It was the same story time and again, Aptom realized as he pored over the data once more. It had been so obvious, coupled with his own hubris garnered by his exposure to Mutant hierarchy, that had blinded him. He sat at his workstation in the Warhammer's main research laboratory in his current form of Dr. Gireg and marvelled at his own blindness. It had been so obvious that Aptom's own mistake was almost forgivable. Ratar-O wasn't just shooting for the brass ring. He was looking to grab the crown jewels..

He shook his head slowly in admiration of the sheer balls of the Mutant commander. Not to mention what he had either unearthed or had inferred from Kronos data. Data which Aptom himself had not seen. However, it was painfully obvious to one who knew what to look for and he berated himself for not having seen it sooner.

Ratar-O was not just after a way to turn his own into walking bio-weapons. Aptom chuckled to himself at having been blind to it all. Looking back, it all made sense. He stroked his beak and wished, for the first time in centuries, for a Havana cigar. It had been one of the few vices of his human life and he rather doubted he'd ever get to enjoy such again. A pity, for those had been one of the few things that the island haven of communism had gotten right. He shook his head clear of irrelevant thoughts.

Besides, the reality was chilling enough.

Aptom knew that zoa-formed Mutants might not especially like being treated as experimental subjects. One simply did not use what had worked with one species and apply it to another. Yet, he had stumbled upon something thanks to the knowledge of Dr. Gireg which his brain had absorbed. Mutant DNA and human DNA were remarkably similar. Enough so that Aptom had gotten to thinking and said trail of thought had led him to one thought that had chilled his blood.

The Advents - the Uranus - had made both species.

And, if that were true, how many others?

Aptom took a swig of the awful liquid which passed for coffee on this barge and berated himself again for not seeing it coming sooner. Ratar-O had access to more detailed files of Kronos than he had been led to believe. As such, did Meliz as well?

These people are like the fucking Soviets, or maybe Byzantium, he thought. He had come of age during the final years of the Cold War and in his adulthood had learned what the term Byzantine had actually meant. His induction to Kronos had shown him more. Wheels within wheels. The truly aggravating thing was that he knew what he did not know and that Ratar-O was singularly able to control the available information. Such forced Aptom into a game of inference. The Rat in Chief had to have some damn good intel. How much would he share with his son? Some, Aptom knew, but not all. If any of the Mutants got a whiff that he was planning to make himself into as close a god as any could come, it would be chaos in the ranks. So, no, Meliz likely did not know everything. He would, however, know enough. That much had been obvious from the rat's intermittent surveillance. So, Meliz was on board with the plan even if he didn't know all that it entailed. Ratar-O was a cagey son of a bitch.

It was decided. He had to get out. The nightmare of Kronos could never be allowed to re-emerge. Aptom had a plan. A dangerous plan - and as likely to succeed as to fail - but a plan nonetheless. He would give Ratar-O some of the help he needed, disguised as Gireg's own loyal research, to make some basic types… No. Just one. Ramotiths. As a Kronos geneticist had once said, it would take an act of God to fuck one up. Even, he thought, with this motley DNA. With that, the plan was coming into shape. It was time to be a good researcher. Aptom nearly laughed at the thought of giving Ratar-O what he wanted only to turn around and shove it up his ass. Lube be damned.

This is what happens, Aptom thought, when someone tries to make himself into a god.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The ship had drifted through normal space for several hours after exiting the previous hyperspace jump in wait for the rendezvous. Quickpick checked the stellar maps for the hundredth time even though he knew he was at the correct coordinates. The tension of this journey was building as though a weight on his chest, not helped at all by the confines of the beyond old ship on whose bridge he sat.

It was a relic. Older ships had been repurposed and upgraded for centuries; buying a new vessel was expensive enough and never mind having a new design commissioned unless one had the resources of a major government such as the PGF. Most unaligned systems and underground organizations - pirates, smugglers, slave traders and the like, had to rely on older designs and highly illegal upgrades and modifications. However, any ship was destined to be doomed by its own senescence. An old hull could only accommodate so much new tech before reaching its limit. It was in this respect that the PGF lorded it over the underbelly of society. No matter how many upgrades those hulks had gotten, no matter how clever their captains and crews were, no matter how superbly organized such groups were, none of them had the firepower to stand up to the big boys. CONTROL had some serious boom-toys, but those paled in comparison to the military. Yet now, the military was in charge of law enforcement since the downfall of CONTROL from its highest levels. That meant military patrol craft backing up those of CONTROL. It meant bribes were no longer as effective. It meant uncertainty.

The underworld had always managed to achieve a status quo with CONTROL, but the military arm of the PGF had always been a far different animal. Some inroads had been made, but those had been small. The PGF had been ruthless in its doctrine of keeping its military away from its civilian arms and had even had them watched. QuickPick almost asked Corman about rumors he had heard about an agency with the ability to disregard laws and move with impunity, yet he knew he would not get any kind of answer whether the human knew of one or not. He looked down at the pincers which had replaced his natural hands and thought briefly back on how they had not limited his career but had rather expanded on it. He forced his thoughts away from such things. He had far more important business to tend to in the here and now. Being of a mantispid species, he was able to focus each eye on different screens at different levels which is how he detected the alert just a moment before Corman.

