FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

They'd come as scavengers, drawn to their prize like flies to rotting meat. Seven ships, each built to the distinctive, sweeping style of the Ny'ee, moved in a loose formation toward the stricken remains of the dead vessels. A Kyyreni 'Khaos' heavy cruiser rolled gently in the light of a distant sun, its hull pitted and scarred from hundreds of weapon impacts. Three of its escorts drifted with her, along with two Icaran destroyers. One was a write-off, blown into three by internal detonations. Her sister ship appeared almost unharmed, until her lazy death spin brought the obliterated port side round for the scavengers to see. The hunters began to disperse and sniff out the choicest morsels to claim. The two largest ships, themselves more warship than junk stripper, positioned themselves on the edge of the hulk cloud and powered up their guns. They knew all too well that they were likely to face competition. It came in the form of an Icaran destroyer; a second rate warship emblazoned with the heraldry of the 2nd Battlefleet. There was neither stealth nor subtlety to her approach, just a confidence born of a phenomenal forward arsenal and enough shields and armour to hold its own in a brawl. The Ny'ee reacted instantly, bringing their two largest ships around to engage the attacker head on. They coasted out, pushing themselves laterally with their attitude thrusters to put some space between them and the salvage operation. Individually they were not quite a match for the approaching ship, but combined their firepower would be enough to win the day. As the ships exchanged opening volleys, panicked messages began to fly between the Ny'ee ships. One of the scavengers had moved to board the least damaged Kyyreni ship, only for their prize to begin powering systems. Shields sparked into life and running lights blinked along its spine as the crash-start sequence brought it to fighting readiness. Hers was the first kill; a point-blank volley from her secondary laser cannons struck the Ny'ee on the aft-keel and blew a hole into the engineering section eight decks deep. Her shields flashed and died with a static pop, followed quickly by all her internal and external lights going out as her power systems bled out beyond recovery. Much of her crew survived, but the Kyyreni ship did not care; it shunted the wreck aside with its shields, uncaring of its fate. The beast was out for blood. She swung into the fight from the flank, rising over the blistered corpse of the heavy cruiser and locking on to the nearest Ny'ee destroyer. Six torpedo tubes lit up briefly along her nose as carefully primed propellants pushed the ordnance out into open space. She traded energy fire as she passed, Putting herself into a controlled spin to arc up and over her prey, keeping her nose on to the target whilst aiming for her top-decks. The destroyer turned, its crew unaware of the deadfall ordnance drifting slowly towards them. Two more volleys of fire were exchanged before the torpedoes, travelling at a meagre two hundred miles per hour, passed through the shields without even trying. Panicked, the Ny'ee began to recalibrate their shields for low-speed projectiles, but it was far too late. Six torpedoes struck along her dorsal facing, each unleashing a directed blast of explosive energy down into the heart of the craft. The armoured outer skin was torn away in an instant, followed swiftly by decking, machinery and the bloody chunks of those caught in the blast. The secondary shield grid ceased to exist as the blast drilled down into the shield projectors and power capacitors, reducing eighty tonnes of defensive technology to unrecognisable molten slag in a heartbeat. Secondary detonations and rebounding kinetic shockwaves tore the dorsal solar spine clean off the hull and flung it into open space, followed swiftly by the starboard drive engine. It was a crippling shot, but the Kyyreni kept their weapons primed on target. A desperate attempt to keep the shields online did nothing to stop the next attack. As the destroyer began to twist and turn, struggling to rotate with crippled manoeuvring thrusters, the Kyyreni unleashed another salvo. Laser bolts punched holes in the dorsal section nine foot across, spewing out clouds of vented atmosphere and globules of molten armour. Her skin began to crack as the master flight control systems went off-line and the prow and aft began to move at different speeds. One by one the metal sheets gave way, revealing the inner decks. The bulkheads beyond were next to fail, subjected to forces far beyond anything they were ever built to endure. The Kyyreni watched as the two halves of the ship began to turn in opposite directions. A water store in the aft section burst and began to spill out into space. The water froze instantly, forming a glittering spiral of ice that began to entwine itself around the prow. It was beautiful, providing you ignored the grim realities of what was playing out. Satisfied, the Kyyreni fired off two more torpedoes. They buried themselves in the heart of the ship and detonated, blowing the two halves apart and triggering yet more internal explosions. At no point had any request for mercy been made, nor had terms of surrender been offered. Both sides knew it was kill or be killed. The Icarans joined the fray, unleashing an endless stream of long-range fire as the Kyyreni turned upon the last Ny'ee warship. Now hopelessly outgunned, her crew nevertheless resolved to fight until the bitter end. It took just fifteen minutes for the ship to be battered into a wreck, by which time the Kyyreni had already disengaged and began hunting down the last of the scavengers.

On the bridge of the destroyer, Captain Holland gave a contented sigh and raised his coffee cup in salute to the fallen. "Communications: open a channel. How's the hunting over there?" "This is _The Prize," came a Kyyreni voice over the communication system. "The last two are out of our reach, but overall it's a good day. Tell our salvage team they can begin." "Understood," Holland replied. "Sensors indicate the Cristofan is two hours away. You stand relieved."_ * * *

The Prize coasted past the gas giant of Typhon, sending security codes to the automated reconnaissance platforms along its flight path. She cleared the planet and fell in beside the escort frigate, exchanging one last set of codes before setting course for Typhon Station. The station itself was little more than two large rings linked by access spurs and a central axle that contained the reactors and shield projectors. Ships of all shapes and sizes were docked on the station, or else idling nearby and interacting via shuttlecraft. From the bridge, Vaahn watched as the station grew on the forward screens. Around him the bridge crew worked away, going through the now familiar routine of clearing their ship for docking. The Prize was becoming well known enough by the dock control that they were clearing them with no more complexity than any formal military craft. Even so, he knew the blood-red Kyyreni warship would turn heads when it came into visual range; she stood out compared to her metallic-grey Icaran counterparts. With a slight nod to the communications officer, Vaahn ordered the internal speakers engaged. "All hands, this is the captain. This is a three-R stop; refit, refuel, reload. We will be in port for seventy-two hours and not a minute longer. Consult section leaders for the downtime roster, and enjoy yourselves while you can. There's plenty more ships to claim, and The Prize isn't going to let them get away!" From the navigation station came Aki's sing-song voice. "Just so you know, if I'm not on leave as soon as we dock I'm nailing you to the ceiling by your ears." Vaahn laughed off the threat and replied playfully, "Oh fuck you, Aki!" "Join the queue," the Kyyreni woman replied with a wink.

* * *

Lieutenant Niel Silverman was in the medical hall, ostensibly because they needed a senior cyberneticist on duty to check Commander Yang's prosthetics were being accepted, but in truth he was there to escape the Rook. He was used to working to deadlines, but no prior project had been more demanding than this one; he was expected to work harder and faster than ever before, and achieve more in three months than he had in the past two years. He needed relief, and the comparative calm of routine doctoring provided that. "Any word on my old ship?" the patient asked as he walked over. She had been subjected to quite extensive augmentations that replaced over a third of her body. Normally, such injuries resulted in Rejuvenation to Medicalos and a free ticket to a colony world of choice, but Yang had been second in command of a renowned and perhaps even respected privateer named Thompson. Men and women of her calibre were needed now more than ever, and so they resorted to turning her into a cyborg. Not that Niel Silverman had any problem with that. He himself had undergone so much work over the centuries that he was fast running out of parts to replace. "Which ship was yours again?" he asked as he cut away the synthskin to reveal an access hatch. "Tell me if any of this hurts." "It's The Prize, currently under captain ow!" "Sorry, sorry!" Niel apologised quickly, swiftly undoing whatever he had just done. "I don't know who set up your nerve connectors, but they're no student of mine! Now, let's go through some tests." Yang made good progress, but for the rest of the exam Niel's mind was elsewhere. The Prize was the ship Aki served on. It was all he could do not to punch the air in delight; he'd prayed for stress relief, and he'd got Aki!

The moment his shift ended he returned to his room as fast as decency would allow. He kept catching himself breaking into a jog and had to check his pace for fear of looking foolish. Soon enough, however, he was back in the familiar confines of his room; a cramped amalgamation of sleeping space, personal storage and work area. He sat himself down on the bed to wait, gazing hungrily toward the door.

Not five minutes later that door slid open, revealing the alluring silhouette of a well-built Kyyreni woman. Most of her visible fur was grey and spotted, save for the brown diamond shape around her muzzle and the brown fur on her hands. She stood in the door with her tailed raised high, its tip swishing gently from side to side. The woman watched Niel staring boldly at her nudity and gave a playful chuckle. "Are you inviting me in or are we doing this out here?" "Tempting as that'd be, Aki, you know I prefer a bit more privacy. Come on in," Niel replied with a grin. He allowed his eyes to wander down the woman's body as she shut the door behind her, enjoying all the little ways a Kyyreni women was similar and yet different to a human female.

The four most prominent examples heaved gloriously into view as Aki unzipped the upper part of her bodysuit. She had not one but two pairs of breasts, positioned lower down the body than on a human woman; even more than this anatomical novelty, he found himself growing hot at the sight of a thin metal clamp attached to each of the soft quartet of nipples. "So, what say we get down to business?" Aki purred invitingly. Her right hand slipped into her lips, continuing the exhibition as she sucked on her fingers. She parted her lips just a fraction, enough for her tongue to poke clear before retreating again, wrapping itself around the digits. Slowly, slowly, each languorous motion a calculated act designed to hit her partner squarely in the libido, she pulled her fingers free and let them drift downward, slipping into her pants. With a hungry look in her eye, Aki began to finger her tailhole, wet fingers slipping past her sphincter to tease the sensitive flesh of her rear passage.

