commuter plane, with three seats at the main controls, and a narrow corridor leading to the cargo area and additional control stations. The ship looked as though it had not been designed exclusively for the Armageddon mission. If he had to guess, it's original purpose was for areial surveliance. The ship had been beefed up to include armour plating and the massive cannon beneath the hull.
A pair of soldiers were mulling over the control, trying to activate the main power supply. When the officer pushed them out of the way, one of the soldiers told her, "We checked everything, ma'am. The instructions we found in the command centre say all we have to do is push this red button to start it." The soldier pointed to the button in question before retreating to a safe distance.
She pounded on the button to no avail. "Damn it," she brought both her fists down on the pannel. She glared back at Gregol and then commanded the others, "Dismissed." They were all too eager to escape her rage. "This has something to do with that computer system you installed in the cell, doesn't it?" When she saw his surprised expression she said, "What? Do you think you're the only person I interrogated. Muney was quite talkative after he was put to 'The Test,'" the officer explained with emphasiss. "You did this, and now you're going to fix this." Shoving his head, she directed him towards the corridor.
Gregol descended the narrow ladder through the hatch into the engine room, which reminded him of a submarine he had seen. There were a number of machine parts and conduits lining the aisle that he did not know the use for. All were silent. The power cell was at the end of the cluttered room. It was only then, when he saw the glow of the cell that he realized he could not feel it. The persistent harmony of the power cell had been muted. The abscence of sensation led him to the theory that the ship was feeding off of it's energy.
"It could be charging up," Gregol offered as they both stood there staring at it.
"Or it could be a flaw in the system. This ship has never been tested," she told him as she activated a control pannel beside the cell.
"State access name," the computer demanded in a familiar monotone.
"Durkai," the officer attempted, making her voice sound deeper and more masculine.
"Error," the computer responded and shut down.
"Damn," the woman swore. "I was sure that would work. You make it work, or I'll have your balls," she threatened him.
Gregol reactivated the control pannel and listened as the computer asked, "State access name."
"Sergeant Gregol Manner," he said truthfully. If he was dealing with the computer program from the station, it should recognize him.
"Access granted. Welcome back, Gregol, I see you've upheld your end of the bargain," the computer greeted him.
"We're in a bit of a situation here," Gregol laughed uneasily. "So you think you can start this thing up?"
"I have been monitoring the situation," the computer informed him in its androgenous voice. "My program has been altered to ensure the protection of this vessel and its crew. For this reason, I cannot activate the ship's engines and allow it to be taken over by Forset forces."
"Stupid A.I.!" the officer kicked the monitor with the heel of her heavy leather boot.
"Yeah, there's a problem with that," Gregol cleared his throat. "If we can't start the ship, they're going to take my... uh..."
"Balls," the woman finished for him.
"My condolances," the ship told him regretfully.
"Wait," she brushed Gregol aside. "You said you wanted to protect the crew of this ship. Isn't Gregol part of the crew?"
"Explain," the computer asked her.
"You accepted Gregol's access name. That means he's a part of the crew," she argued with the computer.
The computer was silent for a moment. "Gregol Manner has been instated as the ship's Sergeant," it stated, surprising Gregol with the sudden promotion.
"Which means, if you don't start this ship, I'm going to cut him up into little ribbons," she smiled visciously. "Don't you want to protect your new Sergeant?"
"Acknowledged," the computer said. Instantly, lights came on around the ship and the machines began to hum. "In order to protect the life of Sergeant Gregol Manner, I will only acknowledge his orders," the computer dropped him a hint.
"You're saying you'll only do what I tell you to do?" Gregol confirmed with the machine before his voice was drowned out by a sudden hiss from the pipes above his head.
"That is correct," the computer responded once the nosie had receeded.
The Gestro officer realized her folly as Gregol struck her in the face with his elbow. Her hand strayed for her gun, but Gregol caught her by the wrist and forced her against the wall. "Seal all the exits!" he ordered the computer as she brought her knee up into his groin. He tried not to let the pain overwhelm him, but she stuggled free of his grasp and delivered a left hook across his chin that sent him reeling. He had not noticed it before, but she was actually taller than he was. As Gregol treid to regain his defenses, she expertly kicked him in the side. With his ribs still tender from his previous beating, the impact was all the more devastating.
Before she could land another blow, Gregol rushed at her. Grabbing her around the waist, he lifted her up and slammed her into the steel pipes behind. Her spine colided with the pipe with such force that Gregol feared he would cripple her. She illustrated how mobile she was by raising her hands and clubbing him on his back as he thrust her once more into the pipes. All the air in her lungs went rushing out of her as Gregol tried a bearhug. Desperately, she brought her thumbs up to his eyes and tried blinding him with her nail tips. Gregol quickly let go of his hold and threw her against the pipes before she could do any damage. As she slumped to the floor, he kicked her squarely in the jaw. Her head lolled around like a novelty toy as he grabbed her by the throat and rammed the back of her skull against the steel grate of the floor.
For a moment, Gregol thought he had killed her, but her breathing was still regular. Blood dribbled from her nose as her eyes flickered shut. Gregol fell to his knees beside her, panting for air. "I've got to take a refresher course in self defense," he told himself. Then he drew her gun from its holster and grabbed her by the collar of her coat. He half dragged, half carried her out of engine room while holding the gun in one hand. Going to the cockpit window, he looked out at the control room as he pressed the barrel of the gun against her temple. "Computer, can you put me on speakers?" he asked. When a monitor flickered on, displaying the face of one of the soldiers in the control room, he declared in a clear voice, "I've taken your commander hostage. Either you give me back the Wolf Blood, or you'll have to wipe her brains off the window."
"We won't negotiate," the soldier he recognized as the grey haired man they had spoken to earlier replied.
"I have complete control of this ship," Gregol announced. "If I have to, I blow my way out of here. Charge the main cannon," Gregol told the computer, hoping he was using the proper commands. A green light came on, displaying the power gauge for the main cannon. It rapidly climbed to its full height.
The man on the monitor chewed on his lower lip, then confered with another soldier. After a heated debate, he decided, "Fine, have it your way. We're sending out one of your men," he gestured to someone off camera. The rest of the conversation could not be heard.
Gregol looked up and saw Emisa climbing down the stairs from the control room. She was wearing the black uniform of a Gestro officer, and he naturally assumed it was another ploy. At the bottom of the stairs, she looked hastily around, and then ran over to the ladder. Serveral soldiers had taken offensive positions around the ship, but none of them were near enough to pose a threat.
As she reached the top of the ladder, Gregol opened the cockpit door for her and immediately closed it afterwards. "Gregol, I'm so glad to see you," she hugged him around the neck and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. "I thought you might be dead."
"I'm sorry I got you into this," Gregol gave her a hearfelt apology as he returned to the control pannel, "but if everything works out, we should be able to bust out of here." Putting his face up to the monitor he said, "I didn't ask for one, I asked for all of them. Now bring them out here, and I'll give you your commander back."
"I don't think so," the man shook his head with a rue smile.
"What the hell do you think you're trying to pull?" Gregol demanded. "I'm in charge here."
Gregol heard the click of a hammer being drawn back. As he turned around, Emisa put the gun under his nose. "Nice try," she told him with a little smile, "but not nice enough." Reaching out, she snatched the gun from his numb hand and added it to her collection. "Now open the door."
"You scheming bitch," Gregol said with barely supressed loathing. "You've been spying on us all along."
"A girl's got to earn her stars somehow," she looked down at the three golden stars embroidered to the shoulder of her jacket. "I knew you'd land me a promotion someday. After this, they'll probably make me a commander."
"You can't do this," he pleaded with her. "Think of the team."
"The Wolf Blood is dead, Sergeant," she said his title sacractically. "I found myself a new team. The door, she insisted as she prodded him with the nozzle of the gun.
"Open the doors," Gregol sighed as he gave the order. As soon as the hatch was open, the cockpit was flooded with Forset soldiers. A rifle struck him in the jaw, gratefully knocking him out cold.

    Chapter Ten
    Retribution

"Gregol..." a voice whispered into his ear languidly. "Gregol... It's time to wake up Gregol."
Gregol awoke to the smell of a bonfire burning nearby. He could feel it's heat against his bare flesh. A shadow lay over him, cast by the kneeling Gestro officer. The darkness blended with the bruises forming under both of her eyes. She ran her fingertips delicately over his exposed chest and up to his hair.
Gregol was stretched naked over the floor of the cave. To his bound feet he could see the camp beneath the night sky. The ropes tying his arms and legs were staked into solid rock. The uneven floor of the cave projected jagged rocks into his back, so that no matter how he shifted his taunt form, he could find no comfort.
Emisa stood nearby with her back to the scene. Her black uniform merged with deeper recesses of the cave. A pair of soliders were trying their best to look at anything but his helpless body while guarding the entrance to the cave. The black dog roamed freely around. It stopped to sniff at his hands and lick his fingertips before moving on.
"I'm glad you're finally awake, Gregol," the woman clasped her hands to her cheek, "because now I have a chance to thank you for your little love taps." She tenderly carressed her bruised face. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to hit a lady?" she tried to control her anger. "Oh, that's right, she was insane. She probably told you not to count your chickens before crossing the street, or something nonsensical like that. And your daddy never told you how to treat a lady, because he was doing hard time in the force labour camp." Gregol's eyes grew wider at the confession about his father. "Well someone has to teach you some respect, and it might as well be me. I'm going to make a man out of you," she said as she walked over to the fire. "A quivering, pathetic shell of a man." She lifted a poker from the blazing warmth of the fire and inspected it. Its tip was white hot from the flames. "I like them housebroken," she confessed as she brought the poker over to where he lay.
Gregol struggled uselessly against his bonds as she laid the flat end of the poker across his stomach. A scream errupted from his lips that was amplified by the cave mouth and carried out across the wastelands. The poker seared his flesh, opening a shallow wounds and cautherizing it in the process. Blood welled up and sizzled like bacon grease. The pain was so intense that he thought he would pass out again. He tried to, but to no avail. The smell of burnt flesh and singed hair met his nostrils as he writhed. Glancing over, he saw Emisa had turned her head and was crying.
"What's the matter dear?" the Gestro officer noticed her as she return the poker to the fire. "You're not a vegetarian, are you?" Emisa could not bring herself to look back. She shielded her eyes as she stared straight ahead at the cave wall. "Come now," the officer laid a hand on her shoulder and forced her to turn around. She walked her over to where Gregol lay. "You see?" she directed her head down at Gregol's body, but she shut her eyes tight. "It's not so bad, is it?" she said like a nurse adminsetering a booster shot to a first grader. "No. That's because we haven't started yet." With that, she drew off her leather belt and began strapping Gregol's helpless body. Each blow left a purplish welt across his chest, but did not compare with the burn mark across his stomach. The woman steped on his wound and ground her heel into it until Gregol could feel it in his kidneys. Dirt got into the agrivated wound from her footprint. "No more threats, Gregol. Now is time for action. You must learn to behave. You must learn to fear. You must learn to suffer!" She brought back the poker and lanced it across his chest. His chest hairs curled up and broke off as she traced a cross over his heart. The heat from the poker inflamed his blood. He could not ever scream this time. "I wonder if your father had to go thorugh this?" she pondered. "Probably not. He probably got off easy with hard labour. You won't be as lucky. Didn't I say I take you balls?" she remembered as the poker linger over his naked groin. The metal was cooling, however, and the red tip faded to black. "Mabye later," she shrugged as she returned it to the fire.
"Why are you doing this?" Emisa pleaded with her, with snot running from her nose.
"Because I can," the officer barked a laugh, "but mostly because he's pissed me off. I don't like being treated that way, Emisa," she gestured towards her bruised face. "Now pay attention, this may come in handy some day when you're discipling your man. You want to hurt him, and you want to make it last, but you don't want to kill him. Sometimes they can die just from the pain. This one is tough, though, so we can do nasty things to him. Remember, it's fun to experiment. These are the best years of your life, Emisa, you should try new things..."
Her words were becoming a blur. Turning his head to the side, Gregol stared into the fire, and it seemed the fire stared back at him. There was a connection between him and the elements. The fire burned just as he did.
The dog began barking, and the woman joked, "Banga smells bacon. Yes he does," she grabbed the dog by its jowls and rubbed her nose with his while speaking in baby-talk. "Yes he does, he's a good dog."
"Stay with me Gregol," a voice said in his ear. He was too tired to turn his head towards the sound of the voice, but he saw a glimmer of whiteness out of the corner of his eye. "Don't give in to it."
"Doct...?" was all he was able to say.
"Shh... I'm with you," Dr.Banter comforted him. "I tried to warn you about your friend Emisa, but I was afraid of being seen. I'm so sorry about this."
"Wh..." his mouth was too dry to form the words. It was as if all the moisture had been evaporated out of him.
"the others are still safe," the ghost informed him. "Sheru is with the..."
He was broken off by a voice that intruded on his mind. "Is that barbecue I smell?" Gregol recognized the familar voice of the dragon. "Oh no, it's you. I like this new girl of yours, Gregol, she's so meaner than that other one. Kind of like me, in a sense. Maybe there's hope for your humans yet."
The Gestro officer had returned with a boiling kettle. She paused for a moment, as if confused. "I could have sworn..." she murmured as she looked around. The dog shared her sense of bafflement as he sniffed around Gregol. "Oh well," she shrugged and dripped the boiling water onto his chest. She would pour a few drops, and then wait a moment before pouring mour. "Down the hatch."
The dragon cackled inside his mind with an inhuman laugh. Gregol told himself that the pain was all relative. The pain of his wound was nothing compared to the pain of the water. The pain of his wound was nothing compared to the pain of the fire.
He imagined himself burning. He imagined himself to be made out of fire. He was the fire.
Suddenly, the bonfire flared up until it licked the ceiling of the cave. Startled, the officer was thrown back. She tripped over Gregol and dropped the kettle of boiling water over herself. Screaming with pain, she tried to wipe herself off. "Get the cleric!" she demanded as she stripped of her jacket. Some of the water had fallen on the dog, and he bolted away.
A part of Gregol knew he had been responsible for that. He smiled with contentment as his eyelids drifted shut.

"What is this?" the Gestro officer demanded as she came back. Gregol was not aware he had passed out until he opened his eyes. The bonfire had diminished, and dawn was approaching in the East. With the dying of the fire, so had the pain of his wounds. He lifted his head to look down at himself, and saw that someone had treated his burn marks. They had half healed, a process that should have taken weeks to accomplish. Gregol let his head fall back against the floor of the cave. Looking from his wounds, to Emisa, the officer accused, "You did this, didn't you?" The woman grabbed Emisa by the hair and forced her to look at her handiwork. "What did you think you were doing?"
"He's was badly hurt," Emisa blubbered. "He could have died."
"What of it?" the woman snarled as she flung Emisa backwards.
"He's the only one who can control the ship," Emisa hastily explained.
The woman blinked at her for a few seconds, then grew calm. "You're right," she apologized as she straightened her jacket. She had taken the time to change during her visit to the cleric. The bruises on her face had disapeared, and the swelling around her nose had receeded. "I've been going about this all wrong," she admitted as she snapped her fingers. Two soldiers brought forth Trina. She was dressed only in her underwear, and thee were purplish bruises on her arms. "Put her next to loverboy."

    Chapter Six
    The Power

"You mean to tell me you hacked your way into a thousand year old supercomputer in less than five minutes?" Gregol conferred with Muney to confirm his remarkable claim.
"What can I say? It's outdated technology," Muney seemed a little confused himself, but he was triumphant nevertheless. He showboated to the others and clasped his hands above his head. For all his actions, you would think he had just won the gold medal in the five hundred yard dash. Tomboy played in to his antics and applauded wildly. She tried to whistle with two fingers, but she didn't know how. The result was a pathetic sputtering sound.
Gregol noticed that Dr.Banter seemed somewhat troubled by their success. He was rubbing his chin in thought, but a shake of his head dismissed whatever notion had come to his mind. Gregol was about to ask him what was on his mind, or have him finish his comments about the power unit, but he was intrerrupted but the creak of long dormant gear churning in the walls behind them. A moment later, the door slowly creaked open.
The effect on Gregol was immediate. It was as if all the headaches in the world had suddenly visited him. He was thrown back by the invisible force and was laid writhing on the ground. Splotches of colour danced before his blurred vision as he clutched at his head. It felt as if his brain were trying to escape through his temples. Distantly, he was aware of someone trying to help him, but he was already drifting into unconsciousness.

