For a long time everything was simply a hazy whirl of colours and sounds, drifting almost into clarity and then slipping away again. Sometimes a stray thought would even form, mostly nonsensical but bearing more structure than anything else in the shapeless porridge of his mind. But these ideas would dissolve into the ether almost as soon as they appeared.
At last, the sounds morphed into beeps and lowered voices, and the colours refined and sharpened into shapes. A white ceiling with a strip of lights running across it was staring down at him. When he looked across the room he could see a window, but the blinds were drawn. The room smelled funny, like some sort of chemical he couldn't quite remember the name of.
Disinfectant. That was it.
Warp tried to push himself into a sitting position, but he felt so drowsy and weak. There was equipment beeping all around him. He couldn't figure out where he was.
"He's awake!" he heard someone say. It sounded like a Grub.
This doesn't look like Planet Z... It was a ward of some kind, he began to realise, but not one of the dark, steel-walled rooms of Zurg's infirmary. Not the Dreadnought either. So, somewhere else then, but where...
"Marvellous." That voice was all too familiar. "Can I speak to him?"
"Zurg?" Warp croaked. Ouch, his throat felt rough and dry. He looked around for a glass of water, but saw only the needle connected to his arm and the stark furnishings and machinery of the ward.
A dark figure swept into view. Zurg had his hands on his hips, assuming he actually had hips or legs of any kind (Warp preferred not to make assumptions about Zurg, because they frequently turned out to be wrong), and was gazing down at him with less concern than Warp felt the situation warranted, and more disapproval than he felt he deserved.
"So," the emperor began. "You got yourself stabbed, did you?"
Wow, way to make it seem like his fault. "Guess I did," Warp muttered. "Don't... don't remember much..."
"I'll enlighten you." After circling around the bed, Zurg settled in a chair beside the window. "You were tasked with guarding the prisoner and bringing him back to me for his execution. What happens? The prisoner and all his ships get away, one of my best scientists is killed, and you're put out of action right when I need you most! I have half a mind to take away your cake privileges!"
"It... it wasn't my fault, Z," Warp rasped. Mother of Venus, I need that water. He wondered how long he'd been unconscious. "Buzz—er, the prisoner—had... he had help."
Zurg's sharp eyes met him, fortunately still their natural, non-luminescent red, but still hot enough in expression to make him squirm. "From who, Darkmatter?"
The events were still as much of a blur as that one weekend he'd spent visiting all the clubs on Mahambas VI, but one memory stood out vividly—the familiar voice of free-lance felon Torque, and a face belonging to some young human he didn't recognise. "I... I don't know exactly. Torque was there. And... this... this girl. That's all I remember."
"Hmm." The emperor tapped the yellow grill on his face. "I'll have to look into this."
At least he didn't seem angry anymore. Warp sank down further under his blanket. Whatever drugs they were pumping into him weren't strong enough, because he'd begun to feel a dull ache in his back where he'd been stabbed. "What about me, Z?" he asked. "How... how bad was I hurt? When am I gonna be up and around again?"
"As soon as possible, and don't you give me any lip about it. I want you back on duty the moment you can stand up and take a step without falling on your face." Zurg twined his fingers together, still glaring at Warp. "This is a very delicate stage in our operation, and I can't afford to have you slacking off! The doctors say the knife missed your spine, so it can't be all that serious. I want you on your feet by the end of the week, atlatest!"
Warp nodded mutely. Even if he'd had the strength, he knew there was no arguing with Zurg once the emperor had made up his mind.
Rising from the chair, Zurg crossed the room and was about to stride out the ward when he paused in the doorway. "Oh, by the way! I had my PA get you a card and flowers!" From some hidden pocket in his suit, he pulled a crumpled bouquet and a generic card bearing a picture of a kitten on it and tossed them onto Warp's bed. "Get well soon!"
Zurg left, and Warp picked up the flowers, unsure what to do with them. He sneezed and immediately tossed them aside. Opening the card, he read the printed inscription aloud and snorted. "'Happy 25th anniversary'. Gee, thanks, Zurg."