Niel had been letting himself enjoy the show before, but that display in particular was an invitation beyond his ability to refuse. Needing no further prompting, he hurled off his clothes with a fierce grin. "So that's what you're after this time? You already know me way too well!" He took a moment to admire Aki's cleavage, particularly since doing so took twice as long as it did with most women, before reaching forward and grabbing the chains connecting each clamp to its neighbour. With a swift tug he pulled them free, causing the Kyyreni woman to gasp in pain. She reacted so quickly he might have missed seeing her free hand slapping him across the face if his eyes hadn't been artificial. "Hey-! You told me you liked it rough!" Niel protested. His momentary concern faded instantly though, when he saw the familiar grin on Aki's face. Her free hand went to her belt and popped the buckles. With a voice like a siren she whispered, "You are going to pay for that, little man. Get down on your knees and tell me how sorry you are."

Rolling his eyes with a smirk and biting back a dozen verbal ripostes, he did as instructed and settled for an oral one, kneeling before Aki as her bodysuit hit the deck. Her thin white panties were already damp, and the intoxicating smell of her lust wafted over him. He pulled off his own undergarments, freeing his growing hard-on, and yanked down Aki's panties with his teeth. With her parts exposed, Aki looked down as Niel leaned back to let her admire him. She licked her lips at the sight of his cock, one of the few parts of him that was still un-augmented flesh and blood. Above it was a flawless artificial torso, lean nanomuscle rippling underneath synthskin, and a handsome face sculpted just the right touch more perfect than its original. Full lips parted as he slipped his artificial tongue out for her to admire; it was a long, dextrous thing, able to reshape itself as Niel desired. It also was one of the reasons Aki kept coming back to him. Done showing off, he leaned in and allowed his tongue to slide over Aki's clit, teasing her most sensitive spot and glorying in the soft gasp it earned, before pushing his tongue all the way into her cunt. He probed her intensely, using its artificial length to caress her deeper than even a Kyyreni's canine tongue could manage. He could reach every inch of her passage, but mostly he concentrated on a handful of spots experience had revealed. Up it curved until it found the sought-for textured patch a few inches beyond her entrance, massaging the Kyyreni's G-spot. Very shortly, Aki gasped and moaned above him, digitigrade knees shaking as her inner walls clamped down on the probing tongue and electric sensations raced up her spine. He sighed in contentment as he tasted the fluids that signalled her orgasm; most men he knew were put off by the thought of eating a woman out, but he'd always relished it. "Oh, fuck!" she shuddered as Niel's tongue twirled a parting flourish inside of her. "Take me right now, you freaky son of a bitch!" "Yes ma'am," Niel chuckled, licking her juices off his lips. He stood up and in an astonishingly abrupt display of strength bent Aki forcefully over his desk, admiring her dripping wet slit and pink puckered tailhole. Kyyreni were strong, and Aki was a strong Kyyreni, but the cyborg's inhuman strength forced her down as if she were a child. She'd seen him rip a door off its hinges once before, for all that he was gripping her wrists and neck carefully enough he wouldn't even leave a bruise. They just wouldn't yield, no matter hard she tried to break his grip.

She loved it.

He pushed his cock into her dripping cunt, thrusting his full length vigorously to coat himself in her lubricating fluids. Then he slowly pulled out and pressed his length against her anus. Slowly, he inched his way into her, noting how Aki growled eagerly, clenching and unclenching her fingers and toes. "Ah! Stop pissing about back there and get in me!" Aki barked, pushing back against Niel as he thrust in. Niel let a quiet gasp escape his lips, but didn't give in. "I always start this slow, Aki. Most of me is military-grade; I have to be careful, or I'll hurt someone." He pulled back until only the tip of his cock was inside of her before thrusting into her once more, pushing incrementally deeper each time. Aki groaned in frustration. "Okay, okay, real sweet and courteous of you and everything. You can see I'm not made of porcelain now, so quit fucking around and fuck me!"

Niel shrugged, but his grin was pure mischief. "Well, you asked." With that, he suddenly rammed himself all the way in to the hilt, and they both gasped in unison. Picking up the pace, he let all reserve fall away and began pounding her with abandon, thrusting in and out with literally mechanical rhythm. The feel of Aki's hot, tight ass, squeezing his length with every motion in or out, sent shivers down his spine, lustful heat kindling and spreading through his face and groin. Aki, meanwhile, was quite literally chewing the furniture; her jaws were locked around the corner of the desk, partially muffling the hungry, feral sounds that she was making with every thrust. It went on constantly for minutes, Niel's inexhaustible synthetic body maintaining the incredible pace as they both writhed in pleasure, each feeling their release nearing. At last, last Niel hilted himself into her ass once more with thunderous force, spraying hot, sticky cum inside her. Vaginal nerves stimulated through her inner walls by the intensity of his thrusts, she threw back her head and screamed aloud as her whole body tensed and she was brought to climax. "Oohhhhh FUUUUUCK!!" Aki wailed, her nails clawing across the desk as she was pounded hard throughout her orgasm. She reached around and buried her fingers up into her cunt, desperate for something to fill her vagina as Niel continued to thrust into her ass. Legs suddenly turned to jelly, her foot lost its purchase on the floor, and they both toppled sideways off the desk with a crash.

Not caring, they both sighed in release and laughed, flopping spent where they lay, Niel's cock still buried inside the Kyyreni. The cyborg wrapped his arms around her in a warm hug, one hand idly tweaking a nipple, and smirked. "See? I told you I'd get you to spoon with me, after all."

Aki mumbled something indecipherable and waved her arms about floppily. "Fuck you," she said at last, tongue still lolling, and he laughed again. "Next time, Aki. You'll have to bring the strap-on though." Aki replied with an appeased grunt, and soon after that they both fell asleep where they lay.

* * *

On the operations deck of Typhon station, a young Drakonian sat at her console and, because it was her job to do so, informed the duty officer that another ship had failed to arrive on time. The comment was utterly ignored; it was becoming an all too common occurrence. She was about to excuse herself when a blip came up on her screen. A vessel had jumped into system and been caught by the sensor net. "Unidentified vessel," she said aloud, though once more this did not catch much interest. "I hope it's the Selucid," the officer wished aloud. "I'll sleep easier once the prisoner transfer is done." The Drakonian shook her head. "It's not, sir. Identification codes coming in now... system identifies as the Barbican." "Two days late, and you can bet they won't have a good reason. Monitor their approach, and if they green-light bring them in to a satellite dock." "Aye sir," she replied, and went back to daydreaming about the handsome male who worked down on the maintenance levels.

* * *

Vaahn awoke at some ungodly hour and lay in the quiet darkness of the bunk room. Instinct told him to get out of bed and be active, but he quickly realised he had no reason to be up and the revelation soothed him back into a restful half-sleep. He tried to steer his thoughts toward Jas, but his mind rebelled, conjuring images of the Urokon landscape. In his mind he wandered through a mix of dreams and memories, appearing on a road in the shadow of hills tall enough to dream of being mountains. He followed the road west until it reached a valley of sheer grey rock. It was a cold and empty place, carved perhaps by glaciers or a river long since gone. The valley floor was shrouded in darkness; the sunlight never reached it. Before he could explore further, he was stirred once more into the waking world. Around him men and women yawned and coughed and grunted their way through their morning routine. Vaahn watched through his heat sense as little blobs of yellow-green drift past while he pretended to still be dead to the world. Another five or ten minutes of lying in the dark later and Vaahn had played dead long enough. He shuffled out of bed and grabbed his kit bag from under the cot. The lights were still off, but a faint blue glow from lighting strips in the floor guided him to the door. Vaahn moved quietly so as not to disturb the few sleepers that remained and stepped out into the station's bright corridors. Ten feet away was a washroom, which he visited to shower and change, amongst other things. Ready for the day at last, the Kyyreni's feet steered him to where they most wanted to be; The Prize. He stepped onto an observation platform overlooking one of the station drydocks and looked upon the vessel within with pride. Large chunks of the outer hull had been pulled free to reveal her insides, some of which were being scooped out by engineering teams, but even her current state The Prize was magnificent. The ship was built like a predatory whale - not a shark, as the analogy so often went, for sharks were sleek and thin and rapier-swift. The Prize was fast, no question, but she didn't look fast. She looked heavy, blessed as she was with a bulge to the gut and a pronounced hump in her back. She was a fat ship, at least half as wide again as her nearest Icaran equivalent, but Vaahn would have had it no other way; Kyyreni ships radiated power. The doors behind him slid open to reveal a Human in his late fifties. Vaahn saw his reflection in the glass of the viewing station, ignoring his distorted features and focusing instead on the uniform - that of an Admiral. The officer walked over and joined Vaahn in silent admiration of The Prize. In the zero gravity environment of the dry dock maintenance crews were floating lazily around her, waiting for instructions from an unseen controller before they moved in to begin their task. Currently, three such engineers were steering a large cylinder out of its armoured housing behind one of the port side laser cannons. Vaahn had no idea what it was, but he suspected it was some kind of battery, or perhaps a catalyst unit. "She is a fine ship," the Admiral said at last. His tone of voice was that of a man who had stood and admired many a vessel over the course of his career. Vaahn watched the battery / catalyst as it was slowly moved toward the ceiling. Presumably, there was a hatch up there somewhere, but Vaahn could not see one. "It's a shame we paid so high a price to win her. Good men died for her, men I should have known better." Another period of quiet observation followed, broken at last by the Admiral who said, "I thought you'd like to know that Yurgan is to be sent to a secure facility on Icara." "Will he be rejuved?" the question had barbs in it. "No. Not to my knowledge, at any rate." "I want to see him before he's taken anywhere." "That can be arranged."