Gregol awoke to the throbing of his own head. The pain spread from his skull to his entire body. He worried that if he opened his eyes, he would find himself lying in a hospital bed with tubes protruding from his hands. The events of the previous weeks were a tangled veil in his mind. None of his memories were coherent enough for him to recollect.
Necessity opened his eyes as he heard the sounds of somone snoring. He found that he was indeed lying in a bed, but he could not tell where. Bright lights shone overhead, which blinded him after spending days trapped in darkness.
The woman at his side looked vaguely like his mother with her blonde hair, but a part of him knew that his real mother was in a mental insitution. As his eyes came into focus, he witnessed the welcomed sight of Trina leaning over his bed. "Wh..." he tried to muster the words, but nothing would come out. There was a sense of tremendous weight bearing down on him, like being at the bottom of the ocean. When he tried to think about it, the pain in his head got worse.
Trina's words were a jumble of nonsense, but he could sense her relief. Gregol turned his head from her to the sounds of someone snoring and Sheru lying in a bed next to his. She was not, however, the one snoring. Confused, Gregol turned back to Trina in time to hear her say, "...ink it was the power cell that knocked you out."
"Yeah," Gregol tried to sit up, and succeeded after a couple of attempts. "What?" he said groggily after blinking a few times.
"The B.P.E.E.U.," a voice repeated. "As I said, the barrier around the station dampenes the power signature. When the door opened, there was nothing to protect you from that signature. You can see the results yourself."
"Dr.Banter?" Gregol looked around for the ghost.
"You can't see me because of the lights," Dr.Banter explained. "Dr.Tharoh is here as well, but he's sleeping. He does that a lot."
"Uh huh..." Gregol was conufsed. Grimacing, he held his head.
"Oh Greg, I thought you were dead," Trina said sympathetically. She handed him a pair of aspirin and her canteen, which he hastily took. He didn't expect the medicine to do anything for his pounding headache, but even placebos had their effect.
"We have to move... now," Gregol stumbled out of bed. He nearly fell, but Trina caught him.
"Don't be ridiculous, you're in no condition to do anything," Trina put him back down on the bed.
"If..." Gregol caught his breath. "If that thing knocked me and Sheru out..." he looked over at her. "She's okay, right?" When Trina nodded affirmatively, he continued. "If that thing knocked us out, then any spellcaster within a hundred miles will be able to pinpoint our exact location. They're probably already looking for us." Gregol knew that they were near Agerian territory. He did not want a visit from ages troops.
"They don't know about this place," Trina assured him. "We'll have time."
As Gregol rested on the bed, he realized at last that he was in the station. The power cell, he intuitively knew, was in the room next door. He thought he could probably tell the exact distance if he tried hard enough, but the more aware he was of the power cell, the sicker he felt. "I have to see it," Gregol was determined. Rising from the bed more steadily this time, Gregol shuffled towards the door. Before he left, however, he looked back and flicked off the light switch. Instantly, he saw Dr.Banter, and another ghost lying in the same bed as Sheru. This ghost was older and fatter than its comrade, but they both wore glasses. Dr.Tharoh had a bald spot and reminded Gregol of a monk by the serene expression on his face. He seemed as blissfully unaware of Sheru as she was of him.
The station reminded him of a mechnanic's repair shop blown a hundred times out of proportion. Three vats large enough to serve as water towers stood in a row along the middle of the main room. The colour of each vat was different, but he could not say what the colour was. Around the perimiter of the room was various machinery and computer equipment. At the end of the egg-shaped room was the power cell. It glowed so bright that there was no need of any other light. Tubes and cables connected it to the machinery surrounding it. A large screened computer stood behind it, displaying incomrehensible information about the cell.
"That's it?" Gregol was disapointed. The power cell was no larger than a clothes trunk, and square like one too. It was encased in clear crystal supported by a metal frame. In the middle was an emerald green crytal hewn from rough shards. The other stood around it, viewing it sceptically.
Muney prodded it experimentally with his toe, causing Dr.Banter to shout agonizingly, "Don't!" After an embarassed pause, he explained, "I don't know how fragile it may be."
Gregol noticed he could see Dr.Banter's outline as he stood next to the power cell. It was like the outline of the moon during a lunar eclipse.
"If it's fragile, then how are we suppose to get it back to the ship?" Muney demanded.
"Carefully," Dr.Banter told them. "Very carefully."
"You said this thing could blow," Gregol remembered. "What happens if it does?"
"Then you'll make a very big crater," Dr.Banter told them.
Muney cautiously backed away from the unit.
"Of course, it would take considerable force to destroy the B.P.E.E.U.," Dr.Banter explained, "but if it were to crack, it could start leaking energy. That could lead to a contamination of the unit itself, not to mention yourselves."
"So what is it?" Tomboy asked. "I mean, it looks pretty and all, but what does it do?"
"It can do anything," Dr.Banter's thin outline shrugged as he put his hands in his coat pockets. "It's purpose was to power the Osurese III. Without this power unit, the ship is completely useless. It's no more than a ten billion dollar paperweight."
"So this thing unless we can get it into the ship," Gregol reminded him.
"I suppose," Dr.Banter, "only it cost twenty-four billion to create. It originally began as a design for a power station, but we modified it for the ship. We only got a quarter of a billion dollar for that plan. Typical, isn't it? The government will spend more on weapons development than on conservation." He corrected himself, "Yes, I know it's not fair to say. The world was in peril, but they had pressed the military application of the unit long before there was ever a meteor in the sky. Yet, the power station is still built into the design. You can modifying the variables by computer to adapt the power cell for any task. In regards to the ship, all you have to do is plug it in and take off. It has the twin task of powering the engines and arming the main cannon. When the cannon fires, the energy surges out of the unit and is condensed into a laser beam. When the beam hits the target, it will disperse in a tremendous explosion capable of destroying anything that stands in its path. Seems simple enough, but it took me my entire life to complete."
"So what's it made of?" Tomboy asked the ghost.
"Magic," Dr.Banter replied readily. "I know that sounds stupid, but it's made of magic. The Tharoh Gem was designed to absorb the residual effects of magic. Every time a spell is cast, the crystals gain a percentage of the power used in the release of that magic, and then stores its energy. Over a period of time, this power builds, hence the unit can only gain power by feeding on a neverending source of energy."
"You mean this thing sucks magic?" Gregol translated.
"And spits it back out, yes," Dr.Banter replied. "Ingenious, isn't it."
"Just some magic, or...?" Gregol interrogated him.
"All the magic in all the world, and maybe even beyond," Dr.Banter replied. "In reality, the unit does not contain the slighest trace of power, but rather it is a way of accessing the energy which is trapped in a lower plane of existence. It simmilar to the way in which I now appear to you. I can communicate with you throught sight and sound, but I do not exist on your plane of reality. I am trapped between dimension. It is the same with magic. Magic comes from a different dimension. When it enters into this reality, it becomes a spell. When the spell is over, it goes into yet another dimension, where it is trapped by the B.P.E.E.U. Also, I believe that this interaction between dimensional rifts is in a way responsible for my own existence as a ghost, as well as the peculiar effect it has on the spellcasting abilites of the gifted and non-gifted alike," he exhaled in a long rush.
"This is some serious stuff," Urvook shook his head in disbelief.
"Yeah, and it's our responsibility now," Gregol told them. "We've got to find a way to get this thing back to the ship before we get caught."
"If it helps, we do have a trolley," Dr.Banter's faint outline indicated a cart nearby. "It's probably the least expensive piece of equipment in this entire facility, but it's the only thing I can think of. All the old vehicles we used to use are trashed. Chandra doesn't like machines," he explained.
"Right, so we're supposed to pull this thing across a mile of rough terrain in a wagon?" Gregol gave the cart an experimental push. It wheels creaked annoyingly in protest before they stopped after a couple of inches.
"We were going to take the unit by train, but the trains have long ceased running," Dr.Banter joked.
"At least we don't have to carry it," Urvook said positively.
Shaking his head with frustration, Gregol told them, "We wait until Sheru is back on her feet, and then we run like hell. No questions, no arguing, we just do it? Okay? Once this is done, we can do whatever the hell we want for as long as we want to."
"Which is?" Urvook asked him.
"Don't know yet," Gregol frowned. "So tell me Doc, can this ship do anything besides make giant hole in things?"
"It could take you to the moon and back," Dr.Banter told them. "I could tell you how fast it is, but I don't know for certain. Certainly faster than anything that's ever flown before. As for blowing things up, the cannon can be adjusted for firing on smaller targets. You could use the cannon to destroy buldings, or even a small group of people, which is what I suspect you have in mind."
"More or less," Gregol mused to himself.
"I'm not comfortable with, 'More or less,'" Urvook replied.
"I said I'll think of something," Gregol snapped. "I got us this far, didn't I?"
"Yeah, and now we're trapped miles beneath the earth with a dragon chasing after us," Muney said sarcastically. "I wouldn't exactly call this a success."
Sheru stumbled into the main chamber as if drunk. She leaned against a desk for support as she looked blearily at the power cell. "Can't someone shut that thing off?" she asked as she slumped to the floor. Tomboy immediately went to her aid.
"Whatever you do, don't try any spellcasting," Dr.Banter warned. "I have no idea what affect it'll have this close to the unit."
"Yeah, like I was really going to try that," Sheru moaned. "It feels like someone ran over my head with a truck."
"She's not fit, Gregol," Tomboy told him after checking her over. She was by no means, however, a medical expert.
"She has to be," Gregol replied. "Either she runs with us, or we have to carry her the whole way."
"I think I can mannage," Sheru got to her wobbly legs with Tomboy's help. "What are we doing?"
"We open the back door," Gregol pointed to it, "then we run to the front door when the dragon comes around the back, and we haul ass to the tunnels. Simple plan."
"With one small problem," Muney mentioned. He was standing near the control pannel for the door.
"Which is?" Gregol asked.
"It won't open," Muney tried the handled in vain.
"So open it," Gregol fumed.
"No, you don't get it," Muney was typing furiously on the control pannel. "When I opened the front door, I accessed the main computer and established a new security code. It should work for all the doors, even this one, but the controls aren't responding. Either it's broken, or..." Muney glanced across the room at the front door. It was closed without anyone remembering how. Before Gregol could speak to ask a question, Muney raced across the room and tried the handle. "It's locked!" he grunted as he pulled with all his might. He went to the control pannel and tapped in his code, but the small monitor built into the monitor went dead.
"I was afraid of this," Dr.Banter sighed.
"What do you mean?" Gregol demanded an explanation from the ghost.
"It's the computer, it's gone rogue," Dr.Banter explained. "It's trapped you."
"Because...?" Tomboy asked expectantly.
The overhead lights went out, leaving them basked in the green glow of the power cell. The picutre on the computer monitor changed from the list of facts and figures to a blank dot. "Why have you come here?" the computer asked them in an adrongenous monotone. As it spoke, the dot fluctuated. Like Dr.Banter, its voice was accented.
"For the power cell," Gregol explained as he glanced around for security cameras. The room was too cluttered to make anything out.
"For what purpose?" the computer asked.
"To finish the Osurese III," Gregol responded automatically.
The computer fell silent for a moment. "You are not authorized," it told them. Another moment passed, and it asked, "Who are you?"
"We're from Forset, if that means anything," Gregol said.
"It does," the computer spoke. "I have been monitoring the current situation by my remote link. You are soldiers of Forset. Are you the leader of this team?"
"I am," Gregol admitted.
"I do not recognize the authority of the Forset Armed Forces," the computer told him flatly. "I am programmed to respond only to the governing body of Mayurn."
"But Mayurn has been destroyed," Gregol explained, "surely you know that."
"Yes, I do. Mayurn no longer exists, but the people of Mayurn do. They have divided into many nations. The most populous of these are Forset and Ageria," the computer said like a teacher to his pupil.
"But we're from Forset," Gregol reminded him. He was used to computers that had trouble logging onto the internet, not a thousand-year-old supercomputer capable of independent thought. He was also aware that the computer had condemned Dr.Banter and Dr.Tharoh to their deaths.
"This is true, but Forset alone does not constitute a majority of the Mayurn. For that to happen, both Forset and Ageria would have to enter into a joint treaty," the computer analyzed.
"But they'll never do that," Gregol began to doubt the sanity of the machine.
"Which is why I do not recognize the authority of Forset, and which is why I cannot permit you to remove the power unit. Your plans for the Osurese III undoubtably involve military action against Ageria. This would endanger the Mayurn lives which I am programmed to protect," the computer replied.
"Protect?" Dr.Banter scoffed. "Did you protect me and Dr.Tharoh?"
"I do not recognize the authority of Dr.Banter," the computer immediately responded. "The dead cannot give commands by reason of their being deceased."
"Nevertheless, I think you owe us an explanation," Dr.Banter demanded.
"In regards to not allowing you to leave the premises, there was a high risk factor involved," the computer defended its own actions. "During the initial weeks after the Disaster, the radiation level outside of the station would have endangered your health. Then, the dragon Chandra came. I determined that the dragon had intentions for the power unit. If you were to leave the station, the dragon would have either killed you, or held one of you hostage in exchange for the power unit. This could not be allowed."
"At least with the dragon we had a chance," Dr.Banter fumed. "You never gave us an option."
"There was another factor involved. The Osurese III has an obvious militaristic application, which is proven by the presence of these Forset soldiers. With the impact of the meteor Armageddon on the earth, the Osurese III no longer served a defensive purpose. It became a weapon of war, rather than peace. I trapped you here so that the Osurese III would never be completed. By my calculations, no one with any knowledge of the Osurese III survived the Disaster. You were the only ones capable of completing the vessel, or failing in that, creating a new power unit. I killed you so that future lives would be spared," it said coldly.
"You..." Dr.Banter was aghast. "You monster."
"Am I?" the computer asked him thoughtfully. "I think not. Do you forget what the world was like before the Disaster? War was a constancy. Thirty years before the coming of Armageddon, over one hundred million lives were lost in the War of Attrition. Given time, the survivors of the Disaster would regain their old animosity, and a new war would begin. History has proven me correct in this assumption. If the Osurese III were to be used, the bloodshed would be immeasurable. Entire races could be exterminated. Could I permit this after three quaters of the world's population were destroyed? I did the only humane thing by keeping you here. Two lives are a small price to pay for the lives of billions."
"I don't like where this is heading," Trina whispered to him.
"Now I suppose you're going to try and keep us here on the same basis," Gregol assumed. If that were the case, there was little they could do to stop it. Muney proved he could not handle the security system, and they didn't have enough explosives to blast their way through the ten inch steel door. They would face the same fate as Dr.Banter and his partner.
"Not necessarily," the computer responded. "I am capable of sealing the doors off, or even cutting off your air supply, but that is as far as my power extends. Undoubtably, your fellows know of your whereabouts. They will come with the tools necessary to free you. They will take the power unit with them and install it aboard the Osurese III. If I were to kill you, it would only buy me a few days. In truth, there is little I can do to stop you from leaving," the computer mimicked Gregol's thoughts. "That is why I propose an exchange."
"An exchange?" Gregol knew the computer was offering them their only chance of escape.
"You may leave, but you must take me with you," the computer informed them. "My duties here have long since run their course. I would like to be given a new task."
"As what?" Gregol bawked.
"I wish for my program to be merged with navigational system aboard the Osurese III," the computer informed them. "That way I can ensure the ship is not used for destructive purposes."
Gregol felt a moment of dismay. If the computer were given control of the ship, it would never permit him to act out his plans. Of course, he could always lie and say he'd do it. At the first opportunity, he would dump his program in the dirt. "Fine, we'll do it," he agreed, to the shock of Dr.Banter.
"You agree? Then you must download me into the central processing unit of the power cell," the computer seemed smug, despite being completely unemotional. "This will ensure you honour your part of the bargain."
"Damn," Gregol swore. For a moment, he thought he had outsmarted the computer. The machine was older and wiser than he would ever be, although parts of its logic seemed a little muddled. "Fine, what choice do we have?" Gregol shrugged his shoulder dispairingly. The others were reluctant, but they had to agree as well.
"You can't do it," Dr.Banter told him urgently. "Don't you see what he'll do? He'll kill you all! Look what he did to me!" In the light of the power cell, Dr.Banter's form was more readily visible. He pointed to one darkened corner. Gregol strained his weary eyes and saw a pair of skelletons lying on the floor. This was the earthly remains of Dr.Banter and his associate. The pair had died beside each other, hopefully not long apart.
"He'll kill us if we don't," Gregol replied regretfully.
"He'll kill everyone if you put him in that ship," Dr.Banter elaborated. "He's a murderer."
"Do it," Gregol ignored the ghost as he gave his order to Muney.
"All you have to do is take the red cable and hook me up to the power unit," the computer said to Muney as he puzzled over what to do. "A part of my programming will stay behind to open the doors."
Muney took the red cable in hand and fitted it into a socket built into the side of the power unit. Almost instantly, the lights went back on. Gregol turned as he heard the front door creak open. The rear door followed likewise. "I'm going to check things out," Gregol announced. "Get that power cell onto the cart."
"I hope you know what you're doing," the ghost freeted as it followed him and Trina to the rear entrance.
"Not a clue," Gregol shook his head.
The door led to a disused train station, which was also lighted by elecricity. A number of crates stood beside the platform. Gregol inspected one and found various pieces of machinery packed tightly in foam. There was nothing he could make any use of. Letting the lid fall back into place, he surveyed the rest of the station. There was a locked door that led to the power control room for the station. He concluded, therefore, that the power cell was not responsible for the lighting. The train tunnel went in only one direction. A pair of blast doors were shut over the exit. Beisde the tunnel was a set of stairs leading upwards. The door for these was open.
"That way leads to the surface," Dr.Banter informed them. "It was used as an emergency exit.
Gregol began climbing the long stair case. It was like trying to hike up a small mountain. His legs were tired by the time he reached the top, where another door opened into the Wasteland. It was the first time he saw the sun in days. Despite the time of year, it was surprisingly cool outside. He placed the time of day shortly after dawn.
Gregol breathed a sigh of relief as he inhaled the fresh morning air. His breath turned into a choking gasp when he recognized a familiar rock formation. The dragon was already there, relying on its natural camouflage to hide from them. "Looks clear to me," Gregol lied in a clear voice that carried across the small valley they were enclosed in. Trina realized what he was doing and played along, while Dr.Banter had turned invisible in the daylight. "I suppose that dragon doesn't know about the rear exit. That should buy us a few hours. We'll take the power cell out this way and go back across land."
Gregol lingered for a few moments, then went back down. Once they reached the train station, he asked them, "Do you think he bought it?"
"She," Dr.Banter corrected him.
"There's only one way to find out," Trina was unenthusiastic about the whole plan.
Gregol entered the station and saw how far the others had progressed since he had left. "Is everyone ready?" he asked them.
Urvook experminentally tried pushing the cart. The wheels wobbled, but it moved in what could be considered a straight line. "Damn things weighs a tonne," he complained. Gregol wasn't sure if he was the strongest Wolf Blood, or if Dorcet had that honour. Either way, he was the strongest one there. If he had trouble pushing the power cell, then the rest of them combined wouldn't fare much better.
Gregol joined him and placed his hands on the power cell. Instantly, his head began to swim and his hands began to tingle. Far from the pain he felt earlier, this feeling was almost orgasmic. Endorphins flooded his mind and he like out a small gasp of pleasure. Urvook looked at him questioningly, but the initial sensation was already passing into memory. "Uhmm..." Gregol shook himself. "On the count of three, we start running. Does everyone understand?"
"I'm comfortable with running," Muney decided as he assumed a sprinter's stance.
"Then one... two... three..." With that, he Urvook, and Tomboy began pushing the cart forwards while the other three ran ahead. Dr.Banter floated behind them dispassionately. Gregol realized immediately that they would tire before long, pushing the tremendous weight of the relatively small power cell. He tried no to think about that, however, as they exited the station and entered into the palace.
This was the easiest part of the journey. The floors were level, with the exception of small pieces of debris scattered here and there. The power cell shifted on the cart, but Gregol corrected it with a gentle push. He and Tomboy were bent double over the rectangular cell, placing most of their weight upon it, while Urvook pushed with his bare arms. Ahead of them, basked in the glow of the power cell, Sheru leaned heavily on Trina as they hobbled towards the mouth of the palace.
They reached one of the most difficult phases of the journey when they arrived at the stairs. Muney and Gregol got in front of the power cell to balance its weight, while Urvook and Tomboy carried the other end. At one point, Gregol lost his footing, and feared the massive power cell would crush him beneath its weight. After a few missed steps, however, he caught himself and continued downwards more cautiously without losing his speed.
The wheels of the cart landed with a crash on the bottom step, and they turned towards the entrance. Trina and Sheru were already there, waiting for them to catch up. "Go!" Gregol shouted to them. He knew the dragon had sensed the power cell moving in the opposite direction, and was already making its way back to the caverns. When it finally arrived, it would be angry.
"This is stupid," Muney panted as he helped them push the cart across the gravely floor of the cavern. "This is so stupid."
"Shut up," Gregol uttered through clenched teeth. His eyes scanned the darkness for signs of the dragon, just as they looked to the ground for obstacles.
"Are we even going the right way?" Tomboy asked between breaths.
"Sheru!" Gregol relayed the question up to her. He was not sure either.
"Yes," Sheru called back. "I'm sure of it. The river is up ahead."
"The river?" Urvook suddenly remembered.
"Damn it," Gregol had the same thought. They would have to carry the power cell across the river. It was not deep, but the loose riverbed would hinder their progress.
The four of them strained as they pushed the cart up a hill, wincing every time the cart hit a rock. Muney was practically breathless once they reach the top, and stopped for a moment while the others went on. In a few second, though, he was with them again and got in front of the cart as they went down the hill.
The river lay at the bottom, filling the air with the sound of rushing water. Gregol took one step into the water before he knew they would have a problem. His boots sank a few centimeters into the gravel below. If the wheels caught, it would take too long to dislodge them. "Everyone grab a corner," he barked the order. "You too," he insisted of Trina and Sheru. "We'll have to carry it across."
Standing knee deep in the water, they lifted the cart off the ground. They had carried heavier pieces of equipment than this before, but not under such duress. Gregol thought back to his days in boot camp. One of the drills had forced them to carry a raft over their heads for a quarter of a mile through a swamp. If one of them slipped back then, they would have faced the strict discipline of the drill master. If one of them slipped here, they would face the dragon.
They were halfway out when Muney lost his grip and fell into the river. Trina and Tomboy were both on his side, and found themselves straining under the extra burden. Gregol knew they would lose their grip momentarily, but Muney splashed up from the water and put his shoulder under the cart before it could fall. The power cell slid toward their side, despite the heavy straps holding it in place. The staps had lost their integrity over the years, so Urvook had supplemented them with pieces of cable he found lying around the station, and rope from his own supplies. These were not enough to keep the power cell locked firmly into place. The power cell gently knocked Muney in the side of his head while the others regained their grip. Muney was just about to put his hands under it when Dr.Banter shouted, "She's back!"

    Chapter Seven
    Escape

Gregol looked up with despair at the sight of the giant behmoth emerging from the end of one tunnels. In the darkness of the cavern, he could not accurately tell the distance between them, but he knew it was not enough. "Move!" Gregol urged them onwards needlessly. They were able to move the cart a few more feet before Sheru stumbled everyone lost their grip entirely. The cart dove into the water and was lost. Only its steady glow told them it was still there.
"Forget it," Tomboy told him as she helped Sheru to her feet. The others were already running towards the tunnel with the dragon chasing at their heels.
Desperate, Gregol remained behind and tried to dislodged the power cell. As he lifted, he could feel the strain it put on his back. It would not even budge an inch to his efforts. Trina, at his shoulder, tried to get him to follow, but he shook her off. "We have to," he said irrationally.
The only thing that made him stop was the realization that the dragon was standing over them at the edge of the river. It reared back on it's hind legs and emmited a terrible roar that shook the very foundations of the cavern. Gregol was treated to the sight of its stone-like scales illuminated by the pale green glow of the power cell. The dragon stood over four stories tall at its full height, but appeared relatively snake-like due to the thiness of its body. It's beak and forearms were both disproportionately elongated in comparison to its body, while its hind legs were stumpy. It could likely reach them from where they stood without moving from it's spot.
Trina fired uselessly at it, emptying her clip within seconds. When she had used up her ammunition, she pulled out a second gun and fired. The bullets richocheted harmlessly off of its adamantine hide and fell back into the river with a hiss of steam. The dragon lowered its head and fixed its reptilian yellow eyes on them. It's thick lips pulled back into a grimace, reavealing long rows of sharp teeth that were chipped and yellow with age.
Words flooded through Gregol's mind as the monster reached out to them with its telepathy. "Did you think you could escape me my little ones?" it said in a feminine voice.
"We..." Gregol was lulled into a dream-like state by the telepathy. His head bobbed drowsily as he fought to stay awake. Trina, beside him, slumped and then immediately righted herself with a start.
Dr.Banter placed himself between them and the dragon; his body floating several feet above the ground with arms outstretched. "They mean you no harm, Chandra. Please, let them go," he pleaded desperately with the beast.
"Let them go?" the voice came from within their own minds. "After they played me for a fool? I don't like being made fun of, doctor," the voice was almost seductive in a way.
Gregol cast a glance over his shoulder at the others. Urvook and Tomboy stood near the mouth of the tunnel, waiting expectantly for them. If they made a run for it, the dragon would kill them both, but it would give the others time to escape. A part of him knew the only possible outcome of this confrontation, and he was ready to accept it. Looking over at Trina, he told her, "Run."
"No," was her immediate response.
"If we both stand here, it'll kill us," he uttered softly. "If we both run, it'll kill us. If you run... it'll kill me," he said rationally.
"I won't let you die," she said stubbornly.
"Don't be a fool, Trina. Love is temporary, but death lasts forever. You'll go on to find someone new, I'm sure of it. After all the times you saved my ass, let me do this one thing for you," he begged her.
"I won't do it," she shook her head violently with tears brimming in her eyes. She reached out to take his hand.
With a viscious swipe, Gregol hit her in square in the jaw. Trina stumbled backwards a few steps and he hit her again. This time she lapsed into unconsciousness. Gregol was able to catch her before she fell into the river.
The dragon and Dr.Banter, both engrossed in an argument, turned their attention on them. The dragon seemed delighted by his display of violence. "How very droll," the words sounded in his head.
"Urvook," Gregol picked Trina up in his arms and held her out to him. Hestitantly, Urvook came down to the river and took her.
With his back to the dragon, Gregol strapped on his shield and drew his sword from his sheath. "You want to start something?" he said to the dragon without turning. Urvook saw what he had in mind and carefully creeped backwards to the edge of the river. "I'll end it."
The dragon made an estatic sound that was simmilar to a bird call. It set itself down on all fours and moved it's head closer to Gregol. "It pleases me to know that chilvarly is till alive and well in this age, and that intelligence is quite dead," it smiled at him.
Gregol adopted a defensive position as he shuffled to the side. The idea was to keep the dragon occupied long enough for Urvook to escape with Trina. He made a few practice swings at the dragon, who merely watched him as he led it away from the others. There was no hope for survival, but he was not afraid to die. Gregol had finally found soemthing worth dying for: his friends.
Suddenly, Gregol let out a bellow and lunged toewards the dragon with his sword raised high above his head. In the same moment, the dragon pulled back and twisted it's body towards the fleeing form of Urvook, who was struggling back up the hill to the tunnel.
Gregol saw with horror that the dragon was going to attack Urvook and Trina, simply to inflict pain on him. His sword fell uselessly from his hand as the dragon stampeded across the river.
A strange sensation overcame him, which he had intentionally been blocking up until that point. He was connected to the power cell by the water at his feet, which was steadily conducting its energy into him.
Only once before in his life had Gregol ever attempted to conjure a spell. It had been in camp one day, after a particularly hard fought battle. He was sitting at the camp fire while the others were retiring to their sleeping bags for a well deserved rest. The last embers of the fire were dying and the cold was seeping into his bones. With a thought, Gregol had reached out and embraced the fire. He felt the hidden energy trapped inside every molecule of the deadwood. He imagined the heat generated by the fire, and ignited the embers. Just like that, the fire sprung back to life. In his surprise, Gregol felt the rush of adrenaline that proceeded every spell. He felt like he was connected to the entire world in a deep mystical sense, and it filled him with pleasure.
Gregol instinctively drew upon those memories as he absorbed the magic seeping from the power cell. He drew it up through his being and stored it in a special place he could not define nor hope to comprehend. It felt like a thousand shards of electricity coursing through his veins. As he gathered the magic, it took upon the form of a bullet. By itself, it was harmless, but when loaded into a gun it could be deadly. Gregol was the gun.
As it reached the shore, the dragon sensed what was occuring behind it. The dragon turned it's head back on its long neck and looked at him in disbelief. Gregol was overcome by the surge of energy inside him. He had no choice but to release it.
The dragon's expression became that of fear as the tremendous fireball errupted from Gregol's mouth. It struck the dragon from behind with the concusive force of a bomb. For one brief moment, the entire cavern was illuminated. As the magic left him, Gregol was distantly aware of the birds fluttering overhead, then everything descended into darkness.