"Incoming ship," he said as the hyperspace aperture bloomed into existence and what for all intents and purposes looked like a shipwright had lost his shit on the design board emerged into real space, a sentiment which Corman shared as the aperture collapsed and he locked tactical sensors upon the intruder. "Amateurs," Corman announced as the data streamed in. The unknown ship was bristling with weapons, yet the ship's main core was insufficient to fully power them. "We've got a showboat here."

"Agreed," Quickpick replied as he readied his own meager defense systems. A "showboat" was a cobbled-together ship with more bark than bite. It relied on seemingly overwhelming, and under-powered, weapons as a show of force. This one, however, was headed right for them and their ship lacked irregular - which was a euphemism for illegal - countermeasures which both brought online anyway. Showboat or not, their own vessel was older than its pilots by far and was in real jeopardy. "Ten thousand kilometers," Quickpick called out as the raider came closer. "Eight thousand. Six thousand."

"It has a good drive system at any rate," Corman said with a trace of nervousness. At that moment, another aperture bloomed into existence and another ship emerged.

It was constructed of sleek lines swept from fore to aft with numerous weapons ports visible along several points along the hull, all of which glowed a brilliant green both on the primary hull and on the curved wing sections which extended upon booms from both sides. Before either could comment, the incoming raider turned tail and sped away until another aperture opened to swallow it.

"Well," Corman said in considerable disbelief. "That was something. I guess his rep is deserved."

"He doesn't subscribe to having the biggest fangs," Quickpick said, "just the sharpest. Besides, speed is his best weapon."

"That and being a badass," Corman said as the weapons ports went dark and the ship angled its bow toward them. The communications board lit up just as he synched the video system to the other ship. The image of a lupine male seated in a comfortable chair appeared with the partial arc of a curved length of brass behind. A Thunderian Puma male stood at rigid attention, his eyes locked on a tactical display. The captain wore a unitard of matte black fabric unadorned with any decoration or rank insignia. His face bore scars through the ash-grey fur and one which ran vertically over and below his left eye. Said amber eyes took both of them in and read them in a moment.

"You've called in some heavy markers, Pick," The wolfine man said in a low rumble.

"I know," Quickpick replied. "I called in Mandora's as well." That got the wolf's eyebrows to rise.

"How in the blue fuck did you manage that?" he said after a moment of stunned silence.

"I have my ways," Quickpick replied, the picture of an enigma. "Listen, there are things that need to be discussed and not over open channels."

"I hear you," the other said.

"Take our ship aboard yours," Quickpick said. "Dismantle it. The parts are yours."

"I can maybe sell those," he said with a quirked eyebrow, "but I don't need junk cluttering up my cargo bays."

"You've got plenty of room," Quickpick said. "If it's hyperspace mass tolls you're worried about…" he trailed off as he sent a signal to the Zelgadis. Shadowmane, on the screen, looked down at a console out of sight just before his eyes widened. "You didn't think I told CONTROL or Mandora about all my illicit assets did you?"

"Fuck me…" the wolf breathed.

"I'd rather not," the insectoid answered, "but you've never had much difficulty in finding willing partners."

"I am not gonna ask how you funnelled all of this." That such funds had come from moving items that ranged from rather warm to nuclear hot went without saying and Quickpick would never - ever - reveal the assets he'd used to hide and launder the funds. Some things, even among friends, had to remain secret. Especially in the lines of work they had been formerly involved in and had been lucky enough to survive. "However, I don't see an access code."

"Nor will you until we reach our destination," Quickpick added. "Had I given those codes, you would have rightly become suspicious."

"You haven't lost your touch," Shadowmane replied with a laugh. "Give me a few minutes to get organized over here." The screen switched back to a view of the Zelgadis.

"Ever do any fishing?" Corman asked as the image of the Zelgadis slewed to present its aft.

"What?"

"If he'd swallowed that bait any harder," Corman said, "he'd have almost digested it by now." On the screen, the Zelgadis completed its evolution to present its stern. Light emerged as the docking bay doors opened and their own controls were slaved to those of the other ship. Both removed their hands from the controls as the main computer of the Zelgadis took over.

"What bait?" Quickpick asked. "The account I gave to him is quite real and is worth roughly ten years of your salary."

"And it's not the only one." Corman fell silent for a moment. "If you have so much money, why in the hell did you agree to work for CONTROL?" The ship lurched slightly as grapple beams locked on to aid in the docking process. Always a dangerous thing for ships out in the void, for which ships worth their commission had redundancies.

"I didn't," the insectoid replied. "I agreed to work for Mandora."