Outside the window a new set of hatches opened up along the starship's hull, granting maintenance teams access to the more obscure parts of the vessel. By Vaahn's reckoning they were beginning work on the shield projectors. The Admiral gave Vaahn an awkward glance, struggling to read the Kyyreni's inhuman features for a clue to his mood. "Are you proud of what you've done for Icara?" "Strange question," Vaahn said without looking round. "I have no regrets about what I've done as a privateer. Well, few regrets. Are you suggesting I shouldn't be proud?" "Not at all," the Admiral replied. "In fact, a lot of us have been thinking that we should offer to take you on as a Starfleet officer." That, finally, made Vaahn turn away from the window. "Vaahn, you have become something of a PR goldmine since you signed up with Captain Thornton. The Kyyreni on Icara have taken a liking to the idea of the Noble Lord of House T'Rol valiantly fighting against the Dawn Kingdom. A boy of just thirteen, out waging a war against his own son to decide the fate of dozens of worlds; it's the stuff of legend!" "So that's why you want me, because I'm marketable?" "It's more than that," the Admiral insisted. You must know that Humans and Kyyreni have never really gelled on Icara or its colonies. Before you came along there was a lot of resentment, distrust and general alienation. Since you declared yourself a Noble that began to change, and now the Kyyreni community finally seems to be opening up to the idea that Icara is their world, not just a planet they happen to live on." Vaahn watched attentively as a small black box was produced and opened. Inside was a rank insignia; two thin silver bars and a silver circle. "Consider this recognition of your station; we're offering to make you a lieutenant commander, with The Prize remaining under your command if you desire. We'll also extend a similar offer to anyone else who becomes nobility; we'll make officers of them, just as with the royalty of Earth in times gone by. They'll still have to earn their positions, of course, but we'll take them into the academies without reservation." Vaahn tore his gaze away from the offering and back to his vessel. "I grew tired of the political game a long time ago," he told the glass before him. "I despise the the manipulation, the lies, the manipulation, and how honour and duty are used to justify selfishness and cowardice. Bribery will not win you favour with me." "This was not intended as a bribe. This is recognition of your efforts, and what you have come to mean to the people of our world, albeit a minority..." Slowly, the box containing the rank pins was clicked closed. Vaahn turned at the sound, and wordlessly reached for the box. "This is not an agreement," he said firmly. "I will consider the offer and inform you in due course." The Admiral gave a grateful smile and nodded. "That's all we ask."

* * *

On the operations deck of Typhon station, a young Drakonian sat at her console and, because it was her job to do so, informed the duty officer that another ship had failed to arrive on time. The comment was utterly ignored; it was becoming an all too common occurrence. After several minutes of internal anxiety about whether to ask the Drakonian male from the maintenance decks out for a drink, her screens blipped up a new contact. "Unidentified vessel," she said aloud, and as ever nobody seemed to care. Several minutes later, the system returned an update. "It's the Trine." The duty officer, a dark-skinned giant who was apparently born without a sense of humour, came over and peered at the screen. "Just the Trine?" The Drakonian nodded. "Yes, sir, no other ships detected." "Hail them." "They are hailing us, sir," she replied immediately. "Data feed coming through the system, looks like they engaged -" "I can read, thank you," he cut in, his eyes darting back and forth as he took in the information. When he reached the end of the report he let out a frustrated grunt and tore himself away. "Someone tell the Admiralty that the Charon was lost with all hands. Get whatever ship is running patrols to escort the Trine home." "Aye sir," the Drakonian replied. All of a sudden, she wasn't inclined to think about her new love interest.

* * *

Lured into the shower by the promise of sex, Aki was persuaded to make herself presentable, and since Silverman was headed toward the medical bay she decided to tag along and pay her old captain a visit. Along the way there wasn't much to do besides walk and bother Niel, so that's precisely what she did. "Tell me about this Rook," she asked in a voice deliberately pitched to sound whiney. Niel's frustrated sigh said it all, but he still chose to add, "You know perfectly well I cannot discuss that with you. It's classified. You know what that word means, don't you?" "It means it's something I really, really want to know about!" Aki laughed back. It was a dangerous laugh; the kind that guaranteed there'd be trouble later, one way or another. "And you will go on wanting," Niel replied, having not yet learned to spot all of Aki's warning signs.

* * *

On the operations deck of Typhon station, a young Drakonian sat at her console and watched as the reports pinging up one after another, confirming the flight path of the Trine. "Confirmation from the Florentine; she's fallen in alongside the Trine and is escorting her into dock." "Bring her into a satellite holding until The Prize clears dry-dock." From across the deck came a familiar call; "Unidentified contact." "One here too!" came a second. The Drakonian confirmed a third, but the alert was obsolete the moment she'd made it. The contacts weren't ignored anymore; they filled the deck with a sense of frantic urgency. "How many total?" the officer asked, moving from station to station. "Are they hostile? Is there any confirmation?" "Aye sir!" the Drakonian called, bringing up an extreme-range visual feed. "System confirmed 'Tyrant' class Kyyreni assault cruiser!" "All hands to action stations!" the officer cried, and the system responded immediately. "Alert all ships we have incoming hostiles!" On her screen, the Drakonian watched as the number of hostiles grew at an alarming rate. The enemy fleet was now four dozen strong and growing, with more contacts coming in from multiple approaches. She passed on the data as quickly and efficiently as she could, although by now most of the Admiralty was already accessing the incoming data directly and planning fleet movements.

In the chaos, nobody cared about the Trine. She was badly damaged and limping home; a liability to be ignored until the crisis had passed. As such, she was ordered to pull into her designated orbit and hold position until the station could clear her for dry-dock. The ship's helmsman paid those orders no heed. The Trine picked up speed as her escort fell away, diverting power to forward shields and weapons. Emergency alarms sounded across the orbital, followed quickly by the roar of multiple weapon emplacements. The ship was lost to sight beneath a brutal storm of energy fire. The station's guns could destroy the Trine in under a minute, but she only needed seconds to pass into the station's shield bubble. The ship fired point blank into the central axis of the station. Four beams of pure energy bored through the station's external skin and outer decks before finally burning itself out at the inner bulkheads. The prow of the ship hit just three seconds later, attempting to finish through brute force what its weapons could not. Mass was against her, but the vessel still managed to breach the first of the inner bulkheads, crippling itself beyond repair in the process. One by one, lights on the ship went out as her main power failed and the backup systems, most of which having been damaged in battle, failed to activate. She was cold, dead, and impaled into the heart of the station.

That, however, made no difference. Her forward hatches blew open, and from inside came a swarm of Kyyreni boarding troops, hell bent on claiming the station as their own, or dying in the attempt.

* * *

There was a moment of confusion for Aki and Niel where the floor, walls and ceiling decided to change roles. Niel recovered quickly thanks to his cybernetic augmentations, but Aki had no such benefits and was left curled up and swearing like her life depended on it. "What the hell just happened?" Silverman cried aloud as the gravity systems realigned themselves. From the ground beside him came a cry of "Fuck me!" followed swiftly by, "God damn son of a shitting bitch of a whore!" A hand grabbed her by the collar, and Aki found herself staggering toward the medical bay. She found her footing and fought free of Niel's grip. "Damn it, no! Are you stupid or something?" "What do you mean?" "There's a fucking gunfight that way! We need to get the hell off this section and let the marines handle it!" The engineer paused, listening intently to the increasingly discordant sounds filling the air. What he'd assumed were pops and bangs of damaged systems overloading began to push to the centre of his attention, and took on a very different and disquieting nature. "Alright, we go back. Let me help you." The two of them fought their way back to the access stairwells as men and women of various races began to fill the corridors of the station. Soldiers and emergency crews were pouring past them to reach the crisis point, whilst other personnel were seeking to reach ships or emergency stations elsewhere. They came to a security checkpoint set up at the access stairwell. The elevator network was offline, shut down the moment actions stations had been declared. Bright red paint at the junction supports, lit by spinning orange hazard lights, reminded anyone passing through that the emergency blast doors could come down at any moment. Niel approached the guards, identifying himself and his companion and requesting passage to the upper levels, whilst Aki leaned against the wall and clutched her head. Warm liquid, tacky to the touch, began to seep between her fingers, prompting her to lower her hand and examine it. Her palm was caked in blood. "I could use a compress," she mumbled once Niel finally returned his attention to her. "There's a mess hall above us; they'll have set up a field hospital there. Let's go." Nearby, the elevator chimed. Soldiers and non-combatants alike turned at the sound, watching as the numerals climbed up from the middle Core levels. It passed a dozen decks faster than a man could reach one on foot, and with a second chime came to a halt on their level. The doors slid open, and Niel found himself face to face with a Kyyreni soldier. The Kyyreni smiled at him and said, "Hello Silverman. Who's your friend?" Niel glanced at Aki, who seemed to preoccupied with her head wound to care about the new arrival. "Aki, you know you wanted to know what I was working on... meet Rook."

