::Chapter Three::

They're starting to descend.
Afura's voice rang clear amidst the gale-force winds that swept over the deck of the Un-Merciful, perhaps because it was she who controlled those winds, perhaps because the nervous tension inside her required an outlet. Whatever the reason, her words were electrifying to those who could only guess at their present danger, and they sent the crew scurrying to their battle stations and Nanami to the lookout post.
Then the first missile hit, it's shattering force spent upon the protective shield that covered the Un-Merciful. The cruiser rocked as though smashed by the hammer of God, but the blast from the warhead was deflected around the ship and in the end did no harm.
A few crewmen who had regained their footing let out an exhilarated whoop, as though they had just survived a duel at twenty paces. But then the second missile came crashing in, and the third, and it seemed that the terrible pounding that the cruiser bore should have cracked it's shield like an eggshell. Power systems fluctuated madly, alarms shrieked as though the ship itself was tormented, and the screams of the few unlucky men who had been thrown overboard died away as quickly as they had begun.
Nanami's shoulders were bruised where her harness had restrained her, but soon she was peering through the scope that her crow's nest had been outfitted with, and as she found her target her entire world narrowed into a tunnel, at the end of which a small triangular craft was the only visible object.
Her hand touched a small pad at the base of the scope, and moments later the cruiser's defensive cannons roared out against the craft.

Base, this is Predator. First strike ineffective, repeat, first strike ineffective. The Roshtarians appear to be using some sort of modified sail technology as a barrier. Their strength is-
The pilot's report was cut short as his warning klaxon blared, and the first of the cruiser's shells began to detonate around him. Their firing was remarkably accurate, and it was a few seconds before the pilot could regain his cool composure.
I am taking fire, base. Enemy has targeted my craft, am abandoning missile strike. Wing will continue engagement at high speed with energy fire.
The pilot brought his strike craft around in a wide sweep, then abandoned all pretense of subtlety. Three more sleek fighters followed him into a steep dive, and the firing controls were switched from long-range to short-range engagement mode. The pilot cracked the corner of his pressed lips in an evil grin, and waited until his computer blinked an obedient on his laser mounts.

No hits, Nanami said as calmly as she could, but we came close. They're speeding up, though, and coming back around for another pass. It's going to be much harder to hit them this time.
Londs nodded, and shouted across the deck, Bring the escorts around in front of us, but clear of our guns. Bring the Ire and Fury up to our flanks, and place the Revenge behind us. Priestess Afura, what do you see?
Such fragile craft, Afura whispered almost to herself, so dependent upon the wind for support. All it would take is a tiny disturbance in the wrong place...
The cruiser was hit again suddenly, and to everyone's horror the sails that kept their vessel afloat seemed to melt away as an angry red beam of fearsome power pierced them and smashed into the deck.

Two enemy craft destroyed, ten seconds to overflight. Prepare to fire again. There was a flame now in the pilot's voice, and he shed his earlier calm professionalism as his desire for vengeance was given life at last. They approached their targets from straight ahead, skimming the tops for the trees that surrounded them. He rode the wings of his craft like a hawk swooping down upon his prey, and his eyes flashed as he squeezed the firing trigger once more.

HMS Floristica and Ancient's Rage had been reduced to flaming wrecks in an instant, and the Un-Merciful had been damaged on her port quarter. The sail on the bow of the cruiser was pulsating like the face of a pond disturbed by a thrown stone, but by some miracle it stabilized and continued to provide lift.
Mere seconds later, though, another storm front of focused laser energy assailed them, two more escorts were blown out of the sky, and the Un-Merciful staggered again as her heavy hull plating was shattered near the forward support for the shield ring. The shield died immediately, and jagged splinters of armor swept the deck like grapeshot. Many crewmen were killed, still more were injured, and one fist-sized piece of metal ricoched off the deck and slammed into Sir Londs' shin.
He fell, screaming in agony, and his voice added itself to the chorus of pain and fear that seemed a living thing upon the deck of the cruiser. And yet Nanami lived, and a few crews remained to fire the guns, so that when she sighted ahead of the flotilla and pressed her hand to the panel, the sound of cannons roared out again in defiance.
Even as the shells exploded, an aura of white energy rose straight up from Afura as the air currents around the cruiser bent to her will. They formed four distinct pillars, the centers of which stretched outwards towards the oncoming craft like the tip of an arrow. They were approaching at horrific speed, screaming across the landscape as if to sow death with their mere presence, until they were nearly over the convoy. Then, as though they'd struck a wall of iron, they merged with Afura's pillars and each one quite simply blew up.

