Tah followed her former boss and potential rival, breathless with anticipation. If Tzen was telling the truth, this was a magnificent lead, but if he wasn't, this could be a magnificent trap. Either way, she was compelled to follow. It seemed like forever before the two reached the Hive, but when they did they lost no time in heading towards Tzen's workstation. "Here," explained the portly researcher, "are the transactions I've saved over the years of my servitude. These are several transmissions sent to me by Vil, sending me instructions. Here, just to prove it, I'll check the log for you. See, they come from the ISC Cheezit, the vessel Vil works on." Tah hurriedly read transmission after incriminating transmission, and they indeed seemed to be what Tzen claimed. Her mouth felt dry. This was the kind of strait-forward evidence she'd been longing for. "And here are monetary transactions that show that he's received monies from several unsavory sources, and sent out monies to minions like myself." There was a hint of shame that lingered in those final words.

"Oh Tzen!" said Tah after she'd read and reread all the evidence presented to her. "This is more than enough to convince me. You poor man!" She wrapped one long arm around him to give him a reassuring hug. "I'll make sure the manipulation you endured will be considered when your crimes are evaluated. You're punishment will be light, if there is any."

A weight seemed to be lifted off the researcher's shoulders. "Oh, you are a dear, aren't you! It will be such a relief to have all this behind me! But you must hurry – Vil is a sly one, and if he suspects we've met, then he'll be gone before you get a chance to catch him!"

Tah nodded her head. "I'll leave you and go to the Tallest at once!" She bolted out of the room, making sure to have a copy of the evidence with her, but then stopped. She realized that she shouldn't look hurried, because if Vil ran into her, it would look awfully suspicious. She slowed her pace to an agonizingly slow crawl, and tried to look as relaxed as possible. She held her datapad to her chest, so she might pretend it was a harmless book as opposed to incriminating information. She couldn't believe Tzen had known for so long and not told her about Vil, but then again, he could have been as afraid for his life as Twaine. She remembered back when Tark had been so uncooperative to save his daughter, and all those other times when she'd found people who'd been blackmailed to protect themselves or those they loved. She found it difficult not to scowl with anger as she tried to lazily saunter down the hall.

When she arrived, the Tallest were sitting in their thrones, glancing over some datapads. Her frantic appearance got them to immediately stop what they were doing. "Look at this!" she said as she handed them the pad. It only took a few minutes looking at it to figure out what all the information meant. "This was given to me by Tzen – he isn't our man!"

Purple looked at her very seriously, "And you're sure this information is correct? He's not misleading you."

"He couldn't force those verification codes," she assured him. "And I think we need to act swiftly. We need to round up all the accomplices who live on this ship, I have a list ready, and the creep as well. We need to get them all at once, lest someone gets a clue and jumps ship. Are some marauders handy?"

Red puffed up with pride, "The marauders are always ready."

"And I have your authorization to use them?"

The two Tallest looked at eachother and then at her, as if the answer was obvious, "Well ... yeah."

Tah smiled. "Then let's do this."

########################################################################

Yempt stood in the hall for a long moment after Twaine left him. His first attempt at getting this Irk to like him again hadn't worked. With Twaine's generally happy personality, he'd had no doubt that the researcher would take him back. Now it was evident that Twaine didn't even want to see him. Yempt crossed his arms and glared at the floor, reflecting on all the heartache he'd experienced in the past day. Certainly nobody was worth all this. Life without Twaine would be just like it was before he met the flamboyant Irken. Predictable. Colorless. Dull. Yempt could feel himself sink into a deeper depression. He would probably become a waiter on this ship, which he admitted would be a step up in the world. And he could try to avoid Twaine, because as much as the former waiter didn't want to admit it, even seeing the researcher would cause him to break down. Even now, tears were welling in Yempt's dark green eyes.