"I have got to hear that story sometime." Quickpick remained silent. The former CONTROL officer had managed to arrest him, then through a malfunction had ended up with the transfer barge going off course and crashing into Third Earth. Due to the misguided assistance of one Lion-O, he and several vile creatures had escaped and Quickpick himself had nicked the feline man's sword as well as the coin pouch carried by the strange creature at his side. Long story short, said lion had helped round up the escaped criminals though Quickpick had helped. Then had been the incident when a rogue AI had assembled a robotic army and had instigated a prison break on Grey Penal Planet, which he had once again helped said Lion-O thwart. In the process, he had helped prevent Mandora from facing an excruciating death. The two had developed a sort of friendship during those two incidents which had made his cooperation with efforts to curtail theft of the white-collar kind much easier. Also, while such rich clients had enabled him to stockpile some impressive sums, he had never brought himself to like those arrogant bastards. Likewise, he had known their more… eccentric… tastes. Said knowledge had led to an increase in intel and arrests in the trafficking of slaves ranging from domestic to sexual. Though he'd had no direct dealings with said people, he'd heard plenty. He had no clue if a price had been placed on his head, but he knew such figures to be on the overbearing side of paranoid. He relaxed as the tractor beam of Shadowmane's larger vessel brought him aboard.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Untold trillions of kilometers away, David Jackson awoke in the remains of the original Cat's Lair. Still dank, still dark, and still not the least comfortable sleeping arrangements he had ever known. David climbed up the surviving staircase and greeted the sun with relish. He stood in the ruined courtyard of the original Cat's Lair for a moment just to feel the sun on his skin. He forced the disparity of time out of his mind as the rays warmed him, though one nagging thought reached him. The air smelled different.

Cleaner.

On reflection, he realized it was true. There was no trace of the pollution which had pervaded the air during his last turn on the mortal coil. While there had been little of such on his native soil, and he had no clue where the former Lair resided in relation to Second Earth's geography, it was still evident.

This was the air my ancestors breathed. It was an errant thought he dismissed. His ancestors were long dead as were uncountable others. He fixed the events of the coming day firmly in his mind. There was no point in dwelling on what he could never change nor on what he could not know. Sho was here. He himself was here.

A soldier who looks too far ahead stumbles over his own boots. Words from Randall West, though he had gotten them from a work by Tom Clancy. Whatever, they suited his needs now.

"AEGIS!" The energy enveloped him, penetrated him, changed him as the armor merged with his body. He knew that Sho preferred the explosive transformation - and rightly so - but this way was more suited to his own style of combat. Both methods had their uses, and he could not deny that.

David walked over to where he left his pack and his bow. While hungry, he knew that he would receive a meal and one that he did not have to kill and cook himself. Also, not an MRE, which everyone in SANDALWOOD had called Meals Ready to Exit or Meals Refusing to Exit. His own training as a chef - aborted as it had been - had revealed to him one crucial fact.

MRE was three lies for the price of one.

Hefting his gear, he shot up into the sky. Sooner begun was sooner done.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Shadowmane did not rise from the seat in his personal chambers when Quickpick entered flanked by a human and what appeared to be an obsolete cyborg. The ship was safely stowed in the lower shuttle hangar near the more secure cargo holds. He studied his old friend and the two newcomers with a gimlet eye. Whatever this was about had to be on the far edge of the extraordinary. His ready room held no viewports, the image of the realm of hyperspace which existed in a far more linear fashion than that of subspace held no interest for him. As the three sat, he produced a bottle of blue-tinted ale.

"That's illegal," the cyborg said.

"Just need to know the right people," Shadowmane replied, noting that all three of his visitors gunned it down. Illegal or not, it sure as hell tasted fine. Plus, it was not as dangerous as what he held in his holds. "So, Pick, why in the blue hell am I hauling this shit after fifteen years and why this backwater?" he asked as he summoned up the image of Third Earth on the screen embedded in his wall. Quckpick took a deep breath before explaining.

All of it.

After several moments, Shadowmane whistled between his teeth.

"That bastard was waiting for this," he muttered. It was an open secret that certain parts of the PGF military wanted inroads to start policing local systems, and this colossal fuck-up by CONTROL seemed to give the perfect opportunity. However the mention of the incident on Captain Shiner's ship, the Vertis, gave the real context. Thorson had found a weapon he either wanted, or wanted removed. Though he had never met the man in person, the human's reputation had preceded him. Sven Thorson cared not one bit for the rule of law, and had been a quiet proponent of having said law under military jurisprudence. CONTROL's fall from grace had to have been a sign from on high to the human. But, fate had tossed a potential wrench into his plans with the planet of Third Earth and some of its occupants.

"Not only that," Corman said after a sip, "but he's willing to ignore the laws he's supposed to be upholding."

"I don't need to tell you just how bad this shitstorm can get," the cyborg, Stargazer, intoned in his gruff voice.

