Chapter Two

Proto Zoa awoke the next morning, afraid that he'd had an affair when he noticed the woman lying in bed next to him. Then he realized that it was Zenon, and he remembered what had happened, what he thought was a dream. Zenon had had a nightmare about her space station blowing up.

"Oh, Zenon," he mumbled into her hair, giving her a gentle squeeze. He kissed the top of her head and relaxed, staring up at the ceiling. "Oh, Zenon. What are we to do?"

Zenon groaned, shifting her position slightly. He met her gaze when she looked up at him. "Good morning, love," he said.

"Morning," she replied.

"Are you okay? You had quite a fright last night."

"Yeah, it's been like this for several weeks."

He propped himself up on his elbow. "Several weeks?"

"Sweat minor. It's just a nightmare."

"A recurring nightmare."

"The charges come and go, too. It's not like they're connected."

"You never know, they could be."

Zenon sighed and shook her head. Proto Zoa sat up, allowing Zenon to adjust her position. "Zenon," he whispered, "be careful, and make sure you remember this dream. The last time you had dreams like this, they seemed to be a message. I don't see any reason to assume that that's different this time around."

"I will," she replied.

"Now, who wants breakfast?" he asked, smiling in spite of what had happened.

ZZZ

Numbar paced across the hotel room. The charges were getting worse, and every time they came, he got horrible migranes which forced him to draw the blinds and hang a "Do Not Disturb" sign at his door. When they became more frequent, he just left the sign and blinds where they were and tried to figure out exactly what he was going to do about the charges.

And Dasha. And his new pet project, the Martian colony.

His biological daughter being a completely unpredictable factor and the charges being something he deemed completely out of his control, he'd long since decided to focus on his plans for the colony. Reports came in on a daily basis about the progress the team was making, and he himself began contemplating hosting another Teen Supreme competition. After all, people had more than likely forgotten about Selena the Moon Goddess. It's been seven years.

Besides, the moon having Selena as a resident was a fluke. That wasn't to say that Mars would have its resident.

"Guess again," a voice hissed in Numbar's ear. He turned on his heel, straining to see in the darkness, but nothing seemed out of place save the red mist swirling around throughout the room in patches. The mist began to coalesce before his very eyes into the form of a red, translucent man with short black hair, one of only a very few changes in his coloration. "Don't underestimate us," the man added. "None of us are to be trifled with."

Numbar stood and stared, unable to speak, overcome with the knowledge that he couldn't move his body.

"One of my tricks," the man said, "but don't worry. It's not supposed to kill you. I just like making sure people listen to me."

"What do you want?" Numbar managed, his voice mangled and almost unintelligible.

"You know what I want, and you're the only one in a position to give it to me right now, unless there are others who build up a resistance or protest this colony of yours. Since that doesn't seem likely, then you're the only one. Questions, comments, or concerns? No? Good." He flicked his wrist, and Numbar flew backwards with a yell, slamming into the wall and crumpling to the floor.

Numbar pushed himself up so that he was on all fours and looked up at his mysterious visitor-attacker. "Who are you?"

The man walked over and picked Numbar up by the collar. "Wouldn't you ought to know," he hissed. "With all your knowledge and experience, how could you assume there was only one? I am the god of war, and dark days are coming for this planet. Dark, dark days." He dropped Numbar and disappeared, leaving the latter thoroughly confused and out of sorts.

"I need to find another pain medication," Numbar whispered when he felt certain he was alone.

ZZZ

Dasha paused at the mirror, her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth, thinking for a moment that she saw the reflection of a man composed entirely of red haze, but when she turned, there was no one there, and when she returned to the mirror, the image was gone. She finished brushing her teeth and walked out of the bathroom to meet her parents, who were sorting out decorations in the living room. Her dog was at the door, begging to be walked. "You better take care of that," Commander Plank said.

"Okay, Dad," Dasha replied, picking up the leash and hooking it to the dog's collar. "Be back in a moment micro."

The second she walked outside, she remembered everything she loved about Earth. The air, the sounds, the people, the occasional breaze. She kept pace with her dog, watching the people around her stare or merely turn away politely.

These minor details didn't occupy her mind for long, however, as her thoughts kept drifting back to the man in the mirror who wasn't really there. For a moment, she was grateful that she didn't tell her parents; she couldn't handle a massive stalker hunt extreme right then, when she'd finally let the Numbar Incident's water slide under the bridge, as it were.

She turned a corner and walked toward the park. Between a pair of trees, under the canopy of leaves the two trees formed together, stood the man from the mirror. Her dog barked up a fuss, and she knelt beside him and held him. "Easy, Centauri, easy," she whispered.

"For a moment I mistook you for your cousin," the man said, and Dasha looked up at him.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"You two look so much alike that it's almost scary, but that's beside the point. The point, and the reason for my visiting you, is your close relation, at least genetically, to one Patrick Numbar."

"Yeah, so?"

"I have a proposition for you."