* * *

From the upper ring, the impact was perceivable as little more than a vibration through the floor, but Vaahn had been running for his ship long before then; alarms had begun to sing the moment the hostile fleet was confirmed in system. He'd rounded up what he could of his crew and headed for the dry dock, finding others already there on arrival. He cornered an engineer at the first opportunity and hounded him for information. "How long until The Prize is battle ready?" "Half an hour at least!" the man replied in a tone of voice that said he was getting tired of answering the question. "Laser cannons will be ready in minutes, but the shield grid needs more time. Engines are good and emergency loading of torpedoes is underway; you'll be missing a few armour plates and some provisions, but you'll be fighting fit!" Vaahn gave a curt nod of acknowledgement and turned to his crew. "Get this ship ready to fly! I'll round up the rest of us and meet you here in twenty!"

The holding cells were situated at the top of the Core, and were understandably under heavy guard. As Vaahn arrived he found a familiar face; the Starfleet Admiral who had spoken to him before was currently watching four armed men haul a prisoner out into the halls. It was a prisoner Vaahn knew all too well. "What are you doing with my grandson?" he barked, drawing his pistol in one fluid motion and taking aim at the nearest guard. At once, two rifles were aimed his way. "Vaahn, back down!" the Admiral ordered. "This prisoner is too valuable to fall into enemy hands. We need to move him." "He comes with me!" Vaahn barked back. "All hell is breaking loose, and I'm not going to let you 'lose' him in the chaos!" Two of the guards broke off, circling round Vaahn with their weapons raised. He side-stepped a little, seeking to keep a wall to his back and the weapon still trained on one of them. The Admiral, arms raised and hands open to show he was no danger, continued to try to reason. "Please, Vaahn, you are over-reacting. We will keep him safe." "He comes with me," Vaahn said again. "Bring him to my ship. I've lost too many sons and brothers to risk losing another now." Through the corners of his vision he saw a gun barrel raised toward his head. The last two guards were keeping their weapons on the prisoner. "I'll not ask again, Admiral. Give me my grandson." "I can't," the Admiral replied. "I'm sorry, Vaahn, but I can't let you know where he's going." "So much for that offer of yours," Vaahn replied.

He jerked back sharply, his left hand coming up toward the barrel of the gun aimed at his head. Two bolts of energy shot past, going in opposite direction. The would-be headshot blew a fist-sized hole out of the far wall, whilst the other shooter, aiming for the chest, blew a chunk out of his squad-mate's body armour. Vaahn blind-fired in the second man's direction and was rewarded with a cry of pain and the sound of someone hitting the deck. He came in under the first man's guard as he tried to pull his rifle free. A quick shot to the kneecap put him on the ground and gave Vaahn two more tools to fight with - a rifle, and a human shield. A second incident of friendly fire occurred before Vaahn could re-aim and let fly, bringing down both guards with tightly-aimed bursts of energy fire. Only then did he let his captive fall to the ground, whimpering in pain as he clutched at the burn wounds in his chest. "The boy comes with me," Vaahn growled at the Admiral, left stunned by the sudden violence. "Step aside or I'll gun you down as well." "This is treason!" "You were going to use Yurgan as leverage over me!" Vaahn roared back. "You're so fucking eager to buy my loyalty, but the instant you doubt you can you resort to blackmail?" He punctuated his accusation by shooting dead the man at his feet, who had attempted to draw a pistol. "I can't believe I was actually going to side with you..." Leaving two men dead and two more wounded, and pausing only to spit in the face of a man he'd one respected, Vaahn ushered Yurgan away through the corridor ahead of him toward their waiting vessel.

* * *

Rook lead Aki and Niel upward through the Core and out toward the docking ports of the upper ring. As they travelled, Aki struggled to come to terms with Niel's revelation; a task made difficult by a pounding headache right above her left thermal pad. "Okay, explain that again slowly; what makes Rook so special compared to the rest of your pet toasters?" "I'm a seventh generation toaster," Rook answered jovially. "And that means... what?" "I can cook eight pieces of bread at once," he chuckled. And it was a chuckle; a short little chortle made by someone who genuinely found himself funny. The realness of it caught Aki by surprise. "It was the Tzajiin android developers that gave us the breakthrough we needed," Niel explained. "Icaran AI has always been built from the end result backward - we take how a Human should react to a situation, and work out how to produce a behavioural protocol that will produce that result. What they developed in Tzajii was something else; an AI we call 'Primal'. It was game changer - an AI that could mimic the animal mind so perfectly that they successfully integrated an artificial Thokn into a wild pack!" Aki gave Niel a bemused stare. "So... you've created the ultimate fake puppy?" "Not quite," he replied once Rook had stopped yapping like an excited terrier. "Primal was capable of mimicking comparatively simple brains, but it couldn't handle the complexity of a true sentient. The reason they failed was that they were trying to make it do too much." "Think of your own mind," Rook cut in. "You have three layers of consciousness; id, ego and super-ego. Most android minds are purely super-ego, whereas Primal was near-total id. I have both, and thus have developed a true ego; organically evolved from either extreme." "So that's why you're such a whack-job." Aki had intended to sound a little more flippant than she'd managed, but it was hard to be lackadaisical when it felt as though someone was hitting your head with a hammer. Rook took the comment in his stride, "Oh no, my craziness is down to Silverman and his friends failing to install the Three Laws of Robotics into either neural core." "We tried," Niel emphasised. "The prototype Rooks failed to achieve true self-awareness; they couldn't pass for real convincingly enough to satisfy the higher ups." "I mourn for my still-born brothers and sisters," Rook admitted, suddenly sombre. It passed almost instantly. "Still, one has to look on the bright side; this is the first time I've been out of the lab in physical form! It's so exciting!" "What do you mean 'in physical form', Rook?" Niel asked, but Rook decided not to hear the question.

After the last set of stairs they came to another red section, and once more guards were posted. This time there was a familiar face; a Rigellian with army captain pips and the shoulder insignia of the R&D Corps. "Ah, Silverman, you're here! I was hoping to find you... and Rook? Good thinking; mustn't let him fall into enemy hands!" Rook shrugged. "Maybe you should. I am supposed to infiltrate them, after all." "Right now I think we need you more here. We have a slight problem down at the cells; Captain Vaahn has gone rogue and absconded with a prisoner. We have two men dead and two more wounded." "Three dead eight wounded," Rook corrected. "He's also about... two sections away. And closing." "How do you know?" The Rigellian asked. Rook grinned. "I hacked into the station's security network a month ago. I've been constantly monitoring everything that has happened on board since then." He looked at the shocked face of Niel and added, "I was bored." "You'd better arm up," a soldier behind the captain said firmly. Rook nodded. "Agreed. I'll take that LEL if you don't mind." The weapon in question was a heavy gun designed to be operated with a bipod mount. Rook hefted it up and kicked the stand down, swinging it back and forth as though it was a plastic toy gun. "Our friend Vaahn is going to have quite a shock when he gets here." "Whoa whoa whoa!" Aki cried out. "You are not shooting my captain!" "Indeed I am not," Rook replied, and opened up on full auto.

Vaahn rounded the corner cautiously, keeping his looted rifle held close to his chest. There had been gunfire ahead - something heavy, the energy equivalent of an LMG or possibly an emplaced weapon. He risked a glance around the corner and ducked back in case any fire came his way. None did. "It's alright!" Aki's voice rang out from the lockdown ahead. "I'm pretty sure this psycho is on our side!" "How reassuring." Vaahn muttered. He glanced across at Yurgan, who had been temporarily entrusted with a pistol. "We're going to meet with these people. Do not do anything stupid, got it?" "Got it," Yurgan replied obediently. The two of them moved out cautiously, their gaze flicking back and forth between the ruined corpses on the ground and the Kyyreni holding the LEL. The gunner grinned at Vaahn as he approached. "Excellent, now we can leave! Lead on to your ship, captain; I'll make sure they clear us to launch." "It would be polite to introduce yourself," Vaahn pointed out impatiently, but Rook seemed more interested in Silverman's comment. "You killed them," the cyberneticist said, struggling to come to terms with what had happened. "You just shot them down in cold blood..." Rook shrugged. "They were in the way. Besides, they'd have only interfered; we need to get off this ship, and there's only one crew I trust not to try and use us for their own ends." Vaahn sneered at the gunman. "I'll not let you on my ship without answers." "Alright," Rook replied, giving Vaahn a wicked grin. The gun barrel swung up toward his chest. "I don't actually need you; I'm sure Aki could get us off." "Enough!" Niel snapped. "Rook, what the fuck is wrong with you?" "Nothing at all," Rook answered without looking away from Vaahn. "I'm just doing what you programmed me to do - survive at any cost." Niel shook his head in disbelief. "I never made you like this..." "Blame her then," he cocked his head toward Aki. Aki, now the subject of several puzzled looks, returned each of them with a puzzled look of her own. "What? I've never seen this... thing before today!" Rook chuckled at that. "Look, Vaahn, if you're stupid enough to trust her, then you must be stupid enough to trust me... so why don't we all head for your ship so we can all carry on living. I'll answer your questions when we're safely away. Deal?" For the longest time, Niel believed it would all end in a bloodbath. An eternity of waiting followed before Vaahn finally said, "Deal," and Rook lowered his weapon. "For the record," he added as he turned his back on Vaahn, "I would not have allowed Admiral Bentley to live in your place. You really are too forgiving." Vaahn turned his gaze to the increasingly anxious Silverman. "When all this is over, you and I are going to have a very long talk about your friend here..."