"No," Shadowmane said in a flat voice as his mind traced the possibilities. Though never a disciple of politics, he had kept abreast of developments in said arena. One of the most important parts of his profession, both legal and otherwise, was to keep a finger on the political pulse. The fall of Captain Shiner and the Supreme Commander of CONTROL had sent shockwaves throughout the systems. CONTROL was now under military supervision and the times, they were a-changing. He had already encountered stricter inspections at hyperspace terminuses in certain systems. The military was wasting no time in asserting command of civilian affairs and that could only grow in magnitude. Some pundits decried this as the transition of the PGF from a federation of worlds, colonies, and other facilities into a military junta. Others still called such claims alarmist. Shadowmane was not entirely certain. His own world rested outside of recognized PGF boundaries, but how long would that last? The PGF, long a body of tolerance and exploration, now stood on the brink of becoming a totalitarian state and Shadowmane was not foolish enough to think it could never happen.

But could the solution really rest on a backwater planet such as Third Earth?

Quickpick, Corman, and Stargazer seemed to think so. So did Thorson, who seemed to be doing his best to neutralize said planet. He poured another round of drinks for his guests. The Wolf Clan, long removed from the affairs of other systemic governments aside from trade, might have to rear their heads again. He only hoped the tide of events would not sweep his people into extinction.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sun was slowly rising to its apogee in the cloudless sky as David sank to the earth and removed the armor. The verdant smells of the flora rushed in as he breathed non-filtered air once again. I could really get used to this, he thought as he entered the underbrush to emerge onto a worn path through the grasses which came up to his thighs and waved in the breeze. On getting his bearings he set off along the newly made trail in the direction of Cat's Lair. He knew that said structure had to have picked him up on whatever sensor net it possessed and that Sho knew he was nearly there. He forced himself to be calm, to think rationally. Kronos is gone, but the Guyvers remain, he thought as he walked. Part of him, the part that spoke in the voice of Running Wolf, told him that there was a reason, it was part of a great design. Another rang out in a song he had learned from the soldiers of SANDALWOOD, a version of the theme of The Mickey Mouse Club.

F-U-C-K-E-D A-G-A-I-N, that chorus rang. He glanced down and grimaced at the design on his shirt. Without breaking stride, he doffed the garment and revelled in the sun shining on his bronzed skin as he turned it inside out and draped it back over his torso. As he continued his trek, he noticed a steady rhythm coming closer, the sound of hooves approaching from behind followed by the creak of wooden wheels turning. He allowed himself to relax as the sounds drew near. No attacker would reveal himself that way, and even if he did, he'd be in for a rude surprise. As such, David halted beneath the shade of a tree to wait.

He did not have to wait long as the cart and donkey came into view. The beast was a solid grey in color, yoked to a simple wooden cart whose wheels bore spokes between the central hub and outer ring rather than solid discs, which had reduced the burden the animal bore. He noted sacks and bolts of cloth in the back while upon the buckboard was a Thunderian man. His white skin was dotted with black spots. His face bore an expression of calm even as his gold-orange eyes locked onto the interloper along his path. Tightly muscled arms - not bulging but with well defined lines of muscle - gripped the reins. His clothes were of simple design, yet fit him well. David noticed the Thunderian's eyes taking him in, especially the gear he carried. Not only that, but…

He just checked me out, David realized. He couldn't complain. After all, he had done the same to the Thunderian merchant. He pushed such thoughts away. He couldn't afford distractions. But, he could certainly use a lift.

"Travelling kinda light, aren't you?" he said in a tenor voice.

"Travel light, move faster," David drawled. "Going my way?" he added with a grin which the Thunderian returned.

"I just might." He patted the space on the buckboard beside him and David hopped up. With a light snap of the reins, the donkey began to walk again. "Name's Axcel, by the way."

"David." The offered hand received a firm shake. "I guess business was good?"

"Fair enough," Axcel replied while the cart rattled onward. David glanced back at the gathering of finished goods and materials for making such.

"Import and export, eh?" he asked to make conversation and to hopefully keep him from asking too many questions.

"Better than owning an actual shop," Axcel said with a wink. "Though I do have one of those, too."

"I see," David replied. A shop for finished goods, another concern for materials. This Axcel was shrewd. Perhaps not big enough yet to fulfill his dreams, but he seemed to have a good head on his shoulders as well as some healthy ambition.

"I can take you as far as New Thundera."

"That's where I'm headed."

"Looking to make your fortune?"

"Meeting a friend." They continued in silence for several moments before a groaning sound emanated from the right wheel of the cart which was followed by a loud snap and said cart dropping drastically to one side.

"Son of a shit weasel," Axcel snarled before leaping to the ground with David close behind. The wheel on Axcel's side now bore several snapped spokes with the outer rim broken clean in two. David winced at the sight of it.

"Want some help?"

"Just all I can get," Axcel said with a grin. "I was told not to trust too many Tabbots. Some are good merchants, but some of them live to screw you over." He walked to the back of the cart where David noticed a spare wheel mounted on the outside and made a mental note not to mention the fictional Ferengi while making another note not to trust many of the Tabbots he might meet. He took the spare from its mount and rolled it over to the sunken side of the cart only to find Axcel grumbling. "Looks like we have to unload first. That is, if you don't mind helping." David glanced at the cargo, then down at himself, did a few mental calculations, and determined that he was going to need at least a deep massage and a hot towel before the end of the night. Besides, people were expecting him and he knew they would come looking if he took too long. The more unobtrusive his entrance, the better.