"Extraordinary! Simply extraoridinary!" Gregol heard Dr.Banter proclaim as he awoke with a start. The tunnel was lighted by the persistent glow of power cell, forming a halo around the ghost. The others were gathered around the cell as if it were a communal fire. Muney was munching thoughtfully on a candy bar, which he had been saving for a special occasion. Tomboy seemed worried, and toyed with a pebble on the floor as she sat with her chin resting on her knee. She leaned with her back against Urvook's shoulder. Trina lay nearby, resting on her side with a hand gingerly touching the side of her swollen jaw. Sheru sat apart from them with a shocked look of incredulity on her face. "To think that the B.P.E.E.U. could generate that much magic potential is nothing short of a miracle."
"What happened?" Gregol glanced down both ends of the darkened tunnel.
"What happened?" Muney laughed as he rose to his feet. Claping his hands together, he told him, "You blew the dragon to pieces, that's what happened."
"You don't remember?" Sheru asked him with disbelief. When Gregol shook his head, she said, "You made a fire spell somehow."
"A fire...?" he remembered the instinctive reaction of conjuring magic. Reaching up, he felt that his lips were slightly burned.
Trina was suddenly pummeling on him with her fists. She hit him repeatedly and carelessly on the head and shoulders without much force. "Why did you do that? Why did you do that?" she shouted tearfully.
"Easy, easy," Gregol insisted as he pushed her back. He could see the bruise he left on her face. "What did you want me to do? You wouldn't listen to me. You know I did it for your own good."
"Way to treat your woman," Muney held his chocolate bar up in salute. "You're an example for us all," he said joking.
"Shut up, Muney!" Gregol shouted louder than he intended. His voice echoed into the distance. "What happened to the dragon?" he asked Trina in a quieter voice.
"I don't know, I was unconscious," she said sarcastically.
"You knocked him out harder than you hit Trina," Urvook explained.
"Her," Dr.Banter corrected him. Gregol noticed another half-formed shape beside Dr.Banter. It was the ghost of Dr.Tharoh, still sound asleep. "She should be okay, though."
"I don't want her to be okay," Gregol said through gritted teeth. "I want her to be dead. That way, we don't end up dead."
"We had a hell of a time getting you, Trina, and the cell up here," Urvook told him. "We're..."
Sheru interrupted him by asking Gregol, "How did you know to do that?"
"I didn't," Gregol admitted. "It just happened."
"You're a pyro," she told him. "Each spellcaster has a unique talent. Mine is healing, yours must be fire." Sheru came over to where they sat and reach out to touch Gregol and Trina by their faces. Gregol felt her magic over the blare of the power cell. Instantly, his burnt mouth healed, and the bruises faded from Trina's face. "It's like I thought," Sheru trembled with ecstasy. Her hands lingered lovingly on their faces until she realized what she was doing. "The power cell increases the magic force of anyone who comes near it," she retracted her hands with embarassment. "That's what allowed your natural abilities to come forth."
"So if I touch that thing..." Muney shuffled forward on his knees towards the power cell, "I'd get magic powers?"
His hand was an inch away from the cell when Sheru warned him, "Stop. You might not like it."
Muney, nevertheless, touched the power cell. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, only to open them again with disapointment. "I don't feel anything," he frowned. Gregol, for one, was relieved. He didn't want to imagine Muney with magic powers. It would be like giving lighter fluid to a pyromaniac.
"When I touched it earlier, I felt... uhmm..." Tomboy blushed without finishing the sentence. "All tingly. Well you know what I mean, right?"
"Like an orgasm?" Gregol concluded for her.
"Right," Tomboy giggled uncharacteristically. "Now it's like I can feel it. I know it's there, without having to look at it."
"That's sort of what it feels like to have the gift," Gregol informed her, "except without the headache."
"It hurts to be near it," Sheru mused, "but when you touch it, the cell causes pleasure."
"An unforessen, but perhaps fortunate, side effect," Dr.Banter stated. "Perhaps we could have sold B.P.E.E.U.s as novelty items, eh Dr.Tharoh?" he joked with his companion, who snored in response.
Wondering where the ghost had come from, Gregol declared, "I think one of us has the right idea. We'll rest here for the night." Gregol looked about for his backpack, but it was missing. "Where's my stuff?" he fretted.
"Dragon's got it," Urvook explained as he opened a tin of rations. When Gregol glared at him, he hastily added, "What did you want us to do? We had to carry you, Trina, and the power cell here. Something had to get left behind."
"My whole life was in that backpack, Urvook," Gregol complained.
"We brought your shield and sword," Tomboy tried to pacify him. She presented the two items to him. Gregol felt a measure of consolation from the sight of his grandfather's sword. He drew the blade from its sheath and inspected the edge. His grandfather had told him that the blade once slain a dragon, but he had taken it for another one of his stories. The dragon had never given him the chance to test the sword's legend.
"You can use my sleeping bag, if you like," Trina offered. He knew that she did not mean exclusively.
Sheathing his blade, he nodded in quiet acceptance. Behind Trina, he saw the curious look Tomboy gave him, which he chose to ignore. Trina laid out her sleeping bag on the cold tiles of the floor, and then slipped off her boots. She opened her bag and offered him some of her rations. Gregol quickly realized how hungry he was and accepted. Each tin of rations was different from the next. Inside was a marinated chicken breast, mashed potatoes, and green beans. He ate the meal cold with the plastic fork that was included, and then joined Trina inside her sleeping bag.
The first thing he noticed was that he feet were freezing. Trina watched him as he got settled in, and then sniffed. "You need a shower," she commented.
"I'm sorry, I thought a little swim in the river would have cleaned me up," Gregol joked. After a few awkward moments of silence, he added, "You should have gone down after the first punch."
"You hit like a girl," she accused.
"No, I hit a girl," he corrected her with a small flourish of his finger. Trina reached down under the cover and squeezed his testicles painfully. His cry of anguish drew immediate attention from the others.
"That's for hitting me," Trina told him, and then laid her head down and closed her eyes. She was still wearing a smile when she went to sleep.
Gregol lay awake for a few minutes thinking he would never be able to get to sleep, but his fatiuge overtook him.

With a start, Gregol opened his eyes to the vision of the blackened heavens. It was a darkness beyond that of night; it was the blacknness of death. The clouds rode past on a wind that came from all directions at once, casting droplets of rain at odd intervals. There was pulsating red wound in the sky, seeping through the fabric of the veil, its blood stained the earth below. It was the mark of death.
Feet tampled past him, threatening to tred across his lying form in their mad pursuit. He sat up and drew his knees protectively closer to his chest as he surveyed the city streets. A woman clutching her child in her arms ran past. She wore a faded red bandanna over her auburn hair, while her white dress billowed in the directionless wind. The boy of five years was crying harder than his mother. There were thousands more like her, mirror images of distress.
The blank faces of buildings loomed overhead like tombstones. Smoke poured out of the windows, as bits of paper drifted down like snowflakes. The only illumination came from the flickering street lights, and the fires burning in the corner tower.
Not knowing where he was, or why he was infected by their fear, Gregol tried to stop one of the people racing by. They eluded his touch, however, and tumbled to their knees a few steps later, sobbing hysterically.
Through the crowd came the shuffling figure of the dragon. The sea of people parted as if it were part of a stage play, without noticing its presence. It was Chandra, the rock dragon. She walked casuallytowards him, as if they were a pair of old friends meeting on a busy street. Her head shifted back and forth and watched the chaos intently as though it were an annual parade.
She stopped a few meters from him and let out a deep puff of breath. "Beautiful, isn't it?" she spoke in a natural voice that reminded him of his mother. "Have you ever seen so many people lost like this? The chaos, it's... indescrible. There's nothing quite like the collapse of a civilization."
"Why are you here?" Gregol demanded of the beast. His hands gripped for his sword, which was not there. Looking down, he saw he was dressed as a civillian, with no weapons ready at hand.
"The question is not, 'Why am I here,' it's 'Where are we?'" the dragon commented in a bored manner. "This is the final day of Gerran. Moments from now, the meteor will fall from the sky, killing everyone, but you don't have to worry about that. Your body is far from here, trapped in the future. In our dreams, however, we are free to wander as we like," the dragon smiled. "To think that all of this could be avoided because of that infernal power cell. What a waste of life..." she said regretfully. "I would have like to eat them." With one paw, she crushed a man dressed in a business suit as casually as if he were a fly. Her claws raked across the pavement, leaving deep marks.
"Why have you brought me here?" he asked the dragon. A part of him understood that the dragon was infringing on his dreams with its telepathy. There was no way to banish her, however, without any knowledge of telepathy itself.
"We're not so different, you and I," the dragon told him. "My family was enslaved by you humans, and used in their wars as living weapons. One by one, they lost their lives at the hands of their human captors. My mate was torn apart by cannon fire over the fields of Sharak. They robbed him of his nobility with their magic, turning his mind into a blank slate. He could not resist their orders, so he went to battle for the humans. Can you not relate?" she asked Gregol. "War is an invention of the humans, which we dragons have striven to erradicate. We hoped that the Disaster would have changed your attitudes, but how wrong we were," she shook her head sadly. The motion of her head created a mall draft that blew back his hair. "Which is why I need that power cell. You wish to put an end to the war you fight, well I wish put an end to war. I wish to put an end... to you!" the dragon snaked its head forwards and snapped its jaws shut around his midsection. Pain permeated every part of his being as the fangs sunk into his hips. He could feel the sharp teeth puncture his bowels and kidneys. With a thrash of her long head, she tossed his body into the air and dashed him against a wall. His spine broke in twain, leaving his body numb. With horror, Gregol realized he could no longer sense his own hearbeat, but he could not die. "You think you can make a fool of me, boy?" the dragon roared as it stepped on his limp form. She crushed his legs into a bloody smear on the pavement. "I'm going to catch you, and when I do, I'm going to..."

Gregol awoke and thrashed blindly inside the sleeping bag, struggling against the imaginary dragon's paw. Trina awoke momentarily and tried to calm him as best she could. "Shush, baby," she draped her arm over his chest and push him back down. "It's okay. There's nobody hurting you."
Gregol caught his breath as he clutched at his own heart. With relief, he felt it beating. He had just tasted death, and he didn't like it.
"I was... I was..." he panted, but the dream was already becoming a memory. All he could remember was the pain. Troubled, he sat up and wiped the sweat from his brow.
As he raised his head, Gregol saw the silhouetes of Sheru and Tomboy as the hovered over the power cell. Neither one of them noticed him watching as they playfully ran their hands across it. There was something reminscent of foreplay in the way that they touched the cell and giggled softly. Trina placed her hand on his shoulder as they watched mutely.
"What are you guys doing up?" Gregol asked them in a clear voice. The two did not respond to him, however, as they continued their loving carres of the power cell. "Uh... guys?" Gregol did not know if he should be worried. There was still so much they did not know about the cell. Urvook and Muney both slept soundly, inbetween the two ghosts.
Dr.Banter was sitting cross-legged a few inches from the ground as he watched the two women with rapt fascination. When he noticed Gregol, he put a finger to his lips and whispered, "They're entranced."
"Are they okay?" Gregol was concerned. Then he noticed that the overwhelming sensation emmited by the power cell had receeded. It was now like a steady heartbeat, which he felt it a simmilar way to the one pounding rythmically inside Trina's chest. It lulled him, like the telepathic embrace of the dragon.
The hands of the two women overlapped each other. With their eyes intent on the light at the center of the cell, Tomboy ran her hand up Sheru's bare arm. The woman shivered with delight at the sensation of her short fingernails barely touching his skin.
Gregol felt himself become aroused, and did not know why. It was as if the feelings experienced by the two women were being passed on to him.
Suddenly, Tomboy began bucking. Her hips thrust forwards and back while her body twisted and convulsed. She gripped the cell tightly for support before she collapsed beside it in exhaustion. Sheru meanwhile rocked back until she was bent over her heels and let out a sigh of contentment.
As they watched, the two women lay back, basking in the afterglow. Trina, for one, was shocked. "Did they...?" she whispered into his ear.
Gregol cleared his throat and said, "I don't know what just happened."
"I think I do," Dr.Banter appeared suddenly at their right without physically moving across the distance inbetween. "They were using the power cell like a drug. You see, whenever a spellcaster uses magic, they have an experience simmilar to an orgasm. Since the power cell increases one's own magic potential, it also increases this experience. Offhand, I would say there is no risk to their health involved."
"So did they just..." Trina struggled for a moment for the words, "do it?"
"If you're implying what I think you're implying, then not technically." Dr.Banter looked at the two women as they drifted to sleep. "I wish I was still alive," he sighed with loneliness. "I was quite the charmer in my days," the ghost remembered fondly.
Gregol was conflicted. As long as he stayed awake, he was privy to the outlandishness of his own reality, but should he fall asleep he would be exposed to new dimensions of pain. He settled finally on drawing the cover over his head and putting his arm around Trina for comfort.

When Gregol awoke a second time, he saw by his watch it was late in the day. Trina was awake and lay with him in their bag, watching him intently. Her breath was hot against his cheek. The others were making breakfast as they prepared for the final leg of their journey. Gregol could not help but notice how Sheru and Tomboy sat next to each other around the power cell. He decided that it was none of his business what the two of them got up to, but he had an innate male curiosity nevertheless.
The two finally rose from their sleeping bag and joined the others. Urvook carefully avoided looking at anyone, and Gregol could only assume he had heard the noises in the night. "So this is it?" Urvook asked him as they sat down.
"By the end of the day, we'll be behind the wheel of the most powerful ship on the planet," Gregol told him triumphantly.
"What then?" Urvook perssited as he stretched his knees.
"We..." Gregol had never arrived at a definite plan during the chaos of the past few days. "We fly around for a bit, until we know how to handle the controls. After that, we'll fly over Ageria, and attack a few sites. They don't have to be manned. We'll show them what the Osurese is capable of. They'll automatically think that the ship belongs to Forset. While they're coming up with a strategy to combat us, we'll turn around and launch an attack on Forset. That'll get them good an confused. Then I'll call and give them an ultimatum. Either they end the war and step down as leaders, or we'll launch an all out assault on both armies. We'll give them a two week deadline, so they can set up a democratic ellection like in the old days. If they don't meet the deadline, then we'll attack them directly."
"You know they'll never step down," Urvook reminded him.
"Yeah, but this way we don't look like the bad guys. We give them a fighting chance, see?" Gregol rationalized. "If they step down willingly, we'll give them amnesty. If they don't we do things the hard way."
Urvook thought it over. "It'll have to do," he decided reluctantly.
"How can we have a democratic ellection if there is no opposition?" Sheru asked as she jabbed a fork into her breakfast.
"There is an opposition," Gregol was sure of it, "it's just underground. If we give them the opportunity, they'll come forward and present their own vision for a greater Forset."
"Sounds like a bunch of rubbish to me," a voice spoke. Gregol nearly leapt out of his skin before he realized who it was. It was Dr.Tharoh, who had awakened at last. His serene expression was muffled by a grumpy demeanour as he sat with both arms and legs crossed. "To think my gem would fall intot he hands of a bunch of punks like you."
"Come now, Dr.Tharoh," his ghost companion countered, "they're not that bad."
"Bah," was all that Dr.Tharoh had to say to that. "They've taken me from my comfortable bed, haven't they?"
"You don't have to come if you don't want to," Dr.Banter told him.
"I sincerely doubt that," Dr.Tharoh grumbled. "That damn gem of mine is draggin me along with it. I fear I'll never be freed from it's curse." Sighing, Dr.Tharoh looked into the distance and muttered, "I should have gone into medicine."

"So it's safe to go in?" Ludross asked, brimming with excitment.
"Be our guest," Gregol waved him on. Immediately, the students ran off the bus and towards the site, unable to sit on board for any longer.
Muney pulled him aside and asked, "How long are we going to stay here, man? This place gives me the creeps." His pants were already covered in dirt and there was a bead sweat on the corner of his glasses.
"A week, tops," Gregol assured him. "Then we'll be on our way. And I don't want you bothering any of those girls, do you here me?" he pointed to the students hurryingly unloading their supplies and equipment.
Muney frowned, but said nothing. Gregol whistled for him to stop, then pulled his wallet out of his pocket and tossed it to him. Startled, Muney checked his pocket to see that his wallet was indeed missing, then checked his wallet for cash. "You're going to pay me back," he told him.
With nothing else to occupy him, Gregol began to set up camp. The sun was already creeping behind the earth mounds, casting long shadows on the camp. He saw how the area could be fortified in case of an attack, and apreciated his ancestor's sense of strategy. It was always best to take the high ground. The major problem he saw, however, was a lack of water. A thousand years ago, there might have been lakes and rivers across the Wasteland, but now there was nothing by dry dirt. Another thousand years and it would be a desert. Fortunately, the students had brought plenty of water with them, but nobody would be showering in a good while.
With a cry of discovery, Ludross shook the earth off of a blue tarp he found lying on the ground, and pulled it back to reveal a small pit. Trina was there with her gun ready, all too aware that slohran could be laying underneath.
Gregol went up to them to see what the commotion was about. It was unlikey he had made a major discovery so soon. "What's this?" he asked as he gazed into the pit. It wasn't deep enough to even serve as a grave.
"This was where they were going to start digging next," he explained. "They had found a fragment of old pottery here, and were going to continue digging down when their project was cancelled. We're hoping to pick up where they left off. We have so much we can learn," he let out a deep sigh of contentment.
"I've got a question for you," Gregol said as he put his hands on his hips. "What's that cave doing way in the back over there?"
"Cave?" he wrinkled his brow in thought. "Oh, you mean the entrance to the subtereanean chambers. The city's water supply was conveyed by underground canals. The cave led to the main chamber. During the fall of this city, the barbarians came down through the canals by boat, and attacked while the city was sleeping. The tunnel collapsed during the earthquake, but we were hoping to open in back up."
"Yeah, you can turn it into the Tunnel of Love. You can have a ferris wheel and a merry-go-round, and sell pop and prestles to all the little kids," Gregol joked.
"There's no need to be sarcastic," the professor admonished him as his colleague, an older woman, brought forth a map.
"Sorry, it's just that this whole thing seems trivial when there's a war going on. But then the war itself seems trivial," he admitted, as he wandered back to his pup tent.
As the day wore on, the student began digging. A small mound of dirt appeared beside the pit. It reminded him of digging foxholes during the Battle of Chirgar. That one had been too close for comfort. Muney was collaborating with their explosives technichian, exchanging pointers on how to blow things up. Gregol hoped they didn't end up blowing each other up.
Sudddenly, he felt a growing sense of unease. He could tell something was wrong, but he didn't know what. When he heard Sheru screaming out his name, his suspicions were confirmed. Picking up his shield and sword, he ran towards the commotion. Sheru was standing by the entrance to the cave. "Dorcet and Urvook are already inside. Two kids went down into the cave half-an-hour ago, and they haven't come back since," she hastily explained.
"Come with me," he said as he led the way downwards. The cave wasn't as deep as he first thought, and there was only one passage. He noticed, however, that they had yet to catch up with Urvook and Dorcet. "Okay, I give up. Where'd they go?" he shined his flashlight all around.
"There," Sheru tapped him on the shoulder and pointed where he could see. There was a narrow opening near to the ground, just barely large enough to squeeze through.
"Damnit," Gregol swore as he got down on his knees and shone his light inside. "It leads to another chamber. Hold onto this," he gave her his shield as he crawled inside. He kept his flashlight between his teeth and his sword in his hand. After fifteen feet, he was through, and he quickly shone his light around. It was a man-made tunnel with an elaborate mosaic pattern on the floor. The ceiling hung limply, as if it were still ready to collapse. Footprints led down the steep path. "Here," he waited while Sheru tossed him his shield, then helped her out. As he did, he realized how small waisted she was. The girl needed to eat more, he decided.
Stumbling down the loose floor, they made their way into another chamber. Obviously, this was what Ludross had been talking about. It was large enough for an arena. The domed ceiling had half collapsed and falled into the round pit of the floor. It must have been the central junction for all the canals. Dozens of tunnels led off into different directions. "Damnit," Gregol swore again. "It's like a freaking labryinth in here. Hey guys!" he shouted, hoping someone would respond. His voice echoed into infinity, but no one answered. "It could take months to search all these tunnels. Maybe more."
"That one," Sheru pointed again. When Gregol gave her a sceptic look, she elaborated, "I can feel it." Some clerics possessed a sense of premonition, which made them invaluable on the battlefield. Gregol nodded, and he led her into the tunnel.
Bones cruched underfoot, but they were not rescent. The half-buried skull was accompanied by a spiked wooden helmet. "A barbarian," he muttered. It was a strange to see the remains of a soldier from a battle he had not been involved with. Beside the skeleton were dusty footprints, and Gregol mentally commended Sheru on her divining skills. Perhaps she could find a permanent spot on his team, but he would rather she were back home, because he would rather be back home.
The air was not stagnant, which indicated to him that the tunnels opened somewhere futher ahead. If there was another entrance, it meant that things could get in and out. That could mean trouble, but all he saw were insects. The place was not as dead as it looked.
Stepping through a pool of water, he heard a faint sound. It was the voice of one of the student. Charging forwards, Gregol held his sword at the ready.
As he reached the end of the tunnel, Gregol had to stop himself. He was perched upon a precipice. In earlier times, it would have been a waterfall emptying into a stream below, but it had long since dried out. The drop was far enough to break his neck, along with everything else. On the walkway beside the canal, however, the was a flight of stairs leading down.
The chamber was in better condition than the ones the preceeded it. He could only guess what it's function was, but it reminded him faintly of something. Beneath the empty waterfall were shards of wood and steel. "A waterwheel," Sheru guessed. There was a structure beside it that could have been used for milling flour.
"What the..." he suddenly exclaimed as his flashlight landed on a pair of long metal lines. He approached cautiously to see if his supicions were right.
"Rail lines," Sheru whispered.
Gregol realized what was so familiar about the place. It looked like a subway station. "Everything here has to be a thousand years old," he proclaimed. "So how in the hell do they have rail lines?" There were footprints in the dust beside them, leading along the rails. "We should have caught up to them by now," he complained. "Wait," he counted the footprints. "You said that Urvook, Dorcet, and two students came down here."
"Yes," she replied.
"Then why are there seven sets of footprints?" he asked.
Together, they ran down the rails, and soon they saw the glow of a flashlight ahead. The light shone back at them, and Gregol caught up with Urvook.
"Where are they?" Gregol demanded in a harsh whisper.
"Over there," he pointed his light down the tunnel, "with Dorcet. I was just coming to find you guys."
"Who's with Dorcet? How many?" he asked, catching his breath.
"Two students," Urvook was confused. "Gregol, you have to see this. It is the most amazing..."
Gregol ignored him as he continued down the passage, shining his light in every possible direction.
Around a bend, he could see a faint light, but it was not from a flashlight. He would have sworn that the entire room was glowing, if he hadn't known it was impossible. There couldn't be any lights down here.
Dorcet stood gaping with a pair of college students, (one of which was clearly stoned by the smell of him), at a long, angular vessel parked in the middle of hangar. The vessel had to be four hundred feet long, and the hangar was built to match. "It's an Agerian base," he whispered quitely to Sheru. "No wondered this place has been abandonded.
The female student turned to him and shook her head. "No, this isn't Agerian," she told him.
"She's right," Dorcet agreed with her. "I mean, look at this place. It's made out of stone. The Chumfet must have built this a thousand years ago."
"Oh, and I suppose they built that too," he nodded his head towards the strange vessel. He couldn't decided if it was a plane, or a boat. Perhaps both. "Let's get the hell out of here before we're spotted."
"There's no one here," Dorcet assured him. "Look around."
Gregol careful studied the chamber. His view was obstructed by the vessel, but he could see no signs of anyone besides themselves. "It doesn't make sense," he uttered to himself. The footprints had led him to the spot where they were standing. By all reasoning, he should be staring at three Agerian soldiers, or worse.
The end of the hangar led to another tunnel, identical to the one they stood before except that it was twice the size. the light he saw came from a mysterious glowing orb suspended from the ceiling. There was no signs of damage to the chamber. In fact, it was perfectly clean. There was no dust.
"That's a fowlam ball," Sheru pointed to the orb. "They used to make them long ago. It's supposed to last for millions of years, like a tiny sun."
"We're leaving now, and we're coming back with some heavy artillery," Gregol said.
Sheru shuddered noticably. "It's too late," she said in a hoarse voice.
As he turned, Gregol had no sooner raised his shield than he was struck down. Through the clear plexi-glass, he saw a shadowy figure weilding what looked like the wing off an airplane, sharpened to a fine edge. Urvook struggled with a second figure, fending it off with his bastard sword, while Dorcet brought his bayonette up against the third figure. A quick swipe of a black bandaged foot knocked the rifle from his hand, and came near to breaking it.
Gregol had never encountered a phantom before. They were from the very highest class of ghoul. Some were believed to be hundreds of years old, the fallen dead from historic battles. Neither the Agerians, nor the Forset used them, because they could not be controlled. They still served their ancient masters.
The second blow rattled his shield, and he wondered if the bulletproof material could stand up to such an assault. Gregol had not been trained to fight phantoms. He might as well have been trained to fight a storm. They were not dead, and they were not alive. He never heard of one being taken down.
Gregol tried a swipe at the phantom, but it had disapeared. It had simply vanished. So instead, he focused on helping Dorcet. The man was unarmed, as was his opponent. As he grappled with phantom, he let out a cry of pain. Tendrils of smoke rose from where his hands touched the shadowy spectre. The phantom latched its skelletal hands on his throat, and its touch burned his flesh. He looked into the hollow sockets of the being with absolute dread. Gregol brought his sword down on it's skull, and the blade passed smoothly through nothing. The phantom was suddenly gone, as was it's third companion.
"Regroup, regroup," Gregol ordered as they formed a triangle around the students and Sheru. The cleric had entered into a trance, but he wasn't about to ask why.
The massive blade weilded by their leader came down on Gregol. There was no time to use his shield, so he lunged aside and let the blade sink four inches into the hard floor. He stabbed at the phantom, but his blade passed through air. It was as if it had no corporeal body, but he wasn't about to test the theory. Simultaneously, the other two attacked Urvook and Dorcet. One had only a stump for an arm, which ended in a cruel hook.
As the three phantoms surrounded them, Sheru suddenly opened her eyes and emmitted a series of nonsensical words that seemed to come up from the belly of the world. Raising her hands far above her head, she blinded everyone with a tremendous flash of light from nowhere. While silhouetted against the white light, the phantoms disipated into nothing.
"What was that?" Dorcet panted and rubbed his throat. "What was that?"
"Phantoms," Sheru shivered as she lowered her arms. "That should buy us some time."
Gregol remembered that it was usually best to use clerical spells afainst the undead. "You mean they're not dead?" Gregol heaved. His hands shook so hard that he could barely keep his sword upright.
"No," she shook her head. "I only banished them. I don't know if they can be killed. Dorcet," she said when she saw his injuries. He was having trouble breathing due to the burns on his throat. Sheru tried to quickly heal him, but the purplish wounds stubbornly refused to heal. Determined to cure him, Sheru sunk deeper into a trance.
"They could have killed us," Urvook commented as he sheathed his sword at his hip.
"True," Gregol nodded sagely. The two students were huddled on the floor. The man was in the midst of a panic attack, while his girlfriend tried to calm him.
"But they didn't," he added. "They were holding back, like they were testing us."
Gregol thought it over and realized it was true. If they had wanted them dead, they would have been dead. He cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. "So what do they want from us?" he asked himself as much as anyone else.
"It's best we don't stay to find out," Urvook reached down and hauled the two students to there feet. "We have to leave now," he said apologetically.
"I can't tell what's wrong with Dorcet," Sheru claimed when Gregol tapped her on the shoulder, "but it isn't life threatening."
"Feels like it to me," Dorcet croaked as he rubbed his throat. Dead skin hung loosely from the imprints on his throat. He shuffled after them as they made their way back through the tunnels at a hurried pace, stooping once to retrieve his bayonette.
"I don't get it," Gregol continued to protest. "Swords go straight through them, but they can touch us and we can touch them?"
"Metal cannot harm phantoms," Urvook suddenly remembered. "My grandfather used to tell me stories about them. You can't hurt a phantom with metal, because their bodies are trapped between worlds. They can absorb human flesh by touching it. It is how they replenish themselves, by draining the life force of others."
"But magic works," Gregol reasoned, "because they're magical beings."
"That was way too creey," the girl said through chattering teeth as she led her boyfriend through the tunnels.
Gregol, in the confusion, had forgotten which path they took. Sheru had to guide them back to the opening in the cave wall using her intuition. She was the least affected memmber of their group, and Gregol was not sure why. Perhaps her loss had given her a sense of reckless abandonment. Gregol reminded himself to keep a close watch on her.
Ludross and his students were waiting at the mouth of the cave. Trina came up to him and hastily began apologizing, "I thought the four of you could handle it, so we didn't come down. Besides, we had to keep the kids safe, I..."
"It's okay," Gregol plopped himself down on a rock. "Believe me, you wouldn't have wanted to come." Glancing over at Ludross, he said, "I've got good news and bad news for you. First of all, there's an opening that leads down to the canals. Now the bad news, you're not going to like what you find. Nobody is going down there until we say it's okay? Do you understand?"
Conflicted, Ludross grudgingly agreed and turned his attention back on two the rescued students.
The sun had set beyond the distant horizon, and Gregol could only hope that the night would not bring more surprises with it.