The dust that they stirred rose in great clouds, glinting in the light of the orb and getting into Nebula's nose and mouth. You'd think a race that's always going on about how good cleanliness is would keep their libraries a little less dirty. He just knew the dust was getting caught up in his moustache and sticking to his skin.
Xlgta had no such problems under her suit, and was flipping through old books and unravelling scrolls in search of something she seemed to think was important to show him. He wasn't about to stop her—it was about time she started handing out answers, he thought.
Her gloved hands worked quickly through the ancient volumes, and she seemed filled with another of her rapid bursts of energy. She was always left drained after them, but during a bustle of activity she was as fast and strong as Nebula himself, if not stronger. However, her inability to keep up such a pace would be her downfall if they ever came up against each other. Nebula still hoped it wouldn't come to that, but his patience was wearing thin and he felt a desperate drive to get back to his Rangers and his space station.
"Ah," he heard her murmur. "One of the old books! Well, a copy, most likely." To him most of the books looked old, but he made no comment. She brought out a heavy, cloth-bound tome and set it down on the bench. Layers of dust rose up from it, increasing in density as she pushed the book open. The thick pages had been marked a deep yellow by the ages, and they seemed to creak as she turned them.
Nebula came closer and peered over her shoulder. "Yeah? What's so special about this book?"
"It contains much of the galaxy's early history." She was flipping through the pages, sometimes uncovering intricate black sketches, though they passed too quickly for Nebula to make out what they depicted. "I suspect most of this knowledge is now lost to you. Even the greatest events and tragedies are forgotten, with time." She chuckled, but there was a bitter edge to her voice. "The people who lived through the war would never have believed it could fade from history, but all things end, don't they?"
"Maybe, but hey, we still got a few records of Natron," said Nebula, feeling slightly defensive. "Heck, my Rangers met him!"
Xlgta stopped her perusal of the book and swung her helmet up sharply to face him. "What? This is the first I have heard of this! But... he was sealed... How?" For a moment it sounded like there was genuine fear in her voice.
"Don't fret about it. He got out, but my Rangers managed to put him back in his tomb, where he can stay and rot till the end of eternity. There's nothing to worry about, I swear."
Her posture eased slightly, but her hand still hovered above the book, not quite ready to resume. "You are sure he is secure?"
"Hey, if Buzz says he is, then he is, got it?"
She nodded. "I suppose so. But it is a bad omen—a sign that what we have built in the millennia since the war is teetering on a fragile edge." Her fingers continued their journey through the pages. Abruptly they came to a halt and she jabbed a thumb on the paper, tapping it loudly in the quiet chamber. "Here it is!"
Nebula leaned closer to the pages. He could smell the ancient paper, so musty and decayed now. There was some kind of dark sketch inked across both pages, and amongst all the squiggles and dots was more of the twined writing he still couldn't make head nor tail of. Suddenly he realised what the picture was—a map. Some kind of starchart in fact, showing planets and solar systems and territories.
"This was the galaxy under Natron's reign, at the height of the war," said Xlgta. "The people of this world—LGMs you call them, because your tongues can't sing the beauty of their true name—watched, quietly observing all that took place and making notes. They were one of the oldest space-faring civilisations, and they thought themselves exempt from Natron's conquest." She gestured to the darker shading marking most of the map. "This was Natron's empire."
"But that's practically the whole galaxy!" Only a few fringe planets were untouched by the black ink. Nebula shuddered at the thought of one dictator ruling so much. Even Zurg, with both the Zeta and Gamma Quadrants in his grasp, didn't have that level of control.
"His rule extended further even than this." Xlgta leaned back. "Natron commanded great powers, stemming from the technology his civilisation had pioneered. He could sail between galaxies as quickly as we would cross solar systems. His ambition was to bind the whole universe to his will. My own galaxy fell to him, just as many others did."
So she was from another galaxy? Nebula decided to ignore this revelation for the time being, since he knew pressing her with questions would only get him more silence, or vague and cryptic responses that answered nothing. He focused instead on the bigger issue. "How in blazes could he travel between galaxies? That should take centuries!"