"Not at all," he replied before stepping up to the cart just ahead of the damaged wheel. He turned about and crouched down to grip the underside then braced both his legs and his back. After a deep breath, he began to lift. His muscles burned and then screamed with the effort though the cart steadily rose until his legs were straight. "Less gawk, more work!" he said through gritted teeth, his eyes squeezed shut from the effort. David took deep breaths through his nose which he released through his clenched teeth as the sounds of Axcel removing and then replacing the wheel reached his ears. After a comparative eternity, the Thunderian clapped him on the shoulder.

"All done." David set down his burden and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. After a few deep gasps he opened his eyes to find Axcel looking at him in a mixture of puzzlement and amazement.

"What the hell did your parents feed you?"

"Spinach," David said after catching his breath.

"I have gotta lay hands on some of that," The other man replied with a shake of his head. "You, uh, okay there?"

"Yeah," David said, his mind now racing at that thought of what he'd just done. "Didn't mean to show off like that, but daylight's wasting." He was gratified to see the curious look on Axcel's face evaporate at that. They were still not in what constituted active New Thundera territory and bandits were a concern even this close to a major center of population and military might.

"Best not waste any more time," Axcel said as he and David resumed their places on the buckboard and the former urged the mount onward. "But, I must say, I owe you dinner and a beer."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Blood filled his mouth with another bite of flesh, from the leg of some lesser being. The bridge was dark save from the few systems which still operated. The air stank of machine oil just as the last ones had. He had kept his predations to small independent ships, those whose purpose was salvage. The misfit crews were always ill-prepared for him, and always fell quickly. At least artificial gravity plating had negated the dynamics of liquids in micro-g. Chasing droplets of blood about did not amuse him, nor did the thought of such globules making their way into critical systems. A dribble here and a dribble there, the next thing one knew one was flying backwards. Likely into a cosmic string or the event horizon of a black hole. The tech before him was more advanced than he had known - and he had no idea how long he had been in that deep freeze in the middle of nowhere - but the basic functions were simple enough. The blood ran down his jaw as he tore off the length of meat before discarding the limb. He thought back to the screams, the terror, and fed upon the memories. He saw himself as neither good nor evil, but rather as a force that just was. A predator, a force of nature, a thing beyond morals which sat at the apex of mundane life. Yet even something such as he had needed Betas, underlings which could do his bidding and as such allow him to focus upon larger goals. It grated upon him that he had been bested once, but even he had known that his chain of success had to run into a speedbump.

But, he was back. He would learn. He would adapt. Society had forgotten him. It would first learn of that error, then he would make sure such never happened again.

Mon-Starr relaxed into the captain's seat of the freighter whose crew had been foolish enough to answer the distress signal sent from his last ride. All of them had been relics with limited supplies of fuel, mere trash haulers on short hops and this one was little different. However, the former crew had been small time smugglers with a cache of fractal dust, a powerful stimulant that was both insanely addictive and highly illegal. Mon-Starr had never used such substances though he had used the trade to fund his own operations and had enforced a draconian penalty for those in his own organization who had partook. It had not taken long to purge users from his own ranks.

He dismissed the train of thought as he swallowed the mouthful of human flesh. The supply of narcotics would be his entrance fee back into the place he had established as a criminal haven and from there, his path to dominance.

But still…

He felt something calling to him. Something primal, ancient. It danced at the edges of his awareness, easily dismissed yet growing in persistence. He could not help but begin to think that re-establishing control over what he had created so long ago was only another step on a path that was becoming less and less clear despite his crystalline focus. A gnawing sensation at the back of his mind that someone - or something - else was trying to make itself known. Mon-Starr snarled and slammed his fist down on the chair's armrest in mounting frustration. He did not need such thoughts. He knew his path. Whatever this strange… urge, desire, compulsion… was, it was ultimately meaningless. He would overcome it.

He ignored the whisper in the back of his consciousness.

We have time…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

David noted the lack of defensive structures outside of New Thundera with a repressed shrug. There were checkpoints manned by armed guards yet nothing in the way of actual barricades. He eyed the pair of guards and noted their relaxed yet ready posture before their weapons. One, a male, had a two-headed axe hanging head-down over his right leg. The other, a human female, sported a thin sword alongside a primitive looking - though obviously serviceable - dagger just behind it on her hip. Their outfits were red tunics over black pants with low cut boots for both. Slung on their backs were weapons he was intimately familiar with, AR-15 carbine rifles. The sight stunned him for a moment. That such weapons were still functional after two millennia was just incredible. He doubted they were of recent manufacture yet they looked as though they had just come from the factory. The preservation protocols in SANDALWOOD had worked and beyond West's wildest hopes.