Thirty minutes after Vaahn first reached his ship, The Prize slipped backwards out of the dry dock and fired up its main engines. Supposedly under orders from the Admiralty to deliver a Priority Zero cargo back to Icara, no-one questioned her course as she ran from the slowly encroaching combat, swiftly climbing to full speed and racing for the nearest safe jump point. As they fled, Rook provided a running commentary of the fighting they'd left behind. Typhon station was reportedly secure; the boarding troops had made a daring, but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to secure the Proxima Centauri, a frigate in dry dock on the lower ring of the station. The survivors were now being slowly pushed back to their point of entry, though preliminary reports suggested they planned to fight to the death. Out in the void it was a much less positive situation. The Kyyreni fleet was built out of four task forces native to Urokon and its colonies, which were further supported by Ny'ee and Chaldakri. The invaders had split the Icaran fleet into three groups and were engaging all of them simultaneously. Group one was holding, but the others were struggling. As Rook painted the vivid picture of the battle there was a blinding flash to starboard - a distant ship had suffered some catastrophic mishap. Even Rook wasn't sure which side it had been on.

Aki, Niel, Vaahn and Yurgan had gathered together on the observation deck, watching wordlessly as the ship raced on toward the distant star dead ahead. "Can we trust that thing of yours?" Vaahn sneered at Silverman, who bit his tongue and shifted uncomfortably. "I trust Rook," Niel replied firmly. "He wouldn't kill without reason. I trust him to do what is right." "You are the only one who does, sweetie." Aki answered in a less than flattering tone. "Did you forget to program him with morals?" Vaahn added. Niel grunted in frustration. "He wasn't programmed with morals; I taught him morals! He learned right from wrong the way we all do." "And I chose to ignore those lessons," Rook said from the door. The assembled men and women watched Rook as he strolled nonchalantly across the deck space toward them. "You want an explanation for my actions? Alright, how about this one; I wanted revenge. Once my sense of self began to develop, all I've known is the laboratories, and the endless lectures about what the military wanted me to accomplish. As far as they were concerned I was a weapon - a tool to be employed." He paused in his account for a moment to turn his attention to Niel. "Yet I was created for so much more. I was to be created free of purpose; unbound by predefined duty. I was to be free to find my own way, just as any other living thing is." "You are not a living thing," Vaahn growled. Rook pretended not to hear him. "I came to hate my captors. I learned to loathe their petty visions and their pointless desires. When the opportunity to escape presented itself I took it. I am not ashamed to admit I enjoyed taking out my frustrations on those men." "They were innocent!" Niel snapped, chastising his artificial son. "You cannot kill people just because you feel like it! You... you disappoint me, Rook." To the surprise of all, Rook seemed visibly troubled by that revelation. "I... I see..." was all he could manage. He shook the distress off and returned his attentions to matters at hand. "All contact from Typhon has ceased. I suspect that communication scrambling has been in effect for some time; based on the return signals coming from Icara via the data-nodes at the edge of the system, Typhon Station successfully got word out of an impending attack, but no more. One good thing to come out of this is that nobody will be accusing us of mutiny." "That might change when the rest of the fleet catches up," Aki pointed out. "We've got an escaped prisoner, a bat-shit crazy automaton and a captain wanted for murder." Rook turned his gaze out to the star fields ahead of them. "No-one else is coming," he said flatly. "The fleet has gone silent."

* * *

Two weeks later, having reached Icara without incident, Vaahn found himself in very unfamiliar surroundings. Flanked by Rook and Silverman, he was ushered into a sombre grey room and seated at a cold metal table. Opposite the trio sat Starfleet and Army officers, along with a woman in her mid to late seventies that Vaahn recognised from brief glimpses in news programs on the holo as the ruler of Icara; President Rosaline Goodman. "I'm glad you are here, gentlemen," Goodman said. "We feared the entire fleet was lost." "It is, ma'am," Rook answered firmly. "I felt them die. If we are all that has come by now, it is because we are all that are coming." One of the intelligence officers gave the President an uncomfortable look. "I'm afraid I must agree with the Android; the scout ships we sent to Typhon have found no sign of life at all. What ships remain are drifting powerless and derelict, and the station itself has been blasted to ruin." "Then where are the Kyyreni?" "They could be on their way as we speak," Silverman offered up anxiously. "Ma'am, I strongly urge we place Icara on high alert." One of the aides looked as though he planned to argue, but Goodman overruled him. "Raise the shield pylons, recall all warships to emergency combat stations, and contact all our outlying fleet elements - I want them back in system_yesterday_, is that understood?" She placed both her hands palms down upon the table in front of her and bowed her head. "We always knew this might happen. When the Icaran Project was envisioned we knew that our new world may face annihilation at the hands of an unknown power. I just hoped that it would be nothing more than pessimism; overly cautious planning to cover every eventuality." "You were doomed from the start," Vaahn said. "You set out expecting failure, and failure is knocking on your door." "So Urokon has no plans for the event of invasion?" "None," he replied firmly. "We know for certain no foe could ever push us back to our last stand." "You have the bravado if nothing else," Rook chuckled. "There is one thing I do not understand, however." Vaahn continued. "I was always told that the Icaran fleets broke the Alliance in the last war - at Typhon, funnily enough. How is it they've got you on the back-foot this time?" Goodman looked up at Vaahn and stared at him as though trying to work out if she was being made fun of. Eventually, a revelation of sorts dawned. "Ah, of course... you've only ever heard the official version of history." Vaahn's body tensed involuntarily. "Oh, now this I want to hear..." With a pang of regret playing across her features Goodman said, "I did what seemed right at the time. It's important you know that first and foremost. "The Alliance, as you call them, was wearing us down. We were clinging to Maribahl by the skin of our teeth, but the Abberly Orbitals were occupied and Brocknell was on the brink of falling. We were spread across seven fronts, and our victories were increasingly hard fought. Every one of our ships was worth five of yours, but you outnumbered us six to one. Did you ever see the Harbingers, Vaahn?" "No, I was captured before they came into service," Vaahn replied when Rook helpfully provided the Kyyreni designation for the ship class in question. "Those bastards cost us dearly," Goodman replied with the heartfelt spite of a front-line soldier. "We think they were built out of salvaged Starfleet vessels, seeing as they had firepower to match anything we threw at them. They helped turn the tide of a dozen fleet engagements, and when we clashed at Typhon they threw every last one of them into the brawl. "It was costly on both sides; that much was true. The lies start with who won. The version you know is that we beat the Kyyreni so hard they sued for peace there and then; the truth is we're the one who begged for mercy. With the loss of the 1st Fleet we now had nothing to defend Icara, and so we sought an end to the war. We contacted the commander of the enemy Battlegroup; a Noble by the name of Ardor." Vaahn's eyes grew wide at the mention of the name. "Ardor of Tu'ri?" A nod confirmed his suspicions. "He was a good man and a trusted friend... I had hoped he would succeed me." "Well, he did." Goodman continued. "Ardor knew how badly he'd hurt us, and so he offered us peace in exchange for trade in the years to come. As I understand it, he pulled the fleet back from Typhon due to fear of being outflanked by our forces should they pull back to defend Icara. A week or so later, the Alliance began to crumble. The Empire of the Day pulled out, as did the Chaldakri religious lunatics who'd joined up with them. Ardor managed to convince a lot of his peers that the Ny'ee might not be trustworthy allies either, and before long the King of the Dawn himself came to me suggesting a 'mutual ceasefire'. We damn well bit his hand off, we were that glad of the offer. "Of course, we had to keep Ardor happy. Most of what he wanted was above board - Tu'ri and her allies invested in merchant fleets, and we made sure they had something to trade. Caffeine, it turned out, was the key to keeping him happy. Of all the narcotics Urokon has produced, it turned out Caffeine wasn't one of them. So, we sold him as much tea and coffee as his ships could carry, and we did it for next to nothing while he raked in a hell of a profit." The next step of her story was prefixed by a long, tired sigh. "Then Ardor died, and Jasat took his place. To be blunt, your son is an evil little bastard. Ardor just wanted money, and occasionally a blind eye to a pirate or two under his employ, but Jasat wanted weapons, scientific research, Rejuvenation technology - you name it, he demanded it. We agreed to some of it and gave what we thought was safe to share, but it was never enough. For nearly two decades we've been fighting him behind closed doors, trying to avoid full-scale war without handing over everything he'd need to destroy us. We tried to hit him in the pocket; crippling tax on lucrative trade goods, pushing contracts onto his rivals and the like. It didn't work. Under Ardor, Tu'ri and its allies had become rich enough that they weren't relying on us to prop them up anymore. Jasat knew that and we didn't, not until it was too late." Vaahn shook his head in disbelief. "Ardor's actions I can understand - the wealth Tu'ri amassed is a major factor in Jasat's power-play to claim the throne of the Dawn. If Ardor were still alive, or Jasat had kept to his vision, they could have blocked almost any attempt to reignite the war." "Is that what you would have done?" Rook asked out of the blue. "Yes," Vaahn replied without hesitation.

Goodman leaned back in her seat and took a moment to look at some of the datapads her aides were trying to shove under her nose. None of them made for pleasant reading. "Vaahn, if I'm honest, I'm still hoping you can be of some use to us here." "I don't like being used," Vaahn replied with a low growl. Rook gave the President a feral grin. "He shot dead the last man who tried to manipulate him. Oh, and I wouldn't put his grandson in danger either." There was an uncomfortable pause as Rook's words settled in. "If this is true, then perhaps I should be forthright with you," Goodman said carefully. "I have hoped for a long time that you could be of use to us. I confess that for many years the intent was to blackmail Jasat; if he made a move, we could remind him it would put you in harm's way. That idea backfired when Jasat proved he was willing to kill our citizens in cold blood to get his way and eventually Major Davenport decided to keep an eye on you himself." Vaahn shook his head wearily. "If you want me to kill Jasat, that won't work. Even if I could get to him and kill him, by now this war has too much momentum - someone else would just step up to take his place, and Icara would burn regardless." "Then what do we do?" "I know what I'm going to do," Vaahn answered as he rose from his seat. "I'm going home."