"The trans-spacial network," she told him. "It was a system of tunnels that warped space, leading to any part of the universe he wished to travel to. The knowledge of how it he created the network was lost when Natron fell, but many of the tunnels remain, though few know the locations of their entry points."
Thoughts of Roswell stirred in Nebula's mind. There was a trans-spacial warp in the Mogul system, discovered by chance when Team Lightyear was rescuing a tour shuttle. It had taken them out of their own galaxy and flung them to the distant planet of Roswell. Star Command still didn't fully understand how the warp worked—all the probes they'd sent through had either ended up on Roswell or been lost as they were dragged by the spacial currents—but he'd always been curious about it. If they could replicate the system, traditional hyperdrive engines might become a thing of the past. Unfortunately, Zurg seemed to know more about the warps than they did, and had planned to use the one next to Roswell to launch a secret attack on Star Command. Since then, the Mogul system had been cordoned off with alert buoys and was out of bounds to all space travellers.
Nebula squinted at the woman. "So how do you know so much about all this?"
"My people retained some knowledge that your galaxy didn't. Besides," it sounded like she was smiling, "I am an old woman. I lived closer to these events. I remember things."
"Unless I miss my guess though, you're not several thousand years old, are you?"
"No. But less generations have passed for my people than for yours. We live a long time."
"Just how old are you anyway? A hundred years? Two hundred?"
"Older than you." She pushed herself up and tapped the book again. "There was a reason I showed you this. I want you to burn this map into your mind and understand one thing—the universe nearly collapsed under the assault of one man. One tyrant bent on immortality set galaxies aflame in his quest for total domination. Nothing was ever the same again. It took centuries to rebuild, and the trust that once existed between the peoples of the universe was shattered. Your own galaxy is only now regaining that trust with your Galactic Alliance. We cannot ever allow this pattern to repeat itself—but already it has started."
"You mean Zurg?" Well, if stopping Zurg was her game, then she could count him in. He didn't know why she'd bothered with this elaborate charade—all she had to do was ask.
Xlgta nodded slowly. "Sometimes I think he fancies himself Natron's successor—but superior, of course. An improved model. If he can, he will storm the galaxies just as Natron did. I won't let that happen."
"You're preaching to the choir, lady. I'd like nothing better than to bring that freak down."
She seemed to stiffen. "The reason he must not be allowed to succeed," she said, drawing out every syllable, "is precisely because of people like you and your great Buzz Lightyear. Where there is a Natron, there will always be a Protector. And not all are so merciful as to merely entomb their opponents."
Every morning was the same. She would wake from a troubled sleep, sit up in bed with the covers half draped around her, and wonder why she was still alive—or, more accurately, why she deserved to still be alive. She would sit that way for awhile, staring at the dull, grey morning sky that was still clouded by ash from the attacks, until finally she would rise, get dressed, and wait for breakfast to arrive. After that, she would seat herself by the window and gaze outside again. She was allowed to go out—she had free reign of the Ambassador Hotel, apparently—but never did.
The breakfast stage was already over, so she was sitting by the window now. A strand of hair dropped over her face, obscuring the view of a city that was once so familiar but now so very changed, and she brushed it away. There was a time when the first thing she did in the morning was roll and coif her hair firmly into place, not tolerating a single stray lock. It seemed so hideously trivial now.
Watching from the window, she saw Hornets marching through the streets, and workers tearing down buildings that had been damaged in the attack, probably clearing them so munitions factories could be built in their places. It was hard not to feel the ache of a mother watching a child slip away. Even before she was president, she'd worked hard to strengthen the Alliance into what it was... what it had been. She'd always been one of its staunchest supporters. In the early, rocky days, when half the members were looking for any excuse to declare the whole thing a bad idea and pull out, she'd used her considerable willpower (and multiple mouths) to shout some sense into them and keep the planets together. All her life she'd known galactic politics were her forte, and there'd never been any doubt in her mind that she'd one day be seated in the Senate as president.
Look at me now.
She wondered how she'd go down in the history books. The president who sold out? The president who lost? The weak president? Would there even be any more real history books, or would they all be written by Zurg?
The opening of the door behind her broke her away from her musings. She didn't bother turning around. She knew who it was.