Site A worked, he thought as the cart neared the checkpoint. Site B is the real test. David took another quick glance at the architecture he could see as the cart neared the checkpoint. He could just see the top of what had to be Cat's Lair beyond the colony proper along with twin elevated access roads looping from either side. It made sense on reflection; if you needed to deploy combat vehicles in a hurry, you sure as hell did not want to run them through crowded streets. But how much mobile firepower could the ThunderCats have? David mentally chastised himself for the foolish question. Three Guyvers counted for a whole hell of a lot of boom.

"Looks like one hell of a haul, Axcel," the Thunderian said in a jovial voice once the cart had come to a stop once more. David could feel the gazes of the two guards on him like gunsights. He was a stranger, and that was not something security people liked encountering.

"Howdy," David said with a smile. "Name's David Jackson." He did not go so far as to say he was expected, nor did he ask the names of the two guards. He saw them pull thin datapads from behind their backs to check his name against a manifest.

"I don't…" the human woman began before the device in her hand chirped. "The list just updated." She raised an eyebrow before glancing at her partner.

"Says here you're expected," the Thunderian said before looking at him over again. "Little light on the supplies aren't you?"

Guards with brains, David thought behind a smile. Of all the times for me to encounter that…

"Travel light, travel fast," he said. It was even true. He'd done it often enough before. He noticed the human woman eyeing his bow with barely concealed curiosity.

"I've never seen a bow quite like that before," she said. David, without a word, handed it over for her to inspect. It was of fresh green wood with vines wrapped about the center. It curved slightly outward before bending back and then back out. A string of taut vine was bound to the outer curves with another short length wrapped about said string at the level of the main grip. It was of Cherokee design, which he did not bother to explain. "Where did you get this?" He allowed himself to relax a bit. The question was more from curiosity than suspicion.

"I made it," he replied without thinking. He felt their gazes lock onto him just before a voice called out.

"David!" All eyes turned to a knockout of a young woman trotting up to the checkpoint. "Thank you for coming!" She stopped at the side of the cart and offered her hand which David accepted as he stepped down. "Anri, please return his bow." David accepted his weapon from Anri and slung it onto his back. This had to be…

"Kit," he said.

"Welcome to New Thundera," she said with a beaming smile before turning to the guards."I apologize for the lateness of the manifest update, but we had a small glitch." David noted she did not go into his lack of gear and supplies, relying on her rank as a cover. Unfortunately, Anri was not so easily dissuaded.

"How did you travel so far with no supplies?" she asked. Not "Why are you here" or "Why is a ThunderCat greeting you".

"David is an expert on Second Earth," Kit began, "and is well versed in self defense." David immediately knew she was telling them they did not need to know in not so many words. "He's also a highly experienced traveller."

"You don't carry documents on treks like this," he said, getting into the fiction. "It's far too easy to lose or damage them." Anri shot Kit and David another look before waving Axcel's cart onward. David cast a look over his shoulder and saw the glint in the other man's eye.

"Look me up sometime," Axcel said with a nod and a look David recognized.

"I will," David replied before turning his gaze back to the ThunderCat and delving a little deeper into this impromptu fiction. He turned to Anri. "Would you like to have my bow?"

"It is a rather nice one, but no. Welcome to New Thundera." With that, David fell in step behind WilyKit as they made their way into the colony.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sho stood at the base of the dais on which the twin thrones of New Thundera sat. Morning light poured through the windows of the Throne Chamber, empty save for himself and Myrlha and utterly silent save for their breathing. He felt David's approach - had since arising at first light that morning - and an anxious tension had his nerves taut as piano wire. The other ThunderCats would be in the chamber before David's arrival and, if things went pear shaped, Lisker was on standby to jump in. Given the events since the eponymous Guyver Four had revealed himself, it was a sensible precaution. The scent of jasmine, Myrlha's favorite scent, greeted him as the soft sounds of her footsteps neared from behind. She eased up and nestled into his back, her arms wrapping about his chest and her cheek in the back of his neck. Her arms wrapped about his chest and she allowed his to envelop them, drinking in the warmth of her presence. She squeezed him gently and without words.

Sho appreciated her silence as the other ThunderCats walked in. Myrlha released him to take her place. Sho stood in his black cloak and silver medallion, preparing as best he could for an encounter he could not possibly predict. He breathed deep though his nostrils and exhaled through his mouth, forcing his mind on what he could affect in the immediate future. He felt David coming closer through their passive connection. David was making no attempt to either hide himself nor announce himself. But, despite that, Sho did get an impression of a rather impressive backside and belatedly realized that it was Kit's derriere that the other human was casting eyes on. Sho found himself wanting to laugh at that, for it seemed so familiar. He shook off the feeling, recalling that the other known as Agito had been able to access whatever links Guyvers shared. Was it a ploy to put him off guard?

After a moment's thought, he realized that it likely wasn't. While he did not remember David, the impression was very familiar, to the point that a most irreverent thought crept into his mind with the assuredness of a memory.