'This won't do,' he thought to himself. 'You can't avoid someone when you work in the dining hall.' Yempt was positive that he would end up working in the dining hall, and everybody except the most high-ranking officials ate there. 'And I can't afford to be distraught every time he comes to eat ... with his friends.' The thought of the marauder Twaine was with only made him more miserable. Had Twaine changed his mind about him because of something he said, or because there was a more desirable option out there? Yempt always knew that he was by no means attractive. Short, round, and green-eyed, he considered himself exceedingly ugly. Despite this evaluation, Yempt could feel something hot welling up inside of him. Something like jealousy.

He needed to do something to change the situation. He could not stand being on bad terms with Twaine. He needed to do something that was sure to get Twaine's attention. He stood in the hall, thinking for a moment. He nodded his head, as if deciding upon a plan of action, and then raced down the hall.

########################################################################

On the outside Tah seemed calm as she walked down one long corridor of the Massive, but inside her mind and squiggly pooch was racing. She'd already given instructions to a select, trusted group of marauders. In exactly one minute and ten seconds they would strike. Several of Vil's operatives would be caught at the same moment he was. She relished the thought of finally catching the man she'd been after. Red accompanied her, hoping to get a piece of the action for himself. Purple, not being a fighter, waited anxiously in his room.

Tah and Red stopped next to the room that belonged to both Tzen and Vil. They had pinpointed his location on the ship, so there was no possibility of his escape. The two waited for a few seconds, and then opened the door at the proper time. "Vil!" yelled Tah triumphantly, "You are under arrest by the Irken Empire!"

Vil was indeed in the room, filling a pack with some apparently important datapads. He glared at Tah. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked coldly. He then noticed Red standing behind her. He wiggled his antennae in salute. "My liege...."

"Evidence has been procured against you, Vil. I will ask you to put your claws where I can see them!"

Vil glanced over to the Tzen's plants and mused in a low growl, "He was a traitor!"

"I said put your hands where I can see them!"

"Yeah!" agreed Red in a dangerous voice. "You don't want me to use this." He motioned to the blaster that he held in one hand.

Vil paused for a moment, and stood very still for a long time. Tah didn't like the growing tenseness in the air. She was just about to wart Vil once more when, with a quick and smooth motion, he lifted his hand out of the bag he'd been packing to reveal a blaster of his own. Without a moment's warning, Red was holding his side. His blaster fell on the floor. Vil took this opportunity to attempt to rush past Tah, but she thrust her gangly body in his direction. She activated her long spider legs, using them to entangle her enemy. Both she and Vil writhed on the floor, each trying to overcome the other. Tah had the advantage of size, but Vil proved to be uncommonly strong. He reached to his belt and pulled out a knife, a primitive weapon but one suited to close combat. Tah reached to grab his wrist and keep the long blade away from her throat. In the corner of her mind, Tah wondered how Red was doing. She could hear him moan from the far side of the room, and she prayed his wound was not fatal. Her attention suddenly turned back to her combatant when he managed to swing around on top of her. Now he had the advantage. She tried to claw at him with one hand while keeping that knife away with the other. She kicked at him with her long legs, and was happy when she gave him a hard blow to the gut. The pain cause him to hesitate for a moment, which let her swing back around on top of him. She thought she would best him until he brought up his two short legs and thrust her away, slamming her against the wall. She had no time to move before he lunged at her. He grabbed one of her wrists, holding hit against the wall, while her threatened her with the knife. She tried to keep it away with her free hand. He responded by shoving the blade into her arm. She yelled with pain, before she futilely tried to kick him away. She couldn't move her arm now, and she had no defense. He repositioned the knife in his hand, preparing to slit her throat, when a loud noise was heard and his expression changed. Tah watched as Vil fell sideways onto the floor, a blackened laser-blast disfiguring his head. She looked up at Red, who stood holding a blaster in one hand and his bleeding side in the other.

Her Tallest held a look of grim satisfaction on his face. "That was more difficult than I thought it would be." He then staggered and Tah raced to help him stand. "Sorry I took the kill from you..."