Fatora was at Sir Londs's side as he lay writhing upon one of the makeshift cots that were scattered across the deck. After the fashion of a true naval hero, he had refused to be treated before the more severely injured of his men, so the only source of comfort he had at the moment was Fatora, which was little comfort enough.
She'd been going on about how great and noble he'd been in the face of such danger for what seemed like hours, and the only way Londs could think to gain some peace for himself was to give her something to do.
The men, he said to her in the whisper of a man fighting back immense pain, you must lead them on a rescue mission. We must find any survivors from the escort vessels. We must not leave them behind.
Thus emboldened, Fatora left to take charge. On her way she passed Nanami, who was coming to check on Londs herself, and Fatora grabbed her in a fierce embrace. Nanami opened her mouth to make one of the many curt rebukes to Fatora's advances that she had practised over the years, but then she realized it wasn't necessary. This one time, there was nothing sexual about it; Fatora was simply expressing with contact what she could not with words.
They each allowed the violent storm of their feelings to swell together, the pain and wretched horror of combat, the thrill of victory and the dark, uncertain future to which they were all bound. Only for a few moments, for such storms are as brief as they are furious, and then they parted.
Nanami made her way to Londs, and crouched down next to his cot like a cat, with her hands upon the wooden frame and her eyes upon Londs.
You're going to be okay, right?
An amused grunt in response. Yes, I will live. I must thank you, Nanami.
She blinked. Why? What did I do? We never even hit them.
Londs said, but it is because of you that we could fight back. That is important to the kingdom right now.
she said tenderly, you old fool. That's so stupid. She leaned across the cot and embraced him. This technology gap is still just a bit beyond you, isn't it? she thought. Well, if it gives him a reason to get off this cot, I guess I can play along for a while.
Nanami stood back up and turned around just in time to catch site of Afura. Afura ran over to her and said something about going to look for survivors, then took off into the air before Nanami could make any reply. The medics and repair crews seemed to have everything in hand, so she returned to her crow's nest to make sure that there wasn't a follow up attack on the way.

****

Makoto stepped away from the interface, and the green cascade ceased. Replacing it was a map, lavishly decorated in a language that no one had spoken for three thousand years. A live video picture of Makoto and Fujisawa appeared in a small square, connected by a thin green line to a blinking dot on the map.
said Fujisawa, and Makoto nodded in mute agreement.
They were standing in a part of an impossibly vast network of rooms and byways and great caverns the size of a small city, all connected by an anthill-like maze of hallways identical to this one. Makoto began to turn around, and as his gaze swept over the wall to his right a crack appeared, as though summoned by his thoughts, that ran from the top to the bottom of the hall. The crack became a door that opened into a large, partially lit area that looked for all the world like a kitchen, just as clean and unnaturally spotless as the hall.
I guess this was some kind of emergency exit, Makoto rasped, then turned his attention back to the map. If this is accurate, we're on the top floor of something the size of ten skyscrapers! This complex must go on for thousands of feet below us!
I wonder how much of it's still there, Fujisawa pondered.
I don't know, Makoto said, and he placed his hand upon the orb again. It seems like, no, there's only a few dozen stories left. It looks like the rest of it was destroyed by some sort of freak magma flow or earthquake, it's hard to tell. Sensei, it looks, I think this is one of the ancient's main research facilities.
Fujisawa sauntered into the kitchen. Well, I guess we'd better check it out then, huh kid?
Makoto removed his hand, and let his gaze linger on the map as he followed his teacher. Yeah, you're right.
Neither man noticed, as they began their exploration, that the door they had entered from the cave was closing slowly behind them.

****

Jinnai's upper lip folded back on itself as his teeth flashed in hatred. The strategic map in front of him was familiar enough, but his fuming was based less on the particular setback of the Phantom Tribe's failure than what it represented in the big picture. The balance of power between the Bugrom and Roshtaria was intricate and confusing, but above all, it now appeared even.
Damn it! Damn damn damn, they've countered my every move, and every single time I'm close to scoring a victory those hideous evil wicked stupid Harpies snatch it away from me! Uaaagh! There has to be a way to stop them once and for all. We just have to find it. We need time, a way to occupy their attention while I plan my master stroke, I... Wait! Diva!
Jinnai spun around to address the queen, but her dais was vacant. Huh? Hey Groucho, where'd Diva go?