He was always an ass man, Sho thought before he could stop himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lisker focused his vision on the path which showed the path through the courtyard just as David and Kit emerged into the inner grounds of Cat's Lair. He could feel the the latter's presence in his mind, sense the surface of the turmoil just beneath the surface. As they neared the entrance, Lisker allowed his perceptions to relax. There was no sense in letting his thoughts intrude into the link. Besides, David had to know, or at least suspect, that he was being watched by more than armed guards.

"So that's him," Maria said as he joined him.

"Stay away from him," Lisker said with finality. "Please."

"I watched your last confrontation with him," she said with a sad note in her voice. "He hates you. He's never met you…"

"That doesn't matter," Liser said as they neared the doors on the monitor.

"If I try," she said, understanding, "it will be like throwing water on a grease fire." Lisker cast a glance over at her, approval on his face. "I don't like it."

"I know, love." He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it.

"But, some things you just can't fix." They watched the monitor in silence for a while. "If all goes well, you'll go on your patrol?"

"That's the plan," Lisker said.

"They should trust you more."

"Things don't work that way," Lisker replied. "I had to earn your trust."

"Yes." The resignation in her voice said it all. He had to earn trust all over again. "It hardly seems fair."

"You're biased," Lisker said with a smirk she could not see.

"Can you blame me?" she asked with a half smile and a wink. "Still, it must be this way, I suppose. She twined the fingers of her right hand in his left. "I love you." She rested her head against the gold plates along his arm.

"Thank you," he said. "I love you." It still amazed him that he could and did mean that. Not that this David would give a tin fuck but… But that was none of his business, Lisker thought with finality. He would not cower before this Guyver Four. "He has a reason to hate me, Maria, make no mistake. I can't… won't… fault him for that."

"But you won't run."

"It's been too late to run for centuries now." Lisker fell silent as his gaze shifted to the light which would blink when Cheetara sent him on his first patrol once it was established that David Jackson was not batshit crazy. Lisker figured the odds were fifty/fifty and pick 'em.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The central plaza of New Thundera had been a place of beauty for David, so far as the food was concerned. The breads had melted in his mouth, especially the garlic bread from the unassuming kiosk near the center. Kit had been the consummate tour guide, pointing out several establishments from a place called the Loom - whose fabrics and designs clad a goodly portion of New Thundera - to the Bolkin Bar. David had eyed both with interest, especially the latter. He had always enjoyed being in a kitchen - in fact, had his life not taken such a radical turn to the bizarre, he had been seriously considering culinary school - and made a mental note to check the bar out for himself.

The central plaza's western edge drew closer, this time delineated by a wall with an actual gate. The guards did not tense on their approach and opened the gate without Kit needing to say a word. He followed the ThunderCat along a path lined with shrubs and saplings, some familiar and some not. David breathed in the fragrances and allowed his mind to roam for a moment. He could see this stretch of path, in ten or twenty years, being a glorious riot of leaves and flowers with the sunlight filtering through the leaves to cast illusions of light and shadow that would tease the eyes. The path led up to Cat's Lair, a faintly Sphinx-like structure atop a mountain of stone stairs. Kit came to a halt and he did the same.

"Sho's in there," he said to test the conversational waters. Then, "So is Lisker."

"Yes," Kit replied simply. David took the meaning from her tone. Lisker was a backup. If he, David, proved to be any kind of trap then two Guyvers were on hand to stomp it into a mudhole. Despite his feelings regarding Guyver Two, David had to respect the approach. The ThunderCats were in no way fools, despite some issues with their choice of company. Well, he thought, you can't have your cake and eat it, too.

"If you'll follow me in," Kit said before walking up the stairs. She paused for a moment before looking back over her shoulder. "Also, I've noticed at least twenty-seven times you have locked eyes on my ass." David looked up at her smirk. "You're not the first, and I don't hold it against you. I just wanted you to know. Now, let's go."

"You got it," David replied with a smile. "Though, in my defense, it is a nice one."

"Don't push your luck, Jackson," she replied and the tone in her voice was clear as crystal. She was not interested. David let it drop as he moved alongside her. No meant no, plain and simple, and he was sure at least that hadn't changed in the past two thousand or so years.

Sho helped build this, he thought as they trod up to the double doors which led into the center of government for this colony of extraterrestrials. Cool air immediately greeted him on entrance to the main hall. His eyes immediately locked onto a tapestry hanging on the wall on his right which portrayed Sho in his armored form. The pose was simple, arms down at his sides and legs slightly curved. The detail was incredible, however, each stitch blending with the others to show an image that was so close to lifelike as to be somewhat disturbing. Its background was of a field of stars as though Sho were hovering beneath a night sky or perhaps in space. David thought back to the statues he had seen and recalled that not one had been of Sho.

"You always were modest, Bro," David said.

"Sho specifically asked for no statues," Kit said as they passed the tapestry. "By the way, you can keep your weapons." David merely nodded at that. If three Guyvers mixed it up, bows and arrows would be about as useful as an ashtray on a motorcycle. They walked together along the crimson carpet between the pillars lined up on each side to the ornate wooden doors beyond which he felt Sho's presence. Without a word, Kit pushed the doors open to reveal the Throne Chamber beyond.