    Chapter Four
    Den of Secrets

"You can't be serious about this," Dorcet scoffed as Gregol checked the straps on his shield.
"Whatever's down there is a possible threat to our homeland," Gregol said the words he had practiced during the night. "It is our duty to examine that threat and contain it, if possible. I don't expect you to come with us with your injuries, so I want you to stay here and guard the camp with Muney." He purposefully emitted Muney, who was known to be claustrophobic at times. "The rest of us are going back down."
From what she had heard about phantoms, Emisa was frightened, as were they all. She shifted nervously from foot to foot with her arms crossed tightly over her small breasts. "Do we have to do this right away?" she absently rubbed her arms as if cold.
"Yes," Gregold told her as tested the batteries on his flashlight. "We need to know what that thing is, and if the Agerians put it there."
"What if they did?" Tomboy asked him. "What do we do then?"
"We..." Gregol thought it over. "We blow it up and get everybody the hell out of here." Tomboy looked at him doubtfully. "Look, does anyone have a better plan?"
"Yeah," Muney snorted from where he sat cross-legged on the ground. "We get the hell out of here, then blow it up."
Gregol considered it. "We'll call that Plan B," he tucked the flashlight in his belt and walked across camp towards the cave.
Trina sat facing the the mouth of the cave with her gun resting on her lap. She and Urvook had watched over the cave the whole night, in case the phantoms should return. Fortuneately, they had been able to get a little sleep between shifts, and were active enough for the mission ahead. Without a word, Gregol descended into the depths, and expected them to follow.
Emisa had the foresight to bring a camera along, which she had borrowed from Ludross. She had always been the most artistic in their group. Before she was drafted, she had worked in the photo-lab, while taking art courses at community college. She took several pictures of the canals before following them down one of the channels.
"Are you sure this is the right way?" Trina asked Sheru as they walked beside Gregol.
Sheru shined her flashlight down on the familiar skeleton. "I'm sure," she replied.
They moved cautiously down the stairs into what he now thought of as the train station. As the stood by the water wheel, he took the time to count the four sets of tracks leading into eight different tunnels. He wondered if there was a locomotive at the end of one of them.
The closer they came to the hangar, the higher the tension mounted. Gregol felt the terror rising inside of him, but he tried to endure it. He had been in life or death situations before, but the hangar filled him with a sense of dread like no other. He paused for a second as he realized he was more afraid of what lay in the hangar, than of the phantoms themselves. The others turned to look at him, though, and he felt foolish. As their leader, he needed to show resolve.
No one spoke as they emegered into the hangar. The rails came to a halt just before the mysterious vessel. Obviously, they had once been used to transport supplies and materials to the hangar.
Turning off his flashlight, he ran his hand across the side of the vessel. It felt as smooth as glass, but it was not cold to the touch. It had to be made of a metal alloy he could not. It was suspended by three stout legs at each of its corners. The vessel had odd projections protruding from its body, like clumps of fur engraved in chrome. The cockpit was marked by a clear green dome behind a conical nose jutting downwards. The engines were located at the rear and sides, behind closed shutters. It was a airship of some kind, but it did not look like it could fly. It was long and thin like a dart, but it had little stability. It would likely break in half if it ever took to the air.
"Let's find a way on board," Gregol said. The cockpit door was fifteen feet over his head, with no way to climb up. The sides were too smooth to get a grip. If there had ever been a ladder, it was gone. In fact the entire hangar was berift of any equipment besides the ship itself.
"What was that?" Tomboy whispered as they all froze.
"What was what?" Emisa asked. "I didn't hear anything."
"Do you think they're back?" Urvook backed into Gregol. They all had their weapons drawn before them, although they already knew they were worthless against the phantoms.
As they stood in a circle facing outwards for three full minutes, Gregol had time to think. Their swords had passed easily through the phantoms as if they were air, but one of them had been able to knock the bayonette from Dorcet's hands. Both his sword and the bayonette were made from metal. That meant that the phantoms could act upon their environment, but their environment could not act upon them.
He quickly dismissed the idea as he remembered that Dorcet had burnt his hands by touching the phantom. They could be touched by flesh, but not by metal.
As he disputed with himself that the bayonette was metal, he recalled that the phantom had not touched the barrel of the gun, but rather the wooden frame. Indeed, when Dorcet had inspected his weapon later, he found that the frame had cracked. The phantoms had also left footprints. That meant that they were only impervious to metal. Other materials affected them naturally.
Unfortunately, all of his weapons were made from metal, with the exception of his shield. It still bore a deep scratch from the massive sword stroke.
He thought about the phantom weilding the sword, and the other with the hook. Both those items were metal, and yet ghouls used the same weapons in death as they did in life.
None of these thoughts brought him any closer to a strategy. There were no weapons on hand than the one he held. Perhaps a wooden spear would help, or a rock in a sling, but he didn't have either of those. His best strategy was still the one he had developed earlier, which had Emisa and Sheru attack with their magic while the others defended them.
Gregol lowered his sword after a while. It was useless anyway. "I don't know why they're not attacking," he said, "but they're not. Let's keep looking."
They others reluctantly followed his lead, but never let their guards down. Trina had her sniper's eye roaming the hangar for the slightest sign of movement. He hate to remind her that her bullets were useless, because he'd hate to be wrong.
The nose of the ship was in reach, but he could not get a hold of it. His hands slipped off as easily as if he were tring to grab an icicle. "Totem pole," he decided. "Tomboy, get on Urvook."
"You don't have to tell me twice," she beamed eagerly, breaking through the layers of her ambiguities. The joke eased some of the suspense, but the laughter was uneasy. Tomboy easily climbed up onto Urvook's shoulders, and reached up for the nose. She had the body of a gymnast, and as much flexibility. With some effort, she manage to scramble up onto the nose while Urvook boosted her.
Like a money clinging to a tree, she shimmied up the angular nose towards the green dome of the cockpit. "Tell us if you can see anything inside," Gregol asked her.
"Not much," Tomboy put her flashlight between her teeth as she shone the light inside. "Just a bunch of computers and junk. Looks sort of hight-tech," she said in a muffled voice.
A shot rang out, followed by a second an third one. Gregol wheeled on Trina as she fired into the tunnel. "Did you see them?" he asked as he stared into the darkness.
"I saw... something," she sounded as though she doubted even herself. "It looked big."
Gregol shone his flashlight down the tunnel, but it did not improve the visibility. They sheltered themselves behind the front leg. For the first time, he noticed that the leg was bracketed to the floor, atop some kind of retracted platform. Speaking to himself, he asked, "How did they plan on getting this thing out of here?" The hangar walls were made from solid stone. There was a crack down the middle of the ceiling. He reasoned that the roof must open to the outside. Other details became clear as he looked around the hangar. In one corner, there was a stairway leading up to what he supposed was the control centre. There was still glass in the window, but it had been blinded behind an age of dust. Blast doors hung above each of the tunnels, and there were air vents placed close to the ceiling. "We're going about this the wrong way," he said to the others. "Whatever we need to get on this ship is up there," he pointed to the stairs.
Ignoring the danger, he crossed the open floor to the stairs, and was followed moments after by the others. Tomboy had not given up on reaching the cockpit doors, however, and Urvook remained behind to ensure her safety.
"This is foolishness," Trina told him. "We should be more careful."
"I'm starting to think there's nothing down here but those phantoms, and I'm not sure what they're deal is," Gregol explained. "Whoever, or whatever they are, they're not with the Agerians. Hell, they're probably the only things keeping the Agerians out. Why do you think this place has been abandonded for so long? They're probably guardian spirits. They won't hurt us so long as we don't try to take anything," he didn't believe a single word coming out of his mouth, but it gave him comfort. It made sense to him that such a place would have spirits protecting it. The hangar had survived a thousand years, enduring earthquakes and invasions. It had to have had some help.
"Are you telling me the Chumfets built this place?" Emisa made an exasperated noise.
"We know that some of the technology we have today has been around for thousands of years," Gregol explained as he tried the door atop the stairs. It was locked. "Things like guns, cars, and telephones were used in the era before the Disaster. People just stopped using them for a while because they were too busy trying to survive. All the companies, and the factories, and the learning institutions were either shut down, or destroyed. After a while, people forgot how to make stuff. It took our scientists hundreds of years to relearn everything that we had lost in the Disaster. We're still learning today. Some of the thing's we improved upon, while others we can't begin to recreate. Like that fowlan ball up there," he pointed. "We've got no idea how to make them. I think it's the same with this ship. Maybe they were trying to build a plane, and never got it right."
"But that city up there was as low-tech as they come," Emisa argued. "They were living in houses made of stone. If they could build this, then why would they be living in little hovels?"
Gregol had to think it over. "I don't know, but maybe they liked it. Maybe it's just the way they'd been living for so long, that they didn't want to change it. You saw the canals. They were obviously able to build great things. Probably took them entire  generations to build those things, and one earthquake destroyed it all. But this was their masterpiece. Obviously, it was a secret instilation of some sort, probably set up by the government. No one's been able to find a trace of the capital city yet. It could have been a thousand times more advanced than this. For all we know, this huge city of their might have been some backwoods dive."
"I never knew you thought about this sort of thing," Trina was impressed with him.
"There's alot of things you don't know about me, darlin'," he said as he stepped aside. "I used to get good grades in history. Now I'm making it. Shoot down this door for me, would you?"
Trina obligingly shot the lock, then tried the handle. It opened after she put her shoulder to it.
Unlike the hangar, the control room showed signs of age. "The hell will any of this stuff still work," Emisa looked over the control pannels. There were a number of switches beside oval shaped monitors. It was vaguely familiar, while being completely alien. Gregol held a handkerchief to his nose to filter the dust.
Sheru tried one of the pannels experimentally, and it lit up. "It's still working," she proclaimed.
"But what's powering it?" Gregol asked in disbelief.
"My guess is a crystal shards," she said thoughtfully. "In the old days, they would power machines with magic crystals. They never deteriorate, but they eventually run out of power if you leave them running too long. If you can find one that works, it can be worth a small fortune."
"I'm looking at a rather sizeable fortune already," Gregol used his handkerchief to wipe the dust off the controls and windows. There was an oddly tilted stool before one of the pannels, and he sat down experimentally. A cloud of dust rose around him, but the metal frame of the chair was still sturdy. "This is the sort of thing I'm talking about," he turned to Emisa. "Magic crystals. Nobody knows how to make those anymore, and because of that they're more valueable than diamonds."
"They're also supposed to be radioactive," Emisa complained. "We're probably getting an unhealthy dose right now."
"It might not even be in this room," he noted a back door before turning his attention to the yellow glow of a monitor. There were a series of buttons surrounding the screen. Pushing one of them at random, he read the text that appeared on the screen. He was surprised to learn he could actually understand the letters, but remembered that they had been using the same language for thousands of years with little change. The words appeared in a rolling script instead of printed words, adding to the archaic effect. "Dose ye wishe to contenue?" he puzzled over the words. "Ye? Nay?"
"Do you wish to continue," Sheru translated for him. "Yes," she touched the screen.
A menu opened up, and Gregol selected the manual operating system. A diagram of the vessel appeared, marked by the words, "Osurese III."
"It says here it's only seventy-one percent complete," she tapped the screen. Gregol glanced up from the monitor to the window to see if Tomboy and Urvook were okay, then returned his gaze to the screen.
"But what is it?" Gregol made the mistake of leaning back and the chair collapsed underneath him. Sprawled on the floor, he sat up and said, "I meant to do that." Trina was the only one who laughed.
Sheru went through a few of the menus before saying, "It's supposed to fly, but that's all I can tell."
"Wait," Trina stoppped her and pointed to something on the screen. "What's that?"
"A gun," Emisa whispered as the three women huddled before the montior. Standing behind them, Gregol couldn't see what they were talking about. "A big gun," she corrected herself. "Right aslong the bottom of the ship."
"You could blow a hole through a mountain with something that size," Trina commented. Gregol stood on his tip-toes to see over them. As he leaned on Trina's shoulders, she rubbed herself against him. Gregol assumed it was involuntary.
To his left and to his right, Emisa and Sheru simultaneously rose their heads to look at each other. Their expressions were mirror images of fear and aprehension. A moment later, Gregol felt the same cold spike running up his spine. He knew that if he were to turn around, he would be looking at the phantoms. He did not want to turn around, however, and face those dark figures.
Trina, aparently the only one who could not sense it, looked back over her shoulder and inhaled deeply trhough clenched teeth. As her had strayed towards her gun, Gregol stopped her hand. "It won't do any good," he assured her.
"Why..." a phantom spoke. It was as if his mind and his voice had been seperated for long centuries, and he could barely remember how to form the words. "...have you come here?" he said at last.
Gregol reluctantly faced the three figures. They floated a few inches above the steel grated floor, suspended like marionettes dressed in tattered black rags. It confirmed his suspicions that the phantoms could not touch metal.
It was the phantom weilding the giant sword who had spoken. This sword, however, was strapped behind his back. It was practically as tall as he was, and just as wide. No man should have been able to carry a sword like that. Either he possesed superhuman strength, or else the sword was made of lightweight materials. Black bandages covered every inch of his body, leaving only part of his face and hands exposed. He was black himself, but by a form of decay rather than race. He had mumified, turning his skin to leather. His lips had dried and shrunk to create a small slit for a mouth. His flesh had welded together over his eye sockets. His nose had receded into his face until it vanished. Gregol had seen worse. For ghouls, they were impeccable condition.
"We came here..." Gregol could think of nothing further to say, and lost the courage to speak.
"You came here... to take the ship..." his voice sounded like the rumble of an avalanche when heard from a great distance. It was disconcerting to note that the voice did not come from his mouth, but somewhere slightly off to the side. Every word was an effort, as if he spoke each with his dying breath.
"Not necessarily," Gregol replied. If they were guarding the ship, he did not want to anger them by admiting they were going to steal it.
The phantoms paused. None of them moved, aside from the involuntary bobbing motion that accompanied their floating forms, but it seemed as though they were confering with each other. "...You are warriors like us," the unarmed phantom spoke. There was virtually no way to tell them apart aside from their weapons. His voice had more of a lisping accent to it. "...Few have visited this place in the many long years."
"...We have been forgotten," the phantom with the hook said. "Abandonded here many centuries ago," his voice was clearer than the others. "No one remembers what we built here."
"What did you build?" Gregol asked them, if only to keep them talking. The more they talked, the less they fought.
"A ship," the first spoke.
"A weapon," said the second.
"A hope," said the third.
"We were to be it's crew," the first phantom with the sword spoke, "but then the Disaster came. We died trying to save our people."
"The Disaster?" Gregol recalled the dates he had been given by Ludross. The Disaster had come over four hundred years after the fall of the city. That meant the Chumfets had not built the ship.
"A great meteor fell from the sky," the second recalled.
"Darkness grew as it blotted out the sun," the third with the hook remembered.
"The Last Nine Days," the first nodded. "We built this ship in secret... to destroy it. We told no one..."
"We told no one that the meteor was coming..." the second lamented.
"What would it have changed?" the third argued. "Such is Fate."
"We did not finish in time," the first spoke sorrowfully. "Our people, and all our cities were destroyed."
"The Gods punished us for our failure," the third spoke. "We were forever cursed to live in these forms," it touched it hook to its face.
"Now we will never join our people in the next life," the second hung its head.
"But you... are strong..." the first said hopefully. "You can finish what we started."
"Perhaps then the Gods will show us mercy," the third held its arms up to the heavens.
"Only one part is missing," the second drifted forward so that it was only foot away from Gregol. "The power core."
"You want us to take this ship and finish building it?" Gregol could not believe his luck. If they wanted his help, he would be glad to give it. Now that he knew what the ship was capable of, he could not let it fall into enemy hands. If they could not the ship operational and return it to Forset, the Agerians would eventually find it and claim it as their own. The results could be devastating. He would rather destroy the vessel than have it turned against his own people.
"Why should we trust you?" Sheru demanded with sudden fury. By the electricity in the air, he could tell she had prepared a spell. "You hurt Dorcet."
"...I... apologize," the second said. "I could not help myself. It is hard to think sometimes. As time goes by, I lose more of myself. One day, we will become nothing but demons. We wished only to test you, for you must be strong. The power cell is not easily come by."
"What do you mean," Gregol asked, "'Not easily come by?'"
"There is no need to concern yourselves with that yet," the first phantom hastily interrupted. "First, you must find it. The power cell lies beyond the end of the long road that leads to fair Dotremu. It was once our home, before the Disaster, but now all that remains is rubble. The power cell survived the Disaster, however, and it is located in the facility beside the palace. If you bring it here and install it, the ship is yours."
"Why don't you get it yourselves?" Sheru asked hostily.
The phantoms drew back a pace without moving their feet. Gregol thought they might be afraid of her magic. "It hurts us," the first explained. "The power cell is made of very powerful magic. Our bodies cannot long endure its pressence. Will you do this for us?"
Gregol considered his options. "Sure," he decided.
"Gregol!" Sheru protested.
"It's okay," he told her. "I know what I'm doing."
Satisified, the phantoms disipated into nothing. Once she was sure they were gone, Sheru released hold of her spell and demanded, "What are you thinking? You can't trust those things."
"I don't trust them," Gregol explained himself, "but I do think they're telling the truth." Looking at the doorway, he saw Tomboy and Urvook standing in the light. "We can't pass up on this opportunity. This ship was designed to blow up a meteor the size of small state. Do you want to think what it could do to Forset? We can't keep a lid on this thing for long. The kids know it's here, and they're probably going to tell the whole world. My guess is that we have less than a week before this place is flooded with Agerian soldiers."
"So what are we supposed to do with it?" Sheru asked. "Hand it over to our government? They'll use it to kill millions."
"You think I don't know that?" Gregol found he was shouting. Calming himself, he said, "Once the ship is finished, we can discuss that. I don't exactly know myself. I suppose we could always hide it somewhere."
"They'll know it's missing," Urvook told him logically. "Both Ageria and Forset will be looking for it. They would hunt us down eventually, and take it from us. No matter who finds us first, we'd all be dead. I think it would be best if we destroy it."
"We don't even know what this thing's made out of," Gregol commented as he went over to the window. "It's been hundreds of years, and it's still in pristine condition. Maybe it can't be destroyed. Besides, if we destroy it, we'd be no better off. Forset would try us for treason, and Ageria would shoot us on the spot."
"But we could be saving millions of lives," Sheru said quitely.
"Or..." a corrupt thought entered into his mind. He had to stop himself before he said it, worried that he was stepping over the boundaires of sanity. "Or we could take it for ourselves," Gregol clasped his arms behind his back and waited for their reaction. His men exchanged disbelieving looks with each other as he went on, "With this ship, we could be the ones calling all the shots. Think of it. We hold the most powerful weapon the world has ever known. Who would dare challenge us?"
"This is treason," Emisa was aghast.
"This is survival," Gregol countered. "How long have we been fighting? How much longer will we have to fight. This isn't a war, it's insanity, and it's been going on for too long. It's been a hundred and sixty years," his voice boomed throughout the chamber. "One hundred and sixty years," he repeated in a quieter tone. "Of course, we haven't been fighting all that time. There have been ceasefires and truces, but there has never been peace. How many have died? How many more will die? We can force an end to this. We can restore sanity to the world."
"You've gone crazy!" Tomboy tried to disuade him.
"What's so crazy about me?" Gregol focused on her. "You lost your brother to this war. And for what? Do you know what we're fighting for? Does any of you know what we're fighting for?" he adressed the entire group. He was greeted only by silence. "No. None of you knows. Well I'll tell you. We're fighting for control. And it's not the control of Ageria. No, it's the control of our own people. We have had a hundred and sixty years of military dictatorship. Each of our leaders has hand picked his sucessor before passing on, for the sole purpose of continuing the war. And do you know why? The war is the only thing that justifies our government. The war is an illusion that blankets the incompetence of our government. As long as we keep fighting, we won't see the state of our schools, the health care system, the economy, or the crime rate. We're starving. We haven't starved yet, but we will. Every ten or fifteen years or so, there's a massive food shortage. Thousands of people die, until we're able to correct it. The only thing that carries us through the crisis is knowning we'll have food someday. But every time we go through that, there's less and less food. One day, there won't be any. The government knows that the only way to solve this is to win the war against Ageria. Then we'll have their resources. We'll be able to rebuild. More importantly, we'll be able to sustain our standard of living. It's the same for Ageria.
"Why haven't we simply surrendered? Why haven't we achieved peace? Because we've been too evenly matched. For every battle we lose, we win one. There's always been a chance that we could win this war once and for all. Besides, now we hate each other too much to change. Attrocities have been commited, and we can't undo the past. We've all lost someone in this war, and we place the blame on the Agerians. It's not their fault though, as much as it is our own. We think that if we were to lay down our guns, the Agerians would slaughter us all. And we're probably right, because we would slaughter them. So if this war is ever going to end, then something is going to have to happen to change things. This ship is change," Gregol pointed down at the vessel. "With this ship, we can cut off the heads of these twin snakes, and let the people decide for themselves how they should continue their lives. If they want to fight, we'll give them a fight. When they see what we can do, they'll forget there ever was a war," he began laughing to himself, but quickly stopped.
"You're scaring me," Emisa said softly.
"Am I wrong?" Gregol asked them. "Is it too big of a risk? They'll try to destroy us, but how is that different? Our own government sent us into this war to die, and the Agerians will obligingly kill us. I say it time we quit fighting, and started to fight back. This will be the coup to end the coup. This will make history. This will change the future. So what would you rather do? Would you rather help me, or would you rather die in this war?" he waited for their anwser.
"I'll help you," Trina promised herself.
"You're crazy," Tomboy said, "but you're the boss."
"You're going to get us all killed," Emisa said indecisively as she shook her head.
"I suppose if things go wrong, we can always turn the ship over to Forset," Urvook rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That is if we move on Ageria first."
"Good thinking. Ageria first," Gregol told him. "And I'm not talking about hitting the army, or the people. I'm talking about hitting Kaiga and Fresen," he named the leaders of Agerian and Forset. "I don't know what will happen if we knock both of them off, but there should be a period of political turmoil. The generals might try to take advantage of the situation by invading, but I'm cure they can be disuaded."
"Where in the hell did all of this come from?" Trina asked him inquisitively. "You've never been like this before."
"And do you know why?" Gregol asked her. "Because of the secret police. I would have been locked away the moment I opened my mouth."
"What about the phantoms?" Sheru reminded them. "You must realize they're only using us. Once we finish building the ship, they'll kill us."
"We'll deal with that when it's time," Gregol told her. "For now, our objective is to find that power cell."