"Brought you lunch!" One-Two called. She heard him set a tray down on the table. "Hope you like it!"
Drawing a deep breath, she pulled herself up and padded across the room, falling into the sofa. She wasn't hungry, but she'd realised not eating wasn't going to do any good, so she might as well keep her strength up. For what? A frown creased her brow. What can I do now? What's the point?
"Hello," she nodded to the Grub, little enthusiasm warming her voice. Despite having a busy job as Zurg's personal assistant, One-Two always brought her lunch. She was sure it was beneath his station to do such things, unless directly ordered by Zurg, but he seemed to enjoy talking to her. Back on the Dreadnought, it had been a comfort to have someone to talk to who still possessed something resembling innocence. Now all her words were dried up, and she didn't have the strength for any more stories about the Galactic Alliance. She hoped he wouldn't ask. Studying him, she could see there was an eagerness in his eyes, as if he were ready to burst with excitement about something.
"Guess where I went yesterday, before the party!" he grinned.
"Where?" Lifting the lid off the tray, she stared down at the meal and closed it again. Perhaps in an hour she'd have more appetite.
"Everywhere!" The Grub waved his arms around. "Zurg—er, I mean Evil Emperor Zurg—let me explore the city! All by myself!" His voice grew higher in pitch as he continued, barely pausing for breath. "I saw the zoo, and the park, and the shopping malls, and the sports stadium, and the museum, and the big restaurant on Main Street, and the aquarium, and the fire station, and—and—and so many things!" He blushed. "I, er, might've stayed out too long... Zurg wasn't happy..."
She remembered how sheepish he'd been when he'd fetched her for the party the previous evening. His eyes were shining so brightly now, and pain stabbed at her heart again. "Do you like it here?" she asked.
"Oh, yes!" One-Two nodded his head vigorously. "It's great! Even better than you described!"
"Well, enjoy it while it lasts. Before Zurg ruins anything." The Grub's expression faltered slightly, but she suddenly didn't care. Her fists tightened angrily. "This is your victory. You all get to come here, have your fun, and then trash the place. You get to tear down everything we worked so hard to achieve. While you were out galavanting on the town, did you see the people sleeping on the streets because their homes were bombed? And those are the lucky ones who weren't killed in the attack! Did you have fun at the restaurant while half the galaxy was starving?" She folded her arms. "This isn't the Galactic Alliance I described! This is its ghost, and even that won't be around for much longer. Zurg's gonna transform the whole thing in his image! The Galactic Alliance is just a fading memory now!"
One-Two's lip quivered. "But... but Zurg says he's going to leave most of it the way it is!"
"For now—how long before he starts turning this world into another Planet Z? Look, he's already started!" She gestured to the workers in the street below. "Are you happy now?"
"I... I..." The Grub gulped. "I didn't mean to offend you, O—" He stopped, seeming to realise he wasn't supposed to be addressing her in the same respectful, slightly fearful manner he addressed his emperor. "I just wanted to tell you about the good time I had yesterday..."
"Well, you're lucky. You're one of the last people who'll get to enjoy the city the way it used to be, when it was in its prime. That's a privilege none of its citizens have anymore!"
"I'm sorry!" His round black eyes shining with moisture, the Grub ran out the room.
The former president sat back down. She wasn't sure if it had been fair to take her bitterness out on the little creature. It wasn't his fault that her city was lying in ruins. No, she thought, I know exactly whose fault it is.
The trip to the hospital had lifted Zurg's spirits considerably. He hadn't even known they needed lifting, but much as he hated to admit it, part of him had been just a little concerned for his best agent. Now that he could see Darkmatter was already returning to his cranky, slacking-off old self, he could breathe easier. He didn't actually care for the man, of course—if there was one thing Zurg did not have or want, it was friends—but it was so hard to find good help, and for all his faults, Warp usually managed to get the job done. Maybe not on time, and maybe not well, but he got it done. Unless it involved Buzz, naturally, but Zurg was used to all plans involving Buzz failing.
Until now. He cackled to himself, choosing to suppress the knowledge that Lightyear (both of them) was still at large, and dwelling instead on his recent victory.