"I think we should hurry along to the infirmary," she panted. She then looked down at Vil, and the brain meats that were splattered about the floor. "I don't think we need to worry about him.

########################################################################

Twaine staggered toward his room. He'd worked very late, later than he usually did. He'd considered going to the Entertainment Center to socialize a little, but for some reason he just didn't feel in the mood. Instead he typed away at his computer until his eyes were too tired to see strait. He turned into the corridor where his room was located and stopped. Something was in front of his door. He walked toward it and picked the object up. It was a round, glass figurine. Inside, wisps of purple and green formed to shape a miniature nebula. He glanced around nervously, as had been his habit lately. He then looked back at the figurine. "I collect these..."

"I know you do." The voice came from behind the nearby trash receptacle. It was a familiar voice. Twaine stood for a moment, his face emotionless. He lifted his hand as if he was about to ignore the voice and open his door to enter, but he changed his mind. Instead he walked over to the trash can. "What do you want?" He asked in a bland tone as he approached.

The trash can cleared its throat. "Er, well..." it began, "I just wanted to apologize for how I've acted in the past."

Twaine glanced down at the floor, a look of disinterest characterizing his face. "Is that so? You've had a change of mind?"

"A..." Yempt clenched his fists with frustration. He was no good at this mushy stuff. "A change of squiggly." He peeked out from behind the trash receptacle and frowned. Twaine didn't look too receptive. A twitch of antennae was the only sign of acknowledgement.

"Squiggly..." Twaine thought aloud. "Squiggly's are fickle fiends indeed. Fickle like a pickle."

"What?"

"Fickle like a flying fiend pickle." Twaine nodded solemnly, as if what he'd said was an undying truth of the universe.

Yempt came out from behind the trashcan. "What is that supposed to mean? You aren't making any sense!"

Twaine gave Yempt a severe look. "You should beware of those things fickle like a flying fiend pickle. Things that are fickle are changeable, and unexpected things may happen. I know how you detest change and the unexpected."

Yempt stepped closer, now openly pleading. "But you're unexpected, and I like you! You're just what I needed to change my mind about things. It isn't as bad as I thought, and it's all due to you! If you don't forgive me, things will go back to the way they were. My life will remain stagnant and uninteresting. Please, Twaine. I want you to take notice of me again. Talk to me, say strange things to me, and add interest to my life!"

For an instant Yempt didn't know if his appeal had worked. Twaine stood there with his arms crossed, examining him as if he couldn't make up his mind. Yempt squirmed with anticipation. And then he was knocked down as the researcher pounced. "Oh, how can I resist a cute little face like that. My little lovey-dovey, pancake, waffle iron! Come here and kiss me!"

"Whoa! I didn't say ANYTHING about ki - !"

########################################################################

It was nearing the nighttime hours on the ship, a fact Tah was unaware of as she sat in a cozy chair in the library, reading a book. The day had proven successful, Tallest Red was safely recovering in the infirmary, and she had absolutely nothing to do. It was so nice. Later on, she would meet Clay and Dak at the Entertainment Center to celebrate.

The sound of an Irken's voice pulled her away from her story. The poetry group was meeting, and Tah was happy to see that they're performances had improved since the last time she'd seen them. She stood up and walked closer, in order to better listen. The current performer was a middle- sized male with orange-red eyes. His head was gigantic. However, this was overshadowed by the fact that his inflection was magnificent. Tah absently wondered if there was a group dedicated to the study of Ancient Irken – for there are so many works of art written in that language, and she didn't think they are performed often enough. Perhaps she would endeavor to create such a group, if her new job allows for that much free time.

When the performer sat down she applauded his presentation and then volunteered herself to recite. She was pleased to see that a couple of them remembered her from the last time she'd joined them, and welcomed their smiles of anticipation. She thought of a piece, and then took a deep breath. "Ra'kra Sheen ba Lik Teth Dra, by Traun."