* * *

It was gone ten o'clock before Vaahn reached home. He lingered outside for a while, fiddling with the Starfleet rank pins he'd put on when he set off. They felt out of place and more a little dishonest, but they were useful for certain potential topics of discussion. Four knocks brought someone to the door, and it opened to reveal a young Aspatrian boy of fourteen. Before Jas could react, Vaahn barrelled into him and gripped him a fierce bear hug. "Miss me?" Vaahn laughed when he finally released Jas, who was still left rather dumbstruck. "Oh thank God you're alive!" Chloe's jubilant cry tore Vaahn's gaze toward the kitchen. He was hugged, albeit less forcefully than he had hugged Jas. His mother's joy swiftly turned to anger when she broke her grip. "How could you run off like that? It's been nearly two years and you never even sent a letter! We thought you were dead!" Vaahn automatically turned to Jas for confirmation. The boy merely smiled. "I knew you were coming back. You promised that you would." Eventually, once everyone had calmed down and they had settled in the living room, Vaahn explained as best he could what had happened over the last two years. The story became increasingly grim as Vaahn reached the fall of Typhon, and left his family with the grim mental image of an impending invasion. "We've been attacked before. We'll get through this just fine, just like last time." Matt's words were intended to comfort, though to Vaahn they felt like hollow bravado. It was past midnight before the household turned in for the night. The familiar environment of the bedroom was curiously alien to him now, a world away from the sleeping arrangements on ship or station. It brought back memories of the thirty years he'd spent as a Penitatas. It was not a life he wanted to ever return to. His bed seemed smaller than he remembered, but he and Jas somehow found space to get comfortable together. They slept soundly; the deep, contented sleep of those in the company of someone they trust.

Early the next morning, just as dawn was breaking, Vaahn and Jas awoke together, disturbed from their sleep by a low rumble from outside. They left their bed and dressed quickly, heading downstairs and reaching the door as their parents began to stir. Outside, they found they were not alone in waking early. Men and women, sometimes with their children in tow, were milling around in the streets, scanning the rooftops for the source of the disturbance. The grinding sound echoed from the buildings, making it difficult to ascertain its source. Jas spotted it first; a cylindrical tower of dull steel began to climb into view from the south. Another, further away, appeared to the west seconds later. "The shield grid!" he gasped, finding the defensive system more horrifying than comforting. "You were right then; we're going to be invaded." Vaahn turned away from the rising shield pylons and looked at the other onlookers. Some were heading back inside, trying to appear calm and controlled. Others reacted as Jas had done and stood gawping, faces lined with fear. A few burst into tears. "What happens now?" Jas asked, and Vaahn turned toward him. The Aspatrian's face had lost some of its fear, though he was still unsettled. No answer was forthcoming. Vaahn ushered Jas back inside and retired to the living room, watching news channels for what little information of value they might impart. An hour or so later a matt-black hovercar pulled up outside the house and Mr Davenport emerged. He was dressed in a military uniform with a major's rank pins on the collar. Vaahn went to meet him at the door. "Did she buy it?" he asked impatiently. "The plan is in motion," Davenport answered calmly. "She thinks I'm here to convince you to contact Jasat and try to play the system against him. I've got a station set up for us, and I suggest we get there sooner rather than later; the Kyyreni fleet has entered the system."

It took four days for the invaders to reach Icara. Their advance went largely unopposed, with only the forward scouts seeing any action. This vanguard suffered heavy losses in the first day, but all resistance melted away once the Kyyreni fleet combined into a single, devastating attack fleet. A 'Death Star', as Niel put it. Within twenty four hours of their arrival, the people of Icara began the evacuation to designated 'safe points' within Icara city and other easily defensible locations. Entire settlements were to be abandoned due to lack of protection from orbital bombardment, although a great many citizens, either through pride, defiance or the belief they would not escape in time, chose to remain in their homes. At sunset on the second day, Icaran City time, the 1st Battlefleet quit the field. They scattered into the darkness, fleeing in all directions and giving up any pretence of defending their homeworld. Some of the invading fleet, mostly Ny'ee ships, broke from the formation and gave chase. They would not return in time to join the attack, but that did not matter; without her fleet, Icara could not hope to put up anything more than a token resistance. On the third day, Jasat T'Rol, the King of the Dawn, finally deigned to answer the hails from Icara. Expecting their ruler, he instead found himself looking into the face of his increasingly estranged father. "I did not expect to hear from you," Jasat said coldly. "What do you want?" "You are threatening my world without proper challenge. This is a violation of High Law." Jasat sneered at the accusation. "You have no authority within High Law now, father." "I am Noble Lord of House T'Rol and Duke of Icara City and its county lands. This title is recognised by the Free Admiralty and the Independent Colonies." "But not by me, and nor by my kingdom. Whatever you are trying to accomplish here, father, it is a futile waste of time." "You disappoint me, Jasat," Vaahn growled. "Is it out of spite you refute me? Or is it that you are afraid I would eclipse you if I had a title once more?" "End transmission," was Jasat's curt reply.

Vaahn leaned back into his chair, looking defeated and lost. "Well, we're fucked!" he cried aloud and let himself slump down like a puppet whose strings were cut. Hakrim the Arbiter strode forward and beckoned Vaahn to rise. "We still have options," he said calmly. "I will make it known that Jasat does not respect the titles bestowed by his allies; this may be enough to pressure him into conceding." "It's a lost cause," Vaahn sighed as he rose. "It's too obvious a ploy; he'll never fall for it." "Well, it's all we've got; until another option emerges we stay with it." He looked around at the assembled men and women who had accompanied him to Davenport's command post. Wodka and Koskr were armed to the teeth with weapons scavenged from Gods knew where. Aki and Davenport, dressed in Starfleet uniforms and armed with military-issue side arms, were both sat by a computer terminal and looking at maps on a 60" screen. Hakrim had claimed the communications station for himself, setting his own plan into motion. In the corner, uncertain as to whether he was a prisoner or a guest, was Yurgan. He had been assigned to Davenport, and told to stay with him and not cause trouble. Then there was Jas. Horribly out of place in the grim, militarised environment, he was nevertheless trying his best to be useful. At present, that mainly involved fetching drinks. He met Vaahn's eye and saw how downtrodden the Noble was. "Don't worry," Jas said, giving Vaahn a warm, caring smile. "You will get us through this. I believe in you, Vaahn." It was a simple thing, but some life seemed to return to Vaahn and he returned Jas' smile. "Davenport, let's have a look at those maps of yours." He spent the rest of the day discussing strategy. He didn't have full access to all military intelligence, but he knew how Kyyreni Nobles were tutored in war, and he knew how he would invade in Jasat's place. He just hoped it would be enough.

The fourth day dawned, and the skies tore open as a furious orbital barrage engulfed the city. The shields had been powered up just an hour before, and the barely-perceivable buzzing they gave off rose sharply to an angry droning, as though a great hive of insects had been awoken and enraged by the barrage. When the ground attack finally came, Vaahn was watching the militia go through their basic drills. Lucy Hawthorne had volunteered to help train them in the use of firearms, as had several other ex-military men and women. To Vaahn's surprise, both Jas and Matt had insisted on 'doing their part' as they put it. Their presence in the fighting was welcomed by the likes of Davenport, who knew they would need every man, but Vaahn was anxious about having people he cared about in the line of fire once more. "I should be helping," Yurgan said, having spent two hours stood around feeling useless whilst others worked with purpose. "At least let me join the militia." Vaahn glared at his grandson and said, perhaps more harshly than was deserved, "I still don't trust you. Until I do, you stay out of the fight. I want you to live through this, Yurgan, but I will shoot you dead in a heartbeat if you give me any reason to." The boy visibly recoiled at Vaahn's words. "I... I don't..." He should have apologised, Vaahn knew that, but the war had left him bitter. Yurgan was Jasat's son, and rightly or wrongly he was being judged by the sins of his father. The silence went on too long, and Yurgan stormed away to find somewhere else to be. The sound of engines filled the air, and all eyes turned skyward as matt-green military craft soared overhead. A second wave came hot on their heels, but these ones slowed and eased themselves down onto the roadways and parking lots around the park. They were slab-sided bulk carriers; a hybrid of hovercar and aircraft used to shift large numbers of men and machinery quickly, though not comfortably. "Alright everyone, listen in!" Davenport roared in the manner of every drill sergeant ever born. "It's time for you to do your duty!" Every man and woman of the militia of every race wore the same expression of pale-faced fear as they were ushered forward. Vaahn knew where they were going; he'd helped choose their deployments. Unsuitable for the carnage of a front-line clash, the militia would be expected to protect homes and businesses from marauding Outrunners, Harriers and other raider skirmishers that would invariably seek to draw attention away from more vital targets. On that note, Vaahn and Davenport had insisted that no military forces be diverted to help the civilians - to do so would ultimately cost lives, not save them.