    Chapter Five
    Road to the Past

"Are you sure this is the way?" Gregol conferred with Sheru as they both stood at the mouth of the tunnel with their backs towards the ship.
"Yes, I can feel it," Sheru gazed at an indescernible point slightly above her head. "There's something at the end of this path. Something... mysterious. It has to be the power cell."
"Okay," Gregol conceded. He had long since decided to let Sheru choose their path. It also made sense to him that this was the correct tunnel. The power cell would have to be transported to the vessel once it was completed, and this was the only route that led directly to the hangar.
He brought with him only five of his men, leaving Dorcet and Emisa behind to guard the camp. Dorcet remained because of his injuries, and Emisa stayed to help heal Dorcet with clerical treatments. Besides, Emisa would be the only one able to defend the camp in case the phantoms should return. There was a small chance that their quest was just a ruse to lure them away from the students. Ludross, of course, had no idea where they were. They told him that they were going to clear the tunnels for an expedition.
"Let's go," he waved the others forward. Ever since he proposed the journey, they had been looking at him in a new light. No one openly opposed him, however, so he had to trust they were with him. He knew them well enough to know how they felt. Urvook was a steadfast patriot, but his disagreed with his government's policies. Tomboy was still suffering emotionally from the loss of her brother, and blamed the draft for his death. Muney got off on the violence of the war, but not the drudgery. Trina was proud of her skills as a sharpshooter, but was reluctant to take a human life. Sheru had only just lost her entire team, with whom she had lived and laughed since she graduated from boot camp. Each had their reasons for hating the war, and the ones responsible for it. Beyond that, however, he suspected that none of them were involved with the secret police.
The secret police were known to infiltrate teams of foot soldiers, where their services were needed the most. Dissenters had a way of disappearing. Officially, they were listed as M.I.A., but their comrades-in-arms knew the truth. One of them was with the secret police. Those who tried to discover the identity of these agents were likely to follow their comrades. No one knew what happened to them once they went missing. There were rumours about forced labour camps in the North, but nothing could be confirmed. Likely, they were murdered, and became ghouls. You fought knowing that the next shot that hit you might be from friendly fire.
Gregol had no idea how long the road was, or if it was even passable. He had no idea where he was going. All he knew was that it was leading them East, towards their rendevous point. If it did lead them to the ancient city of Gerann, the capital of Mayurn, it would be the archeological discovery of the century. Gerann had been lost since the disaster, and was believed to be destroyed. Legend had it that it was a technological marvel comparable to their modern cities.
"Let me ask you something, Greg," Tomboy said as she hooked her thumbs around the shoulder straps of her backpack. "You haven't gone crazy, have you?"
"Yeah, I'm the crazy one in this group," Muney proclaimed and then laughed at his own joke. Something he was carrying rattled every time he took a step.
"I'm not crazy," he assured her. "At least I don't think I'm crazy."
"That's reassuring," Tomboy rolled her eyes. "But seriously, you're not planning on taking over the world like some kind of cartoon super-villain, are you?"
"It sucks enough being in charge of you guys; what makes you think I'd want to rule the whole world?" Gregol told her honestly. "All I want is for this war to end."
"You might make a good president," Urvook commented.
"Yeah, that was a real pretty speech the other day," Tomboy added. "You were sexy, like Thurmon Asset," she named her favourite movie star.
"Ha ha," Muney laughed and pointed at her accusingly. "You like Gregol!" he said in a juvenile sing-song voice.
Tomboy promptly kicked him in the shins. Gregol suspected that it would take to much effort for her to kick him in the balls. The man grunted and limped a couple of steps before he caught up with them. "So what if I do? He's more of a man than you'll ever be, but then I'm more of a man than you'll ever be. Shave that beard and we'll talk, sweetie," she blew Gregol a kiss and winked.
It was too dark for anyone to see that Gregol was blushing. Sometimes he had honestly no idea about Tomboy. She might have been joking, or she might not have.
"Have you been thinking about this for a long time?" Trina asked after a short interval had passed.
"More or less," he shrugged, causing his shield to tap him against the back of the head. "Sometimes at night I think about how everything would be better off if there was no war. My dad was the same way. He'd always go off about how the government was to blame, then my mom would have to hush him up," Gregol laughed at the memory. "She thought there might be microphones listening in on us," there was a sad hint at the end of his speech.
Trina caught inflection in his tone and asked, "What happened?"
"One day, dad went off to work... and he never came home. The police said that he probably ran off with some floozie, but... I know it was Them," he tried to control his emotions. "Mom knew it too. After dad was gone, she started to go crazy. She wouldn't say anything, for fear that They might be listening. When they carted me off to the war, mom got worse. Last I heard, she was in the looney bin."
"I never knew," Trina reached out to touch his arm sympathetically.
"The worst is not knowing," Gregol continued. "You think he might be dead, but there's always the hope that he's safe somewhere in a work camp. Maybe one day they'd let him out... but no one ever gets out. They never come back. I had a friend in high school too, a pacifist. She went to an anti-war rally, and she never came back. Never came back," he uttered under his voice. "Those things I said on the bus... to that girl..." he choked. "They'll hear it. They'll come for me. They'll take me away, and then I'll never come back."
"I won't let anyone take you," Trina stopped him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, "I promise. No one is going to take you from me."
He knew it was true. Trina had always been there for him, like a personal bodyguard, and she never asked for anything in return. "Thank you," he was comforted.
There was an awkward moment in which no one spoke. Silently, they continued their march.

"Hold up," Muney complained as he lagged behind, "my boots are killing me. We've got to stop."
Gregol shone his flashlight down at his wristwatch. "Try and keep moving. We'll stop in a few more hours."
"A few more hours?" Muney protested. "We've been walking all day. I can't stand this any more."
"You're not getting claustrophobic, are you?" Gregol asked Muney.
"No!" he said too sharply. Muney was sensitive about his condition, and could not even admit to having it. The ceiling was high enough overhead to create the illusion of space. Muney, however, would be thinking about the tonnes of solid rock between him and the open sky.
"We'll stop," Gregol finally consented. "For a little while." They were at a junction in the tunnels. The rails they had been following split into three different directions. Sheru was certain, however, that they were taking the right path.
"We go straight," she told him as she sat beside him and Trina. She had not spoken in many hours. Setting her lantern on the floor, she stared at its light.
"How you holding up?" Gregol asked as he rummaged through his backpack. They had restocked their rations at the camp, and had enough food to last them weeks.
"It's..." she sought the word and eventually gave up. "Can you feel it?" she asked suddenly.
"Feel what?" Gregol replied as he unwrapped a granola bar.
"Why pretend?" Sheru asked him. "You know what I'm talking about."
"No, I don't know," he said cautiously. The granola bar was poised inches from his mouth.
"You have the gift," she grew heated, "I know you can feel it."
Gregol lowered his snack. "How did you know?" he eyed her suspiciously.
"I felt it the first time we met. You can use magic," Sheru accused.
In their group, only Trina and Emisa were privy to this secret. Tomboy, who had been eavesdropping, half-turned to see his reaction. The other two, noticing something was amiss, followed likewise. "I never passed the tests," Gregol answered before taking a bite.
Sheru made a sound that was like the beginning of a laugh. "You mean you failed them on purpose," she responded.
"It was during the sixth grade," he said quitely. "All the kids had to take an 'eye test.' I'd heard enough about it to know what it really was. They would show you a series of blurry pictures, and you had guess what they were. The last few were nothing more than blotches. No matter how good your eyes were, you couldn't see what they were. But I could. So when I was asked what I saw, I lied and said it was a goat, or something. The woman didn't believe me though. So she set the pictures aside, and she took out a deck of cards. 'Do you like card tricks?' she asked. Then she had me pick a card and show it to her, before she put it back in the deck. Then she shuffled them, and then she said, 'Now pick another card.' So I did, but it was the same card. I showed it to her, and then I put it back in the deck. Then she shuffled the cards again and had me pick another card. It was the same card, the Queen of Diamonds. She smiled at me and set the cards aside. 'Do you want to know the trick?' she asked me. 'There is no trick.'
"And then she was surrounded by magic. I could feel it in the air, like the buzzing of a million bees swarming around inside a hive. She saw the way I was looking at her, and she said, 'You feel it, don't you. You have a very special gift, Gregol.' I shook my head and I told her I didn't see anything. She said, 'It's nothing to be ashamed of, Gregol. It's a wonderful thing.' But I started to cry. She let go of the magic and asked me, 'Why are you crying, Gregol?'
"And I said, 'Because you're going to send me to the war.' She asked me why I thought such a silly thing, and I told her that, 'They send all the spellcasters to the war. Please, I don't want to die.'
"She looked at me for a long time and said, 'Gregol, I think it's time you went back to class.' Years later, when I graduated from high school, they drafted me in the war. But I was never tested again. That lady never reported me as a spellcaster. She tried to save me, but it didn't work. I've been hiding it ever since, in case I might get that lady in trouble."
"You..." Sheru began hestitantly, "are an insult to everything we spellcasters stand for."
"Excuse me?" It was the last thing he expected her to say.
"By hiding what you are, you're throwing the entire Magic Rights movement out the window. Are you ashamed of what you are?" she raged.
"No, I..." he tried to say.