In keeping with the dictum of stealth and concealment, there was no real visible sign of the massive Bugrom hives above ground. Rather than build up, they had dug down, until the current hive extended almost as far below the earth as the old one had risen above it. It was wild territory; sandstone bluffs and rolling desert scrub painted a landscape as barren as any Diva had seen, and the lingering rays of the sun tossed brilliant hues and sinister shadows across it as though all creation was merely there for the light to play hide and seek with.
For all this beauty Diva was really rather depressed at the moment. In her mind was the permanent chaos of thousands of Bugrom voices, but on this plain in the growing darkness there was a sort of quiet that had been missing from her life for too long a time. So many of her children were worried, so many wary of being destroyed and defeated again that she found it difficult to bring into focus the line between her own thoughts and feelings and those of her brood.
This world must be made safe again, she told herself, safe for her children to live without the fear of subjugation. Yet the price was so great that there may not be much of the Bugrom left if they won, and perhaps none at all if they lost. The victory that had seemed so certain in the last war was now hanging by a spider's thread, and...
The sound of nervous footsteps coming up behind her broke the spell of her thoughts, and she turned her head lazily to look back at Jinnai. She noted the slight hunch of his shoulders, the eyes that still blazed with fury but were now tempered with loss and bitter experience, and she decided that he'd actually managed to grow up a bit these past years. Jinnai walked to stand beside her and, placing his hands on his hips, glanced about the world.
You're worried, aren't you. He wasn't asking.
Diva returned her eyes to the sunset and measured out a breath. We are.
We can still win this war. I underestimated our enemies, but that won't happen again. Besides, I'm almost ready to deal a crippling blow to the Alliance, one that will change the balance of power forever.

What's wrong with you, Diva? Jinnai snapped. One piercing ray of yellow light cut between them, bathing Jinnai's torso in gold, and frustration twisted his features. After the first war ended, you were ready to do whatever it took to conquer El Hazard! Even after so many of our soldiers had died we started over again. And now that our army is once again poised to crush our foes you're getting cold feet!
I rule a civilization, not an army. Each word Diva spoke was perfectly, mechanically enunciated, and she flayed him with her gaze. I did not lead my children to salvation merely to throw them back upon the fire. Roshtaria will discover our home, and they will use the Eye of God to send us to ruin again, and the only result of our efforts will be more dead than you could bear to count.
Jinnai's eyes were wide, but he only paused a heartbeat before replying with his trademark smirk, Well you see, I've been working on that, and after tomorrow, we shouldn't have to worry about the Eye of God at all.
Diva's manner changed from scathing to curious. What, you mean you plan to destroy it?
No, not quite, my dear. But I do have a very special package being prepared for delivery right to Floristica's front door. Jinnai's smirk bent itself into a wicked grin as the last of the day's light disappeared over the distant mountains, and his triumphant laughter vaulted into the evening.

****

You look much better.
John spun around in his seat at the sound of Afura's voice, and he dropped the book he'd been browsing. He crossed the floor of his small palace apartment in a few quick strides and gathered up the priestess in a warm embrace.
I knew you'd make it back all right, he said in husky tones, now don't ever do that again.
Afura chuckled weakly. I think this kind of thing is in my job description somewhere. She began to tighten her hold, but just as she did John was racked by a coughing fit and she pulled away quickly. John bent over, the noise of his lungs dry and rattling, and Afura rushed to set a chair behind him and eased him into it.
She found a chair for herself and sat down in front of him, her concern expressing itself through wringing hands and a worried frown. John finished coughing, then took two cautious breaths before he looked up at Afura again.
Yeah, the doctor says it'll be another week before I'm allowed to leave the palace. The medicine isn't too bad, though. He smiled with as much reassurance as he could muster.
And have you kept practicing? Afura asked.
John glanced, not quite resentfully, at the lamp that sat on his desk.
Afura followed his line of sight, then gasped. What? Why, how can you just leave it sitting out like that? Don't you understand what this lamp means to us? How important it is? She went to the desk and, as though it would crumble into dust if she mishandled it, placed the lamp on it's carved wooden stand.
It's not like that! I respect your religion, or whatever, I really do. But I wasn't born to this life. All I had planned for my life was a summer spent working on my car, then maybe college, I don't know. I was never supposed to be here, Afura, working magic lamps and fighting Phantoms and all this crap. Another fit of coughing interrupted his speech, and Afura watched him as a feeling of sad helplessness welled up inside her being. John's failure had hurt him in a place the medicines couldn't reach, and Afura found herself wanting, so much it surprised her, to heal him.
She glided back to him, pulled her chair up closer, and locked on his eyes. I'm sorry. The words came out so softly it was almost startling. I wish I could send you back myself. But you've already done so much good here, and until Makoto figures out how to get you all back home, I hope you'll keep fighting with us. We still need you here.
John stared into her eyes, those same strange, beautiful eyes that had greeted him the first day of this mishap adventure. The same sincerity was there, but there was something else, too. Affection. One clear stray thought floated through his mind. If I was really slick, I'd kiss her. But was he so sure that she wanted him to? No, of course not. This wasn't the right time, and that wasn't what she was offering. But the moment was stretching on too long for comfort, so he cleared his throat and took as deep a breath as he dared.
Of course. You're right. If I don't do everything I can to win this war, then I might never make it home. As soon as the doctors let me leave, I'll gladly join you on the field. As her smile lit in response to his words in his mind was another thought, more subtle than the last, but more worrisome. Would I want to go back without her?