David, for the first time in two thousand years, finally locked eyes on Sho Fukamachi. His brother, the man who had shared his life and his tragedies for years in SANDALWOOD, finally stood before him in the flesh. He kept one foot in front of the other as his eyes took Sho in. He was as muscular as he had appeared in the Mindscape. The midnight cloak was open at the front to reveal the whipcord muscles beneath the teal tunic. David's eyes alighted on the medallion Sho wore before looking into the other man's eyes. They were the same stormy color. David felt the breath try to catch in his throat, his legs try to falter as he pressed on with Kit now behind him. Sho took a step forward with each step David himself took, eyes locked onto one another's. He noted the presence of the entirety of the ThunderCats behind Sho and blanked them out. This was the moment of ultimate truth, what he had been hoping and dreading. The distance shrank.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Panthro forced himself to breathe normally as the two humans approached one another. He and Tygra had argued against both Lion-O and Cheetara being present, but at least they had consented to Lisker being close at hand if not in the Throne Chamber. Escape routes were ready with Royal Guards and ThunderCats on hand to hustle them the fuck out with all haste. He stood in a rear guard position to the right of the twin thrones with Mandora on the left. According to the plan, they would hustle the monarchs out while the rest fought a rearguard action with Sho and Lisker leaping in, the latter through the walls. The damage to the Lair would be horrendous, but it would beat the snot out of the alternative. He felt his skin tingle as the two drew closer and then his heart stopped for a moment.

He saw Sho raise his right hand at the same time David raised his. The pair stopped before one another, hesitated for a moment, then it happened.

"If we don't make it alive," Sho said as his hand reared back. Panthro tensed his muscles just as they did the strangest damned thing. They slapped the palms of their hands, then the backs of their hands, and on a final pass grasped them together.

"Then it's a hell of a good day to die." David replied and from there, things became - depending on one's outlook - reassuring or bizarre. On the final pass, the two clasped hands hard enough to the point where he could almost hear muscle and bone creaking.

"A light that shines so strong…"

"Only lasts for so long."

"Sho Fukmachi," David said, his voice choking faintly and eyes shimmering, "Guyver One."

"David Jackson," Sho replied, his voice slightly bewildered, "Guyver Four." What happened next surprised all in attendance. David released his grip and stepped forward. His arms gripped Sho in a ferocious hug which the latter actually returned.

Were it possible, Panthro's jaw would have hit the floor hard enough to bounce. He knew, as did the others in the Throne Chamber. David knew Sho. Such a reaction could not be faked. He saw the expression on David's face and though he could not see Sho's, he knew his student well.

"Fuck me running," he muttered as he engaged his personal comm to tell all security personnel, which were hoping not to die that day, that all was well. The two young/old men released their grips.

Myrlha, who stood between Kyranna and Kat, watched the display with both relief and unease. David represented a part of her husband's past, and not the most peaceful part. These two, allegedly, had shared in violence and war on par with the worst conflicts in Thunderian history if not in excess of same. Only David had full recall and that made her leery of the new arrival. She studied Sho's face and saw the familiarity and confusion mixed. David seemed genuine, but…

But who the hell was he? For the first time she found herself fearing what may have happened in Sho's past. She knew and loved the man he was now, but what of the man he had been then? It again reminded her that he had lived a life far before she had been a twinkle in her mama's eye. Hell, he had lived in the time of her distant ancestors. In that moment, she shifted her gaze to find David's eyes locked on hers. He went into the Mindscape with Sho, she told herself. Of course he would know her. But the expression she saw there…

It was… warm in a way she had seen rarely even on Thundera. As though he was meeting his best friend's girl for the first time and actually being happy that she was in the picture. Myrlha wished for the first time that she possessed the telepathic connection that Guyvers shared. She took a deep breath as Lion-O and Cheetara rose from their thrones to welcome him with appropriate diplomacy. For the first time since their first kiss after the fall of Fortress Plun-Darr, the shadowed events of Sho's life from so long ago were nearing the surface. She had heard him muttering "Chrysalis" in his sleep. She had wrapped her arms about him when his nightmares had woken her, which thankfully had not been often and were things he never remembered.

However, the arrival of David could bring those things to light in a way that Sho might not be able to handle. It had been a concern for all the ThunderCats once the debacle with those cyborgs had ended with the appearance of both David Jackson and a level of rage no one had ever suspected Sho of having.

As David introduced himself, she found herself remembering the footage of Sho at Fortress Plun-Darr, the takedown of Safari Joe, and most notably his slugfest with that Bone Serpent so long ago. He had been a warrior, dedicated to protection. Even the recorded fight with Mumm-Rana had shown nobility and care for friends. He had been, for all intents and purposes, a superhero from the ancient comics the ThunderCats had found digitized in the SANDALWOOD files, like that jacked guy in the blue tights who wore a red cape - and for some reason - his underwear on the outside.

But when he thought she and Leah were dead. The absolute pummeling that one cyborg had taken at his hands…

She resolved to talk to this David as soon as possible.