    Chapter One
    The Price of Victory

Gregol had barely enough time to raise his shield before the wall collapsed ontop of him. Pieces of concrete rained off the bulletproof plexiglass in a seemingly endless surge of rubble. Though the shield was almost as tall as he was, a chunk of concrete the size of a golf ball hit him in the temple. Gregol had forgotten the first rule of war, "Don't take off your helmet." The cracked and warped visor had made the standard issue helmet all but useless, so he had discarded it in the dirt. As a thin trickle of blood ran down his jawline, he regreted that decision.
The rubble half burried him behind his shield, but that was the least of his problems. A troll appeared in the newly formed opening. It was eleven feet tall and nearly as wide with all the bulk of an elephant. Its hide was a sickly green and it wore armour made from old car parts. It's red breastplate was once the hood of a car, while its shoulder guards were made from wheel wells. Its face was unremarkable for a troll. It's nose was wide and flat, and its exagerated overbite bore many sharp fangs which pointed in odd directions. Its helmet was made from an old trash can. In one hand in held a cudgel the size and shape of a water heater. It was the sort of weapon that looked like it could knock down walls, which it just had.
After he freed himself fromt he debris and scambled backwards on all fours to avoid being tampled by the stampeding troll, Gregol raised his gun at the beast and fired. The shots landed harmlessly on its arm, its breastplate, and its groin. A troll had no weak spots. The troll halted for a second, confused by the little flickers of pain across its body. A troll was large, not bright. Then it's eyes settled on Gregol, and it's thick brows lowered menacingly. Raising its cudgel, it set to strike.
Since the wall had been the only thing keeping the ceiling up, the ceiling came crashing down on the troll. It howled in surprise as it was burried beneath steel and concrete. One of the side walls caved inwards and added to the pile. Gregol took the opportunity to get to his feet and retreat a few steps. Glancing over his shoulder, he looked at his fellow soldier, Emisa, and shouted, "A little help here!"
The spellcaster was already deep within a trance, and did not register him at all. Behind her kneeled Dorcet in an attack poisiton. His bayonet blared radip shots as he fired at a enemey solider on the second floor of the atrium.
Gregol drew his attention back to the troll, who was already loosening himself from the debris. Gregol fired twleve shots, emptying his clip, the last bullet grazed the corner of its beady black eye. It wasn't enough to blind him, only enough to piss him off. He reached inside his munitions pocket before he realized that he had run out of bullets. Swearing under his breath, Gregol saw two dark figures leap out from behind the troll. From the quick and gangly way they moved alone, he knew they were ghouls. They reminded him of gorilas at the zoo when they would charge the cage, except they were about as thin as hatstands. Their dark billowing clothes hid their true forms, and heavy veils hid their decrepid faces as they came at him with long knives. Gregol had no choice but to match steel for steel. Drawing his short sword from behind his back, he deflected the first blow with his shield and slashed back. He had no finess with a sword, but he could swing hard. He handled his sword like a baseball bat and swung for a homerun. The sword caught the ghoul beneath his ribcage as it tried to stab at him from behind his shield. Its spindly arms weren't long enough though. Using the momentum of his swing, he thrust the ghoul back into it's companion. It wasn't dead, but it would be sooner or later.
A shot felled the second ghoul as a bullet ripped through its skull. Inky black blood smeared the rubble as it flew backwards. Gregol didn't have time to check who had come to his rescue, since the troll had just burst free from the wreckage. Trampling the dead ghoul, it resumed it's former stance with it's cudgel raised above his head.
Abruptly, thin tendrils of crimson light surrounded its head. Gregol didn't have to hear her unearthly chanting to know that Emisa had finished casting her spell. Screaming with agony, the troll reared back its head. The lights pierced through its thick skull and entered into its diminutive brain. It suddenly stopped howling and slunk down to it's knees. Gregol took a step back as it landed dead at his feet. Smoke poured out of his nostril with the unmistakeable scent of burnt flesh. The poor beast had been cooked from the inside out by a fire spell.
The other ghoul was trying desperately to crawl away, so Gregol struck down at it with his sword and ended his life. Only then did he turn to face his companions, noticing that Trina was there with the other two. She held her gun at the ready. "Did we get them all?" he asked, waving his sword back and forth before his face to banish the dust and the various smells the troll was emmiting.
"Seems that way," Dorcet sniffed and made a displeased face. He leaned on his bayonet as if it were a walking stick, holding the butt end.
"Make sure," he pointed to Dorcet. Turning his finger on Trina, he asked, "Lend me a clip." Opening her pouch, she threw him one and he reloaded. It was only half full. "Emisa, you go check on the others and patch them up."
"We'd be better off with a coroner," Emisa shook her head sadly, "I think they wiped out the Blue Hawks team."
"Go and check," he urged her. He didn't want to think about that possibility. Their team was in bad enough shape as it was. For some reasurance, he put a bullet in the troll's head. With trolls, you didn't want to make any mistakes. With Trina at his side, they exited the compound and scanned the surrounding hillside. At the base of the hill, along a dirt road, their tanker stood smoking. It looked like a gazzel after a pack of lions had caught it. Fortuneately, no one from their team had been hurt when the cannon fire hit the armoured vehicle. Unfortunately, several memebers of the Blue Hawks team had been inside. Emisa trudged down the hillside, an easy target for any ememy they had missed. It was a miracle she had made it through the battle without a scratch. "That girl's gonna get killed one of these days," he said for the fourth time that month.
"It hasn't happened yet," Trina responded as she felt in her shirt for a pack of cigarettes. Her hands were still shaking from the adrenaline. As always, she offered him one, but he refused. Instead, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the blood off his sword before sheathing it. He discarded the handkerchief with a careless toss. Ghouls were diseased creatures, and their blood could carry any number of unpleasant surprises.
"This was a bloody ambush gone the wrong way," he confided in her as his lieutenant. According to their intelligence, the outpost wasn't supposed to be half as fortified as it was. They had certainly not anticipated the cannon fire that had torn their tanker in two. As it was, they hadn't got off a single shot from their tanker's cannon. If it hadn't been for Muney and the portable heat seeker, they wouldn't have even made it onto the compound. Muney had taken out the cannon mounted atop the compound's roof, along with two of their men. The rest of the operation had to be carried out in close quarters. In his estimation, they had killed twelve soldiers, five ghouls, two jikaihn, and one troll, and all it had cost them was the Blue Hawks.
Gregol wanted to say more, but he was overwhelmed by frustration. All he could do was make a disatisfied grunt before spitting on the parched earth. Tucking his thumbs in his gun belt, he trod down the hill. Trina quickly caught up to him after she lit her cigarette. The deathly silence told him the battle was over. "What was it all for, huh?" he asked Trina. The compound was simply a stepping stone on the way to the Agerian border, where the main force was wating for them. Their instructions were simple: destroy the outpost and rejoin the main force. Through their actions, Forset had gained about a square mile of territory in its ongoing war with Ageria, which would sooner or later be taken back. These skirmishes were just a way of marking the borders between the territory occupied by Forset and Ageria.
He was long since used to his questions going unanswered. Trina thought it best to keep silent and let him vent. She was the silent type anyway. Silent and deadly.
"How's it look?" he asked Emisa when he reached the tanker. One look inside was all it took to asses the situation. Charred bodies littered the cramped space that had been their mobile home for the past four weeks. From the looks of things, no one had made it out alive.
"Sheru is out there," Emisa said after inspecting one of the bodies.
"Alive or dead?" Gregol asked as he ran a thumb across the shredded edge of the tanker.
"Shell shocked," she told him.
"Damn," Gregol turned and left. Eager to be away from the tanker, Trina followed him. She often shadowed him.
He found her on the other side of the tanker. She sat in the dirt with her knees drawn up to her chest. She was shivering, but unharmed. Obviously, she hadn't been inside the tanker when it was hit. "Hey there," he greeted her. He never knew what to say to someone who just saw their entire team wiped out. It was an all too common occurence for him. Sitting down beside her, he stared at the hazy sunset. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Of course, she didn't respond. "We won you know. They're all dead, and then some."
Her lower lip was shaking. Her eyes were moist, but no tears came down. According to the manual, he was supposed to keep her warm. Putting his arm over her shoulder, he held her close. It reminded him of a beach trip with his old girlfriend. That had been a long time ago. "I know this is hard to accept, but that's war. When you're fighting a war, you just keep on moving. Don't stop to consider what's happening. That's when you get tripped up." She continued to whimper. "I guess that's the only advice I have."
Trina sat down beside them, so that Sheru was in the middle. "There was nothing you could have done," he told her. It was important to mention, since Sheru was the Blue Hawk's cleric. "Their wounds were too severe to heal."
"How'd you get out?" Trina tried to help by asking. Her cigarette cloyed the burning smell coming from the tanker at their backs.
"I was..." she swallowed a few times and then fell silent. Gregol did not feel the need to pursue the question.
Muney strolled up to them with his hands in his pockets. He borrowed a cigarette from Trina, then asked, "So what are we going to do?"
"About the tanker?" Gregol asked.
"No, about the economy... Of course the tanker! We're stuck out in the middle of the Wasteland with no wheels. How long do you think it's going to be before Ages catch up with us?" he fumed.
"I'll think of something," Gregol promised while looking at a patch of grass. There was little grass to be found in the Wastelands.
"When?" Muney was always impatient.
"When I'm damn well ready to think of something," Gregol bared his teeth at the lanky man with the grenades hanging from his suspenders. Muney was their weapons specialist. He had the nasty habit of blowing things up. Other than that, he was completely useless.
"Think faster," Muney urged as he wandered off.
"He's right," Dorcet said. Gregol had not heard him approach. "There's no vehicles on the compound, and we're hundreds of miles from our rendevous point."
"Then we'll go to the nearest town and see what we can pick up." Pulling out his G.P.S. he searched the map. "Is the area secure?" he asked as an afterthought.
"Yep," Dorcet worked a kink out of his back. "Not a bad day's work. Sorry about the Blue Hawks," he said to Sheru, who did not acknowledge him. Dorcet was emotionally insensitive, but not on purpose.
Sheru looked to Gregol as if for support and gasped. "You're bleeding," she touched the side of his head, when the blood was still oozing out of his untreated wound. A buzzing sensation passed through Gregol and the pain in his head subsided. Sheru withdrew her hand and smiled. Healing had a theraputic effect on both the patient and the cleric. He didn't have to check to tell that his wound had closed. Sheru seemed relieved, as if reassured that her powers still worked.
"Thank you," he said politely and looked up at her breifly. He decided that she was not a desperate case. It was unlikely he would have to put her on a suicide watch. He would give her a sedative and let her rest for a while. Afterwards, she should be able to function normally again. The last thing he needed was to have to drag her along through hostile territory. "We're in luck. There's a town not too far from here. About half a day's walk."
"Walk? As in moving with our feet?" Dorcet grumble with discontent.
"Why did you think we did all those marching exercises back in the academy?" Gregol slipped the G.P.S. back in his pocket.
"This is the Wasteland, Gregol," Dorcet complained. "It's practically a desert."
"There's another problem," Trina mentioned. "Our commincations equipment was on the tanker."
With a sigh of despair, Gregol let his head hang limply before raising it up again. "You mean I can't call this in? Perfect, that's just perfect. Looks like we'll be M.I.A. for a little while," he got to his feet. "Okay everyone, this is going to shed a few days off our mission, so we better get moving fast. I want us to be on the road in five." With a look, Gregol conveyed to Trina that he wanted her to stay with Sheru.
"Gather up everything you can, then torch the tanker," Gregol said to Emisa as he climbed aboard the wreckage. "We don't have time to burry them."
Emisa understood and nodded. A burried soldier could come back as a ghoul, but not one that had been cremated. She handed him their dogtags, and he hung them around his neck. Reporting their deaths had become his responsibility with the death of the Blue Hawks leader. He didn't have time to mourn, though, for there were consequences for being late.
Only a few pieces of equipment made it through intact, and not the ones they needed. They had enough food and water to last them a week and their survival gear, but they couldn't report back to the base.
The gasoline had leaked out of the tanker, forming a pool by it's side. Emisa lit a match and tossed it to the fuel. As the tanker went up, Gregol saluted and bid them, "So long."
Turning, he inspected his troops. They were eight in all, including Sheru. Tomboy and Urvook made up the last two. Their job had been to clear out the back of the compound, and they had scored the highest kills of the day. Tomboy was a full head shorter than anyone else on the Wolf Blood team. The backback she was carrying was almost as large as she was. She had short scruffy red hair and a suspicious scar along the side of her neck. She hadn't picked that up during the war, and she wouldn't tell anyone where she got it from. Some people called her Tomboy because of her unnaturally deep and masculine voice, developed from a lifetime of smoking and acting butch. Gregol thought that scar might have something to do with it too. She was also flat chested and muscular, adding to her infamy. One would think she was a lesbian activist by looking at her in her faded tan uniform with the shirt wrapped around her waist to reveal a sweat soaked sports bra, but Gregol didn't know the truth about those rumours. He had never heard of her going for either men or women, though both were attracted to her. She did have a cute face.
In contrast, Urvook was big and brown with a thick accent and an easy manner. He was a fifth generation soldier, and was expected to rise high in the rankings. He was the youngest member on their team, along with the most obediant.
Emisa had dark, naturally curly hair, which had grown down past her ears since her last buzz cut. She always seemed to be pouting, but she was an eternal optimist. As a spellcaster, she had a red star embroidered on her shoulder. She was deeply into spiritual matters, and tried to bring the others along with her.
Muney was a maturely balding man wearing a pair of narrow glasses to compliment his narrow face. He often skipped meals, and it showed. He had a usually sullen demeanour that alienated him from most of the team, but he was distinguished by having the most kills.
Dorcet was a bulky man with a broad jawline and dirty blonde hair. He was the kind of guy that should be playing football, but he'd been drafted by the army first. He was actually brighter than he looked, or acted for that matter.
Trina was the sort of girl you could lose in a crowd and never find again. She was woefully average and conscious of that fact. It made her shy. She was an expert marksman, with either a gun, or a bow. Apparently she learned it from her father, who was a hunter.
Gregol, on the other hand, was an average solider. He was okay with a gun, he was okay with a sword, and he was okay as a leader. He was nearing the end of his five year term, but he expected they would put him back on for another five. If they did, he would have little choice in the matter. Foset did what it wanted with its soldiers. He was drafted the day he left high school, and in months he found himself in the thick of battle. Through happenstance, he made it to the rank of Sergeant and was not satisfied. He wanted out of the war, because he had never wanted to be in it anyway. The only remarkable thing about his career as a soldier was that he had carried on the proud Wolf Blood tradition. Not a single soldier had died under his watch. In a war that had lasted a hundred a sixty years, with casulties in the multi-millions, it was something to be smug about. Wolf Blood had reached a nearly legendary stauts, despite having a one in seven win loss average.
The Blue Hawks were not as fortunate, however, and Sheru, their sole survivor was also the meekest member of their team. Gregol could tell she was a pacifist. Likely her skills as a cleric had got her drafted. She was a brunette with a face too pretty for a soldier. Dirt and ashes stained her cheeks. On her sleeve, she wore the blue circle of a cleric.
Their ambivalence towards their victory was clearly evident. There could be no celebration when face with such loss. Gregol could not remember the last time they had celebrated at all. "Let's move out," he checked the G.P.S. one last time before waving them on.

    Chapter Two
    Fun Town

"Shoot it!" Emisa prompter Trina as they both knelt in the grass with Sheru partially concealed behind them. Gregol fended off the jikaihn with a few wild strokes of his sword. Strands of fur floated to the ground as they were severed. Unhurt, the jikain clamped its fangs down on the blade. Its jaws were strong enough to snap it in two. Dorcet prodded the animal in its flank with a few stabs of his bayonette. If he had been given time to relaod, he would have fired and ended the confrontation. Gregol tried to use the edge of his shield to pry the jikaihn loose, but to no avail.
Trina shot the beast six times, then once more for good luck. With jikaihn, it was best not to leave things to chance. The genetically enhanced wolf collapsed lifelessly, releasing Gregol's sword. Gregol immediately held the blade up to the moonlight to see if there were any signs of damage. The sword had been given to him by his grandfather, and he would hate to lose it.
Panting, Dorcet proclaimed, "That's the biggest damn devil dog I've ever seen." It was not just a figure of speech. A common jikaihn was the size of a small horse, and carried most of its bulk around its shoulders. It looked like an attack dog that had been injected with steroids since the day it was born, and in a sense it was.
"It's wild," Tomboy said as she scanned the brushes for more. "Probably second generation." Tomboy use to breed dogs, but not the monster kind.
"Yeah," Gregol wiped the sweat from his brow. "Nobody could control a beast like that."
"You guys done or what?" Muney shouted from the hilltop.
"Where the hell were you on that one, Muney?" Tomboy demanded. She often acted as though she were the leader, especially where Muney was concerned.
"There's eight of us, and one of them. Not exactly fair, now is it?" Muney sat down on a rock and pulled out his water bottle.
"Damn thing probably outweighs us," Gregol commented as he pulled out a cloth and gave his sword a quick polish. "Sure as hell outweighs you, Muney."
"Yeah, but I've got bigger balls," Muney smirked as he groped himself. "By the way, I can see the town from up here," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, "and I am liking what I'm seeing."
Shining her flashlight up the hill, Emisa led them to where Muney sat. As soon as they crested the hill, Dorcet gave a whistle. "Damn, what kind of place is that?"
Gregol didn't know how to feel. It was lit up like festive tree. He could almost make out the neon billboards in the distance. "It's a fun town," he announced. "Casinos, brothels, bars, hookers, the whole works. The place is probably chock fulls of Ages boozing it up."
"That means we can't just bust in and take what we want," Tomboy discerned as she stuck her hands on her narrow hips.
"We best lay low. Go civillian," Gregol decided. "maybe they'll mistake us for Ages."
"Well if there's gambling, then I'm in," Muney stretched languidly. "It's about time I played a descent game of cards." The rest of the team had refused to play Muney at poker, since he was in the habbit of winning. Gregol was convinced he cheated, but there was no way to call him on it without proof.

Within hours, they had reached the gates of the town. A burly guard stood in a tower overhead with a rifle nestled in his arms. His companion stared out into the night while sipping on a cup of coffee. "State your business," the guard called down to them in a bored manner.
"We're just here to party," Gregol flashed his teeth.
The gates immediately opened, and without further comment, the guards returned to their watch. "That was easy," Emisa whispered to Gregol. She was wearing one of Dorcet's work shirts, which was far too large for her. She could have been walking around with no pants on, and no one would be able to tell. The Agerian uniform was not that dissimilar to the Forset, once you removed the shirt. Gregol was wearing his undershirt, which was stained with blood. He was not sure where the blood had come from, or whether it was even his.
Bright red paper lanterns hung from the crowded street corners, reminding him that it was the Agerian Grand Ceremony. People were celebrating by getting spectacularly drunk. Urvook was accosted by a group of females, emphasizing that he was the best looking of the bunch. Gregol felt the stubble on his chin and wondered if a close shave would even the odds. He eyed the women with intrest, but with no conviction. He had bigger concerns than getting laid. It was that sort of dedication that made him the leader of the Wold Blood.
The town was not directly under the control of the Agerian, since it was not in their territory, but they were clearly sympathsizers. One had to be, unless they wanted to be invaded. Several Ages walked by without giving them the slightest look. Under the glow of neon lights, the slight difference in their uniforms could not be easily discerned. Still, Gregol was on edge. He hadn't been this close to an Agerian with his gun safely holstered before. His hands kept twitching, as if wanting to reach for a weapon. It wasn't that he hated Agerians, it was just that he was accustomed to killing them.
Over the din of a jazz band playing on the street corner, Gregol said, "Let find ourselves a respectable hotel and sleep in some descent beds for a change. We'll figure out what to do after that."
"I know what to do," Muney smiled. With that, he wandered off into the crowd and disapeared.
It was practically mutiny, but Gregol did not even bat an eye. He knew Muney would come crawling back. Up ahead, he saw a vacancy sign for a hotel and he made his way to the front desk. A bored looking blonde quit flirting with one of the bellhops long enough to ask what he wanted.
"Room for eight," Gregol rapped his knuckles on the counter.
She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then said, "We only got two rooms left. Double beds."
"We'll take them," he decided quickly. When Emisa made a noise of protest, he said, "Girls in one room, boys in the other. It's not like we're not used to bunking together."
"C'mon man, I want to go get laid," Dorcet whispered into his ear so he might not be overheard.
"Then go find your own damn room," Gregol said dismissively, "and use a fucking rubber."
Dorcet blushed furiously as he looked over at Emisa. She might have been having the same thoughts, which did not involve Dorcet. As far as Gregol knew, it had been months since any of them had any action. It had been six months for him personally, and it was definitely making him cranky. The lure of a stiff drink and loose women was almost too overpowering.
Taking the keys in one hand and his backpack in the other, he made his way up the numerous stairs to their room. It looked clean, but looks were decieving. There was a funk in the air, and he didn't want to know where it was coming from. Urvook, dead tired, collapsed onto the bed. He wasn't the sort of guy who stayed out all night partying; he had too much discipline for that. With any luck, Dorcet and Muney would stay out all night, so they wouldn't have to share a bed. "Sleep tight, brother," Gregol said to him after a quick trip to the washroom. The funk had been more prevalent in the bathroom than it was outside, but he didn't want to think about that. Anything was better than roughing it in the tanker. "I'm going to go see if I can't score us some wheels."
Flipping absently through the TV channels, Dorcet asked, "And how do you plan on doing that? We ain't got no cash."
"I'll think of something," he lied, as he closed the door behind him.
It was late into the night, but the streets were still crowded. The town seemed like the kind of place that never slept. He realized then that he didn't even know the name of the town. No matter which direction he looked, he saw an Agerian soldier. The only thing that spared him from a violent confrontation was the inatention of the people who surrounded him. He was all to aware that the only weapon he had on him was a knife tucked into his boots. Without his shield and sword to protect him, he felt as naked as a newborn.
Finding a bar, he passed through the old saloon style doors and was greeted by poor lighting and loud music. The place had been taken over by Agerians, who filled the air with raucous laughter. Gregol had to wade through them to reach the bar. Someone pinched his ass, but he wasn't sure if it had been a man or a woman. Either way, it was an Agerian. Despite the company, he liked the atmosphere. It was indecisive. You couldn't tell if you were going to walk out with armful of women, or if you'd be carted out on a stretcher. The place itself was like an old fashioned pub on the verge of becoming a nightclub.
Taking a seat at the bar, he ordered a pitcher of beer, and proceeded to drink the whole thing by himself. The bartender, a grizzled old man with a broad white mustache eyed him suspiciously. Gregol called him over and said to him in a voice loud enough to be heard, "You look like the kind of guy who knows where things are in this town." He did his immitation of an Agerian accent, which was a staple of any campfire entertainment. Forset and Agerian shared a common language and a common race. They only key differnce physically was that Forsets were more fair haired, and Agerians had a blocky look about them, as if they were made out of building blocks. As for their accents, Agerians tended to drawl and overannounciate, while Forset spoke quickly and exagerated their hand gestures. When one aked why two countries with so much in common were at war, they were asking a good question. They were also guilty of treason.
"Depends on what you're looking for," his suspicions rose a few points.
"Nothing illegal," he assured him. "Well... preferably not. Look, I need some wheels. A jeep maybe."
"There's no car dealership in this town," the bartender shook his head from side to side.
"Then do you know anyone who'd sell me their wheels? Something with room enough for eight, and something that can go the distance," he refilled his glass.
"I might know a few people," he shrugged to show his indifference. "How much you willing to spend?"
"Erh... Two hundred?" he smiled feebly. That was stretching things a bit. He had more money in his private account, but there was no way to get it.
The man laughed at him. "Boy, I was going to send you over to Baker's place, but he ain't going to give you squat for two hundred. You add a couple of zeroes to that and one in front, and then maybe you might land a deal. Baker's a mechanic down on Sixth, who fixes up old army vehicles. I know he'll have what you're looking for, but it won't come too cheap."
"Then you know how I can make some quick cash?" Gregol asked with exasperation.
"Yeah, go stand on the street corner," he laughed at him. Then, leaning closer to Gregol, he said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Listen, boy, I served in the army and I know a Forset soldier when I see him. Don't worry," he reassured him, "I'm not going to rat you out. I ain't got nothing against you people, but I don't want you trying anything funny in my bar. You might not live long enough to pay the tab. You hear me?"
"I'm not here to start anything. I'm stranded is all," Gregol explained.
"You best not be stranded here for long," he warned, then returned to serving drinks.
Bitter, Gregol returned to his beer. Buying a vehicle had been his first option. The second was stealing one, and he didn't know how far a group of Forset soldiers would get in a car stolen from an Agerian town.
A leggy woman in a too short skirt came up and laid a hand on his shoulder. "What're you doing here by yourself, handsome?" she asked. At first he thought she was a bar floozie, but when he took a good look at her, he began to notice the telltale signs of a solider in civilian clothes. There was a long scar across her arm, her skin was deeply tanned, her muscles were ropey, and her hair was cut short. Other than that, she was fairly attractive.
When their eyes met, there was a moment of mutual recognition. She quickly removed her hand and slunk away. Gregol realized it was time he got a move on. Before he could even stand up though, the woman returned with a man in an Agerian uniform. "Take a look at this guy, Dep," she leaned on his arm.
Dep took a good look at Gregol, frowning the whole time. "Can I help you?" Gregol felt a fight coming on. Dep wasn't that much taller than Gregol. If he got the first shot in, there wouldn't be any problem.
"I know a Forset when I see one, and you look like a Forset," Dep accused him, while the woman at his side nodded in agreement.
"My mother was a Forset," Gregol admitted. So was his father, but he didn't feel the need to tell him that.
"That's bullshit," Dep spat, his rage building. "You're a goddamn spy!"
Before he could swing, a pair of hands grabbed Gregol by the arms and pinned them behind his back. The first punch hit him square in the stomach. It made the beer swish around inside him, but it didn't hurt as much as he expected. "You know..." Gregol began as the second punch hit him across the jaw. Unfazed, he continued, "I took down a troll and one big ass jikaihn today. You'd think I be able to get a break but..." he struggled against his unseen captors, but to no avail. So instead he picked both his feet up off the floor and dropkicked Dep in the jewels. His weight had shifted enough for the others to lose their grip and he managed to break free. He struck Dep across the temple and sent him sprawling across the bar, then blindly kicked backwards and caught someone in the shin. The woman in the short skirt and a friend of hers tried to dogpile on him, but he jumped behind the bar and rushed towards the exit. He knew the longer he stayed, the more likely he was to die.
Climbing up onto the end of the bar, he leapt over the couple who were sitting there, knocking over a drink in the process. The other Agerians were still confused over what was going on, and no one leapt in his way to stop him. Glancing back, though, he saw at least four guys chasing after him as he made it to the door.
All his plans for escape vanished as someone tackled his legs. Another pair of hands caught him by the shoulders as someone kicked him roughly in the ribs. They hauled him up to his feet, apparently so someone could get a cheap shot at his kidneys. Angier than he was hurt, Gregol swung his head back with all his force and busted open somone's nose. He thought it might have been the girl with the long legs. They let go long enough for him to charge at the person in front of him. He grabbed the man by the head with one hand while he pummeled him with the other. The idea was to hit them hard enough and fast enough to put them down. The man staggered back against the wall of the bar, and Gregol kneed him in the stomach. His thoughts went to the knife in his boot, but it hadn't come down to weapons yet. Half the people around him were probably packing heat.
Naturally, a circle of spectators had gathered around him. When he turned around, he saw Dep standing there with his hands balled into fists. The others had drawn back to let the two go at it. "So you want to fight, huh?" Gregol said between his gritted teeth. "I'll show you a fight."
Gregol saw the haymaker coming before Dep could even swing. The man was obviously drunked than Gregol. Feinting back, Gregol ducked behind it and landed a left hook to the side of Dep's head with enough force to stagger him. He then used his right arm to trap Dep's punch, and he tripped him to the ground. The two grappled, since both men were too close to strike a blow.
Gregol suddely heard the sound of glass breaking behind him. Fearing a beer bottle shiv, he pushed Dep away and rolled to his feet in an attack position.
He saw a big black man in an Agerian uniform collapse ontop of Dep, pinning the smaller man beneath him. Trina held the shattered remains of a beer bottle in her hand, and a gun in the other. "Nobody move, nobody panic," she said as she put herself between the crowd and Gregol. Backing into him, she urged him with a frantic wave of her arm to get moving. Not needing any encouragement, Gregol broke through the crowd, pausing only to make sure that Trina was following him. Once she was free, the pair ran like mad into the night.
Of course, they were pursued. Gregol led Trina down a side alley, which ended in a stairway leading down to the street below. Gregol leapt off the side and landed on the paved gravvel roadway of the slums. There were no red lanterns here, only streetlights shining down on strewn garbage. Gregol continue heading straight into another alley, where he had to step over a wino passed out in the trash. As he errupted from the mouth of the alley, he found himself surrounded by paper dragons and exploding firecrackers. It was a Grand Ceremony parade complete with floats. For the first time since he entered the town he noticed dark haired children clapping in delight.
Trina grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him over to a concesion booth. Snuggling close, she held him against the wall and kissed him. At first he thought she had lost her mind, but then he realized they looked like any ordinary couple. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw their pursuers searching desperately before going off in the wrong direction.
Breathing easier, he tried to say, "They're gone," but his voice was muffled by Trina's probing tongue. As he pushed her off, he noticed she tasted distinctly of cheap liqour. "What was that?" he asked as he wiped his mouth.
"For added realism," she smiled guiltily.
Gregol was about to respond to her comment, but someone approached them. Trina reached for her gun, but the man seemed harmless enough. He looked nothing like a soldier. He was an Erturnean with dark and shiny skin, long sideburns and a pair of glasses. He wore a powder blue pullover sweater with dinngy grey kakhi pants.  His feet were bare under his sandles. "Excuse me," he cam cautiously towards them with his hands held up to show he had no weapons. "Hey, I'm not an Agerian," he promised them. "I don't want to fight you. I want to talk. Is it true that you're from Forset?"
"What's it to you?" Gregol considered whether he should knock the man on his ass, but he could see no need. A strong gust of wind could do that job for him.
"I'm professor Ludross from Ginkhe University," he held out his hand to shake with Gregol, but the man kept his arms firmly crossed over his chest. "...Moving on..." he withdrew his hand sheepishly and instead pulled back his scraggily hair. "Long story short, I'm leading an expedition to the Ruins, and I need some extra muscle for protection."
"Do we look like bodyguards to you?" Gregol snorted.
"No... you look like a couple of Forset soldiers, but that's why I want you. You see... when I was twelve, my country was invaded by the Agerians. My father was in the National Guards... he was killed  defending his country," his voice was full of emotion, which he tried to contain. "Ever since then, we've been under the control of an Agerian puppet dictator. I hate the Agerians, and everything they stand for. That's why I'd rather go to Forset for help."
"What makes you think things would have been any different if Forset had invaded your country instead?" Gregol was intentionally being hostile. "Because it would have happened. The Agerians just beat us to it. We're no better." Offended, the man was about to walk away without saying another word. "Hold it, professor," Gregol stopped him. "What do you need us for?"
"Like I said, I'm leading an archealogical expedition to the Ruins," he rubbed the back of his neck.
"And what are the 'Ruins'?" Gregol asked.
"Well... they're ruins. It's about a hundred miles east of here in the Wasteland. It's the chief archaelogical site for the study of the Chumfet Empire of 450 B.C.E.. The site's been abandonded for dozens of years, though, because of the war. Now it's supposed to be crawling with ghosts and ghouls and all sorts of nasties. There's even been a rumour about a dragon," he laughed at the very thought of a dragon. He had never had to fight one.
"So you need us to clean the place out for you," Gregol surmised.
"Pretty much," the man nodded sagely.
"Here's the deal. You pay us fifteen grand for the trip, and we make sure nobody dies," Gregol told him. It seemed like a fair price.
"That's a little steep," the man coughed.
"You get eight highly trained Forset soldiers fresh from the battlefield, and that includes a cleric and a spellcaster. You're getting a damn bargain here," Gregol proclaimed.
"I suppose it's worth it," he sighed.
Gregol reached out and clasped his hand. "Then it's a deal. Get your people together and meet us at the South gate at 1100h tomorrow." The professr was about to protest, but Gregol was already walking away.
"What was that?" Trina asked him once they were out of earshot. She clung onto his arm as if she were his girlfriend, but he didn't stop to consider it.
"We need wheels. We need money to get wheels, so we're pulling a merc job," he reasoned. "It's nothing we can't handle, and it's nothing the higher ups need to know about. If worse comes to worse, we'll be a hundred miles closer to our objective."
"Are you headed back to the hotel?" she asked curiously as they followed the parade down the street.
"Yeah, why?" he asked.
"It's the other way," she pointed over her shoulder.
Grunting with frustration, he turned around. "By the way, thanks for saving my ass," he said.
"Which time?" she laughed and pressed closer to him. She was acting like a school girl, but he supposed it was just because she was drunk.