****

Your attack failed.
Lives have been lost.
Thrown away.

Shame, stubborn pride, defiance, and exasperation all warred within Nahato, vying to lash out at the Council. It had been their weakness, their timidity that had exposed the air wing to the priestesses' attack. But alienating them at this point would accomplish nothing, and would brand him as a Failure for the rest of his days. He forced his mind to calm itself before responding.
There is only one Priestess of the Winds, and there are hundreds of other ways in which we can strike the Alliance. Unless you believe her to be a goddess, she cannot possibly be in all places at once. If we attack several objectives simultaneously we will succeed.
A chorus of ancient tones replied. But we cannot fight the Temple and win.
Roshtaria still has the Eye.
Not for long, Nahato said. The chorus paused, and he allowed the silence to linger, savoring their surprise.
You would destroy the Eye? The one chance we would have to return to our dimension?
Nahato chortled. Of course not. Every day our scientists bring us closer to understanding how it works. But the Bugrom leader is preparing another offensive, and he means to cripple the Alliance by it. I simply did what I could to, facilitate, his plans.
More silence. Then, This is most disturbing. To undertake such action without our approval...
I did what was necessary! Nahato's fury had overcome him, too hot to reign back, and even as he screamed at them he knew that his life and the future of his people were awaiting the outcome of this meeting. We finally have the strength to crush Roshtaria and take back what is rightfully ours, to avenge the deaths and indignities of a hundred generations, and you waste away the time worrying about our survival! It has become quite clear that this Council no longer has the will to fight this war, and if you won't do it, I will!
Nahato turned to leave the chamber. Behind him one of the Council shouted, Stop him! Do not let him leave! A sentry stepped out of the shadows into Nahato's path and held the tip of his staff to Nahato's throat. Nahato paused, then stepped forward and allowed the staff to dig in. His eyes locked on the sentry's, and he saw the man's hesitation. Nahato seized on it.
The scientists are behind me. The warriors are behind me. Let us end this bickering and act to save our people. The steel of his voice seemed to mesmerize the sentry, and the man looked to the Council one last time.
Kill him now! they pleaded, but in the face of the sentry they could see that they had already lost. The staff drew away from Nahato, both men walked out of the chamber, and as the rest of the sentries emerged from the shadows to follow them, the Council watched as their power disappeared as well.

****

Ready, Groucho?
The brutish purple bug garbled an affirmative, and gave Jinnai what passed for a Thumb's Up. All around him a sea of massive armored bugs waited with eerie patience, and on the periphery of the underground hall were waves of the smaller blue bugs.
Excellent. You're sure the package will be there on time? Jinnai turned to look at the person he'd addressed, and a smile broke across the young man's pale blue face.
Of course it will. The transport left hours ago.
Well, all right then. Jinnai concentrated on projecting his usual majestic confidence, but there was something unsettling about Nahato. He seemed much more focused somehow, and a tiny alarm bell was ringing in the back of Jinnai's suspicious mind. But that could wait for now.
As tradition decreed, Jinnai had armored up for the battle, and he pointed his finger straight ahead as he had countless times before.
Troops, ADVANCE!