"Ra'kra sheen ba lik Teth Dra

Ma rokreen fra za marishibo

Loreen tra ma Pishidra

Pethdra fra tuk ba likibo

Shra ba jerradome kara dee

Shra be jerradome frara lee"

She smiled as she watched the faces of the amateur poets surrounding her. All looked confused, yet many also seemed transfixed by the elegance of the worlds. This was a beautiful piece, written about the majesty of Irken culture in a time where that culture was rich and colorful.

"Barash Irk ment ra dra koon

Keshdi ba zen fra be'vrick

Ze'yun gra tu chuchra boon

Mara fra merra gresh ta'jick

Shra ba jerradome kera dee

Shra ba jerradome frara lee"

Tah continued on for several more stanzas. Sometime during the recital she had closed her eyes to better envision the images behind the verse, but when she opened them again she saw a look of abject boredom on the faces of the entire group. She realized that the poem may not sound as meaningful to them since they did not know the language. She finished the stanza she was on, figuring that they wouldn't realize that she was stopping short, and politely accepted their half-hearted applause. Then, behind a stand of bookshelves, came a louder set of applause. Tallest Purple hovered out from behind, much to the surprise of herself and the entire poetry group. A twinkle of amusement lingered in his eye, letting her know that he noticed her premature ending. She was about to sit down when he spoke, "Bra shizu kra – berra te'lac desa?"

Tah wondered why he was speaking in the ancient tongue. From the bewildered glances on everyone else's face, she could tell that she was not the only one. She stepped back, as he started to approach.

He cleared his throat, as if preparing to say something important. He glanced down at a datapad he carried, and then set it aside before continuing. "Huk'ra dra grish ma'trenda zet, by Purple."

"Huk'ra dra grish ma'trenda zet

Tuk drala merra cra'de cret

Pe derk'da beesha quet xenafra

Orga fra bee'ta don Tah serrdra"

Tah couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was a poem written in the old language, and apparently written by him. As he continued, she was embarrassed to realize the content of his creation. It was about her, and him, and he was elaborating on tender things relating to the both of them. However, her embarrassment did subside a bit when she realized that no on could understand exactly what he was saying. Yet it was not long until his longing glances and beseeching posture made his meaning clear. Soon the onlookers gave curious glances toward her direction, and she once again started to blush.

As he continued he slowly hovered closer. And then, almost as an afterthought, he turned off his hover belt and actually started to walk. Tah was not sure what this gesture meant exactly, but everybody else seemed shocked. Indeed, it was a rare thing to see either of the Tallest using their feet. The only time she could remember seeing either of them walking was when Red was fighting or exercising, or when she'd been alone with Purple in his room. He was now within arm's reach of her. All eyes were on the two of them. He was speaking words of love that only she could understand, holding her hand, touching her in front of other Irkens. And then he spoke the words, "Tra'za fra Tah bra Huk'ra – Vollorm dre ba granna Huk'zet?"

At that moment she forgot everyone else in the room. There were no confused amateur poets. There were no curious librarians. There was only Purple and herself, and the question that lingered in the air. She plunged herself into his arms, repeating with joy her reply, "Grasha me teth! Grasha me teth!" She could feel his lithe arms wrapping around her as their antennae intertwined. Somewhere in the distance there was the sound of surprised onlookers.

Further in the distance Tzen watched the touching scene. He smiled as he continued out the library and into the hall. In his arms he held a puzzle that he was borrowing from a friend. As he met people he knew in the hall he nodded and grinned at them, friendly as always. When he got to his room he made himself some tea, and sat down by his collection of plants. For a moment his eyes wandered to Vil's room, and he considered the possibility of getting a new roommate. He then sighed. "Well," he commented absently to himself, "that was an ordeal. He was one of my best, too. It's a shame." He opened the box and laid out the contents onto his table. His fingers immediately began to organize the pieces. "Well, sacrifices sometimes must be made." He then frowned as he collected recent events in his head. "I'll have to start from scratch." He nodded; steady determination spread across his face, and placed the first piece in the puzzle.