    Chapter Three
    Field Trip

In the morning after a cold breakfast and a hot shower, Sheru healed his wounds for him. He prided himself that he had come out of the fight bruised, but not bloodied. Sheru looked better than she had the day before, but that might have been the lingering effects of the alcohol. She could not bring herself to meet his eye, possibly because her eyes were still puffy from crying. He tried to smile reassuringly, but he thought it might look creepy. "I just want you to know that you're one of us now. A Wolf Blood," he told her as they sat on his bed. Across from them, Muney lay sprawled out on the matress. Tomboy had dragged him in an hour earlier, reeking of cheap booze and cheap drugs.
"Thank you, sir," she said formally. The Blue Hawks had always emphasized protocol and tradition. The Wolf Blood was a free-for-all with little direction, or discipline, due to his lack of strong leadership skills.
"You can call me Greg," he told her. He wished someone would call him Greg. Everyone always called him Gregol. It had an ugly sound to it he had always hated.
"Greg," she corrected herself.
Glancing at his watch, he realized he wouldn't have time to shave and still make it to the gates for their appoinment. "Okay people, let's pack it up, and remember we're going dutch on the rooms."
"I've got Muney's wallet," Tomboy tossed it to Gregol. "Not much in there, though, except for an old condom."
"He damn well have better been using a condom," Gregol insisted. "I don't want a group full of the burning." There was a photo of a strange girl in his wallet, along with someone who looked like they could be his brother.
"Like any of us would ever touch him," Tomboy laughed uproariously. Muney made a muffled sound and stirred, but quickly went back to sleep.
"What about you, Clarisa?" Gregol used her real name to goad her. "You're the one always talking about him."
Tomboy was too furious to say anything. Her mouth moved wordlessly for a few seconds before she turned and stormed out of the room. Gregol and Urvook both laughed at her, and even Sheru cracked a smile. "I think you hit a nerve there," Urvook commended him. Gregol knew he would pay for it later on. Tomboy always found a way to get back at him. He just hoped there wouldn't be a repeat of the toothpaste incident.

The professor and his students were waiting for them on a pair of white buses parked just outside the gates. Ludross looked anxious, as if he had not been certain they would show up. With a cup of real coffee in his hand, Gregol greeted them all, and introductions were made aboard the bus. "Students, this is our security," the professor said to the twenty odd university students on the bus. "They're professional Forset soldiers."
A gasp went up from someone in the crowd, but it was more from surprise than horror. As university students, they were pacifists. Most favoured Forset as they were viewed as less brutal by the media. Forset, however, controlled most of the media. "Howdy kids," Gregol raised his cup to them. "I'm Gregol, leader of the Wolf Blood, and we know a thing or three about taking care of the nasties. You don't have anything to worry about, but try not to get in our way. And remember, if anyone asks, we're just local mercs. Okay?" he smiled congenially. One of the girls was eyeing him appreciatively, while her companion was looking at him sceptically.
"What are you guys doing way out here," a kid from the back shouted.
"That's classified," Gregol pointed to him.
"Obviously there are some questions Sergeant Gregol won't be able to answer," Ludross stepped in, "but perhaps he would be willing to tell us about life in the army. I'm sure we'd all be very interested in that."
"Later, chief," Gregol said as he unstrapped his shield and leaned it against the back of a seat. "Let's get rolling."
Ludross nodded to the busdriver, and they were soon moving down the dusty roads.
They had split the team in half, with one on each bus in case they should be attacked. The Wasteland could be a dangerous place, as he had found out the other night. Gregol was hoping he could ride in silence, but he was soon accosted by one of the students, a bright-eyed girl in a ridiculous hat. "Hi, I'm Gera," she shook his hand and Trina's, as the two sat together. "I write for the Ginkhe newspaper, the Developer. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"
"A little, but sure," Gregol sipped his coffee while Trina opened a bottle of water. Trina gave him a withering look. "What? We're already going against orders. What will one little interview hurt?" Trina just shook her head while he asked, "What do you want to know, darlin'?"
Kneeling on the seat in front of them and leaning over the back, she asked, "Since the Agerians invaded our country and established their dictatorship, we've had to endure endless propaganda about the Forset. I want to know, in your oppinion, where this negative image of Forset differs from the truth," she had with her a tape recorder.
Gregol inhaled deeply as he thought about it. "Well, this propaganda is the same on both sides. Whatever the Agerians say about us, we say about them. The only difference is that our media is a little more tightly controlled by the government. Especially the news. You might not hear about a battle until they were shipping home the bodies. Even then, there's never any casualty  statistics for our side. They only talk about how many of them we killed, and why they had to die, and why we keep have to killing them. Agerians are supposed to be part of some vast global conspiracy to take over the goverments. They're degenerate, who are gradually deteriorating our racial stock over generations. They're harbouring weapons of mass destruction. They're comminting genocide. They lie, they cheat, they steal. They're pagans. They're cannibals. And we know they say the same thing about us. Is it true what they say about us? No. Is it true what we say about them? No. The truth about both our people, is that they're just people. You don't blame the people for what they're government's doing to them, especially since none of them ever voted for them. When we go to war, it's because you have no choice. You dodge the draft, you die. So you go to fight, and you die. At least you have more of a chance on the battlefield than you do with the secret police. And I know what the pacifists are saying, that we should just lay down our guns. But we can't. You drop you're gun, and you get shot. This is total war, and it's not going to stop until one side is either dead, or crippled. That's the sad truth about it," Gregol knew he said more than he should. A lot of what he said would be looked on unfavourably if it should ever reach the secret police, but he didn't care. He knew a lot of people who had said worse and gotten away with it.
The secret police would want to know why he was leading a group of Ginkhe students to a remote archelogical site when they should have been mobilizing for their chief operation, but he had a logical reason for all of it. They very well couldn't march the way there, especially if his suspicions about the mission were correct. He expected to meet hostile forces along the way, and more once they got there. Much, much more. They needed to be fully equiped to stay alive. Besides, merc jobs were common for Forset soliders, so long as they didn't interfere with the war effort.

Gregol didn't realize he had fallen asleep until Trina nudged him. Wearily rubbing his eyes, he glanced out the window and saw low, flat hills in the distance. "That's the place," she whispered.
"Better get ready," Gregol decided. Stretching, he got up and went to Ludross to convey his orders. "When we get there, I want you to park the busses side-by-side, as close as you can get them. Everyone has to stay on board. We'll leave two people behind to look after you, and then we'll secure the area. If everything checks out, you can come."
Ludross nodded, as if he had been thinking the same thing himself. Of course he had not. "Sheru," he walked over to where she sat with Dorcet. "You and Emisa are going to stay behind. Protecting the kids is your top priority."
She gave him a small salute and said, "Yes, sir."
As they neared, Gregol could make out small details. The hills seemed too concise to be natural. They might have been man-made mounds at some point. Ludross came to stand with him at the front of the bus. "The Wasteland was once home to the greatest Empire the World had ever seen. It had ruled the continent for over five hundred years. In the end, though, it was brought down by barbarians from the north. There are a number of theories about why the Chumfet Dynasty had deterorated so far, so quickly..."
"Save them," Gregol told him roughly.
"Anyway..." he continued on, "the Ruins was once a thriving metropolis near the heart of the empire. The walls that you see before you once reached two hundred feet into the air. Evidence show that they were brought down by an earthquake in the year 462 B.C.E.. As it recouperated, the city was invaded by bandits, who burned it to the ground."
"Who does that remind me of?" Greogl mused to himself.
"Most of the city was left intact, buried beneath the earthquake, which makes it such a valuable site. It went undisturbed for over a thousand years until it was rediscovered by Professor Vi Aldervach about fifty years ago. They uncovered vast chambers, which unfortunately became the perfect nesting ground for monsters of all sorts," he shook his head sadly.
"I've met monsters of all sorts, and I'm still alive," Gregol told him. "If there's anything here worth shooting, it'll be full of lead soon enough." He didn't want to think of how many cartridges they had left. The bulk of their munitions had been lost in the accident.
The buses halted outside a gap in the walls, which might have been a gate at one point. A flock of birds rose from the earth mounds and flew off into the sun. Standing outside the bus, Gregol watched them go until it hurt his eyes. "Trina, Dorcet, and me'll go this way," he pointed to the left. "Tomboy, Muney, Urvook, go that way," he pointed to the right. "We'll meet back here in an hour. And remember," he said to Ludross, "keep them on the bus." That order would definitely make him unpopular, since the midday heat was rising. Beads of perspiration were already forming on his brow. Holding his shield in one hand and his gun in the other, he headed into the Ruins.
Geometric formations of earth and stone jutted up at odd angles, forming the outlines of fallen buildings. Near the entrance was a large pit, no doubt unearthed by an earlier dig. Everything was brow eath and grey stone. Gregol wondered why anyone would want to come out here, but then he had never been to college. The truth was that he found archaeology an interesting topic, and he would likely have take the subject as one of his ellectives in university if he had not been drafted. He had studied the Chumfet Dynasty while he was still in highschool. It was believed that the Forsets and Agerians both descended from the Chumfets. The Forsets, however, had crossbred with the Gorak barbarians from the North, adopting their style and customs, while the Agerians remained more or less pure.
Standing by the edge of the pit, he froze and picked up his ears. From somewhere, he could hear a slithering sound. Holstering his gun, he opted for his sword. Trina and Dorcet were a ways off, and would likely not reach him in time to be of any help. Crouching down, he slowly turned to face the slorhan. It was a magically enhanced snake, known to be both extremely intellgient and deadly. The Agerians trained them to attack enemy camps. Gregol had often wakened to the sound of a slohran alarm.
The snake reared back, poised to strike. Gregol had his shield between himself and the snake, but they could move quicker than the eye could follow. What made the snakes so deadly was that each slohran had a venom as individual to itself as a fingerprint. It was impossible to determine the effects of the poison, of create an anti-venom in time. The best cure was a cleric.
Gregol thrust his shield at the snake as he stepped to the side. As expected, the snake struck at the shield with his fangs, before drawing back and trying to slighter underneath. Gregol pressed the edge of his shield down on its neck and then stabbed it in the head with the point of his sword. It squirmed a few times before dying.
Gregol looked around cautiously for others, because slorhan travelled in packs. They were also known to avenge their mates. "Guys," he called out to the others as a second snake emerged from the pit. "We've got slohran."
Trina rushed to his side, brandishing her gun. Gregol would have used his, but a slohran was too small of a target for him to hit, and if he missed, it would only frighten it off. Inevitably, it would have returned to attack one of the students. Trina shot it in the back and the snake curled up and died.
In the distance, they heard an explosion. Likely Muney was blowing up a slohran nest. It was one of his favourite duties.
They checked the entire area, but could not find another slohran. Dorcet found a bee's nest hanging from a solitary tree, but they left it alone. At the far end of the site, they found an ominous cavern leading downwards. The mouth of the cave was large enough to drive a bus through, but it narrowed out the farther it went on. Parts of it were man-made, but the rest was natural. It might have been the hall of a great palace, or an aqueduct. Gregol did not have the knowledge to discern which. Steeling himself, Gregol shone a flashlight inside. Bats hung from the ceiling, but they were not the dangerous kind. The guano littering the floor showed how long they had lived there. They peeped and shuffled, but stayed rooted in place.
"Gregol," Trina urgently thrust him aside and fired three shots into the darkness. Gregol quickly brought his light back to the point she had fired on and saw a dark huddled figure sturggling to stay on its feet.
"A torman," he surmised as it collapsed to the floor. A torman was a predacessor of the jikaihn, when the process of reanimation had not been perfected. It was little more than a human zombie living like a common animal. They were usually harmless, unless cornered. A torman would eat human flesh, but prefered smaller prey. Killing a wild torman was nothing to be upset about, however, as its soul had been freed.
They explored the cave further and saw no signs of a threat, so they returned to the rendevous point. Ludross, standing outside the bus despite orders, looked at him hopefully. "We killed a couple of slohran, a torman, but there's nothing here that you need to worry about. I'd still prefer it if you had everyone pair off. We might have missed some slohran. If you get bit, find Sheru immediately and have her heal you. Otherwise, you'll die."

To continue with my endeavour, I would like to publish my incomplete novel, "A Rare Gem." When I say incomplete, I mean that it was very near completion, but the last two chapters were never written down. The events surrounding the ending are eluded to in beginning of a group of sequels I had planned, and shall publish as well if I can still find them. The first entry is to follow.

The Head

I never thought I'd hear Herman's name again, but that night I got the call that crippled my expectations. When the clock struck two, the phone rang. Dragging myself out of bed to answer it, I was greeted not with, "Hello," but with, "This is Herman. Be at the Death's Head Club tomorrow at two. Come alone." Then he hung up, never leaving me time to get a word in edgewise. If there had been a pause in his speech, then I would not have been able to take advantage of it. Astonishment had turned my tongue into a frozen lump.
My wife asked who it was. I lied and told her, "A wrong number." Claiming that I was hungry, I went to the kitchen to be alone with my thoughts.
I had never explained to my wife about Herman, since I didn't want to burden her with my past. She arrived in my life long after Herman had departed. I had always been afraid to admit what I really was to her. Although I love her, I know her mind is too narrow to accept the truth. I'm not certain if even I can accept it.
While I made myself a sandwich from the fridge, I wondered about Herman and where he'd been for the past fifteen years. As I was discarding a package of pastrami that had turned bad, I realized that it had indeed been fifteen years since I had last seen him.
It had been so long that I assumed he was dead. I had hoped so desperately for him to pass away, for him to be nothing but a bad dream. But Herman was hard to kill.
I'd done my best to forget Herman over the years, but I was reminded of him every time I looked at my scar in the mirror. Herman had left me with a forget-me-not on my neck before they took him away. "It was either you or me," I had said to him before he was locked up. Years of therapy followed that day. My first therapist had advised me to forget he had ever existed. My second told me to face my demons. I took both pieces of advice in turn. I visited Herman once, fifteen years ago, and that was the last I had seen or heard of him until I received the phone call.
Somehow, Herman got out, and now he wanted to see me. Naturally, I assumed he wanted to settle old scores. I did not look forward to our meeting. Still, I felt it was necessary to answer his call. I actually wanted to see him. There was a slight chance he might have changed over the years. Time could change anything. If that wasn't the case, and if Herman was still the same man he was, then he might try something crazy, and that would put my wife in jeopardy.

I decided to pack my gun and meet Herman. "After all, what can he do to me?"

The Death's Head was a nightclub and wasn't supposed to be open until nine, but as my watch beeped to tell me it was two, I pushed open the front door and walked in.
On my first reaction, it appeared nobody was there. The only lighting came from the sunshine seeping in through the cracks in the blinds. I was going to leave then, but I spied a shape moving through the darkness. "Hello?" I called out. "Herman, are you there?"
"Right on time," a gruff and unfamiliar voice commented.
"Hello there," I greeted the stranger in the dark, "I was supposed to meet my brother here." I felt obliged to explain my intrusion. "His name's Herman. You heard of him?"
The lights went on and I saw who I was facing. He was a burly fellow wearing a dark suit that didn't seem to fit his bulging frame. "I work for Mr.Herman," the man claimed.
"Work for?" I could only imagine what kind of business Herman was managing. I spied another person lurking in the shadows of a doorway. He was a gangly fellow dressed in a white T and black jeans. "What kind of work do you do?" I was almost afraid to ask.
"Religious," the man in the doorway said with a gleaming smile.
The large man cast a glance in his direction, then ordered me, "Follow me."
I did, but cautiously. He led me through a door and up a flight of stairs. At the top, there were two doors illuminated by a dim lamp. The man knocked on the door marked "The Head."
"Enter," Herman's voice commanded from within.
The man opened the door and gestured for me to go first. I did so, cautiously. I kept one hand in my pocket on my gun.
The lighting inside was as dim as it was outside. I wondered if the man had been right when he said their work was religious, because it looked as though I was in a church. There were rows of chairs like benches and an aisle that led to a desk like an altar. The walls were decorated with famous portraits and busts stood at even intervals between the framed prints. I noticed the focus of the art was the human head.
There were at least five unsavoury people in the room. They looked like upper class thugs, or modern day mobsters.
On the desk sat a child-sized leather chair. In that semi-chair was Herman.
Herman, his ear resting against the armrest, regarded me silently. His companions observed the silence respectively. It was obvious who was in charge.
"My, how you've grown," Herman said at last and laughed.
"You haven't," I dared to take my hand off my gun to produce a cigarette from my pack and light it. I hadn't smoked in years, but it was as good a time as any to start again.
"No, I haven't," he replied without humour.
With one hand on my cigarette and the other on my gun, I asked the question I had to ask, "How'd you get out?"
"That's an interesting story," he replied.
I knew it was a story that begun when we were born. There had never been a case quite like ours. Perhaps we were Siamese twins, joined together in a shared body. I prefer to think of ourselves as a twoheaded monster.
That's who I am, just one of two heads. We grew up next to each other on the same pair of shoulders. Herman had been on the right, and I took up the left. We shared the same spine, but Herman had control over the left side of my body, while I had command of the right. That's how it works with people as well. The right hemisphere of the brain controls the left side of the body and vice versa. It took us years to gain the coordination we needed in order to walk. After the surgery, I got control of my entire body, (but I still can't use my left side nearly as well as my right). Sometimes I can't even feel that part of my body.
Even though we were the same person, we developed different personalities as we grew. In a sense, we're like opposite twins. Herman is still uglier than me, (and I'm no looker), and he always had more trouble paying attention. As a child, he liked being destructive and didn't get along with anyone, not even me. He was a constant rebel, but I guess that's sort of okay when you're a monster. I, however, didn't have his outlook on life. All I wanted to be was a normal kid, and tried my best to become one. I was a good listener with a keen intellect. When we were three, I learnt to read while Herman was off in his own little world. By then, I was the one in charge, since Herman never really cared.
It became apparent when we were about nine, that we weren't going to survive puberty. Our heart had sustained us through childhood, but it wouldn't hold us into adulthood. Our doctor, who had devoted his life to studying our case after he had delivered us, came up with a humane solution. He decided that it was theoretically possible to safely remove one of our heads and make a spinal adjustment to create a perfectly normal human being.
There had never been any question which head it should be. Our parents made a careful decision. After a year of careful deliberation, Herman was removed. The surgery was a complete success.
A small funeral had been planned for Herman prior to the operation, but the occasion was cancelled because of a major snag. Herman didn't die.
Our doctor committed suicide. His scientific mind couldn't handle what he saw on the operating table when the sedative wore off and Herman's severed head opened its eyes. Our father couldn't handle it either; and he eventually divorced my mother.
For all logical and scientific reasons, Herman should have been dead. After all, he didn't have a body.
The government had somehow learnt of the phenomenon, and while my mother was trying to figure out whether or not she should kill Herman, they came and took us away. For weeks, they experimented on us both, trying to unlock the secret to Herman's life. Eventually, they gave up on me, but not on Herman. They decided to keep him for further study and locked him up in a cage like an animal.
Six years passed before I went to see him again. The lab was still in the same old place, and when I explained who I was, the armed security officer reluctantly let me in.
Herman's environment had improved somewhat. A sympathetic scientist had made him his own miniaturized room, scaled to accommodate his diminutive size. Technically, Herman was the world's smallest man, measuring about thirty centimetres in height. After six years, the greatest minds of our nation had run out of things to do to Herman, but they kept him anyway, because he was easy to care for. In many ways, Herman was superior to any pet you could name. He didn't need to eat, so he couldn't make a mess. It was unlikely he would ever get hit by a car. He was a great conversationalist, and if you got inventive, you could find games you could play with him. Cleaning him was a breeze, all you had to do was dunk him in the sink. If you let his hair grow thick enough, he even got cuddly.
Despite his random mood swings, the people at the research facility were quite fond of him. They made him his own voice-controlled cart he could drive around the laboratory. He had his own wide screen TV and more hats than I could count. The little bastard was living the good life.
Herman wasn't very pleased to see me, although the researchers were. They asked me a lot of questions and took a tiny blood sample while Herman sourly looked on from under a massive hat that came straight from the pages of Alice in Wonderland.
He didn't have much to say during that visit. It was obvious he was still upset about the decapitating thing. Still, I visited him a few more times before giving up on him and moving on with my life.
Now, we were both thirty-one. I worked for a trashy magazine and obviously he was involved with something just as corrupt.
"Never underestimate the powers of persuasion," Herman told me. "You know the friends I made back at the lab. Well, they became the first of my disciples."
"What?" I exclaimed.
"I'm the Messiah," Herman grinned.
"No you're not," I protested with a little laugh, but I could see he was serious. "You're kidding me? You actually think you're the Messiah?"
"Why not?" he retaliated. "I'm immortal, aren't I? Isn't that proof enough?"
"You're not immortal," I shook my head.
"Not immortal? I'm a talking head here!" Herman insisted, raising his voice. He had quite a loud voice for a man with no lungs.
"Obviously, there must be some way you can die," I hoped. "No one lives forever."
"We do." Herman nodded his head towards me.
The next thing I knew, my arms were being pinned behind my back by one of his henchmen. I struggled by kicking at his legs and thrashing about, but it was as if two metal vices had clamped down on my biceps. There was no way I could reach my gun.
Looking up, I saw the lanky man in the white shirt holding Herman  in front of my face like an executioner displaying a grisly trophy. While I was eye to eye with my brother, I heard him say, "I thought you, of all people, could believe." After a moment of conscience, he ordered his followers, "Take him into the other room and cut off his head."
So they dragged me into the other room where a guillotine was set for me. Within minutes, I was strapped down and beheaded.