Humming to himself and strolling down a hall in the Senate building, he turned a corner and almost collided with Mira Nova.
The Tangean woman jumped, nearly dropping the papers she was clutching, and paused for a moment to collect herself. "Zurg," she said. "I was looking for you."
"That's Evil Emperor Zurg, and don't you forget it!" Typical. You promote them to planetary leader and two days later they were already failing to show you proper respect. Employees needed to know their place.
"Sorry, right, Evil Emperor Zurg."
Was that a touch of sarcasm in her voice? Oh, he was going to have trouble with her. Still, her spirited nature was one of the reasons he'd picked her for the job. "Yes, yes, alright, what is it?" he asked. "What did you want? Is my statue ready yet? Tell me it's ready!"
"Er, not yet, sorry." Mira sighed. "Don't worry, I'll get on the artist's case again later. Look, I have something more important to talk about—"
"More important?!" Did she have any idea how long he'd been planning this? How many sketches he had in his scrapbook of the reborn Imperial Plaza, with a giant, glistening monument to him in its centre? It would be glorious!
"Okay, fine, equally important! Gosh." She rifled through the papers in her arms. "I have some things here that need your signature as well as mine."
"Can't they wait?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Some of these are orders to send aid to the planets that are suffering the worst from the aftermath of your attacks. People are dying! They certainly can't wait!"
"Oh, people, shmeople." He waved a hand dismissively. "People are a dime a dozen now that I control an entire galaxy!" Seeing her glare intensify, he sighed dramatically and took the papers from her. "Oh, fine! Have you got a pen?"
She handed him one, and he held the papers to the wall and signed them in a rush of smudged ink. It probably would've been a good idea to read through them carefully first—he knew he couldn't trust Nova an inch, and it would be just like her to try to slip something shady past him amidst a bunch of innocent forms—but he wasn't in the mood for all that bureaucracy stuff. It had its place, but when you'd just conquered most of the known universe, you didn't want to be saddled with a million clauses and subparagraphs. Besides, he had his Grubs check over all the paperwork before it was put into effect anyway. Hopefully even his lint-for-brains employees could spot any tricks Nova tried to pull.
"There!" he said, shoving the papers back into her arms. "Is that it?"
"Pretty much." She folded them neatly. "Hope these actually do some good..."
Zurg smiled. He knew he'd picked the right person for the job. As long as there were people suffering, Mira Nova would do her best to protect them. And while she was doing that, she couldn't be scheming to overthrow him—not when it might endanger the precious citizens she had sworn to protect. And because he held their lives in his hands, she would have to do anything he told her. She was smart enough to get the job done, but bound to serve him by her own foolish compassion—the ideal combination!
"Oh, one more thing," she added. "I, um, I told Ty Parsec he could have his own team. We're, uh, well, that is, Star Command is a little shorthanded right now, so putting Parsec back in the field will really help. I, uh, already talked to Rocket, and he's fine with it, so, um, I just need your approval..."
Zurg shrugged. Star Command personnel arrangements interested him even less than Brain Pod life stories and Phlegmian operettas. "Fine, fine. If you think it's a good idea, go ahead. Just so long as Parsec knows he has to follow the programme—my programme."
"He knows."
"Good. Then I have no objection. Er, he's free of that Wirewolf curse, isn't he?"
"Yes," Mira sighed.
"Alright. Well, if that's all...?"
She nodded.
"Excellent. I'll be in the lower levels, checking on the renovations. We're doing a spot of redecorating in the main chamber—I thought it was time I had a throne installed there. Ta-ta!" He whisked away. "And don't bother me again with all this trivial nonsense! I hired you so you could deal with that!"
He quickened his pace, heading for the elevator. Ah, interior decorating! Now that was important! Nothing like letting your creative juices flow to quell any worries that might— No, he wasn't going to think about Lightyear. Or about the strange, niggling feelings in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't put a name to. He was happy! He had everything he'd ever wanted!
A/N: Oops, sorry about the long wait for this chapter! Life keeps getting in the way, but I'll try to maintain a more regular posting schedule from now on.
Thanks for your reviews as always!