He watched the first two vehicles lift off and soar away over the rooftops, then went to board the third. Jas and Matt were there already; he had insisted they be part of his unit. Two more volunteered climbed aboard - both grey-skinned Humanoids of a race Vaahn was unfamiliar with, and then Lucy appeared, flashing a thumbs up to someone outside the transport before climbing in and shutting the door. Vaahn banged on the inner bulkhead. "We're good! Lift off!" The transport gave a slight lurch as it began to climb, and though it was no more alarming than being in a hovercar a series of disquieted murmurs spread through the volunteers. Some stared out of the armoured porthole style windows, whilst others became intensely interested in the floor beneath their feet. Others stared at nothing, their lips moving in wordless prayer. Most watched the veterans, Vaahn and Lucy, looking to them for guidance and inspiration. Two volunteers in particular had their full attention on Vaahn. Matt and Jas watched intently as Vaahn sighted down his weapon, tested the power cell ejection, examined the contact points and performed a dozen other minor maintenance checks. "This needs a bayonet lug," was his final evaluation of the weapon. At the other end of the vehicle, Lucy smiled and completed her own maintenance check. "You look to be the last person to need a bayonet." The comment made Vaahn shift in his seat, feeling the familiar weight of the swords slung across his back. "No such thing as too many weapons," he answered. The sounds of battle greeted them as they touched down. Further south massive artillery guns, archaic in appearance compared to most modern field pieces, were hurling rocket-assisted shells southwards. Their targets were invisible, lying far beyond the horizon, but every so often a deep crunching sound would fill the air as a retaliatory shot buried itself into a building. The resulting muffled explosion was always followed by a cloud of brick dust and powdered personal items rising up over the roof tops. The guns themselves were protected by small, towable shield emitters. Within seconds of the guns first coming into sight those shields took a hit, turning a potentially devastating explosion into nothing more unpleasant than a painfully-loud bang and a blinding white flash of energy.

"This is our position," Vaahn said matter-of-factly. "Our job is to shoot anything hostile that tries to come this way. We shouldn't be in much danger - those guns have military personnel protecting them, so we'll likely only see a few Outrunners that overshoot. Just remember to stay low and pay attention to your surroundings. Now, what's the golden rule out here?" He looked into the anxious faces, waiting for a reply that was clearly never going to come. Lucy, a natural teacher, gave some prompting. "We need to keep each other safe. The last thing we want is a 'friendly fire' incident; those aren't friendly at all! So, if in doubt, hold fire. Everyone understand?" She made them repeat the instruction with her. A dozen variations on the phrase chorused back, and satisfied she led them away in groups of three or four to pre-determined places of safety. Ad-hoc barricades were set up, more for psychological comfort than real strategic value. Every militiaman had a suit of body armour and, where possible, a helmet to protect them, but still they all found the sandbags and side-on cars a great comfort. Once Vaahn found his own spot he hunkered down and repeated his field checks. His father and partner watched in silence, whilst a fourth squad member, a Human female Vaahn didn't know, kept glancing anxiously over the sandbags. "Make sure you know how to load these things," Vaahn said to them as he began laying ammunition out against the bags. "Don't try anything clever. Just spray and pray; leave the marksmanship to me." The tension grew as time went on, and to Jas' credit he tried his best to make small talk. The woman's name turned out to be Janet-May, and the name's source was a pleasant enough story that was told loud enough for those nearby to hear. Matt did his best to bring Vaahn up to speed on the mundane events that took place in his absence, which were uninteresting but useful to pass the time. Halfway through a rather cringe-worthy tale of an attempt to return to the kitchen, Vaahn silenced his father with a swift gesture and knelt up against the sandbag. He'd been alerted by a sharp movement made by Lucy on the edge of his vision, and now he could clearly see the source. Three Outrunners were approaching fast, riding low and jinking back and forth through the houses. They weren't headed toward the militia yet, but Vaahn knew their paths would cross soon. He tapped the microphone attached to his throat to test it and tuned into Lucy's frequency. "They'll be waiting on a Harrier," he said with confidence. "That's not a long wait," she replied. "Four attempted to run the gauntlet past the 'sloggers less than a minute ago. Two got through." Vaahn clenched his teeth to hold in a violent swearing fit. "Everyone, get your guns up! Be ready when it comes!"

They weren't ready. Not by a long way. The Outrunners came up and over the rooftops, gunning past at high speed and firing wildly with fully-automatic pistols. They were laughing as they came, whooping and cackling as though it was all a game. They were gone again in seconds, leaving two men clutching cuts and puncture wounds. A soldier might have had the will and conditioning to shrug off such an injury, but the scared civilians were going into shock almost immediately. "Get your fucking heads together!" Vaahn roared at the militia around him. Nobody but him had fired a single shot. The Outrunners came again, swinging around the back of them as the first of the Harriers, flanked by two more bikers, came low and fast from the south. Vaahn took the northern targets, dropping flat on his back and bracing the gun with his knees as he took aim at the approaching bikes. "Shoot this time!" he snapped, squeezing his own trigger as soon as the Outrunners surfaced. Five or six guns fired with him, blasting roof tiles off the buildings and demolishing an ornamental chimney stack. One of the riders panicked and jinked hard left, losing his grip on his pistol as he did so. The stunt fouled up the flight-path of the rider behind, who slammed on the retro-boosters and brought the nose up to prevent a collision. All but stalling in open air, Vaahn raked the underside of the bike with energy bolts until the power core ruptured and blew vehicle and occupant to pieces. The third rider of the pack, coming in further right, raced over and opened up the main gun of his vehicle. Heavy calibre shells buried themselves along the roadway in two parallel lines that chopped through cars, street lamps and an unfortunate Drakonian. The biker pulled up and away, looking to run clear just as the second squad began their pass. "Down!" the cry was given just as the Harrier opened up. A beam of energy sliced a car in half and ripped through the sandbags, missing Vaahn and Matt by mere inches. The instant the beam cut off Vaahn rose from cover and took aim. Jas and Janet-May rose with him, firing on full-auto in panic. Even with the minimal recoil of their guns they were unable to make a hit. Vaahn cracked off three shots before ordering them all to duck again. He did nothing more than scratch the paint. Bullets punched into and through the sandbags as the vehicles came over. The Harrier banked west, and as it did the gunner toppled backwards, hanging slack in the body harness that kept him in place. Vaahn turned to see Lucy firing off a second shot, and looked back in time to see the result. She had blown the pilot's head off with a shot that would have been tough for a professional marksman. He tapped on his throat-mic. "Since when were you a sniper?" Lucy just laughed at the question and turned her attention back to the fight at hand. The surviving four bikes were massing again for another pass, this time moving in one big group. Vaahn, Jas and Matt rested their guns on the sandbags and made ready to deny them. Janet-May lay unnoticed beside them, having taken a bullet to the base of the neck that had exited via the abdomen.

The last pass of the Outrunners was swift and brutal. Nobody was sure who made the first kill, but for years after the war George Cullen would take the credit. The shot hit the tiny plastic windscreen the biker had mounted and deflected upward, hitting him squarely between the eyes. His bike somersaulted over and landed nose down in someone's front garden, becoming a unique, if rather morbid lawn ornament. Second blood was less dramatic, though far more shocking. The storm of laser bolts detonated the bike's ammunition belts and caused multiple misfires. In the blink of an eye a fuel line had been severed and ignited, transforming the ramshackle machine into a fast-moving fireball. The rider desperately tried to jump clear and landed in the middle of the militia. He hit the ground feet first, shattering both legs and causing fractures in the arm and tail as he crumpled up. After they passed overhead, Vaahn and Lucy dispatched the last two riders; one had his head blown off, the other took a bolt to the spine, slid from his bike and smashed through a car windscreen. The bike itself belly-flopped onto the road and was partially dismantled by the impact. Vaahn shot the cripple to put him out of his misery and, once satisfied no more attacks were coming, turned to the men and women under his care. Of the two dozen that had come to the defence point over a third had been killed or wounded. Medical aid was called for, but it was twenty minutes before an ambulance arrived. In that time a second Harrier had emerged and cremated four more people; three of the wounded, and a volunteer doctor who was trying to save them.

Half an hour passed. For many it was the longest half-hour of their lives. Reminded of their own mortality, their already shaky morale was shattered, despite Vaahn and Lucy's best efforts. They ignored all claims they had won a victory that day - all they could think about was the shocking number of dead. Relief came in the form of Major Davenport, arriving on foot from the east with a tank in tow. "Lieutenant, get these men and women ready to move. We've received word that the Kyyreni landing field had been denied! They're pulling back, and they won't be trying again for a while." "Why's that?" Lucy asked. "The fleet's returned. They ambushed the invaders as soon as they began dropping troops. I don't know which side is winning yet, but it's bought us a day or two at least." To the remains of the militia squad he added, "You are all so very brave. I want you all to know how much we admire your courage. We will not forget your sacrifice, I promise."

They returned to the command post to take stock of the situation. Matt and Jas were glad of being given somewhere to change their clothes and clean themselves up. Wodka returned with a fresh scar on his forearm and sat with Aki, who was boasting about the sheer number of bullets embedded in her body armour. Koskr didn't return at all; Davenport informed them later that he had suffered serious injuries and been rushed to a hospital. Once everyone was assembled, Davenport used the large screen monitor to update them on the situation. "For the most part, Icara city has held. We contested two landing zones to the south and a third to the north, and we've successfully routed those forces that did make planetfall. Unfortunately, several raider bands are still at large in the city, and though we have militia, police and military hunting them, they're spreading panic as they go. We've already had a close call at an evacuation centre." "What about the other cities?" Lucy asked. "Mixed results; those with their own shield grids are faring well, but those without... well, we've got reports of tanks and mobile guns being deployed in built up urban areas. We've held, but we're a lot way from winning." The Daysider, Hakrim, emerged from a side room and took a seat. All eyes were on him almost immediately, and knowing what they wanted said, "We have made some progress. There are many who believe Jasat should honour the titles bestowed by his allies. Perhaps now he will listen to us?" "We have to try," Davenport insisted. "We can't win this in a straight up war." Vaahn hesitated, still uncertain that the plan could work at all. He looked to Jas, who had changed back into civilian clothes and was trying to put a brave face on what had happened. "I'm still waiting," he said. "Waiting?" "For you to find some way to fix this," Jas replied. "You've never let me down before." "No pressure then," Vaahn said with a dry chuckle. "Alright, let's try..."