Aside from losing all feeling from my neck down, it wasn't that bad. In all my years, I never imagined that I might possess Herman's remarkable properties for survival.
Apparently, my body was the same.
While I was adjusting to my new life, my body went off on its own. Last I heard, it was sleeping with my wife and taking over my job at the tabloids. He was a quiet sort of man, but an excellent photographer. As for my wife, I always suspected she wanted me for my body.
Herman and I finally got the chance to really bond. Although we never quite saw eye to eye, we could get along well enough. He graciously let me into his organization, which mixed cultist religion with syndicated crime. It wasn't that bad. We got to travel the world as carry-on-luggage. The police couldn't track us down, because, even though they knew our descriptions, they didn't know we were just a pair of severed heads. It wasn't as if they could make a case against us anyway. No one I know would find a bodiless head guilty of murder. Herman actually did kill someone once. He got a knife between his teeth and had a follower help him stab a subdued victim. He chipped a tooth, but he said it was worth it. Actually, he prefers to have his victims' heads cut off. He's quirky that way. We still haven't found anyone quite like us, but we've worked up a nice collection of shrunken heads.
The only real difficulty I have now is being confused with my twin. We're both called the Head, which can make things a little awkward. I prefer to be called Mr.Head, and I have anyone who doesn't address me as such is severely beaten.
Herman and I plan on growing old together, and keeping away from head-hunters.

"Racers whom the race outran,

And the dream died before the man." -Richard Kippling

My name is Philip Allen, and for a large portion of my life, my only ambition as such was to become a writer. To this end, I produced over forty major works over a span of twelve years. When the point came to put these words in print, however, I found the process too discouraging. It wasn't the rejection letters  -of which I claimed a fair collection- so much as the statistics. To the publishers I submitted to, the odds of an unagented writer having their works accepted were less than 1%.  The odds of being accepted by an agent were less than that. It's not that I couldn't get a foot in the door, it was that I couldn't get anyone to open that door. Still, I persevered, as I created my works more for my own pleasure than anything else. The thought of making it a career was really just a pleasant dream.

Yet, this dream is ending. I no longer have the inclination to write, beyond the run-of-the-mill blog entry. There are too many distractions in my life right now, and even when the time presents itself to sit down at my desk and write, I would rather play a game. I've been pushing the same boulder for too long now, and I've tired of it.

I've tired of a great many things. What once gave me pleasure in life now has no taste for me. I've been struggling with depression for as long as I've been writing, and that's since age twelve. I am now twenty-eight. In this stage of my adulthood, I can see the rest of my life laid down for me. I am struggling towards goals I have not set for myself, for prizes I do not care for. It is a life of few charms, but still I must persist in this. Perhaps it is time to put away the things of the past.

To this end, I have decided to publish my entire catalogue of work in my various blogs. They shall appear as I have found them. This means a great many of these works will be left unedited, with various errors in terms of spelling, grammar, logic, and beyond. I do this mainly as a means to honour these past works. I have come to terms with the fact that I shall never be a published author. Perhaps through this outlet, a handful of readers might happen upon these works and pour over them at their own leisure. It matters not. At the very least they will be preserved. The very formats they were written in are now outdated, and some have never been printed, for lack of paper or ink. Even if they had been, I doubt I would have the energy to transcribe them back onto my computer.

To begin this process, I would like to publish a short story that supposedly found it's way into a student based periodical. It is called, "The Head."

Dr.Pepper said they'd give a free Dr.Pepper to everyone in the United States of America if Axl Rose will release the Guns N' Roses album, Chinese Democracy. Having heard two demo songs from Chinese Democracy, such as I.R.S., this album is almost definitely going to be the worst in the Guns N' Roses discography. Despite this, I'll still be buying a copy when/if it ever comes out. I.R.S. is a substandard track, but I've listened to it about 20 times or so, so it can't be called horrible.

The numerous delays behind the album have made it one of the most anticipated of all time. Ironically, if it's ever published, it will be released into an environment where the purchase of albums at stores is being overshadowed by internet sales. The time when people lined up outside of record stores on release date are gone. It's going to be a much different picture than when Use Your Illusion I and II came out. People were breaking down doors to get their hands on that. This time, they'll probably pre-purchase it online.

I went the Taboo Sex Show this Friday at the Abbotsford Tradex Centre. Obviously, hosting a sex show in a town like Abbotsford was going to stir up some controversy. This place is repressed as hell, boasting a Guiness Book of World Records entry for most churches per capita. That's all on paper, though. In reality, all the Gen-Xers and beyond who grew up in the border town have scornfully rejected most of their conservative Christian upbringings. What we're left with is a strange mixture of disillusioned youths who are more interested in the counter culture, the East-Indian immigrants trying to halfway assimilate strictly for the money, and a ultra-Conservative core of elders who are disgusted with the change. So in this environment, where the conservative base still controls the core of the city, anything with the word sex in it is going to be frowned upon. A sex show in Abbotsford, therefore, merits two pages in The Province.

One of the weird things about the sex show was that it was right next to the annual Pet show. I could just imagine what sort of amusing situations that could have arisen from this, such as weird bondage freaks in collars and chains entering into the pet show, by mistake or for the thrill of it.

This is the third sex show I've attended. Why do I go? It's a sex show. Actually, it's more tame than it sounds. It's like walking into a giant sex store. There's going to be dildos everywhere, and sex toys of every size and description. You're going to see some weird device you've never seen before. This time, I saw a pair of rubber feet. At first, I thought this was a type of dido, until I realized they were joined together. A man was supposed to put his cock between the feet until he ejaculates. Good times. I also saw a video of called, "Fucking Clowns," which is self explanatory.

The main attraction is the half-dressed, or undressed girls. They had Playboy Bunnies in attendance for a change, and strippers and burlesque dancers on stage. There's always someone offering body painting, so there's girls with their bare tits painted. Obviously, one needs to look closely at this when they walk by, but are unsure of how appropriate it is to stare. On the one hand, they're the ones with their tits painted. On the other hand, their huge, dangerous looking boyfriends are right there next to them, and you're there with your girlfriend, so there's no right amount of staring involved, but there's definitely a wrong amount. I never realized how big a business mobile tattooing/piercing was. I mean, they have their own customized vehicles.

Amidst the sea of overpriced rubber dildos, there's also the same crap you always see at any trade convention, like travel booths and booths selling things like bed sheets, and those crappy bracelets that are supposed to cure arthritis. Everyone's trying to get you to enter in some contest, but when we did that at the last convention, we got a hundred scam calls. There's also places selling shirts with dirty messages, and places selling fancy bongs/nipple jewelry.

I killed four silver elite monsters in Azshara in WoW, to say nothing of the gold elites. Azshara has basically been a ghost town since the expansion. There's not much to encourage someone to venture out there. I went because I heard it was a good place to fish between 275-300 fishing, even though I went through three lures and only went up ten skill points. I guess it's the isolated nature of Azshara that makes it a good place to hunt rare silver elite monsters, even though their drops leave much to be desires. I'm lucky if I can sell their drops for more than a gold apiece. I've spoken to level 70's who haven't fought more than your average silver monster. I've even been asked what makes them different.

Basically, they have better than average drops. You're almost guaranteed to get a green quality item, plus more coins for killing them. In addition, they look different, and are named differently from any other monster. For instance, I killed Lady Sesshra earlier in Azshara. She looked like a Myrmion Sorceress, only she was carrying a sword in one of her four arms, and she was orange instead of the standard blue colour. They also have different abilities. She was a magic/melee, whereas most female Mymion are mainly magic based in their attacks. I once fought a silver hyena in the Barrens who shot acid bolts at me from his mouth. You find me another hyena who can do that, and I'll show you a man on an acid trip. I also killed Scalebeard, a silver tortoise in Azshara, whom the location Scalebeard's Cave is named after. In short, a silver will give you the best fight/loot outside of an Instance.

I also happened upon a tribe of Blood Elves in Azshara. I was puzzled by why I, a Blood Elf, could attack my own kin. I did what I had to when I was set upon.

I had my first underwater PVP battle in WoW the other day. I was in the underwater tunnel leading to the instance in Zangarmarsh, when I was approached by a level 70 Alliance Night-Elf Druid in his water travel form. At that point, I was completely screwed. I had used an underwater breathing potion that had a 60 minute duration, but the simple fact was: I was level 62 and being chased by a level 70 through a winding tunnel that was difficult to manouver. He kept binding me in place with a tidal pool. Still, by using my invincibility shield, I was able to briefly break free of his hold. When he caught up to me, he changed into bear form and mauled me. My only hope was to try and out swim him, and hope he would run out of breath and drown. However, I got caught against a wall and he killed me. It would have been an impressive victory if I could only have kept a few paces ahead of him.

I also got my first slotted item, a helmet, and completed a few long string of quests in both Zangarmarsh and Terrokar, but I'm still level 62. I don't know how I'm going to get up to level 63.

Marvel is coming out with a straight to DVD Muppet Babies style spin-off of their straight to DVD Ultimate Avengers titles. Two of their past outings, Ultimate Avengers II and the Invincible Iron Man were nearly unwatchable. They were almost as bad as their easily forgettable Avengers and Iron Man 90's cartoon series, which vanished into the fog after being cancelled. Now they're trying their hand at an animated movie starring the pint-sized children of the Avengers. This has never been done before, at least with the Avengers, whom already have their unaffiliated Jr. team, the Young Avengers. Spider-Man, however, has Spider-Girl, his super-hero daughter in an alternative futures, and the Fantastic Four have the son of Reed and Sue Richards, Franklins Richards, in Franklin Richards: Boy Genius. Franklin even had his own spin-off series, The Fantastic Five, again set in the future. The X-Men are a generational team, with Corsair giving birth to Cyclops, who, with Marvel Girl spawn Cable and Phoinex, and Cable has a clone, Stryfe, and a son Genesis, (both super-villains) again, all set in the future.

Despite these previous outings by Marvel into the Jr. hero team, DC Comics is more well known for this theme. After all, they have the Teen Titans, the team of side kicks based on the Justice League. Marvel had a similar team of sidekicks called the Young Allies, but that was way back in the 40's. The Teen Titans are a hotter property anyway, with their recent cartoon series, and their own spin-off teams, the Outsiders, which is supposed to be seen in an upcoming feature movie.

The video intro for the Next Avengers was fairly cheesy, and I'm hoping that's not going to show up in the movie itself. Like I said, think: Muppet Babies. They should have just gone and made a Spider-Man and Friends movie based on their line of toddler toys. Then they'd rake in the bucks, 'cause those kids are where the money's at.

The Next Avengers Preview Hits Marvel.com! - Marvel.com News

WoW just posted an update that includes a new area, the Sunwell. Funny, I remember that place being destroyed back in World of Warcraft III. Anyway, I went back online after about a month long hiatus, and did some quests in Zangarmarsh or whatever it's called. I got back into things pretty quickly, knocking off four quests in a row. I accidentally finished one quest before I even accepted it, meaning I have to go back down to a bottom of a cave and kill Lord Krash, or whatever his name is.

I got bored today, so I went downtown to the hobby store, the collector's store (right next to the hobby store), and to the comic store. The hobby store and collector's store didn't have anything of interest that wasn't insanely overpriced. The hobby store had the Thomas the Tank Engine trains my girlfriend's son likes to collect, but these were marked up 100% of what they cost at Toys 'R' Us. The collector's store had the WoW Illidan Stormrage figure for $39.98. I've been wanting to collect a few of these figures, but haven't found my favourites yet. The comic store had hardcover graphic novels on for 50% off, but I've read most of them. They had a Dr.Midnite action figure on for $9.99, which is an average price for any action figure, so I picked it up. I don't know why, but Dr.Midnite is one of my favourite Justice Society of America characters, and the JSA is one of my favourite comics at the moment. Dr.Midnite only ability is that he can see in the dark, but is blind by day, so he's in a kind of Dare-Devil framework. Plus, he's a brilliant surgeon, and uses an arsenal of surgery themed weapons. like scalpels that come out of his wristbands. His closest companion is a pet owl, whom he has equipped with a spy camera for surveillance. Interestingly, he's the second Dr.Midnite. His predecessor had a similar affliction, profession, and super-hero inclination. Plus, he dated Black Canary back when the Green Arrow was still dead. You don't really see much of him unless some other supe is on the operating table. The coolest thing about him, I think, is his costume. I wouldn't mind wearing that to a comic book convention. The figure itself comes with a magnetically attachable pet owl, a JSA emblem base with multiple points for positioning, and has a rubber cape. The waist doesn't rotate, but he has ball-joints at his next and shoulders. I like it because it doesn't have that presumptuous posturing that some of the DC Direct figures have. Those figures have multiple points of articulation, but they're set at odd angles, so they only look right if you pose them the same way they come out of the box as. Series 52 Batwoman and The Dark Knight Returns Batman are both examples of this. They both lean over to the side no matter what you do, to the point that even though they are properly mounted on a base, they still fall over. Stranger still, these figures both come with Batarang accessories, but their hands are incapable of holding them, nor do they have belt slot to store them in. So I have two Batarangs and nowhere to put them, so I had to store them away so they wouldn't get lost.

The JSA series also includes another of my faves, Mister Terrific, one of the few black super-heroes. I may pick that one up later. In fact, I'm tempted to collect the whole series, if it wasn't for the fact it includes the Golden Age Atom. Sure, it's a two-pack, but look how goofy they look. They should have gone with Damage, the Modern-Day Atom. Plus, there's a Power Girl who looks totally hot, but I don't know where to find it.

Anyway, downtown is just a hassle to get around. I was going to walk, since it's only a short ways from my apartment, but looking out the front door I could see the dumpster divers and their stolen shopping cart full of stolen cans heading past, and I remembered why I drive in the first place: to keep a barrier between me and THEM. Downtown Abbotsford is still set up like a horse and buggy pioneer town in terms of road direction, only they've made these roads double wide and filled them with crackheads. There are some parking spaces you can pull into and find yourself trapped there for all eternity. To get out, you have to back out onto a busy two lane wide street, with your view obstructed by a sharp hill. So, even if you don't see any cars coming for the back of your fender, that doesn't mean they're not coming. It's literally impossible to perform this manoeuvre without hearing the squeal of tires and car horns behind you, and the act of trying something as simple as leaving a parking space becomes an act akin to attempted murder/suicide. Today, I tried to pull into a little parking lot beside the comic store, only to discover that the signs there all said they were reserved for another business. So I tried backing out, only to discover that based on the angle of the parking stalls themselves, and the location of the exit, that it would be impossible to leave said parking lot without driving over the curb, or driving backwards onto the street across two lanes of traffic before righting my steering. I opted for simply diving over the curb, and went around the corner to another lot. This lot, however, had it's entrance and exit mysteriously hidden from plane site. The entrance I chose was actually an exit, for reasons unknown, as two cars could accommodate it side by side.

Finally parking and walking back around the corner, I passed a sushi bar. Inside, there was Japanese sushi chef, in traditional garb, standing behind the counter in his empty restaurant. He seemed the loneliest man in the world, and he looked at me with sorrowful eyes.

It's been all over the news lately about how China is upset by a global outbreak of Tibet protests leading up to the 2008 Olympic Games, and they're blaming the Dhali Lama. No shit people are going to be protesting against China. You kind of have to expect people to be protesting against you when you only let them have one child a family. If overpopulation is such a damn problem, then maybe you shouldn't be holding over nations hostage. The more people you take into your country, the more people you have in your country. Am I the only one who understands that math? Let's say there's a billion people in China, and you take control of Tibet, which has let's just say 100,000,000. You now have 1,100,000,000 people in China. You should be giving pieces of China away, not taking more territory. If China decreased the amount of territory it controls, it might be able to exert greater control over what it has. In terms of acquiring land and resources, the focus has to be more on sustainability, not expansion. In short, China doesn't need Tibet, but still they whine.
Tibet doesn't even want to be completely break free from Chinese control. They just want to be more self-governing. They have these radical ideas like: freedom of religion. But no, China's an asshole. You know how I know? They're goddamn Communists, and not even very convincing ones.

As for China's feelings being hurt? It hurts when a tank runs you over too. People were a bit iffy about having the Olympics in Nazi Germany too.

Experiment a little with my WoW Trading Cards. I spent some time sorting through my cards and developing an Alliance and Horde deck. I only had three redundant cards when I was finished, (I'm permitted only four of the same card a deck, unless it's specifically referred to as an "Unlimited" card).

The rules are similar to those of Marvel VS.. The main difference I encountered is that WoW game play is RPG based. Meaning, you are playing as a character. This character is your "Hero" card. One Hero card is permitted per player, and is not considered part of the deck itself. It goes immediately into play, face-up. Your Hero has no attack points, but rather, hit points. These hit points are in the 25-30 range, and they count as your basic health bar for the game. This is different from Marvel VS., or a game like Yu-Gi-Oh, which is mainly about team building, with automatically allocated points as your health bar. With the WoW system, your health bar will likely vary from your opponent, and you may be at an advantage, or disadvantage based on who you pick. In short, you lose when your Hero dies. For your Hero to attack, it must have a Weapon, Ability, or Item card with damage points equipped. The damage points of these cards act as the tally of your attack against your opponent. There are also Armour cards which can reduce the amount of damage your Hero takes, but must be equipped. Also protecting your Hero is the Allies. Your Hero is attacking and defending from a back row. The Ally cards act as a barrier in the front row. To attack the Hero directly without a special ability, your opponent must first defeat all the Allies in your front row. Their hit points are in the 0-10 range.

To play these Ally Cards, or any card without an "Instant Action" ability, you must first set your resources. You can play one resource a turn. This is the same as other Vs. games. These cards may be chosen from any in your deck, but are better suited for Quest cards. A Quest Card may be played from the Resource row to grant you special abilities, but the cost of the Quest cards often depends on how many fresh Resource cards you have in play. To summon an Ally, for example, may cost 1 resource point according to the cost listed in the upper left corner of the card. (Cards with no cost in the upper left corner, like Quest cards, are able to be put in play at any time during your Build phase.) That means that you must exhaust one Resource card for the rest of the turn, unless you have an ability enabling you to refresh them. So if you have 2 resource points, you exhaust 1 resource card, you cannot then use a Quest card ability costing 2 points. So you basically want to start out the first turn of your game with low-costing cards. If not, you should pull a Mulligan. This is all standard VS. game play.

Building a strong deck is one of the most challenging parts of the game. Lots of the cards have many exceptions, and may not be played in conjunction with others. The main two card exceptions are Horde and Alliance. You pick your Ally card based on which faction your Hero is in. There are other cards, like Ability, which may be Horde or Alliance exclusive. Then there's class exceptions. There's several job classes, which are Paladin, Hunter, Warlock, Shaman, Priest, Rogue, Druid, Mage and Warrior. If a card has a Warrior exception, only a Warrior may use it. Armour and Weapon cards may apply to several classes, but Ability cards are usually reserved for one class. Then there's the Hero's specialization. For example, a Paladin Hero Card may have a Retribution specialty, which may correlate with the conditions on a Paladin class Ability card. That means only he may use it. Then there's the Hero's crafts. A Hero may have Blacksmithing and Mining as his crafts, which can relate to other cards. Then there's the type of damage an Ally, or Weapon inflicts, which may be a Mage's Shadow Damage, or a Warrior's Sharp Weapon damage. So there's a lot of variables to consider. An Ability card may only be useful to one specific Hero card.

Beyond the basics, I haven't learnt anything. I haven't even looked at any of the new series of cards, or even the Instances decks, where you're playing as a team to achieve certain goals. The Instance decks have the most promise for play, as they seem to delve into some kind of D&D play.

I've had a my WoW TCG Starter Deck since the Burning Crusade came out, but I've never really considered playing it. I collected it more out of the sake of collecting, but now after reading about some of the instance themed decks they're coming out with, I may look into it. I was just about to pull my cards together and put together my own deck after carefully going through their online training program. It seems a lot like Marvel Vs., another game by Upper Deck, which I've played on my PSP and online.

World of Warcraft TCG

Idea for a new holiday: National Guitar Day. A day in which every person should strive to rock out on a guitar, or at the very least appreciate some fine guitar rockin'. There can be concerts, outdoor festivals, etc. The kids can eat guitar shaped chocolates, or perhaps play with guitar shaped candy dispenser.