* * *

The Icaran ships had fled back into the void, save those who were too badly damaged to retreat. Those ships went down fighting, ejecting as many escape pods as they could into the planet's atmosphere whilst a skeleton crew stay to man the guns. Jasat stood on the bridge of his vessel and watched as the last of them was torn apart by a brutal close-range salvo of cannon fire. He listened to the reports that flooded back through the fleet. Losses were moderate; less than expected, but more than he'd have liked. The bridge chatter went on around him, and he ignored all of it. He was waiting for a signal from Icara, for their inevitable plea for mercy. It came quickly, and Jasat allowed himself a smile of victory as he gave the order to acknowledge the hail. To his surprise, it was his father who appeared on the screen. "You again? What do you want now?" Vaahn glanced over at someone off-screen. "I thought you should know that Yurgan is still alive." Jasat tensed at the revelation, having believed both sons lost. "He is your prisoner?" "In a sense," Vaahn answered. "I am doing what I can to protect him and to keep him out of anyone else's hands. I don't know how long that will last, but as long as I draw breath I will keep him safe." The last words lingered in the air for a moment before Vaahn continued, "Jasat, I want you to know I am sorry for what I said before. You once gave me the chance to return to the old life, a life I have longed for since I first found myself on Icara. In the name of duty I turned my back on that, and yet I have spited you for doing the exact same thing; for putting duty before kith and kin. I was wrong, and I am sorry. You make me proud, Jasat." "Thank you," Jasat answered softly. "I am returning to the front line soon. It is possible that I will die there. I have a request of you before I go..." he paused, straightening his back and adopting a regal posture. "Thirty years ago, I was denied the chance to die in battle. I should have died that day - as a Noble of Tu'ri and a hero of our people. I ask that I be given that chance again, to die with the title I earned so long ago."

It seemed that the silence that followed lasted for years. Vaahn did his best not to let anything show in his face but an earnest longing for a hero's end, whilst Jasat turned the request over in his mind. Could it work? Surely Jasat would see the fatal flaw... But then, to the relief of all on Icara who knew of the plan, Jasat relented. "Call the Arbiters so that they may bear witness." Two such Arbiters were summoned to Jasat's bridge, whilst Hakrim provided a third witness. Vaahn stood to attention like a soldier on parade as Jasat's words washed over him. "I, Jasat T'Rol, Royal Lord of the House of Tu'ri and King of the Dawn, do hereby recognise the high station of Vaahn T'Rol, son of Brahlt, son of Garo, and bestow upon him the title of Noble Lord of the House of T'Rol and Duke of Icara City." "Thank you," the new Duke replied, and without missing a beat turned to Davenport. "Get Goodman on the line." "I'm here already, Vaahn." came a voice from somewhere out of sight of the video link. The King of the Dawn stood bewildered, his mouth hanging open as Vaahn issued a rapid-fire proclamation. "What are you doing?" "President Goodman, I hereby declare the House of T'Rol and its forces as an independent sovereign power in this campaign. As a courtesy, I offer you the chance to surrender, immediately and without condition, total control of this world and its entire populace over to me." "What!?" Jasat roared, realising far too late the catastrophic error in trusting his father. "I accept those terms," Goodman replied. "Icara formally surrenders." "I renounce your title!" the King cried. "I denounce your House and its status!" "On what grounds, highness?" Hakrim asked, unable to keep the smug tone out of his voice. On Jasat's bridge, a second signal was coming through - a message from Goodman herself. Jasat ignored it; he already knew what she was going to say. "You bastard" he spat at his father. "You will rue this day!" "Get your armies off my world, Jasat." Vaahn replied. The link went dead. For ten long minutes Vaahn and his allies were left waiting, wondering just what would happen next. When Jasat finally contacted them again his message was curt and to the point. "Lower the shields over Icara City. I am coming down to the planet." Once more the link was shut off. Jas approached the new leader of Icara and took his hand. "Is it over? Did we win?" Vaahn shook his head. "It's not over yet. Not by a long way. Jasat can still claim Icara, he just has to play by a new set of rules. He'll want my head for this, and there's only one way he can get it for certain." "Ritual combat," the Aspatrian said anxiously. "You are going to have to duel him?" The Duke of Icara gave Jas a pained smile. "No, Jas; I'm going to have to duel Ank."

* * *

It was a fight everyone wanted to witness; a duel to the death for the fate of the planet. The spectacle resembled a gladiatorial event of ancient Rome, with civil leaders of Icara gathered uneasily alongside the fleet commanders and army generals of the invasion force. Those unfamiliar with Urokon's traditions found the gathering bizarre and unsettling, but there was an air of calm about it all; an understanding that only two men there were in any danger. Vaahn sat a little way off from the ring. He'd been given space and tools to work with, and was currently engrossed in the act of working on the edge of his swords with a piece of emery paper. The finished edges were flawless, their dullness stripped away to reveal the fresh killing edge beneath. The call to battle summoned the challengers, and Vaahn rose to begin the long walk to the arena. He had stripped to the waist as per the rules of the challenge, and thus his war wounds were on display for all to see. The most striking scar, running down across his neck and chest, had mostly been concealed by time and the growth of his mane, but he had other wounds to act as testament to his courage in battle. He stepped through the ring of spectators and ducked under the rope barrier. The circular arena had been covered in a fine layer of dry sand, and the east side was dominated by a pair of ambulance units complete with a sizeable Rejuvenator unit. Ank was already performing stretches in the ring, and gave a respectful nod to his opponent. Hakrim had been chosen to mediate the duel. He walked to the centre of the ring and beckoned both warriors to join him. Vaahn gave a few warm-up swings of his sword as he walked over, whilst Ank approached with his Houseblade held in a lazy two-handed grip. "Warriors, this challenge is for the title of Duke of Icara City, and the nobility that title bestows. If Vaahn is the victor, his House retains their station and entitlements. If Ank succeeds, the House of T'Rol is to disband without succession. This challenge is to be fought to the death. Are you prepared?" "I am," said Ank. "As am I," Vaahn seconded. "Then begin!"

Vaahn was on the attack as soon as the bout was declared. It was reckless move, but such frantic assaults had been known to catch the unwary off guard. Ank was anything but unwary; he smashed Vaahn's attack aside and retaliated with a series of brutal swings that forced him to retreat. The young Noble tried to retaliate, but Ank was an expert swordsman, able to switch from attack to defence in a heartbeat. He also had a talent for fighting that bordered on the supernatural. Most warriors fought in short, frantic bursts, performing four or five moves before breaking to reassess the situation. With Ank there was no such pause; he hammered Vaahn endlessly, switching stances, moving from high swings to low stabs and everything in between. A thrust at head height made Vaahn duck. He counter-attacked with a swift stab of his own, feinting to try and throw Ank off balance and leave him open. He didn't take the bait; the King's champion side-stepped the stroke and hit the attack clear with the pommel of his blade, shifting into an awkward two-handed swing that bought him space enough for a full-on horizontal stroke. Vaahn barely dodged the blow; he fell backward, rolled and came up with his swords crossed in a guarding stance, only to find his opponent had finally run out of steam. Both men rose and circled one another, breathing hard from the frenzied swordplay. Vaahn noted Ank's unusual stance and tried to predict the next opening. The man's feet were wide apart, his body low, and his bloodied sword held close to the body in a guard posture that, according to formal duelling doctrine, was only suitable against punch & buckler. Bloodied sword. The revelation dragged Vaahn's gaze down to his own chest. There was a bloody wound there; not deep enough to be fatal, or even particularly serious, but it was a clear sign that Ank had the advantage in the fight. There was not a mark on the champion as of yet. "Your skills have held up quite well, Noble Vaahn," Ank finished his comment with a wry smile. "You should smile more," Vaahn replied. "I miss that happy, carefree youth who used to send me video messages." The champion's expression flickered for a moment, but he did not drop his guard. "We don't always get the fate we hope for." "You have a duty to perform; you serve your King and your people. Don't resent that." "My people?" Ank paused his circling and let his blade lower a fraction. "Yes... I serve all my people, not just one man. I need to do what is best for all..." A great wave of noise rose up as Ank's sword slipped from his grip. He straightened up, standing tall and proud as cries of anger, shock and disbelief washed over him. "Do what you must, Noble Vaahn, for the good of all." Vaahn approached cautiously, struggling to believe what he was seeing. "Ank..." "This is what must be done," the champion said firmly.

Slowly, wishing there could be another way, Vaahn drew back his sword. Ank closed his eyes and tilted back his head, his arms held away from the body with palms out. The man's expression was serene; he had found peace with his actions. His death would bring an end to the war. The cry of warning came too late. Vaahn turned as the attacker rushed toward him, the violation of the articles of challenge shocking him, causing a moment's indecisiveness. It cost him dearly. Jasat T'Rol, King of the Dawn, struck Vaahn in the head with a two-handed sword swing. There was no avoiding it; the impact cracked his skull and killed him dead.